Sovereign

by C. J. Sansom

  ‘No, I’m sure he didn’t.’

  ‘Craike,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘He’s the last person I’d have expected to be visiting disreputable alehouses at night. What was he up to?’

  ‘Maybe someone should ask him.’

  I nodded as we turned into the square that housed the Merchant Adventurers’ Hall. It was an impressive old building, wide and three-storied, with a cobbled space before it that was already crowded. A stage had been erected in front, covered by curtains, torches blazing around it. Guildsmen in their robes stood in little groups among the crowd, and I saw a number of richly dressed men surrounded by retainers: the advance guard of the Progress. The open space was lined with constables in York livery, and I glimpsed little groups of soldiers in the doorways, breastplates glinting in the torchlight. I remembered what Maleverer had said about increased security.

  A serious-faced young man in a lawyer’s robe came across to us and bowed. ‘Brother Shardlake.’

  ‘Brother Tankerd.’ I recognized the city Recorder, who had been at the Guildhall two days before. ‘How is it all going?’

  ‘I think all is ready at last. We have been waiting so long, I cannot believe the King will actually be here tomorrow.’ He laughed nervously. ‘And that I shall be making a speech to him. I gather Sir James Fealty is happy with the petitions.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I confess I am somewhat nervous.’

  ‘I think everyone is.’

  ‘It will be a wondrous thing to see the King. They say in his youth he was the most magnificent prince in Christendom, tall and strong and fair of face.’

  ‘That was over thirty years ago.’

  He studied my face. ‘You have a nasty bruise there, sir.’

  ‘Yes.’ I adjusted my cap. ‘I shall have to try and hide it tomorrow.’

  He looked at me curiously. ‘And your enquiries about Master Oldroyd, how are they proceeding?’

  ‘Sir William Maleverer has taken it into his own hands.’

  Someone hailed Tankerd, and he excused himself. I turned to Barak, who was craning his neck to look over the crowd.

  ‘Where is she?’ he muttered.

  ‘Mistress Reedbourne? Over there.’ I pointed to a group of courtiers some way off. I recognized Lady Rochford, her face alight as she retailed some story to a little group of ladies. As always there was something hectic, overexcited, in her expression. Jennet Marlin stood a few paces off, Tamasin beside her. Mistress Marlin was looking disapprovingly at the stage, but Tamasin was glancing around eagerly.

  Then I drew in my breath, for I recognized a small, neat man with sharp, delicate features and a rich fur robe who stood near to Lady Rochford. He was talking to Dereham, the Queen’s young secretary. Sir Richard Rich, Chancellor of the Court of Augmentations, whom I had made an enemy of the year before, and who had backed my opponent Bealknap in my Chancery case. I had known I might encounter Rich here, but now I shrank away.

  Barak had seen him too. ‘That arsehole,’ he murmured.

  ‘I don’t want to meet him unless I have to.’

  ‘Then I’ll leave you if I may, go over and see Tamasin. Rich won’t remember a common fellow like me.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Take care for cutpurses,’ he warned, then threaded his way through the crowd towards Tamasin. Alone, I felt suddenly vulnerable. Cutpurses, yes. And assassins.

  Musicians had appeared in the hall doorway, carrying sackbuts and lutes. A man in a chorister’s robe shepherded a group of chattering boys on to the stage. They disappeared behind the curtain.

  ‘That’s my bairn Oswald!’ a woman behind me called out excitedly. I shifted my position, wishing I could sit down for my neck hurt again. I thought about what I had remembered earlier, the name Blaybourne and the place in Kent. Should I tell Maleverer? If there was a connection between this Blaybourne and Kent he should perhaps know, for York was already full of Kentish soldiers and hundreds more would be arriving tomorrow. Yet I sensed Maleverer would not be pleased to find that I had not put that name out of my mind.

  ‘Brother Shardlake.’ I started at a deep voice at my elbow, then smiled as I turned.

  ‘Brother Wrenne. How are you, sir?’

  The old lawyer wore his cap and thick coat and, I saw, carried a cane that he seemed to lean on heavily.

  ‘A little stiff this evening. But what of you? Maleverer told me you were attacked after I left you yesterday, and that old casket you found at Oldroyd’s stolen.’

  ‘I am all right, I was only knocked out.’

  ‘Is that a bruise you have? It looks painful.’

  ‘It is nothing. I was sorry to learn Sir William questioned you.’

  He smiled wryly. ‘Oh, Maleverer does not frighten me. I answered his questions and left.’

  ‘He did a cruel thing to Oldroyd’s young apprentice.’

  ‘Madge told me. That news is all over York. But the glazier’s guild are looking for another place for Master Green.’

  ‘I am glad.’

  ‘I remember Sir William when he was but another younger son of an old family, twisting and bullying his way towards power in the aftermath of the rebellion. He is a man of great ambition. As men often are when they have the taint of bastardy.’

  ‘He is illegitimate?’

  ‘So ’tis said. Not a true sprig of the old Maleverer family. His mother and father were part of the train that accompanied Margaret Tudor to Scotland when she married the Scotch King’s father forty years ago. His mother had a dalliance up there, they say.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘William Maleverer is a man driven to prove himself. But he will overreach himself one day, for he lacks subtlety.’ Wrenne waved his free hand, dismissing Maleverer, his big emerald ring catching the torchlight. ‘I thought I would come out and see the performance. I asked Madge to accompany me, but she says it will be a heathen thing.’

  ‘ ’Tis but a musical entertainment.’

  ‘Ay, but they are using the musicians and some of the equipment from the Mystery Plays. She does not approve. She is another York traditionalist in religious matters.’ He smiled gently, the lights from the stage emphasizing the deep lines in his face.

  The curtains began to move. The excited voices of the crowd faded to whispers as a beautifully decorated stage was revealed. Backcloth curtains had been painted to resemble a sylvan glade, with blue sky and a bright rainbow just visible behind painted mountains beyond. Paper clouds suspended by invisible wires from the canopy slid back and forth. The musicians had gathered in a semicircle round the choirboys. ‘Those are the city waits,’ Wrenne told me. He smiled sadly ‘I have loved the York Mystery Plays since I was a child. Yet there are reformers who would have them banned as yet another superstitious ceremony.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘It is sad.’

  ‘What better way to reveal the stories of the Bible, of their Saviour, to the unlettered?’ I realized that Wrenne was something I could hardly call myself these days, a man of faith.

  The musicians tuned their instruments. The whispering ceased and in the sudden silence I heard Lady Rochford’s voice, on a high, excited note. ‘ ’Tis true! Anne of Cleves was so innocent she thought a mere kiss—’ I turned, as others did, and saw her redden and bite her lip. What a loud-mouthed foolish creature she was. I saw that Barak was in animated talk with Tamasin. Then I saw Sir Richard Rich’s eyes upon me, his expression speculative. I turned away as the music began.

  The players were skilful, producing a selection of merry tunes. Then the boys began to sing:

  Welcome to York, Great Sov’reign King,

  Fair glades and dark mountains welcome you,

  Justice and mercy do you bring,

  Forgiveness for our grievous sins;

  And light to banish dark and rain,

  Prosperity to come again.

  Moved by their wires, the paper clouds parted and a bright yellow sun was revealed as the rainbow lifted higher and higher.

&nb
sp; ‘Let’s hope they’re not playing this in another downpour tomorrow,’ Wrenne whispered.

  Other songs followed, all extolling Yorkshire’s loyalty, its regret for its past sins and its delight the King had come to bring justice and prosperity. I glanced round the crowd. Many stood watching eagerly, enjoying the spectacle, but others, especially the big Dalesmen, stood with folded arms and cynical smiles. After half an hour there was an interval, the curtain descended and pie sellers appeared, carrying their wares on trays that made me think of Craike’s little desk. I turned to find Wrenne looking at me seriously.

  ‘Brother Shardlake, do you know how long the King is to be here? They have announced the Scotch King is coming to York, yet no one has heard of any party leaving Scotland.’

  ‘I do not know.’

  He nodded. ‘Perhaps some days then. I wished to know because I have arrangements to make.’ He took a deep breath, then looked at me seriously. ‘May I confide in you, sir?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You see, I plan to return to London with the Progress. To visit the Inns of Court, see if I can find my nephew, Martin Dakin.’

  I looked at him in surprise. ‘Might it not be better to write first? If there was a family quarrel?’

  He shook his head vigorously. ‘No. This may be my last opportunity. Already I am too old to travel to London alone. I have done many favours for people in York over the years. Including friend Maleverer, in his less exalted days. I think I may work a place for myself on the Progress.’

  ‘Even so. After a family quarrel . . .’

  ‘No! I must see him.’

  I was startled by the sudden passion in Wrenne’s voice, normally so evenly modulated. He winced, his strong face racked by a sudden grimace. I took his arm. ‘Brother! Are you all right?’

  He gave me a serious look, then to my surprise grasped my hand. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Press my belly. On the side, there.’ Astonished by his request, I let him put my hand to his lower stomach. I felt something strange there, a little hard lump. He let my hand go.

  ‘There. I have a growth inside me; it gets bigger every week and now it starts to give me pain. My father had the same thing and in a year he died of the wasting sickness such lumps can bring.’

  ‘A physician —’

  He waved a hand impatiently. ‘I have seen physicians. They know nothing, they can do nothing. But I remember how it passed with my father. I shall never see another spring Mystery Play.’

  I looked at him, aghast. ‘Brother Wrenne, I am sorry.’

  ‘No one knows, only Madge. But . . .’ He sighed deeply, then resumed in his usual even tone. ‘You see why I do not feel I can travel to London on my own. If I could go with the Progress to Hull, then on to London by easy stages or even by boat, it would be easier. And if you would accompany me, help me should I fall ill, it would be a great comfort.’ He looked at me pleadingly. ‘It is much to ask, sir, but I had a feeling you might be willing to help me.’

  ‘Brother Wrenne,’ I said warmly, ‘I will aid you in any way I can.’

  ‘And perhaps in London, you could guide me to Gray’s Inn, smooth my path. I have not been there in fifty years and they say London is far bigger now. Forgive me telling you this, sir, but –’ he smiled at me sadly – ‘I fear the time has come when I must ask for help.’

  ‘It will be done. I am so sorry.’

  ‘No!’ he said fiercely. ‘No pity, I cannot bear that. I have lived far beyond the age of most men. Though it is always better not to see your end walking down the road towards you. I would like to see Martin again, make up with him. It is the one important thing I have left undone.’

  ‘Of course.’

  In front of us the singing rose to a new crescendo, but I had no ears for it now. Wrenne sighed as the voices descended the scale again. ‘My father was a farmer, out towards Holderness. He had great hopes for me, worked hard so he could send me to law.’

  ‘Mine was a farmer too. In Lichfield. I buried him just before we came to York. I – I did not take good care of him in his old days.’

  ‘I cannot believe you were not a good son.’

  ‘I left him to die alone.’

  Wrenne’s eyes became unfocused for a moment, as though looking deep within himself, then his face set in firm resolve. ‘When my son died and no more children came, for a time I was not easy to live with and perhaps that was why I quarrelled with my poor wife’s family. I want to make it up with Martin; he is the only family I have left.’

  I took his arm. ‘We will find him, sir. Barak can find anyone in London.’

  He smiled. ‘I did not know you were a farmer’s son. Perhaps that is why we seem to rub along so well,’ he added awkwardly.

  ‘Perhaps it is.’

  ‘I am sorry to throw my troubles at your head.’

  ‘I am humbled you have confided in me.’

  ‘Thank you. From now on, please call me Giles. As a friend.’

  ‘Matthew,’ I said. I extended my hand, and he took it. His grip was so strong that I thought, perhaps he will not die, perhaps it is a mistake. He patted my arm, then turned back to watch as the curtains parted again and a choirboy, rouged and dressed as a noblewoman, began to sing plaintively of love.

  I WALKED BACK TO St Mary’s alone, for after what Giles had told me, I had no wish for company, whatever danger I might be in. I thought of poor Wrenne’s family quarrel. I had a sense it had been serious. What had his dead wife’s feelings been about it, I wondered?

  ‘Fine singing, eh?’ I jerked round to find Barak at my elbow. He was in a cheery mood, young Tamasin walking by his side. I saw her look up at him, her pretty face flushed. Yes, I thought, you’ve got what you wanted, as a pretty girl often will. Jennet Marlin walked on her other side, looking as though she was chewing sour cheese, the brown curls bobbing on her forehead making her look oddly childlike at the same time. Yes, she reminded me of my childhood friend Suzanne.

  ‘’Twas well enough,’ I acknowledged.

  Tamasin smiled. ‘The King will be happy to see it, I am sure. Perhaps they will perform it at St Mary’s too for the Scotch King. Though ’tis a pity the preparations turn out to be for him. We had thought the Queen pregnant, that there might be an announcement and perhaps a coronation for her. She is very pretty, sir.’

  ‘Is she?’

  ‘Very much. I have seen her several times, though of course I have never spoken to her.’ Tamasin was trying to ingratiate herself with me. Barak looked at me then, no doubt gauging my mood, then nudged her arm. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘We block the way standing four abreast.’ He steered her in front of me, leaving me with Mistress Marlin, who gave me a smile that contained no warmth at all.

  ‘Well, mistress,’ I asked, ‘did you enjoy the performance?’

  ‘Not really,’ she answered. She fixed me with her large dark eyes. ‘I must speak with you.’ She nodded ahead, at Tamasin and Barak’s backs. ‘I am disturbed your man is still courting Mistress Reedbourne. She is my responsibility in York. And after being brought before Sir William like that.’

  ‘It was Mistress Reedbourne’s behaviour that caused the trouble, not Barak’s.’

  ‘He is a man, he is the one with the authority.’

  ‘Mistress Reedbourne strikes me as well able to look after herself. You know her, Mistress Marlin, you must see that. She dresses very well,’ I added, looking at her fine green dress.

  Her disapproving look intensified. ‘I do not think their association wise. And your man looks to me like a lecherous monkey. Tamasin is still young, with no one to protect her in the world. Her mother is dead. It is my duty to look after her.’ She looked at me fixedly. ‘From those who might seek to use association with her to find a way into court employment. As for her clothes, her grandmother who was her guardian left her a little money. She is not extravagant, merely likes to turn out well.’

  ‘You do my assistant an injustice,’ I said abruptly.

  ‘Do I? Royal servants are a
great catch, they earn so much.’ Again that pursing of the mouth as though a bad tooth stabbed at her.

  ‘I doubt Barak has given that a thought. He earns a good enough wage with me,’ I added.

  ‘I see much greed about the court, sir.’

  ‘No doubt. But we have nothing to do with the court. We are London lawyers.’

  She gave me a sharp look. ‘But you have contacts in the court as well, I believe. They say you will go before the King tomorrow.’

  ‘With the petitions, yes.’ I wished she had not reminded me.

  ‘And I hear you have been working directly for Sir William Maleverer.’

  I frowned. ‘Where did you hear that?’

  She shrugged. ‘The world of the royal servants is a small one.’

  ‘Legal matters,’ I said brusquely. ‘And what has that to do with Barak and Mistress Reedbourne?’ Ahead of us Barak leaned close and said something to Tamasin, making her trill with laughter. Mistress Marlin watched them, then turned and gave me a look that had something like hate in it. It took me back over twenty years, to Suzanne standing in that country lane – it was the same look of ferocious, unreasoning anger.

  ‘You are one of those have spent your life climbing towards profit in the service of the state,’ Mistress Marlin said viciously. ‘And like master, like servant.’

  ‘How dare you!’ I replied hotly, angry now. We had almost slowed to a halt, people were barging past us. She faced me.

  ‘I believe you are one of those who has used reform as a ladder for ambition. Like Maleverer.’

  ‘By my oath, lady. You have an accusing tongue for a stranger. What do you know or care of my life?’

  She did not quail, merely looked me hard in the eye. ‘I have heard Tamasin and your man talking of your history. How you were a reformer in the old days, how Lord Cromwell was your patron. But you have no zeal left in you now, anyone may see that. Like so many, you care only to guard your wealth.’

  Yorkers passing turned to look at us. One called, ‘Slap thy scolding wench, maister!’

  ‘Do you know why my poor Bernard lies in the Tower?’ Mistress Marlin went on regardless. ‘Because people in London would like him convicted of conspiracy and papacy, so that they may have his lands! His lands!’ Her voice was almost hysterical.