Sovereign ms-3

by C. J. Sansom

  We looked round as another big wave hit the deck amidships, splashing water over the crewmen working the sails. There came a shout from the crow’s nest high above us. ‘Land!’

  WE WERE FOUR DAYS in Ipswich, a pretty little town. Getting the ship into dock and repairing the rudder was no easy task. It was simple enough to find an inn, though. Giles ceased to try and hide that he felt exhausted; he took to bed and lay there, his face drawn with pain, disinclined for conversation. I decided to follow Barak’s advice, and went to seek out Maleverer. He had turned a room in the best inn in town into yet another office, got a table from somewhere and covered it with papers. He was sitting writing. He looked tired, his high colour turned to a greyish pallor. He greeted me, as usual, with a frown.

  ‘I am busy, Master Shardlake. I have a long report to prepare for the council.’

  ‘There was something that occurred to me, Sir William. About Broderick’s death.’

  He sighed, but put down his pen. ‘Well?’

  I told him my thoughts about Leacon. He looked at me impatiently.

  ‘Leacon could have killed Broderick any time these past few weeks,’ he answered.

  ‘I doubt there was another time when there were no other soldiers around. This may have been the perfect opportunity.’

  ‘He was careless, letting those men get drunk. That’s in my report and he’ll suffer for it. But why in God’s name would he kill Broderick?’

  ‘I don’t know, Sir William. It was just he had the opportunity. And – well, he comes from Kent. You remember what I told you about Blaybourne.’

  ‘For God’s sake, don’t mention that name! These walls are thin. Are you still ferreting about in your head over that?’

  ‘I wondered about Blaybourne’s family. Whether that confession I glimpsed had been passed down -’

  ‘You love long shots, don’t you?’ He pointed his pen at me. ‘Most of the soldiers with the Progress came from Kent, as you well know. Leacon has been with the Gentlemen Pensioners for five years, he’s always been solid until this mistake.’

  ‘Is that not itself a cause for concern? That he should be careless now, of all times?’

  ‘You want to be careful. Those attempts on your life have made you willing to suspect anyone, blacken anyone’s name on no good evidence.’ He motioned me away. ‘Get out. I don’t want to see you again. Go.’

  AFTER WE LEFT IPSWICH, the ship’s bad luck seemed to evaporate; a fair wind set in behind us and we reached the Thames in four days, on the first of November. I watched from the rail as the ship sailed up the broad estuary between the mudbanks. The water was calm and there were fingers of mist drifting along the shore. Like everyone else on board I was cold and exhausted. The first buildings began to appear and the boat tacked to the shore, heading for Billingsgate Dock. On the north bank the Tower of London loomed above us.

  Barak and Tamasin appeared and stood beside me. Tamasin gave me an uncertain look. I smiled at her; there was no point in an open quarrel.

  ‘What are those for?’ Barak asked. Everywhere in the city church bells were ringing loudly.

  ‘Someone said it’s for Queen Catherine,’ Tamasin replied. ‘The King has ordered services in all the churches, to express his thanks for having found such a good wife at last.’

  ‘If he knew,’ Barak said softly.

  ‘Well, he doesn’t,’ I said quietly. ‘And mustn’t. We forget all about that now. Disappear back into London.’

  Tamasin sighed. ‘That sounds wonderful after these last six weeks.’

  ‘Yes. I must go and fetch Master Wrenne,’ I added awkwardly. ‘Tell him we are nearly home.’

  I WENT BELOW DECKS to Giles’s tiny cabin. All this last week he had lain in bed, sleeping mostly. He was awake when I entered, though, lying there looking sad.

  ‘We are almost here,’ I said.

  ‘Yes. I heard the sailors calling.’ He gave a little smile. ‘So, I made it.’

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Better.’ He sighed. ‘I must get up.’

  ‘When we get to my house you must rest a few days. Barak and I can make enquiries at Gray’s Inn.’

  ‘Would you wait a few days before you do? Till I feel able to come with you.’ He laughed awkwardly. ‘I would like to meet my nephew standing on my feet, not have him brought to me in bed.’

  ‘Very well, Giles. By all means wait a few days. I will get my friend Guy to come and see you. He is an apothecary, but a trained doctor too.’

  ‘The old Spanish Moor you told me of?’

  ‘Ay. At the least I am sure he can ease your pains. And you will like my house. My housekeeper Joan is a good old body, she will take care of you.’ My heart lifted at the thought of home. The first thing I would do was try to get the Bealknap case set down as soon as possible.

  ‘You have been so good to me,’ Giles said quietly. ‘Like a son.’

  I said nothing, only laid a hand on his arm. ‘I will leave you to get ready. We will be on deck.’

  When I returned the boat was pulling up to the dock. It bumped against the wharf. I saw half a dozen soldiers there, carrying pikes. The escort for Radwinter.

  The boat tied up. Giles joined us, grasping the rail. ‘London,’ he said. ‘It seems huge.’

  ‘It is,’ Barak said. ‘A thousand more come each year, they say.’

  ‘Jack will guide you round the town, sir,’ Tamasin said.

  ‘You too, I hope, mistress. It will be fine to walk the streets of London with a pretty girl.’

  We watched as the courtiers got off, a bedraggled-looking crew now. Maleverer was there.

  I saw Sergeant Leacon emerge with the two soldiers and, between them, Radwinter. The gaoler’s once-neat clothes were crumpled, his face dirty and unshaven, hair and beard unkempt. His arms and legs were chained as Broderick’s had been. There was no sign of violence about him now, his head hung low.

  Leacon and the soldiers led him across the planks and over to the other waiting soldiers. A sailor waved to the remaining passengers and we descended the plank. When we reached the wharf I almost lost my balance, unused to dry land. Tamasin and Barak each gave me an arm.

  ‘Careful, now,’ Barak said. ‘You’ll have us all over. I’m unsteady too.’

  Another hand was laid on my arm. I turned round, thinking someone else had come to my aid.

  ‘I’m all right-’ I broke off. The hand had gripped me tight, and now I saw it was Sergeant Leacon’s. Three of the soldiers had come over and now they surrounded us, their pikes raised. Sergeant Leacon looked at me sternly.

  ‘You are to come with the soldiers, Master Shardlake.’

  I frowned at him. ‘But what – what is this?’

  ‘You are under arrest, sir. You are suspected of treason.’

  Giles stepped forward. ‘Treason?’ There was a shocked quaver in his voice. ‘What do you mean, there is some mistake -’

  ‘No mistake, sir. The soldiers who came for Radwinter brought a warrant for Master Shardlake’s arrest also.’

  ‘Let me see!’ Giles snapped authoritatively. ‘I am a lawyer.’ He held out a hand. Leacon produced a paper from his pocket and handed it to him. He studied it, eyes wide, then passed it to me with a trembling hand. It was a warrant for my arrest, signed by Archbishop Cranmer.

  ‘What am I supposed to have done?’ My lips felt thick, bruised, my heart was jumping wildly.

  ‘You’ll be told in the Tower.’

  ‘No!’ Barak thrust himself forward, grabbing at Leacon’s arm. ‘This is all wrong, it’s a mistake. Archbishop Cranmer-’

  A soldier reached out and grabbed his arm. Barak lost his balance and toppled over with a cry on the muddy cobbles. I was manhandled away.

  ‘Find out what is happening, Jack!’ I called out.

  Tamasin was helping him to his feet. ‘We will!’ she called after me. Wrenne was standing watching, his face aghast. A little distance away I saw the courtiers watching me. Maleverer caught my eye. He inclin
ed his head, raised his eyebrows and smiled. He had known.

  Chapter Forty-one

  THEY TOOK US TO a big rowing boat a little further down the dock. Sergeant Leacon did not accompany us, and oddly it affected me greatly that I was left entirely in strange hands. The soldiers made me climb down steps encrusted with green slime and I slipped; if one of them had not grasped me I would have fallen into the filthy Thames.

  They sat me beside Radwinter and rowed out into the broad river. Looking back at the wharf I saw three receding figures watching, still as stones. Barak and Tamasin and Giles; helpless.

  Other craft on the river pulled aside at the sight of the boat full of red uniforms. We passed close to a wherry; its passenger, a plump alderman, gave Radwinter and me a look in which fear was mixed with sympathy. I could imagine his thoughts. Taken to the Tower. That could be me. It was the fear that lurked in the back of every mind. And now, out of the blue, it had happened to me. Yet, I thought with terror, perhaps I should not be surprised. My head was full of forbidden knowledge, of Blaybourne and the King’s legitimacy. Not that I had ever wanted any of it, but now they would have that knowledge out of my head, one way or another. Who was it that had informed against me? I furrowed my brow. Surely the old man Swann in Hull could not have done so. And other than him, only Barak knew the full extent of what I had discovered about Blaybourne. But he would have told Tamasin. Surely it could not be her? I swallowed; my throat was dry as paper. Beside me, Radwinter sat staring bleakly ahead, still no sign of the frantic madness Barak had described. It began to rain.

  It was a short journey; suddenly the walls of the Tower were above us, wet with slime where they met the water for the tide was low. My heart began thumping frantically. We stopped at a portcullis gate that gave on to the river. The Watergate. I thought, Anne Boleyn came in here, Anne Boleyn, Anne Boleyn… I found myself repeating the name over and over in my mind. It was to stop my thoughts moving on to the end of that story, for I had been made by Cromwell to attend the Queen’s execution, seen her head fly out from the block on Tower Green, that fine spring day five years before.

  ‘Out!’ The boat had bumped against stone stairs. The soldiers took our arms and hauled us up. I looked through a stone archway at the top of the steps and saw Tower Green where ravens pecked, the great square bulk of the White Tower beyond. The rain grew heavier.

  ‘Let me go!’ Beside me Radwinter had come to life. ‘I’ve done nothing. I’m innocent.’ He tried to struggle but the soldiers held him fast. They did not bother to reply. Innocent, I thought. So was Anne Boleyn, so was Margaret of Salisbury they had killed here last spring. Being innocent was no help in this place.

  ‘Up you go!’ The soldiers spoke to us only in clipped phrases. They led us up the steps and I almost slipped again for I had still not fully found my land legs.

  ‘Wait here!’

  We stood on a path. The soldiers surrounded us, pikes held straight, water bouncing off their breastplates and helmets. An official came along, head bent against the rain. He looked at us as he passed; a look of mild interest, as though thinking, who is it now? Here they would be used to it. I felt a terrible shame to have come to this; for a moment the shame was stronger than my fear. What if my father could see this from heaven?

  A man walked towards us from the White Tower. He wore a fur robe and a wide cap and he came slowly, heedless of the rain. The soldiers saluted as he halted before us. He was in his late thirties, tall and thin with a neat sandy beard. A soldier handed him a couple of papers, the warrants no doubt. He studied Radwinter and me. His eyes were keen, calculating.

  ‘Which is which?’ he asked quietly.

  The soldier inclined his head at me. ‘This one is Shardlake, Sir Jacob. The other is Radwinter.’

  Sir Jacob nodded. ‘Bring them both.’ He turned away. The soldiers surrounded us and we followed Sir Jacob across the green to the Tower. The ravens hopped away.

  We were led up the main stairs of the White Tower, through the high vaulted inner hall where the men of the garrison sat playing cards and talking. They stopped to stare as we passed. Many of them would be newly returned from the Progress, perhaps some had even seen me at Fulford.

  I had visited the Tower before, on official business, and my heart sank into my belly, with a lurch that made me feel sick, as I realized we were being led to the dungeons. Down a spiral staircase lit with torches, down and down, the walls glistening with damp as we passed below river level, to a door with a barred window at the bottom. I had come this way four years previously, on a mission to get information from a gaoler. I had had a glimpse then of what went on down here, yet had given it little attention for my mind had been on my mission. Sir Jacob banged on the door. There was a chink of keys, the door opened and we were led through. The door slammed behind us. Now I felt more helpless than ever, utterly cut off from the world above.

  We were in a dimly lit space, stone walls and stone flags on the floor. It was cold and very damp. Heavy barred doors were set in the stone walls. In the centre of the floor, oddly domestic, was a desk with a fat beeswax candle on it, casting its yellow light over a strew of papers. The turnkey who had let us in, a fat man with short greasy hair, came and stood beside us. Sir Jacob took up a paper, studied it and nodded. ‘Ah, he’s ready, I see. Put Radwinter in number nine,’ he said quietly. ‘Chain him, then come back. Is Caffrey up there?’

  ‘Yes, Sir Jacob.’

  ‘Bring him back with you.’ He nodded at the soldiers. ‘You can go.’

  They left, boots clattering noisily as they mounted the stairs. The turnkey let them out, then returned, took Radwin-ter’s arm and led him away. He was unresisting, he seemed utterly shocked. They disappeared round a corner at the far end, the keys at the fat man’s belt jingling. The official looked at me.

  ‘I am Sir Jacob Rawling, deputy warden of the Tower. In charge of this side of things.’ He gave a wintry smile as he waved his hand around.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ I shivered. The cold was eating through my soaked clothes into my bones.

  ‘It is sad when someone of your rank comes to this.’ There was something oddly schoolmasterly in the way he shook his head, as though I were a pupil about to be punished for some serious misdemeanour.

  ‘I do not know why I am arrested, sir,’ I ventured.

  He studied me, pursing his lips, then said, ‘The matter touches the Queen.’ I blinked in surprise. So it was not about Blaybourne at all. But if so, why had I been taken, not Barak or Tamasin? I thought with horror, she’s been discovered. They will say I have concealed evidence of her adultery with Culpeper. Maleverer must have known all along.

  ‘Had you not enough to trouble you on the Progress?’ Sir Jacob gave me another schoolmasterly smile, as though reluctantly amused by something in a pupil’s misbehaviour, perhaps his stupidity in thinking he could get away with it. He studied me with interest. ‘Your name has been heard in this place before, only a little time ago. When we racked Bernard Locke. They wanted to find out his role in attempts on your life.’

  He said the word ‘racked’ not with pleasure as Radwinter would have, nor with cold determination like Maleverer, but without any emphasis at all. And suddenly I was very afraid of him.

  ‘I know, sir.’

  ‘I know you know. Sir William mentioned it in his report accusing you.’

  ‘Then he is my accuser?’

  ‘Yes. Of concealing certain matters between Francis Dereham and the Queen.’

  ‘Dereham?’ I stared at him in amazement.

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘Master Dereham is suspected of dalliance with Queen Catherine. It is believed you knew of this, and kept quiet.’

  I remembered now. Rich had seen me come from the Queen’s tent at Howlme, he had seen Dereham stop and question me in the street at Hull. Dereham must have been under suspicion, perhaps watched by Maleverer. Rich had told Maleverer and they had taken me. With all I knew, they had arrested me for something of which I knew nothing. ‘Dere
ham?’ I asked again.

  ‘It would be better if you did not dissemble, Shardlake.’ Sir Jacob spoke reasonably, the schoolmaster trying to persuade the obstinate pupil. ‘I will show you what awaits you if you do.’ But he made no move, just stood there looking at me. That unnerved me more than ever. I shivered again.

  There was a jingling of keys. The fat turnkey had returned with a stocky young man in a stained leather jerkin. My eyes narrowed as I peered at it in the gloom. Were those stains blood?

  Sir Jacob nodded at them. ‘Search him.’

  I flinched as the men seized me, ran rough hands over my clothes. They took my dagger, purse and Cranmer’s seal, and laid them on the table. Sir Jacob picked up the seal, looked at it and grunted.

  ‘Bring out Bernard Locke,’ he told them. ‘He’s to be put in the execution cell.’

  The pair opened the door of one of the cells and went in. I waited to see Jennet Marlin’s fiancé step out, the man who had set her on her mission of murder.

  They carried him out in a chair. He was unchained, and I realized he had been racked so badly he could not walk, his legs hung uselessly down as did one arm, while the other twitched and shook as it held the seat of the chair to try and keep his balance. ‘Here we go, matey,’ the fat turnkey said pleasantly as they carried him across the central area. I tried to look at Locke’s face but his head hung down, hidden by long rat’s tails of hair. He was making little whines of pain.

  Sir Jacob called out. ‘One moment!’ The sweating turnkeys stopped. The deputy warden went and lifted Locke’s head by the hair. He whimpered. I saw the weeping sore of a burn running across his forehead. And I was surprised to see that he must always have been an ugly man: his features were heavy and lumpy, and his eyes, staring wildly round him now, were large and bulbous.

  ‘Well, Master Locke,’ Sir Jacob said. ‘Here you are, almost at the end of your road. I thought you should see Master Shardlake. Another lawyer come to grief, the man your fiancée tried to kill. Have you aught to say to him?’