Sovereign

by C. J. Sansom

  ‘You will not interfere with my enquiries, sir! Your duty is limited to the welfare of the prisoner!’

  ‘You have no authority to make any enquiries! This must go before Sir William.’

  He gripped my arm harder, eyes blazing with anger.

  Barak put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Enough, sir,’ he said quietly.

  Radwinter paused, then released me with a laugh. ‘It is as I said, you fear to face me without protection.’ He looked at my assistant. ‘Barak, is that your name? A Jewish name, is it not? From the Old Testament.’

  Barak smiled. ‘I said you were a twopenny-book man.’

  Radwinter pointed to the tower. ‘See yonder, where Aske hangs. I’m told there was a wooden tower there before, and one night hundreds of years ago the citizens of York, bled dry by the Jews, chased them all in there and burned the lot alive. Best thing for cheating heathens!’ He turned and walked away. Barak’s face was white and it was my turn to grasp his arm and hold him.

  ‘Arsehole!’

  ‘He is. And he’s out of his depth, this has driven him frantic with worry. He is not capable of solving this, he only knows how to guard men and torment them. His control is starting to break.’ I shook my head. ‘As well it might. How in God’s name could anyone get poison in there, if Radwinter attends to everything?’ I took a deep breath. ‘Come, this belongs on Maleverer’s plate.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  THIS TIME MALEVERER saw us at once. He sat in his office behind a paper-strewn desk, his big dark head thrust back.

  ‘God’s body,’ he said heavily. ‘You pair bring nothing but trouble. For Jesu’s sake do not tell me Broderick is going to die.’

  I started telling him all that had passed at the castle. There was a big lump of red sealing wax on Maleverer’s desk and he turned it over, squeezing its hard surface with his broad hairy fingers. When I finished he ran his other hand along the edge of his beard, as though trimming it with invisible scissors. ‘If what Radwinter told you is true, how in God’s name could anyone have got to Broderick? Is the physician sure it was poison?’

  ‘He believed so. He is to conduct some tests and return later.’

  ‘Tests!’ Maleverer screwed up his face with impatience. ‘Could anyone have got past Radwinter yesterday? Could he have fallen asleep in his room?’

  ‘I think not, Sir William. He is utterly dedicated to his task.’

  He grunted. ‘That was my impression when I met him.’

  ‘And a poisoner would have had to get past the guardhouse first. Then open two locked doors, then administer the poison.’

  Maleverer looked at Barak. ‘You can vouch for what the cook said about being one of Lord Cromwell’s informers?’

  ‘I recognized the names, Sir William.’

  Maleverer looked at the wax, squeezing it as though he could squash the truth from it. ‘How was it done, then?’ He gave me an interrogative stare. ‘Well, lawyer, you’re the investigator of mysteries?’

  ‘I do not know, sir. But no one could have got to his cell without Radwinter knowing.’

  ‘Then Radwinter himself must be under suspicion,’ Maleverer said, setting his lips.

  I hesitated. ‘He is no friend to me, sir, but I believe he is loyal to Archbishop Cranmer and reform. He would do nothing to help the conspirators.’

  Maleverer frowned and bit at a long yellowish fingernail. ‘I will have Broderick and Radwinter brought to St Mary’s,’ he said. ‘Kept under my eye. I’ll have Broderick in the cell where Green was put, see it is guarded twenty-four hours a day. I’ll put young Leacon in charge of security, he seems a good man. Broderick himself has said nothing of how this happened?’

  ‘No. I believe he knows but will not say. He talks nonsense about the King’s poisoning him. Perhaps he means he has been driven to the extremity of taking poison because of what the authorities have in store for him. In London.’

  Maleverer looked at me sharply, then grunted. ‘Very well. The cook can go in Broderick’s old cell at the castle for now while I check that story of how he got that job. And I’ll write to the Archbishop about Radwinter.’ He looked at me. ‘You told Radwinter nothing about the missing papers?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’ve said nothing to anyone else?’

  ‘Not a word. As you commanded.’

  He grunted. ‘I will have to take this news to the Privy Council. The Progress is on the way here from Leconfield, it won’t take me long to reach them. I must get instructions.’ He leaned back in his chair and looked out of the window, still pressing and squeezing the unyielding wax, then threw it impatiently on the table to land with a bang among his papers. ‘What in Christ’s name is going on?’ he burst out fiercely. ‘It is as though we were dealing with some spirit of the air that can roam freely about St Mary’s and York Castle too, slip through locked doors and murder at will. And the King will be lodging here tomorrow. And the Scotch King coming too. That’s official now, by the way, that’s what the tents and pavilions are for, though nobody seems to know when he’ll arrive.’ He looked at me. ‘I’ve increased security. The King must be told there is a problem. God’s body, he will be angry.’

  ‘The figure we encountered in the chapterhouse was real enough, Sir William. I do not understand how Broderick was reached in the castle, but events here show the attacker has the run of the site, including King’s Manor. Strangers are not allowed to enter St Mary’s without authority. We are dealing with someone people would be expecting to see walking round both the house and grounds, someone whose presence would not be remarked.’

  ‘Then that means danger for the King.’

  ‘But if someone had secreted themselves at the manor with the aim of harming the King, would they then advertise their presence by attacking or killing people at St Mary’s?’

  Maleverer nodded, stroking his black beard again, then gave a little grunt of laughter. ‘You have some brains, lawyer. I’ll give you that. Though after losing those papers your name will be mud among those who rule us. There may yet be repercussions for you.’ He smiled coldly. ‘You would probably rather go back to London, I imagine.’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied.

  ‘Afraid whoever knocked you out may try again, perhaps. Well, too bad, you’ll stay here unless I am told differently. And you’ll stay in charge of Broderick.’ There was a spatter of rain at the window and Maleverer looked out irritably. ‘The King will not wish to ride in this, he and the Queen will be in their litters, it will slow everything down. Ellerton!’ He shouted for a clerk, so loudly I jumped, and ordered the man to have his horse made ready. ‘You,’ he addressed us, ‘tell Leacon to arrange a guard of men to bring Broderick over. They’re to take a cart, tie him inside and cover it. I don’t want him seen in the city. You two can accompany him, see him to the cell. And as few as possible are to know he has been brought here.’

  WE LEFT, DESCENDING the staircase to the Great Hall. Here, amid the glowing tapestries, painted ceilings and buffets shining with gold plate, cleaners were at work. With brushes and pans they cleared the last wood shavings and dust away, making sure the place was spotless. I saw Master Craike standing by the wall, shuffling papers piled on his portable desk. I could not help reflecting that if there was anyone whose wanderings about the precincts of St Mary’s would attract no notice, it was him. And no one would have easier access to keys, to the monastic church or anywhere else.

  ‘Good day, sir,’ I called to him. ‘All is ready?’ ‘Ah, Master Shardlake, and young Barak.’ He looked at us a little uneasily, I thought. ‘Jesu, sir, you have a great bruise there.’

  ‘Ay, tho’ ’tis my neck that hurts.’

  ‘I am sorry for that, sir. Do they know who did it?’

  ‘Not yet. How does your work proceed?’

  He sighed. ‘It is all a nightmare. I have been up since three finalizing all that must be done before tomorrow. Master Dereham, the Queen’s secretary, says he has been allotted a place at York’s best inn.’ He
pulled a document from the desk and held it up. ‘It turns out not. There will be a great brabble about it.’

  ‘Master Dereham? A tall young popinjay in gaudy clothes? We saw him yesterday.’

  ‘He is a ruffian, but an old friend of the Queen’s from her youth in Horsham. She wanted him as her secretary. And what the Queen wants, she gets.’

  ‘You sound disapproving, sir.’

  He shrugged. ‘Queen Catherine is a giddy girl. Too young and silly for the high office she has been called to, in my opinion. Kindly enough, but concerned with naught beyond clothes and jewels. The King though, he is besotted.’

  ‘You have met her?’ I asked.

  ‘No. Only seen her.’

  ‘They say the conservative party in religion hoped much from her marriage to the King, and are disappointed now.’

  Craike nodded. ‘She is no Jane Seymour to whisper in the King’s ear how much better the old ways were. So they say, at least,’ he concluded, perhaps deciding he had said too much.

  ‘DO YOU TRUST HIM?’ Barak asked as we crossed the hall. ‘I do not feel I can trust anyone here now.’ In the doorway a blast of rain-laden wind hit us. In the

  courtyard, there was pandemonium. One of the three tents had blown over. Heaps of magnificent gold-leaf tenting billowed in the wind, the fine damask curtains and carpets inside now exposed to the elements. Workmen tried frantically to lift the tenting, as a young man who must be the King’s designer Lucas Hourenbout stood looking on, shouting, then almost dancing in frustration as a man stepped on a piece of priceless tapestry, leaving a muddy footprint on it.

  WE FOUND SERGEANT LEACON at his lodge. I was impressed again by the young officer’s efficiency as he ordered soldiers to be rounded up and a cart fetched. While he went off to supervise matters, Barak and I waited in the gatehouse, watching the labourers collecting the materials from the tents and carry them off for cleaning.

  ‘I worry about Maleverer,’ Barak said. ‘He dislikes us. He is ruthless and has much power behind him. He’s the sort who will blame us if he can for anything that goes wrong.’

  ‘Yes. You are right.’ I broke off, for Sergeant Leacon had returned. He ran a hand through curly blond hair which the rain had plastered over his forehead. ‘Everything is being fetched round. Sir, could Master Barak help with the cart? It is very muddy down by the storehouses.’

  Barak nodded. The sergeant gave him directions and he went out into the rain cheerfully enough. I smiled at Leacon. ‘Well, sergeant, it seems service to Sir William keeps throwing us together. You are to be in charge of Broderick’s security.’

  ‘It will make a change from guard duties, sir.’

  ‘Where in Kent are you from?’ I asked to make conversation.

  ‘Waltham. But my family came from the Leacon, some miles off.’

  ‘Hence Leacon, eh? I have read that many people moved to new places after the Great Pestilence, but kept the names of their old homes.’

  ‘That is so.’

  ‘I know Kent a little. A few years ago I was engaged on a complex dispute involving the boundaries of some properties near Ashford. Different conveyances had contradictory maps attached, details of landownership locally were in a terrible muddle.’

  Leacon shook his head. ‘Strange work lawyers do, sir. I have some experience of it, I fear.’

  ‘Have you?’ I looked at him curiously.

  ‘Ay. Perhaps you might even advise me,’ he added diffidently.

  ‘If I can.’

  ‘There is a dispute regarding my parents’ farm. My family have owned the land for generations, it was gifted them by the local priory more than a hundred years ago. But since the priory was dissolved the new owner claims the land is his, that the priory’s gift was defective in some way.’

  I nodded sympathetically. ‘There have been many such claims since the dissolution. Sometimes the smaller monastic houses were not good with their documentation. But after such long usage – though I could not advise without seeing the papers.’

  ‘You would think these landowners would be content to get so much of the monks’ lands cheap.’

  ‘People who covet land are never content. Have your parents taken legal advice?’

  ‘They cannot afford it. My uncle is helping them – he can read, which they cannot. It is a worry to be posted so far away.’

  ‘Yes. I can see you would help them all you could.’ I remembered the extortionate mortgage on my father’s farm that he had not even felt able to tell me about, and bit my lip. ‘I wish you good luck.’ Then a thought struck me, and I took a sharp breath.

  ‘Have you thought of something?’ he asked eagerly.

  ‘No,’ I replied hastily. ‘My neck hurts a little, that is all.’ But it was not that. Our talk of names, and my time in Kent, had brought back the name of one of the districts I had been concerned with. Braybourne. Or perhaps, corrupted as a man’s name, Blaybourne.

  A SMALL, HIGH-SIDED cart with a big cloth cover had been provided, drawn by a pair of horses, and Barak and I and the sergeant walked alongside with half a dozen soldiers with pikes, who shoved a way though the crowds. Despite the wind and rain, the city was busier than ever with the Great Progress’s arrival imminent.

  I had expected argument when I told Radwinter of Maleverer’s plans, but though his eyes gleamed bitterness he merely nodded. At Leacon’s direction he unlocked the long chains binding Broderick to the wall, though his wrists were kept manacled. He groaned into wakefulness; he still looked weak. When he saw the helmeted soldiers standing over him I noticed terror spark in his eyes.

  ‘You’re to be taken to St Mary’s,’ I told him quietly. ‘For your own safety.’ He gave me a bitter smile but said nothing.

  On the way down the steps to the cart, Broderick’s legs trembled mightily, his steps uncertain, and I guessed it had been long since he had walked more than a few yards. I was surprised to see that he was a small man, shorter than me. When we reached the open air he paused for a moment, bracing himself against the wind and rain, and looked up at the clouds scudding across the sky in various shades of dirty grey. He took in a deep lungful of air that almost made him faint.

  ‘Take care,’ I said, as a soldier steadied his arm. Broderick stared for a moment at his friend Robert Aske’s skeleton, swinging to and fro in the breeze, then gave me that twist of a smile again.

  ‘Who poisoned you?’ I asked him quietly. ‘Do you know?’

  He laughed weakly. ‘King Henry did.’

  I sighed. ‘Get him in the cart. He’ll catch an ague standing out here.’ Broderick had gone very pale, and was only half conscious as the soldiers raised him and laid him gently in the bottom of the cart, where someone had thought to lay some cushions. The cart smelled of apples, oddly domestic in the grim context of our business. The soldiers covered him and so we drove back, to all appearances soldiers escorting some goods of value to the abbey. I watched the rainswept crowds and wondered how many, had they known Broderick lay there, might have rushed to rescue him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I WALKED WITH BARAK along the Fossgate, one of the main city roads, among a crowd heading for the public rehearsal for the musical entertainment that would be given before the King tomorrow evening. As night fell the wind and rain had ceased, though the street was miry, strewn with leaves and small branches, and the doorsteps and shopfronts glinted wetly in the moonlight. It was a merry crowd, the most cheerful I had seen in York, that made its way towards the Merchant Adventurers’ Hall.

  I had decided to accompany Barak to the rehearsal rather than sit alone in the lodging-house with anxious thoughts for company, listening for more nasty comments from the clerks. Barak was dressed in his best green doublet and, above it, a pretty shirt-collar decorated with lacework. Both our faces were smooth, cleared of nearly a week’s growth of beard, for that afternoon the barbers from the Progress had ridden into St Mary’s. There had been a mass shaving, so all the gentlemen should look their best when the King arr
ived. I had put on my best robe but donned my old cap. I had had trouble fixing the feather back properly on the new one and did not want it coming unstuck again tonight. Tomorrow I would doff it to the King. My stomach gave a strange lurch at the thought.

  We passed the Minster; it was brightly lit from within, the huge stained-glass windows a shout of colour against the dark sky.

  ‘Look at that,’ I said to Barak.

  He gave it a glance. ‘Ay. All ready for the King.’

  I jerked my robe aside as a couple of apprentices ran past, splashing us as they ran whooping through a puddle.

  Barak smiled sardonically. ‘I heard in the taverns last night that the latest instructions about clearing the middens have caused problems because people have been forbidden from dumping anything in the river – they want it smelling sweet for the King. So people without proper cesspits are having to keep everything in their backyards, which will stink to heaven at the same time they’re being told to prettify the housefronts.’

  ‘There is discontent, then.’

  He nodded. ‘Most Yorkers don’t want the King here at all.’

  ‘You kept out of trouble, then, last night?’

  ‘Ay. I attached myself to a group of carpenters. Most of the workmen came up from London but there were Yorkmen too. Paid well, so quite happy with His Majesty. We steered clear of the taverns where they don’t like southrons.’ He looked at me. ‘I saw one interesting thing though.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘We were passing through a poor part of town, past some alehouses the carpenters said we should avoid, and who do you think I saw down an alley, going through the door of a mean-looking little place?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Master Craike. He had on a dark cloak and a cap, but I recognized that fat face of his in the moonlight. It had an odd, set look.’

  ‘Did he see you?’