C. Sansom - Lamentation

‘Yes. But the sort of talk I heard that evening would be dangerous in any district. I was angry with them, for if they found themselves arrested I would be questioned too, and I have a wife and three children to think about.’ His voice trembled a little, and I realized how much the thoughtless talk of his neighbours, to say nothing of finding himself at Whitehall facing Lord Parr, had frightened him. ‘I went outside, intending to knock at the door and tell them they should have regard for their safety and mine. But as I reached the door I heard the Dutchman — he has a distinctive accent — saying a man was coming to England who was an agent of the Antichrist himself, who could bring down and destroy the realm, turn true religion to ashes. They mentioned a name, a foreign name. I’m not sure I heard it aright.’

‘What was it?’

‘It sounded like “Jurony Bertano”.’

‘That sounds Spanish, or Italian.’

‘That was all I heard. I banged on the door, called to them to speak more quietly and shut their windows, lest they find themselves in the Tower. They did not answer, but thank God they pulled the window shut and lowered their voices.’ He gave me a searching look. ‘I tell you this only because of the danger to the Queen.’

‘I am truly grateful.’

‘But there is one thing that has puzzled me all along,’ Okedene said. ‘Why would radicals have stolen Queen Catherine’s book and put her in danger?’

‘That is something I wonder about, too.’

‘Certainly I never overheard any mention of the Queen’s name. But as I say, apart from that particular night when I heard that name Jurony Bertano, it was mostly just the occasional phrase I heard.’ He sighed. ‘But nowhere is safe in these days.’

Footsteps sounded outside. Someone had come up the stairs, quietly, and we had not heard. Okedene and I looked at each other in alarm. The door opened. Nicholas came in, looking pleased with himself. ‘Could you not knock?’ I said angrily. ‘Master Okedene, this is my pupil, Nicholas Overton. I apologize for his manners.’

Nicholas looked hurt. He bowed to Okedene, then turned quickly back to me. ‘I am sorry, sir, but I found something in the garden.’

I wished he had not blurted that out in front of Okedene. It was best for his safety that he knew as little as possible. But Nicholas went on. ‘I climbed over the wall. The garden on the other side is very overgrown, with high grass and brambles. There was only a family of beggars there, taking shelter in the ruins of what looks like an abandoned monastic building.’

Okedene said, ‘It was, boy, a little Franciscan friary. After the Dissolution, many of the stones were taken for building, and no one has bought the site yet. There is still a glut of land in London.’

Nicholas rattled on. ‘I looked to see if there was still a trail through the long grass. There has been no rain, and I am a good tracker. I learned well when hunting at home. And there was a trail of flattened grass, as though people had run through it. And on a bramble bush, I found this.’ He pulled a piece of cloth from his pocket, fine white silk embroidered with tiny loops and whorls of blackwork. I saw it was from a shirt cuff such as only a gentleman could have afforded. It looked quite new. Nicholas said proudly, ‘My guess is that when the killers ran away one caught his shirt on the bramble thorns.’

Okedene looked at the scrap of cuff. ‘A fine piece of work, best silk by the look of it. But you have it wrong, boy, my assistant saw the assailants clearly and they wore rough wadmol smocks. Someone else must have passed through the garden and torn his shirt.’

I turned the fabric over in my hand. ‘But who would go wandering about an abandoned garden full of brambles wearing such finery?’

Nicholas said, ‘Perhaps men who were not poor at all, but put rough clothes over their shirts so that people in the street would not notice them.’

‘By Mary, Nicholas,’ I said, ‘you could have the right of it.’ And whoever stole the Lamentation had access to the highest reaches of the court. ‘Nicholas, did you speak to this beggar family?’

‘Yes, sir. A cottager and his wife from Norfolk. Their piece of land was enclosed for sheep and they came to London. They are camping out in the one room that still has a roof. They were frightened of me; they thought someone had bought the land and sent a lawyer to throw them out.’ He spoke of them scornfully; Okedene frowned disapprovingly. ‘I asked if they had seen anything on the night of the murder. They said they were woken by the sound of men running through the garden. They saw two men with clubs, big young fellows; one was almost bald, they said. They escaped by climbing over the far wall.’

‘So John Huffkyn saw aright.’ Okedene looked at the piece of silk cuff. ‘This worries me, sir. The killing could have been carried out by men of status.’

‘Yes, it could. You have done well, Nicholas. Please, Master Okedene, keep this secret.’

He laughed bitterly. ‘I can swear that, right readily.’

I put the scrap of lace in my pocket and took a deep breath. ‘And now I must question young Elias.’

The apprentice looked up from inking a tray of type. ‘Master,’ he said to Okedene as we entered, ‘we will be falling behind — ’

‘We have a large order on hand,’ Okedene explained. ‘But Elias, these gentlemen are investigating Master Greening’s killing, for his parents. We must help them.’

I put out a hand. ‘I am Matthew Shardlake, of Lincoln’s Inn.’

‘Elias Rooke.’ The boy’s eyes narrowed. ‘Master Greening told me his parents were poor folk. How can they can afford a lawyer?’

It was a brave question for a mere apprentice. ‘Elias. .’ Okedene said warningly.

‘I only want to find the truth of what happened, Elias, and bring Master Greening’s killers to justice. I would like to ask you some questions.’ The boy still looked at me suspiciously. I spoke encouragingly. ‘I understand you were at home on the night of the murder.’

‘With my mother and sisters. And a neighbour called in. I told them so at the inquest.’

‘Yes. I understand you thwarted an earlier attack on Master Greening’s premises.’

‘I told them about that, too. I came to work early one morning — there was much to do — and two men were standing outside the shed, trying to pick the lock. They were very quiet, I think they knew Master Greening was within.’

‘Not the same two who attacked him later?’

‘No. Old Huffkyn described the men who killed my poor master as big and tall. These two were quite different. One was short and fat. The other was slim, with fair hair, and had half an ear missing. Looked like a slash from a sword, not the great hole you get from having your ear nailed to the pillory.’

‘Were they carrying weapons?’

‘They had daggers at their waists, but so do most men.’

‘What were they wearing?’

‘Old wadmol smocks.’

‘Cheap garments, then?’

‘Ay.’ Elias relaxed a little, realizing I was just going over old ground. ‘But those are all most folk can afford these days, with the rich land-grabbers and idle rout of nobles taking everything.’

Nicholas said, ‘Do not be insolent to my master, churl.’

I raised a hand. I could put up with boyish insolence if it would get me information. And it seemed this boy held radical social views. ‘When was this first attack?’ I asked. ‘I was told it was some days before the murder.’

‘Just over a week. Monday, the fifth.’

I frowned, realizing that was the day before the Lamentation was stolen from the Queen. That made no sense. ‘Are you sure of the date?’