C. Sansom - Lamentation

I looked at him levelly. Rowland knew, of course, that I disliked ceremonial; again he was asserting his power. ‘The King and Queen will be at many of the ceremonies,’ he added, ‘and I believe little Prince Edward is to be involved for the first time.’

I spoke quietly. ‘There was a time, Master Treasurer, when the King was displeased with me. Perhaps it would be impolitic for me to attend.’

‘Oh, the York business.’ Rowland waved a dismissive hand. ‘That was years ago. And all you’ll be required to do is stand among many others in your best clothes and cheer when you’re told to.’

I thought, cheer Admiral d’Annebault, who led the invasion fleet in the very battle during which the Mary Rose foundered. Chivalry, I thought, is a strange thing.

‘I do not know the exact dates you will be required,’ Rowland continued. ‘But it will be during the last ten days in August, a month from now. I will keep you informed.’

There was no point in arguing. And I had other things to worry about. ‘Very well, Treasurer,’ I said quietly.

‘The Lord alone knows how much it will all cost.’ He laughed. ‘Well, the King will have Bealknap’s money to put towards it now.’

I stepped out into the quadrangle. It had turned cloudy, that low, light summer cloud that seems to trap and thicken the heat. As I walked back to chambers I noticed a man loitering hesitantly nearby; young, well dressed in a dark doublet and wide green cap. I looked at him, then stared. It was a face I had seen only the day before, by the torchlight of the Tower dungeons. The gaoler Myldmore, who had appeared to be in trouble with his superior. He saw me and walked hesitantly across. His eyes were wide and frightened, as they had been at the Tower. ‘Master Shardlake,’ he said, a tremble in his voice, ‘I must speak with you, in confidence. About — about a certain manuscript.’

I took Myldmore into my chambers. Barak and Skelly gave him curious looks as I led him into my room. I bade him sit. He did so, looking round uneasily. I spoke mildly, to try and put him at ease. ‘Would you like a glass of beer?’

‘No, sir, thank you.’ He hesitated, pulling at his stringy little beard. He was an unimpressive-looking fellow; but as a Tower gaoler he would have seen — perhaps even done — some dreadful things. He spoke again suddenly. ‘I believe you are investigating the murder of the printer Armistead Greening.’

‘I am.’

‘Officially?’ His eyes turned on me with anxious intensity. ‘They say it is on behalf of his parents.’

‘Who says that?’ I asked mildly.

‘Friends. They told me a man they trust, called William Cecil, had been to see them and said it was safe to cooperate with you. Cecil is trying to trace three friends of Greening’s who disappeared as well. His apprentice has vanished, too.’ I looked at Myldmore closely. His eyes shifted, would not meet mine. If he knew all this he must have connections with the religious radicals. Suddenly he looked straight at me. ‘Sir, why did you come to the Tower yesterday?’

I considered a moment, then said, ‘I will answer you. But first let me reassure you that your friends are correct. I am not acting for any foe of the reformed cause.’

He looked at me narrowly. ‘Is it believed there is a link between Greening’s death and the — the Tower?’

‘Rather that he had some connection with Anne Askew. Her name has come up.’ I could not mention Elias’s dying message; Myldmore did not even know the apprentice was dead.

A bead of sweat appeared on the young gaoler’s brow. He said, as much to himself as to me, ‘I must trust you then. I cannot understand why they have not come for me. They would give me no mercy.’ He shook his head. ‘Not if they found out about the book.’

I gripped the arms of my chair, trying not to betray my feelings. In what I hoped was a casual manner, I asked, ‘Did you know Master Greening?’

Myldmore clasped his skinny hands together. ‘Yes. I was at some of the meetings at his print-shop. With those other men.’ He took a deep breath, then said, his voice shaking, ‘What I did in the Tower, for Anne Askew — pity and conscience moved me to it. But it is fear now that moves me to come to you.’ He cast his head down.

‘I think you have important matters to tell me, Goodman Myldmore, and I would give you time. I see you are troubled. Let me tell my assistant we are not to be disturbed.’

I got up. Myldmore nodded. He actually looked a little relieved now, as people sometimes will do when they have decided to confess an important secret. I went to the outer office. Still no sign of Nicholas. I crossed to Barak’s desk and swiftly scribbled a note to Lord Parr, telling him I had Myldmore in my chambers, and asking him to send some men to ensure that he, at least, did not get away. Barak looked puzzled, but I put a finger to my lips. I whispered, ‘Can you take an urgent message to Whitehall Palace for me? To the Queen’s Chamberlain?’

‘Will they let me in?’

‘Tell them I am working for the Queen’s Learned Council, on urgent business for Lord Parr. Quick as you can.’ I sealed the note and handed it to him. He gave me a sidelong look but got up and hurried out, making no noise as he closed the door. I ordered Skelly to tell any visitors I was absent, and went back to Myldmore. I was deceiving him, for my presence at the Tower had clearly made him believe, wrongly, that I was following a trail which had led to him. But as with so many others this past week, I had no alternative. This was, after all, a matter of a double murder.

Myldmore was slumped in his chair, gazing unseeingly through the window at the passing lawyers. I sat behind my desk. ‘Now,’ I said, ‘we have as much time as we need.’ I smiled and he nodded dully. I thought, start with the easy questions. ‘What is your first name?’

‘Thomas, sir.’

‘How long have you worked at the Tower, Thomas?’

‘Two years. My father was a gaoler there before me. He got me my position at the Tower. I was a guard outside first, and when Father died last year I was offered his place.’ He looked at me directly, his eyes passionate. ‘Though I did not like the work, especially as I had found God and was beginning to tread the path to salvation. And this year — the arrests of so many poor lambs of God — it put me in great turmoil.’

So he had started work as a gaoler last year. He had probably not wanted the job, but work was hard to come by and it would have kept him from being conscripted to the war. In the Tower that would have been a quiet time. The great ones of the realm were concentrating on winning the war, and the struggles between contesting factions and religious loyalties had been temporarily set aside. But in the spring, with the war over, it had all started again.

‘I was sore troubled in conscience, sir.’ Myldmore spoke as though I would understand; he obviously took me for another reformer. It was probably what Cecil had put around. ‘It was through my church, our vicar, that I came to see that the only way to salvation is through Christ, and the only way to Him is through the Bible.’ He continued, scarce above a whisper, ‘I have doubted whether Our Lord’s body is truly present in the Mass.’ Now he did look at me anxiously, though he had not actually denied the Mass in what he had just said. I merely nodded sympathetically.

‘My vicar said I was going too far — to deny the Mass is to go against the orders of the King, who is Head of the Church, appointed by God. But then, not long after, I met Master Curdy.’

‘Greening’s friend, who has vanished. The candlemaker.’

‘Yes, sir. He knew my mother slightly. She died early this year. I spoke with him after the funeral, and he asked me to meet him for a drink. He turned the talk to religion. He is a learned man, self-taught, and a pleasant, engaging fellow; we met again and he told me he attended a discussion group of like-minded folk which I might find interesting.’