by C. J. Sansom
I threw myself at Radwinter, as I had done at no man since my student days. I grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the stone wall. But he was stronger than I, he reached up, twisted my arm away and sent me flying back against the wall. The soldiers rushed forward, but Radwinter raised a hand.
‘It is all right,’ he said smoothly. ‘Master Shardlake is in quarrelsome mood, but I have him. No need to report this for now.’ The soldiers looked at me doubtfully. I leaned against the stone wall, breathing heavily. Radwinter was smiling, gloating.
‘Do you not know the penalty for fighting in the precincts of the King’s court? The loss of your right hand. By the King’s special order. And for a man responsible for an important prisoner to assault his guard?’ He shook his head, then gave me a triumphant look. ‘I have you now if I want you, sir,’ he said quietly. ‘Mark that. The soldiers saw.’ He laughed. ‘I knew the way to break you was your hatred of what you are, a scrabbling bitter hunchback.’
‘And you are Death,’ I answered savagely. ‘You are the Bane, the antithesis of everything good and alive under the sun.’
Radwinter laughed again, merrily. Suddenly my anger left me. It was no use against this man; one might as well rage against a rabid dog. ‘Let me in the cell,’ I said.
He opened the door, bowing me in with a mocking flourish. I actually entered the dank hole with relief. Broderick lay on a pallet, looking up at me. He was filthy, smelling still of vomit. I decided I would order him washed. His eyes were full of speculative interest. He would have heard every word of what had passed outside.
‘I have come to see how you fare,’ I said tonelessly.
He looked at me, then beckoned with a thin arm. ‘Come, kneel by me,’ he said, ‘and I will talk. He will not be able to hear, that man outside who as you say is Death. It will anger him.’
I hesitated, then knelt down carefully, my knees cracking protestingly. He looked at my crushed cap that I still held.
‘So the King was cruel to you?’ he said quietly.
I did not reply.
‘Yes, he is a cruel man, he strikes as harshly as he can for pleasure, like Radwinter. Poor Robert Aske’s fate testifies to that.’
‘I say nothing against the King.’
‘He is the Mouldwarp.’
‘Not that old legend,’ I answered wearily.
‘No legend,’ Broderick said firmly. ‘A prophecy. They all knew it at the Pilgrimage of Grace. Merlin prophesied the Mouldwarp, the tyrant who would be driven from his realm with all his line. No child of his should succeed.’ I looked at him keenly. Oldroyd had said something very similar as he was dying.
Broderick reached out and gripped my arm with sudden strength, then whispered softly but fiercely: ‘Forth shall come a worm, an Aske with one eye; He shall gather of chivalry a full fair flock, The chicken shall the capon slay.’ His eyes burned into me. ‘You have seen him. The creature that claims to represent Christ’s will on earth, to be our just ruler. Can you deny he is the Mouldwarp?’
‘Let go my arm, Sir Edward.’
‘Aske’s coming was prophesied. Robert had only one eye, he lost the other in an accident.’
‘But it was Aske who was overthrown, not the King.’
‘He sowed the seed that will flourish. The Mouldwarp will be thrown down yet.’
I shook my arm free. ‘This is nonsense.’
‘The prophecy is true,’ Broderick said. He spoke calmly now, with certainty. ‘The King will fall. Soon, though probably not before I am dead.’
I met his gaze. ‘What you say is treason, for all that it is silly nonsense.’
He sighed. ‘Go then. Only – I thought you had seen the truth about the King.’
I got up painfully. It gave me some satisfaction to see Radwinter looking frowningly through the bars. He opened the door for me.
‘What did he say?’ he asked sharply. ‘What were you whispering about?’
‘Nothing important,’ I answered. I looked at my cap. It was crumpled, the feather broken, the little garnets hanging loose. I turned my back on him and walked away. I felt the soldiers’ eyes following me. They would tell Leacon about my assault on the gaoler.
I reached the lodging house, and in my cubicle I threw my cap on the floor and kicked at the damned thing until it was a shapeless wreck. Then I sat down heavily upon the bed.
I sat in silence. I thought how, for years, as Thomas Cromwell rose steadily in the service of the state, I had had a tiny share of reflected glory as my one-time friend rose nearer and nearer to the ultimate source of that light, the throne. The King, Head of the Church, fount of law and justice; to meet with him was the greatest glory an Englishman could dream of. Now I had met him. I felt for a second that he had shown me what I was, an unworthy creature, a beetle crawling on the earth. Then anger came again. I had not deserved that dreadful humiliation. I thought, perhaps Broderick is right, perhaps Henry VIII is indeed the Mould-warp, whose rule of terror – for such I had seen it grow into these last few years – would be overthrown. And perhaps should be, I thought.
Chapter Eighteen
I LAY THERE FOR HOURS in a half-stupor of misery, until I heard footsteps and voices as the clerks and lawyers bustled in, their business with the Progress over. They were in a state of high excitement, jabbering excitedly round the fire.
‘D’ye see that fat old merchant dressed in sackcloth, crawling across the cobbles? I thought his eyes would pop from his head!’ Evidently they had witnessed the former rebels abasing themselves before the King at the Minster.
‘Ay. He had to lift his stomach up lest it scrape the cobbles.’
‘D’you know what it all reminded me of? The old creeping to the Cross ceremony, at Easter!’
‘Hey, Rafe, be careful where you say that, creeping to the Cross ain’t allowed now—’
‘I was only saying —’
I lay, half listening as they prattled on. I did not want to go out and face them. Then I heard a familiar voice: it was Cowfold.
‘Hear about what the King said to the hunchback lawyer at Fulford?’
‘Ay, one of the city clerks told me.’ I recognized the voice of Kimber, the young lawyer who had greeted me that first evening. ‘Said he was a bent bottled spider beside the old Yorker lawyer he was with. The clerk said Shardlake’s face went like chalk. He looked at the Queen with a sort of desperate appeal, then staggered away.’
‘T’was cruel,’ someone observed.
‘Cruel nothing!’ Cowfold said. ‘Fealty and the court should have known better, putting someone who shames the south up before the King, a hunchback. My mother was touched by a hunchback beggar once, nothing went right with her after that —’
I could take no more. I got up, opened the cubicle door and went out. Silence instantly fell among the group standing round the fire. I stared at Cowfold. ‘When was your mother touched by the hunchback?’ I asked in a loud clear voice. ‘Before she conceived you, I’ll warrant, if nothing went right with her after. By the look of you it set her to copulating with pigs.’
Some of the men laughed nervously; Cowfold glowered and I knew that but for my rank he would have launched himself at me. I turned to go, leaving a dead silence behind me. Outside I felt pain in my hands and realized I had clenched my fists together so hard my fingernails had almost broken the skin of my palms.
I cursed myself for my crude outburst; it would only make things worse. Cowfold would be furious and would mock me behind my back at every opportunity now. First I had lost control with Radwinter, now this. I must pull myself together. I stood under a tree, taking deep breaths, watching as a fresh batch of the local black-faced sheep were led into an empty pen. No doubt the previous occupants had all been taken for slaughter, to feed the thousands that had now arrived.
A big, rough-looking fellow in a smock appeared, carrying a heavy stick and a bag from which blood dripped, and approached the bears’ cages. The great shaggy creatures, which had been lying curled up, r
ose and sniffed the air as the man laid his package on the ground, pulled out chunks of meat and began throwing them through the iron bars, taking care to keep a safe distance. The bears seized the meat in their long muzzles, displaying yellow fangs. One piece of meat fell short and the bear reached an arm through the bars and scrabbled for it with long greyish claws. The man shouted and hit the arm with the stick; the creature roared and drew its arm back between the bars as the keeper used the stick to flick the meat inside. ‘You stay back there, Master Bruin!’ the man called, as the creature stared at him with its tiny red eyes.
I walked down the side of the church to the main courtyard. It was late in the afternoon but fortunately the day was still warm, for in my haste I had come out without robe or coat. It had turned into one of those golden autumn afternoons when everything is still and full of colour, a slight misty quality in the air. The pleasantness of the day seemed only to point up my black mood.
The courtyard was a hive of activity. There were many soldiers outside King’s Manor and I wondered if the King and Queen were in there now. Servants were rushing to and fro and I almost collided with a fellow carrying a huge carved chair to the pavilions. I went to lean against the wall, out of the way, watching the scurrying figures as they weaved to and fro.
I heard a bray of cultivated laughter. A little group of courtiers appeared. I recognized Lady Rochford, who had changed now into a yellow silk dress. Beside her Jennet Marlin clutched a little flop-eared dog to her chest. Some other ladies I did not recognize were with them, all richly dressed, with painted faces and necks, waxy in the sunlight. Their wide skirts swished on the paving stones as they walked towards me.
The women were jesting with a group of young men, among whom I recognized the Queen’s secretary, Francis Dereham. He wore a discontented scowl, perhaps because the ladies seemed to be giving most of their attention to an athletic-looking young man with a pretty, sculpted face and curled brown hair, resplendent in a purple doublet with slashed yellow sleeves and a curved golden codpiece. He turned his head, a jewel in his ear flashing in the sun. His features had a weakness to them, a lubricious smoothness.
‘You should take your dog, Lady Rochford,’ the young popinjay said. ‘I think it heats up Mistress Marlin’s bosom too much, she is quite flushed.’ He gave a teasing smile at Jennet, who was indeed pink. She gave him a vicious look in return.
‘Perhaps I should, Master Culpeper,’ Lady Rochford replied. ‘Here, Jennet, let me have him.’
Mistress Marlin handed over the dog, which struggled as Lady Rochford clasped it to her chest. ‘There, to hold a dog thus is wholesome for a weak stomach. Is it not, my Rex?’
‘I know better things to comfort a woman’s stomach,’ Culpeper said, bringing a titter from the group. Lady Rochford, to my surprise, gave him a look of girlish coquettishness. ‘Come, sir, fie,’ she said with a laugh.
‘No shame in bringing comfort to a fine lady,’ he answered, touching the dog. It growled and struggled again, its tan coat marked with flecks of whitelead from Lady Rochford’s neck. The group was level with me now and I turned away, but not before Jennet Marlin caught my eye; she frowned at me. They passed on and I followed them with my eyes. Lady Rochford, Mistress Marlin and that glowering young secretary, Dereham. Three who had seen me enter King’s Manor with the box the day I was struck down.
I left the wall and wandered back to the lodging house. Where was Barak, I wondered? Somewhere with young Tamasin, probably. I was about to go in when a voice called my name. I turned and saw Master Craike heading towards me.
‘Brother Shardlake,’ he said with a smile. ‘How are you?’ His manner was friendly. I wondered if he had heard what had happened to me at Fulford, and guessed not. ‘Well enough,’ I answered. ‘And you, sir?’
He sighed. ‘There are endless complaints about the accommodation. People seem to think I can conjure the lice from the beds at all the inns in York.’
‘What of those thousands of people?’ I asked. ‘Where have they all been put?’
‘I have a minute,’ he said. ‘Would you like me to show you where they all are?’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘All? In one minute?’ He smiled. ‘All the servants and carriers, at least. Over two thousand of them.’
‘Very well. I could do with a distraction.’ ‘So could I, sir. This nightmare – but, come.’ To my surprise, Craike led me to the church. We stepped inside, into a tumult of noise. Most of the stalls were occupied now with riding horses. Grooms were carrying great bundles of hay to the animals, who ate lustily as more grooms washed them down. There was an overwhelming stink of dung. I saw that in some of the empty side-chapels blacksmiths’ forges were being erected; one or two fires had already been lit and the smiths were working hard, mending shoes that had been damaged on the journey. Five thousand horses on the Progress, I thought. Twenty thousand shoes.
I followed Master Craike’s example as he lifted the hem of his robe above the straw and dung that littered the nave. He stopped at a door in the centre of the nave, under the great steeple, where two soldiers stood guard. They saluted him.
‘Anyone up there now, soldier?’ Craike asked.
‘No, sir, not at present.’
Craike turned to me. ‘Come, sir,’ he said. ‘Are you fit to climb some steps?’
‘I think so.’ For a moment I hesitated; was this wise, allowing myself to be led away, alone, by the man who might have been my assailant? But I thought, to hell with it. I will not cower away in that damned lodging house.
We passed through the door and up a long winding staircase. We climbed very high, and were both out of breath by the time Craike opened another door and we stepped into what had once been the belltower, though the bells themselves were long gone for melting down. Over the railings that had once enclosed them we could see down into the nave. Far below us another blacksmith’s forge flared redly into life, the effect unearthly against the pillared walls. I suddenly remembered the fight to the death I had had in another belltower, at Scarnsea four years before; then I had nearly gone to my death. I did feel afraid then, and jumped as Master Craike touched my arm.
‘Do heights trouble you, sir? I do not like them either. But this sight makes it worthwhile.’ He beckoned me over to a window. ‘Down there, look.’
I joined him, my eyes widening at what I saw. Behind the monastery, several fields had been enclosed with wicker fencing, forming a gigantic campsite. Conical soldiers’ tents were pitched in hundreds around an open grassy space where cauldrons and gigantic spits were being set up over wood fires from which smoke was beginning to drift into the late afternoon sky. In the next field hundreds upon hundreds of wagons were drawn up, guarded by soldiers, while the big carrying horses had been stockaded in more fields beyond and stood cropping the grass, hundreds upon hundreds of them. In a nearer field I saw the latrine-men digging. What seemed like a city-full of men sat around in front of the tents, or diced or ran at football games. Laughter and cheers drifted up from a makeshift ring where a cockfight was taking place.
‘Jesu,’ I said.
‘The Progress at camp. It was my idea to make this belltower a watching place, the officials and captains can come up here from time to time to see what is going on. Though thank God I am responsible only for the courtiers’ and gentlemen’s accommodation, not all this.’
‘Such organization,’ I said quietly. ‘It is a marvel. Somehow terrifying.’
He nodded slowly, the sun catching the wrinkles in his plump face. ‘The Royal household has been organizing progresses for years, of course. Armies too, for this is an army as well. But to have done all this in weeks! It cost much effort. And money,’ he added, raising his eyebrows. ‘You have no idea how much money.’
I looked at the rows and rows of carts. ‘It astounded me this morning, how much was being carried.’
‘Oh, yes. All the tents, for there have been country places along the way where even privy councillors have had to make do with canvas. And
a thousand other things, from stores of food and fodder to the Privy Council records and the King’s greyhounds for when he goes hunting.’ He looked at me gravely. ‘And extra weapons, in case there was trouble in the north and the carriers and drivers had to be pressed as soldiers.’
I pointed to a row of gaily coloured tents a little distance apart from the others, where a straggling queue was waiting. ‘What is happening there?’
Craike flushed and cleared his throat. ‘Those are the – er – followers.’
‘The what?’
‘The whores.’
‘Ah.’
‘Only single men have come on the Progress, apart from the noblewomen and the Queen’s household. We could not let the men run amuck in the towns along the way. So necessity meant –’ He shrugged. ‘It is not pleasant. Most of these queans were picked in London and carefully examined, for we did not want to spread the French pox across the land. You can imagine what a state some of them are in by now.’
‘Ah well, men have their needs.’
‘Yes, they do. But I am not used to dealing with such a rabble as the Royal Household’s servants. You should see them on the road: insulting the villagers, getting drunk, shitting wherever they list in the fields; they would have stolen everything in the carts if we did not have the soldiers. And their insolence – they blow their foul breath on the courtiers, claw their cods in front of you.’ He shook his head. ‘The new learning has made common men arrogant.’ He turned to me, the sharpness back in his eyes. ‘But perhaps you have a different view? I heard you became a supporter of reform.’
‘In the early days,’ I said. ‘I am nobody’s partisan now.’
Craike sighed. ‘Do you remember our student days, before Nan Boleyn turned the country upside down? Peaceful times, season following season at Lincoln’s Inn, the future as certain as the past.’
‘One may view those times through rose-coloured spectacles,’ I said.
He inclined his head. ‘Perhaps. Yet they were better days. When I first went to work at court the old nobility still ruled. But now – these commoners, these new men. Cromwell has gone but there are so many others.’