Sovereign ms-3

by C. J. Sansom

  ‘What are you doing away from the manor, mistress?’ Lady Rochford asked sternly. Her eyes raked Barak’s face and mine, too. The other courtiers looked on with interest.

  ‘I am going to the refectory, my lady. Mistress Marlin gave me permission.’

  Lady Rochford gave us a haughty look. ‘Mistress Marlin allows her servants too much latitude. Still, I daresay it will do no harm.’ She stared at me. ‘You are lucky to have a gentleman for a patron to accompany you. Though I hear you had an encounter with an escaped bear, Master Shardlake. That would have been most sad, if it had got you. You would have had to take all your lawyer’s secrets to the grave.’ She gave a harsh, nervous laugh.

  I eyed her narrowly. Was this some sort of threat? But I thought, no, it has been put about the bear escaped by accident. She is only reminding us she has her eye on us. And, of course, she believed I had a record of what Tamasin and Barak had seen. I had written nothing down, but the threat was enough. ‘Be assured, my lady,’ I said steadily, ‘I take care to keep all my secrets where they are most safe.’

  ‘Be sure you do,’ she said, then turned away quickly. We walked on, but after a few yards I heard footsteps behind me. Before I could turn I felt a hand laid on my shoulder and was yanked round. Francis Dereham was glaring at me, a savage frown on the saturnine features above his black beard.

  ‘You hunchback churl!’ Dereham hissed at me. ‘I heard your words. How dare you speak to Lady Rochford with such disrespect. God’s death, you get above yourself for a lawyer. I should hammer you into the ground for your insolence.’

  I did not reply. Fortunately, Dereham made no move to further violence; no doubt remembering that violence within the precincts of the royal court carried serious consequences.

  ‘You annoy me, crookback,’ he said. ‘And for someone of your rank to annoy someone of mine is not wise. Now, crawl on your knees to Lady Rochford, and apologize.’

  I breathed hard. All around the courtyard people had stopped to watch the scene. I looked at Lady Rochford. She stood at the front of the group of courtiers and for once looked uncertain what to do. Then she stepped forward and laid a hand on Dereham’s arm.

  ‘Leave him, Francis,’ she said. ‘He is not worth the trouble.’

  Dereham turned to her, anger turning to puzzlement. Reasonableness, I imagined, was not a quality Lady Rochford often showed. ‘Would you let him get away with answering you back?’ he pressed.

  ‘It does not matter!’ She reddened.

  ‘What is between you and these people?’ Dereham asked.

  ‘It is you who forgets your place now, Francis,’ Lady Rochford said, her voice rising. ‘Do not question me.’

  ‘Fie!’ Dereham released my shoulder and stalked off without a word. Lady Rochford gave me a savage look that showed what she would have liked to do had I not had a hold over her, and walked off with a swish of skirts. The others followed.

  ‘They say Dereham suspects there is something the Queen is keeping from him,’ Tamasin said in a low voice.

  ‘Then let us hope for all our sakes he does not find out what it is,’ I said. ‘Or at least, our connection to it.’

  BY SUNDAY THERE WAS still no word of King James; we had been in York now thirteen days. After lunch I met Barak and Tamasin in the courtyard to go to Master Wrenne’s. The sky was dark and there was a thin, biting wind; we had wrapped ourselves warmly in our coats.

  ‘I am looking forward to this,’ Tamasin said cheerfully.

  ‘It will get us out of St Mary’s for a while,’ Barak agreed.

  We walked down Petergate to the Minster. I looked at the great east window of the cathedral that dominated the view as we approached, one of the largest stained-glass windows in Christendom. Strange how I had got used to seeing it, how it had become merely part of the view. Services were over, the streets quiet, but there were many soldiers about and more standing before the gates to the precinct. As we approached two of them crossed their pikes to bar our way.

  ‘The King is visiting the Minster. What business have you here?’

  The three of us exchanged glances. I would have preferred to turn back there and then, but that would have been discourteous to Giles. I showed the guard my commission and explained we had an appointment to visit a lawyer who lived in the precinct. The guard allowed us to enter, but warned that if the King’s train approached, we must stand well out of the way and keep our heads bowed till he passed. I wondered if it was just my imagination or whether the guard cast a look at my back as he let us through, whether he had heard about Fulford.

  The precinct was quiet, though many more soldiers were posted around, wearing half-armour over their red tunics and plumed helmets, and carrying pikes. I hurried Barak and Tamasin over to Wrenne’s house. Madge, who greeted me pleasantly these days, showed us into the solar where Master Wrenne stood before the fire, staring sadly at the falcon’s perch.

  ‘Ah, Matthew. And Master Barak, and Mistress Reed-bourne.’ He smiled at Tamasin. ‘It is a long time since I have welcomed a pretty maid as my guest.’

  ‘Where is your falcon, Giles?’ I asked.

  ‘Poor Octavia is dead. Madge came in this morning and found her lying on the floor. She was very old. Yes, I had promised myself we should go out hunting together again, to see her fly once more and feel the sun. How easy it is to leave things undone until they are too late.’ He gave me a sudden look of intense sorrow. He must be thinking of his nephew, I thought.

  He forced a smile. ‘Come, have some wine. We will have to wait awhile before we can go into the Minster, the King is there. So common mortals must wait.’ Giles walked over to the table with his slow steady gait, poured us wine and bade us sit. He asked Tamasin about her time on the Progress, and she told stories of the Queen’s servants and attendants and their problems in keeping up cleanliness while camping in muddy fields in the rain. She avoided mention of Lady Rochford. Wrenne encouraged her stories, he clearly enjoyed having her there. At length we heard voices outside, and a guard shouting, ‘Fall to!’ Giles crossed to the window.

  ‘The soldiers seem to be going, the King’s visit must be over. I think we may make our way across to the Minster now.’

  ‘I would have liked to see the King,’ Tamasin said. ‘I only glimpsed him for a moment when he came to York.’

  ‘You do not see him in the course of your duties?’ Giles asked.

  ‘No. Only the Queen occasionally, and I have never spoken with her.’

  ‘Well, seeing His Majesty once can be enough, eh, Matthew?’

  ‘It can indeed,’ I replied feelingly.

  WE MADE OUR WAY outside and walked up the little street to the Minster forecourt. But we had miscalculated; Henry had not gone. Soldiers still lined the walls and the King, who had just descended the Minster steps, was stumping heavily towards us on his stick. There was a retinue of courtiers behind him, and a white-haired old man in robes like Cranmer’s walked at his side, who I realized must be Archbishop Lee of York. The King, dressed today in a heavy fur-lined robe open to show his jewelled doublet and thick gold chain, was berating the old man; his face was red with anger, redder than his beard. We stood by the wall, bowing our heads – I bowed mine as low as it would go, praying the King would not recognize me and stop for another of his merry jests.

  ‘God’s blood!’ we heard Henry shout in his hoarse, squeaky voice. ‘That shrine is large and rich enough to hold the bones of a monarch, not a long-dead archbishop! Remove all those offerings and have the whole thing down! God’s death, Lee, I will have either it or you in pieces on a dunghill, do you hear? You would have kept me from seeing it!’ His voice rose. ‘I ordered the shrines closed and I will have every one in England down. I will have no authority in religion save mine!’

  His voice faded as he passed by. I ventured to look up. The courtiers were following now and the King was walking on. I looked at the back of his fur-collared, rich velvet coat. Was he really the grandson of some commoner? I trembled a little,
as though my thoughts could somehow reach him. I saw his limp was very bad; without his jewelled stick I doubted he could walk at all. The soldiers peeled away from the walls and followed behind their master as he went through the gates.

  ‘Well, Tammy,’ Barak said. ‘You got to see the King close to after all.’

  ‘I did not know he looked so old,’ she said quietly. ‘Pity the Queen.’

  ‘Pity all of us,’ Giles said. ‘Come, let us go in.’

  THE INTERIOR OF THE Minster was a wonder, the nave larger than St Paul’s and more brightly lit. I stared around me through a light haze of incense. From the inside the magnificence of the stained glass was even more apparent, the great east window dominating all. In side-chapels and little niches, chantry priests stood quietly murmuring their masses. Again I thought of the strangeness of the pattern reform had taken in England: the great monastic church at St Mary’s had been turned into a stable and smithy, while the Minster stood intact.

  Tamasin pointed to a strange object, the painted figure of a long-necked dragon that hung over the nave. ‘What is that, Master Wrenne?’

  ‘A lever for the lid of the great font. A touch of decorative humour. Out of fashion these days.’

  I walked to where Barak stood a little way off, looking at a richly decorated side-chapel. A little group of clerics stood nearby. One of them was the man Wrenne had pointed out as the Dean. He was looking grimly pleased. ‘So do it,’ he said. ‘Commission the workmen.’ He stalked away, his footsteps echoing on the tiled floor.

  ‘He’s been ordering them to take down a great shrine in the quire,’ Barak told me. ‘The King was furious when he saw all the offerings laid before it.’

  ‘Earwigging, were you?’ I asked with a smile.

  ‘Might as well.’ He shrugged. ‘Can’t say these old churches interest me.’

  ‘Tamasin seems enthralled.’

  ‘That’s women for you.’

  ‘Any word from London? About who her father might be?’

  ‘None. She’s stopped talking about it. I lost my temper with her, in fact.’ He looked shamefaced. ‘Told her she should let it go, stop thinking about it all the time. Seems to have done the trick, she’s hardly mentioned it since.’

  We went over and joined Tamasin before the quire screen. It was decorated with a series of life-size figures that I recognized as the kings of England, from William the Conqueror to Henry V. They were exquisitely done. I counted them. ‘Eleven,’ I said.

  ‘Are they not marvellous?’ Tamasin asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  She pointed to the statues. ‘Why does the row stop with King Henry V?’

  ‘Good question. Master Wrenne may know.’ I looked around for the old man, but there was no sign of him.

  ‘He went off through there,’ Tamasin said, nodding to the door to the quire.

  ‘I will go and look. No, stay here,’ I added as they made to follow. I hoped he had not been taken ill again; if so, I did not want the others to see.

  I walked into the quire, lined with rows of high, beautifully decorated wooden pews. To one side stood an enormous, ornate construction in dark wood, richly adorned with pillars and arches. A decorated sepulchre was set atop a bier ten feet high, with niches carved in the side where people could kneel and pray. Offerings were hung on the bier: rosaries and rings and necklaces. Giles knelt in a niche, praying intently, his lips moving silently. Hearing my footsteps, he turned. He stared blankly for a moment, his mind far away. Then he smiled and rose stiffly to his feet.

  ‘Forgive me,’ I said. ‘I did not mean to interrupt.’

  ‘No, no, it was discourteous of me to leave you.’ He waved at the shrine. ‘Well, behold the shrine of St William, that so angered the King.’

  ‘Who was he?’

  ‘An early archbishop of York. It is said the Ouse bridge collapsed when he was crossing it in procession, but by divine intervention none were killed. He is the patron saint of the city; many come to pray for his intercession, as you see.’

  I nodded uncomfortably. To me tales of centuries-old miracles had no meaning; and the shrine struck me over-elaborate, even ugly.

  ‘It seems those who say the King’s passion for reform died with Cromwell were wrong,’ Giles said. ‘As we heard from his own lips, St William’s shrine will be destroyed. It offends his great vanity.’

  ‘It seems so,’ I said quietly.

  ‘Would you approve?’ He gave me a sharp look.

  ‘I confess saints and shrines mean little to me. But perhaps it is a shame to destroy it if it means so much to the people.’

  ‘Now this too is to be taken from York.’ He sighed. ‘Well, let us go.’ With a last look at the shrine, he turned away. We returned to the nave, where Tamasin and Barak still stood before the statues of the kings.

  ‘Master Wrenne?’ Tamasin asked him. ‘Why do the Kings stop at Henry V?’

  ‘Ah. There used to be a figure of Henry VI there, the Lancastrian king who was defeated in the Wars of the Roses. Many believed him to be a saint, and people would come and make offerings beneath his statue. The Yorkist kings did not approve, so the statue was removed.’ He turned to me and raised his eyebrows. ‘So you see, kings as well as saints may be written out of history.’

  Two clerks walked past us, going into the quire. ‘Tomorrow?’ I heard one say to the other.

  ‘Ay. He’s tired of waiting, they’re packing up tonight and going on to Hull in the morning. The King’s said to be furious, perhaps that’s why the shrine angered him so.’

  I turned to him. ‘Pardon me, sir. Is the King leaving?’

  The old man smiled. ‘Ay sir. First thing tomorrow. He has given up on waiting for King James. They’re packing everything up at the camp already.’ He smiled, evidently pleased at the news.

  I turned back to my companions. Our faces lit up with relief. ‘At last,’ Tamasin said. ‘God be praised!’

  Chapter Thirty-one

  WHEN WE RETURNED TO St Mary’s we found the scene already transformed. The royal tents were being taken down, men carefully wrapping the rich tapestries and furnishings and loading them on to carts.

  An official posted in the yard stopped us. ‘Sirs, mistress. A moment please. Have you horses stabled in the church?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Be sure you fetch them early tomorrow morning. All must be present in the courtyard by six.’

  ‘That early?’

  ‘Yes. The Progress is to be at Howlme on Spalding Moor by nightfall The King wants to shake the dust of York from his feet.’

  ‘Where will we sleep tomorrow?’ Barak asked.

  ‘In tents, of course, in the fields. Howlme Manor is big enough only for the royal household. Sir, excuse me.’ The official grabbed the arm of another man who had come in, and Barak grinned at Tamasin. ‘You’ll have to sleep in the mud tomorrow, Tammy.’

  She tossed her head. ‘The Queen’s servants always have good tents.’ She made a face. ‘Well, usually.’ We laughed, our hearts lifted by the thought of moving on at last.

  ‘I had best check what the arrangements are for Broderick,’ I said to Barak. ‘I will see you later.’

  ‘D’you not want me to come with you?’

  I hesitated. But surely I was safe in full daylight. ‘No. I will be safe among the soldiery. I will see you at the refectory in an hour.’

  I left them and headed off to the cell. I thought about Giles. He had said he would arrive at King’s Manor at dawn; I hoped he would be able to find us in the mêlée there was bound to be tomorrow morning. He had returned home, to prepare for the journey that would end in London.

  SERGEANT LEACON WAS standing guard over Broderick’s cell with a soldier. I greeted them.

  ‘Well, sir,’ the sergeant said. ‘So we are to be off at last. I am not sorry.’

  ‘Me neither. What is to happen with Broderick?’

  ‘He is to be put in a carriage with Radwinter. Sir William came and told us. He is relieved Broderick
is to be moved at last. He will be in the Tower soon.’

  ‘Ay.’ I thought the news that had brought such relief to me only brought Broderick nearer to torture and death.

  ‘My men and I will ride alongside the carriage.’ The sergeant looked at me seriously. ‘It is to be close guarded, sealed from the rest of the Progress.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Quiet, as usual. Radwinter is in with him now. He is back in charge.’ His face twisted with distaste.

  I looked through the barred window. Broderick was lying on his bed, Radwinter kneeling beside him talking quietly. A candle was set by the bed. Broderick’s eyes glinted as he turned to look at me. Radwinter stood, frowned for a second, then came and unlocked the door. He gave me his mocking smile. ‘Master Shardlake. We have been looking forward to your visit, Sir Edward and I tire of each other.’

  I entered the cell. It smelled rankly. ‘He fares well?’

  ‘Ay. And has eaten his meals like a good fellow.’ I looked at Broderick. He did not look well to me; his face had a yellow tinge.

  ‘He should have some exercise,’ I said.

  Radwinter shook his head firmly. ‘No, he is not to be seen abroad. He is to be kept close till we reach London. Though it makes the hours hang heavy. To help them pass I have been telling Sir Edward tales of the Lollards’ Tower, some of the prisoners I have known.’

  Broderick raised himself on one elbow. ‘He seeks to frighten me with accounts of the burnings and disembowellings he has sent people to. It is a relief to see even your long face, Master Shardlake.’ There was a hint of patrician disdain in his voice, reminding me he had once been a man of status.

  ‘We move on tomorrow, Sir Edward,’ I said. ‘Have you been told?’

  Radwinter answered. ‘Ay. I’ve to rattle in a closed carriage with him all the way to Hull.’

  ‘We stop at a place called Howlme tomorrow night.’