C. Sansom - Lamentation

An usher marked my name on a list — there was a list, of course, and anyone who did not turn up would hear about it — and told me that at six o’clock the King and Queen would walk with Admiral d’Annebault and their households from the Great Gate, cross the Great Court and enter the banqueting halls. Later there would be music and dancing. All of us were to cheer loudly when the trumpets sounded. Until then I was told I should mingle, just mingle.

I took a mug of wine from a servant and made my way through the throng, looking for Lord Parr. I could not see him, though there were many other faces I recognized. The old Duke of Norfolk, in a scarlet robe with white fur trim despite the heat, stood with his son the Earl of Surrey, whom I had seen with the ladies in the Queen’s Presence Chamber at Whitehall. Both looked over the crowd with aristocratic disdain. In one corner Bishop Gardiner in his white surplice was talking earnestly to Lord Chancellor Wriothesley. Both looked angry. Edward Seymour, Lord Hertford, peregrinated across the court, looking over the crowd of city dignitaries and gentry courtiers with confident, calculating eyes. On his arm was a thin woman in a green farthingale and feathered hat. I recognized her from my first visit to Whitehall Palace to see the Queen; she had asked if I was another hunchback fool. It had annoyed the Queen. Only five weeks ago; it seemed like an age. Many said that Hertford’s wife, Anne, was a shrew who ruled him in private, for all his success as soldier and politician. She certainly had a sour, vinegary face.

The wine was very strong. That and the hubbub made me feel a little light-headed. I saw Sir William Paget in his usual dark robe, walking with a woman who despite her finery had a pleasant, homely countenance. He turned to her as she said something, his hard face softening unexpectedly.

I recalled the boatman spitting in the river. All this splendour for d’Annebault, ambassador of France. I wondered where Bertano, the Pope’s emissary, was. Not here, for sure: his mission was still a secret. Perhaps he had already left England. As I walked slowly around, trying to spot Lord Parr, I began to find the gold chain heavy and the sun hot. I halted for a moment under the shade of one of the broad oak trees beside the outer wall.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and I turned: Sir Thomas Seymour, in a silver doublet, with a short yellow cloak over his shoulder and a matching cap worn at a jaunty angle. ‘Master Shardlake again,’ he said mockingly. ‘Are you here as a member of the Queen’s Learned Council?’

‘No, Sir Thomas. As a serjeant of Lincoln’s Inn. I no longer serve the Queen.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Indeed? Not out of favour with her majesty, I hope?’

‘No, Sir Thomas. The task she set me came to an end.’

‘Ah, that missing jewel. Wicked, that some servant should steal an object of such great value to the Queen and get away with it. He should have been found and hanged.’ His brown eyes narrowed. ‘It was a jewel, wasn’t it?’

‘It was.’

Seymour nodded slowly, fingering that long, shiny, coppery beard. ‘Strange, strange. Well, I must find my brother. We shall be sitting at the King’s table at the banquet.’ He smiled again, with preening self-satisfaction. You vain, stupid man, I thought. No wonder not even your brother wants you on the Privy Council.

My feelings must have shown on my face, for Seymour frowned. ‘A pity you will not be dining. Only the highest in the land will be seated at the banquet. It must be uncomfortable for you, standing about here. See, even now you shift from foot to foot.’

I knew Thomas Seymour would never part without an insult. I did not reply as he leaned close. ‘Watch your step, Master Shardlake. Things are changing, things are changing.’ He nodded, smiled maliciously, and walked away.

I looked at his back, and that ridiculous cloak, wondering what he meant. Then, a little way off, I spied Mary Odell, in a dress of deep blue, the Queen’s badge on her cap, talking to a young man in an orange doublet. She looked bored. I crossed to her, removed my cap and bowed. The gold links of my chain tinkled.

‘Master Shardlake,’ she said, relief in her voice.

The young man, handsome but with calculating eyes, looked slightly offended. He twirled the stem of his silver goblet. I said, ‘Forgive me, sir, but I must speak with Mistress Odell on a matter of business.’

He bowed stiffly and walked away. ‘Thank you, Master Shardlake.’ Mistress Odell spoke with that agreeable touch of humour I remembered. ‘That young fellow is another would-be courtier, keen to talk with someone close to the Queen.’ She grimaced.

‘I am glad to have served,’ I answered with a smile. Then, more earnestly, ‘I need to speak with Lord Parr urgently. I hoped to see him here.’

She glanced back at the Great Gate behind us. ‘He is in the Palace Court, with the Queen and her ladies, waiting for the King to come out with the admiral.’

‘Could you fetch him? I am sorry to ask, but it is very urgent. He is expecting to talk to me today.’

Her face grew serious. ‘I know you would not ask on a trivial matter. Wait, I will try to find him.’

She walked away, her dress swishing on the cobbles, and was allowed by the guards to pass through the Great Gate. I took some more wine and a comfit from a waiter. Looking over the crowd, I saw Serjeant Blower with a couple of aldermen, laughing heartily at some joke. William Cecil passed with an attractive young woman who must be his wife. He nodded to me but did not come over. Then, a little way off, I saw that Wriothesley was now talking to Sir Richard Rich, their heads together. I looked back at the gate. The feather plumes on the guards’ steel helmets stirred in a cooling breeze from the river. The sun was low now.

Lord Parr appeared at the Great Gate, looking out at the throng. He craned his neck, trying to find me in the crowd. He looked tired. I walked over to him.

‘Master Shardlake,’ he said, irritation in his voice. ‘I am needed inside. The King and Queen and the admiral will be out in ten minutes.’

‘I am sorry, my Lord. I would not interrupt, but we must act against Stice tonight. He will be at the house near St Bartholomew’s at nine. Have you heard any more? Has anyone been to the house?’

The old man shifted his weight a little uneasily. ‘My man says Stice came briefly yesterday, but soon left again.’

‘Alone?’

‘Yes.’

I spoke urgently, ‘Then if you could spare a couple of men to go tonight, I will go too. Stice must be questioned. Even if we have no cause — ’

Then Lord Parr said firmly, ‘No.’

‘My Lord?’

‘Things have changed, Master Shardlake. Charles Stice must be left alone.’

‘But — why?’

He leaned in. ‘This is confidential, Shardlake. I have had a direct approach from Richard Rich. He is in bad odour with Gardiner, for several reasons; his speaking up for you at the Privy Council did not help. He has offered to aid the Seymours and Parrs against Norfolk and Gardiner. He has changed sides, following the wind again.’

I looked at him in amazement. ‘The Queen will work with Rich now? But she loathes him.’

‘She will,’ Lord Parr answered firmly. ‘For the sake of the Parr family, and the cause of reform. Rich is on the council, he is important, the King respects his skills, if not the man. As do I.’

‘But — why has he been spying on me? And may he not have information about the Lamentation ?’

Lord Parr shook his head firmly. ‘Rich will do nothing to harm the reformers now. Even if he had the book, which I do not believe he ever did.’

‘If he is your ally now should you not ask him?’