C. Sansom - Lamentation

‘I have come as you asked. Release him.’

Stice nodded. ‘You can have him, though Leonard here would have relished preparing his head to send you.’ He glanced at Gower. ‘Full of funny ideas is Leonard. He thinks you’re a sodomite.’ I would not have dared to mock the man like that, but he took it from Stice, who reached behind Nicholas and untied the gag, then used his sword to slice through his bonds. Gower went and stood beside Nicholas, hand held meaningfully on his knife, as the boy pulled the gag from his mouth. Eventually he spoke in a dry, hoarse voice. ‘I’m so sorry, sir.’

‘It is my fault,’ I said quietly. ‘I led you into danger.’

‘I’d been to a tavern last night,’ he croaked.’ I was walking home when I was knocked out from behind. When I woke up I was here. Where are we?’

‘A house near the river.’ I turned to Stice. ‘Well, are you going to let him go?’

He shook his head. ‘Not yet. There’s someone wants to talk to you, then if he’s happy we’ll let you both go. Leonard will take Nicky boy out back in the meantime.’ Stice, sword still in hand, leaned against the wall, waiting.

Nicholas still sat. ‘For mercy’s sake,’ he cried. ‘May I have some water?’ He swallowed uncomfortably and grimaced with pain.

‘Poor baby,’ Stice replied with a mocking laugh. ‘Not much forbearance for a gentleman. Oh, get him some water from the barrel, Leonard.’

As Gower went through a door to the back of the house, Nicholas stood, shakily. I heard a creak from the floorboards above, and remembered there was another man in the house. Well, we had been here for five minutes; fifteen more and Barak and the constable would come with his men. In the meantime I would have to dissimulate well. Nicholas stood, stretching, and feeling his bruises. Stice still leaned against the wall, hand on his sword hilt, watching him with amusement.

Suddenly Nicholas launched himself at Stice, clearing the few feet between them with one leap, a hand closing on Stice’s wrist before he could grasp his sword. Caught off guard, Stice let out a yell of anger as Nicholas grasped his other wrist and pinned him to the wall, then kneed him hard in the crotch. He cried out and bent over.

‘Stop, Nicholas!’ I shouted. A fight now was the last thing I wanted, and it was one we could not win. At that moment Gower came back with a pitcher of water. With a shout he dropped it on the floor and reached for his dagger, raising it high to bury it in Nicholas’s back. I threw myself at him and knocked him off balance, but he did not fall, and turned on me with the dagger just as Stice managed to push Nicholas away from the wall and raised his sword. His face was white with anger.

Then rapid footsteps sounded on the stairs and a voice called out, ‘Cease this mad brawling!’ Not a loud voice, but sharp as a file; one I recognized. It was enough to stop Gower in his tracks, and make Stice pause, too. Confident footsteps walked into the room. I turned and beheld, dressed in sober black robe and cap, his thin face frowning mightily, his majesty’s Privy Councillor, Sir Richard Rich.

Rich strode in, scrowling. He was the smallest man in the room, but instantly commanded it. He pulled off his black cap and smacked Stice round the face with it. The young man’s eyes flashed for a moment, but he lowered his sword. Rich snapped: ‘I told you they were not to be harmed. You’ve already dealt with that boy more roughly than I wanted — ’

‘He went for me when he woke up-’ Gower ventured.

‘Quiet, churl!’ Rich then turned to me, his voice quiet and serious. ‘Shardlake, I want no violence. I took the boy because I knew it would bring you here, and I need to talk to you. I knew that if I made contact with you any other way you would go yowling straight to the Queen’s people, and what I have to say needs to be kept secret. It may even be that this time we can be of use to each other.’

I stared at him. This was the anxious Richard Rich I had seen at Anne Askew’s burning. His long grey hair was awry, the thin face with its neat little features stern, new lines around the mouth, and his normally cold, still grey eyes roamed around the room.

I said nothing, for the moment lost for words. Nicholas stared in astonishment at the Privy Councillor who had suddenly appeared in our midst. Rich’s two men watched us closely. Then there was a knock at the door, making everyone jump except Rich, whose expression changed to a more characteristic, sly smile. ‘Answer it, Gower,’ he said. ‘Our party is not yet quite complete.’

Gower opened the door. Outside stood the constable with his assistant. Between them, looking furious, was Barak. I saw the dagger was gone from his belt. They pushed him in. Rich nodded at Barak and addressed Stice and Gower. ‘Watch that one, he’s trouble. Master Barak, let me tell you that violence will not help you or your master.’ Rich then walked over to the constable, who bowed deeply. ‘There’s no one else?’ Rich asked.

‘No, sir, only this one.’

‘Good. You and your man will be rewarded. And remember, keep your mouths shut.’

‘Yes, Sir Richard.’

The constable bowed again, and waved his assistant back outside. Rich shut the door on them and turned back to us. He shook his head, the sardonic smile on his face showing his straight little teeth. ‘Barak, I would have expected better from you. Did you not consider that if I used a house I would bribe the local constable first? They can be bought, as you know, and I pay well.’

Barak did not answer. Rich shrugged. ‘Sit at the table. You too, boy. I want a word with your master, and if it concludes well I will let you all go. Understood?’

Barak and Nicholas did not reply, but at a nod from me they allowed Stice and Gower to lead them to the table. They all sat. ‘Watch Barak carefully,’ Rich said. ‘He’s as full of tricks as a monkey.’ He crossed to the staircase, crooking an imperious finger to indicate I should follow. ‘Come up, Master Shardlake.’

I had no alternative. Once upstairs, Rich led me to a room which was as sparsely furnished as the rest of the house, containing only a desk with a sconce of lit candles, and a couple of chairs. He motioned me to sit, then regarded me silently, his expression serious again. In the candlelight it seemed to me his thin face had more lines and hollows now. His grey eyes were little points of light. I said nothing, waiting. He had said we might be of use to each other; let him say how. I wondered, did he know of the missing Lamentation ? At all costs I must not be the first to mention that.

He said, ‘You are working for the Queen again.’ It was a statement, not a question. But it had been clear from his note that he knew that.

I said, ‘Yes. And there will be more trouble for you if I disappear. Remember the things her majesty knows about you.’ The ‘ more trouble’ had been a guess, but Rich’s eyes narrowed. ‘She will not be pleased, for example, to learn that your man Stice once tried to suborn one of her pages — as I know for a fact.’ Rich frowned at that. Then I asked, ‘Is it really true, as you said in your note, that you have a spy in her household?’

Rich shrugged. ‘No. But I spotted you at Whitehall a few days ago, in the Guard Chamber.’

‘I did not think you saw me,’ I replied, truly alarmed now.

He leaned forward. ‘There is very little that I miss.’ His tone was both threatening and vain. ‘You would hardly be coming to see the King. I thought then, so he is working for her once more, after all this time; I wonder why. And then right afterwards you began your enquiries into the murder of a certain Armistead Greening, printer.’