C. Sansom - Lamentation

‘Yes, your majesty.’

She took a deep breath. ‘I remember dining with the King one evening, about three weeks ago. We were interrupted by a messenger telling him Sir Anthony begged to see him urgently, on a confidential matter. The King was angry, said he wanted to dine in peace, but the messenger insisted it was important. I left the room and Sir Anthony was shown in — the King was not fit to walk at all that night.’ She took another calming breath. ‘They were together some time and then he left and his majesty called me back. He said nothing about the meeting but he seemed — disturbed, a little upset.’

Lord Parr said, ‘The dates certainly tally. And what else could Knevet have wished to discuss so urgently?’

The Queen continued, ‘I can tell you this. If Rich and Wriothesley tortured Anne Askew on their own initiative, or on the orders of someone higher — Gardiner or Norfolk — if they had done such a brutal and illegal thing against a woman, the King’s sense of honour would have been outraged. They would have smarted for it. Indeed, it was shortly after this that the King came up with his plan of false charges against me being brought by Wriothesley, so that he could humiliate him.’

She held herself stiffly, as though struggling to contain remembered fear. I had long known she looked on Henry with a loving, indulgent eye, though to me he was a monster of cruelty. Nonetheless, it was also known the King placed great store by traditional, chivalric values; such a mind could be shocked by a gentlewoman’s torture, while seeing nothing amiss in burning her alive. ‘That could explain why nothing has been done to Myldmore,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘And I remember Rich had a worried, preoccupied look at the burning.’ I smiled wryly. ‘Perhaps it was not only Wriothesley who felt the King’s wrath.’

Lord Parr nodded agreement. ‘Yes, my nephew’s reports of Rich and Wriothesley being subdued at council meetings date from then. Though, as I say, they seem brighter now.’

Cecil asked, ‘But would either of them then dare go on to murder the printer and steal those books?’

‘Perhaps,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘If they had an informer in an Anabaptist sect and were told about the books. Recovering the Lamentation and presenting it to the King would then help enormously in restoring their position.’

They considered this theory. Then we all jumped at a sudden knock. We looked at each other nervously — perhaps it was not wise for us all to be seen together with the Queen. Lord Parr went to the door and opened it. One of the Queen’s guards was outside. He bowed low to the Queen, then said, ‘Master Secretary Paget is outside, my Lord. He would speak with you and her majesty.’

‘Very well,’ Lord Parr said. ‘Give us a moment, then show him in.’

As the man closed the door Cranmer spoke quietly. ‘It may be politic for me to leave. Perhaps go down to the Queen’s Gallery.’

‘Very well, my Lord Archbishop,’ Lord Parr agreed.

The Archbishop opened the door and left swiftly. But immediately we heard a deep voice in the corridor. ‘My Lord Archbishop. Visiting her majesty?’

‘Indeed, Master Secretary.’

‘Perhaps you could stay a moment. I have called to discuss arrangements for the French admiral’s reception.’

Cranmer returned to the room, frowning a little. Then Secretary Paget entered, alone. He bowed to the Queen, then looked around at us with the confident stare of a man in charge of his surroundings. I remembered that square, hard face from the burning, the mouth a downturned slit between his long moustache and unruly forked beard. He wore a grey robe and cap today, no ostentation apart from his heavy gold chain of office, and carried a sheaf of papers under his arm. ‘Meeting with men of the Queen’s Learned Council, eh, my Lord?’ he asked Lord Parr cheerfully. ‘How would our lands ever be administered without lawyers dipping their quills in the ink, hey? Well, I, too, was a lawyer once. I hope you do not trouble her majesty too much?’ he added maliciously, regarding Lord Parr with a flat, unblinking stare.

I glanced at the Queen; she had managed in an instant to compose her features. She now radiated quiet regality: a lift of the chin and shoulders, a slight stiffening of the body. ‘My councillors simplify matters for my weak woman’s wit,’ she said cheerfully.

Paget bowed again. ‘I fear I, too, must ask to indulge your well-known patience, but on a more congenial subject, I am sure. The King has given orders for new clothes for your ladies who will accompany you at the festivities for the French admiral. He wishes you to be very well attended.’

‘His majesty is gracious as ever.’

‘I know the festivities are a month away, but there is a great deal to organize. May we discuss the arrangements? Afterwards, my Lord Archbishop, perhaps we could talk about your role, which will also be important.’

Behind Paget’s back, Lord Parr looked at Cecil and me, then curtly inclined his head to the door. Fortunately, we were too lowly to be introduced to Master Secretary. We bowed to the Queen and sidled out. Paget was saying, ‘The finest cloth has been ordered, to be made up at Baynard’s Castle. .’

Cecil and I walked away up the corridor, saying nothing until we reached the discreetly positioned window overlooking the courtyard, where I had seen the King that first day. The courtyard was empty this afternoon apart from a couple of young courtiers lounging lazily against a wall. The afternoon shadows were lengthening.

I spoke quietly. ‘Secretary Paget. I saw him at the burning.’

‘Yes.’

‘He is a traditionalist, is he not?’

‘He was first brought to court under Bishop Gardiner’s patronage, but he is not linked to him any more.’

‘No?’

‘He is the King’s man now and nobody else’s. With the King so physically weak, he puts more and more of the work in Paget’s hands, but Paget never oversteps himself.’

‘Yes, I heard he learned that lesson from Wolsey and Cromwell.’

Cecil nodded. ‘Whichever way the wind blows, Paget will follow only the King’s wishes. If he has any principles of his own they are well hidden away.’

‘Bend with the wind rather than break.’

‘Yes, indeed.’

‘But — are we sure? If Paget is a traditionalist in religion, and on good terms with Rich and Wriothesley? It seems those two may have taken the initiative to torture Anne Askew without consulting the King; perhaps Paget, too, is capable of using his initiative. With the King so ill. And is the Secretary not responsible for all official spies and informers?’

‘Official ones, certainly,’ Cecil replied slowly. ‘But as Lord Parr said earlier, all the great men run unofficial ones. As for the King’s health, his body is breaking down, but, from all I hear, his mind and will are as sharp as ever.’

I looked at young Cecil: clever, always coolly in control, with more than a touch of unscrupulousness, I suspected. But nonetheless he had nailed his flag unhesitatingly to the Queen’s mast. He gave a heavy sigh and I realized that he, too, must be feeling the strain of all this. I wondered whether he also felt afraid now when he smelled smoke. ‘What happens next?’ I asked him gently.

‘It is in Lord Parr’s hands, and mine, for now, I think. Watching the docks, trying to find this man with half an ear, and solving the mystery of Bertano.’

He touched my arm, an unexpected gesture. ‘We are grateful to you, Master Shardlake. That talk clarified much — ’ He broke off. ‘Ah, see. Down there.’

I looked into the courtyard. Two men had entered and were walking across it, talking amiably. The two young layabouts who were already there stopped leaning on the wall and bowed deeply to them. One was the Queen’s brother, William Parr, Earl of Essex, tall and thin with his gaunt face and trim auburn beard. The other was the man I had heard the Queen’s ladies speaking of as being back in England, a man whom the Queen had once loved and whom I despised: Sir Thomas Seymour. He wore a short green robe, with white silk hose showing off his shapely legs, and a wide flat cap with a swan feather on his coppery head. With one hand he was stroking his dark auburn beard, which was long like Paget’s, but combed to silky smoothness.