C. Sansom - Lamentation

She lowered her gaze. After a moment she whispered, ‘You mean when my husband is dead?’

I answered, the words suddenly rushing from me, ‘The people are sore afraid, your majesty. Afraid that any belief they hold may be approved one month, but the next may send them to the stake. It drives them to a careful, fearful orthodoxy which, whatever it is, is not faith. All fear the prison and the fire,’ I added quietly.

‘I fear it, too,’ she replied. ‘Sometimes these last months I have been so convulsed with terror I have scarce been able to rise from my bed, let alone converse and behave as the Queen must.’ She shuddered.

I would have dearly liked to touch her then, to comfort her, but that I dared not do. We stood in silence for a moment, opposite a great ornate fireplace where carved heraldic beasts sported above the empty grate. A few yards off Mary Odell waited, hands held before her demurely.

At length the Queen drew a deep breath. ‘My family hope that one day I may be Regent for Prince Edward,’ she said quietly. ‘If that happens there will be no burnings, no persecutions. The rules governing the church would change, and there would be no capital penalties.’ She smiled sardonically. ‘But the Seymours, as the King’s uncles, believe they have a better claim. Although they too, I am sure, would want to lighten the severity of the law. For the moment we stand together against Gardiner and his people, but the future — it is in God’s hands.’ She added, passion in her voice now, ‘That is my comfort, that it is in His hands. Our duty is to be His handmaidens on this poor sorry earth.’ She lowered her head again. ‘But it is a duty I failed in when, out of pride, I kept that book despite the Archbishop’s advice.’

‘And my duty is to recover a piece of property stolen from a most noble lady, and bring a pair of murderers to book. That is all I can promise, your majesty. I cannot promise to undertake a quest for faith.’

‘It is more than most would do for me.’ The Queen smiled, then raised a hand impulsively, as though to touch my arm, but let it fall. When she spoke again her tone was level, even a little formal. ‘The hour is very late, Matthew. Mary can arrange a room for you in the outer lodgings, then you can leave tomorrow morning. I know you have much to do.’

I was found a place near the gate, in a large room with rush matting and a comfortable bed. I slept well and woke late; the sun was already high in the sky and I heard people talking in the wide courtyard outside. It was Sunday and church bells sounded both within the palace grounds and beyond the precinct. I remembered that Bealknap’s funeral had taken place yesterday; I had forgotten about it. I wondered if any mourners had gone. And as for Bealknap’s strange deathbed gloating, perhaps that mystery had died with him, too.

I dressed hurriedly — I had a message to get to Stice, and I also wanted to talk to Nicholas. As I left the lodgings I saw people had gathered round three sides of the courtyard, facing the King’s Guard Chamber. Servants, courtiers, officials, all seemed to be congregating there. I saw William Cecil a little way off and shouldered my way through the crowd to greet him.

‘Brother Shardlake?’ he said. ‘You have been here all night?’

‘Yes. I was given lodgings as it was so late.’

‘I often need to spend the night here, too. But I miss my wife and children.’ He smiled sadly, then looked at me speculatively. ‘You spoke with the Queen?’

‘Yes. Mainly of religion.’

‘She would have all see the light which she has seen.’

‘Yes, indeed.’ I changed the subject. ‘It seems, Master Cecil, that we shall be working closely, perhaps even facing danger together.’

He nodded seriously. ‘Yes. I did not know things would come so far as this.’

‘Nor I.’ I looked round curiously. ‘Why is everyone gathered here?’

‘Do you not know? When the King is in residence at Whitehall he always makes a public procession to the chapel on Sunday mornings.’

‘The Queen too?’

‘Yes. Observe.’

As I watched, a group of guards exited the ornate door of the King’s Guard Chamber and took up places before it. Then another group, Gentlemen Pensioners in their black livery decorated with gold, marched out with their halberds. Then came the King. As he was on the side nearest to me, I could only catch a glimpse of the Queen on the other side of that vast bulk, a quick view of a brightly coloured dress. Those who wore caps took them off and then loud cheers erupted from the crowd.

I looked at Henry. Today he was dressed in formal finery: a long cream satin robe with broad padded shoulders furred with marten. He looked slightly less obese than when I had seen him last, and I wondered if he was corseted, as he was said to be when he went abroad in public. Those huge bandaged legs were covered with black hose. He walked very stiffly, leaning on a thick, gold-headed walking stick, his other arm through that of a Gentleman Pensioner.

The King walked round the courtyard and turned to smile at the crowd, at one point doffing his black cap embossed with little diamonds. I saw, though, how his lips were clenched together and sweat stood out on his red brow and cheeks. I could not help but admire his courage in still presenting himself to his public as a man who could walk. It must cost him great pain. He doffed his cap once more, his little eyes darting round the courtyard, and for a moment I thought they rested on me. He passed on slowly, down the other side of the courtyard and in through the doorway of the Great Hall. Senior officials and councillors followed: I saw the stern bearded face of Paget; thin-faced, red-bearded Wriothesley; the red-robed Duke of Norfolk in the procession.

‘I thought he looked at me for a second,’ I whispered to Cecil.

‘I didn’t see. I should think he was concentrating on keeping his feet. They’ll put him in his wheeled chair as soon as he’s out of sight.’ He shook his head sadly.

‘How long can he go on?’ I asked.

Cecil frowned and leaned in close. ‘Do not forget, Master Shardlake, it is treason to foretell the death of the King. In any way.’

I agreed with Cecil that I would contact him again as soon as I had spoken with Stice. Once more I took a wherry to Temple Stairs, envying those citizens who, church over, had taken a boat onto the river to enjoy the sunshine. I walked to the narrow lanes off Amen Corner where I knew Nicholas lodged.

A young man who looked like another student answered my knock. He seemed a little reluctant to take me to Nicholas. ‘Are you his pupil-master?’ he asked.

‘I am.’

He said warily, ‘Nick’s been in a fight. He won’t say what happened, but I’m sure it’s not his fault — ’

‘I know about it. And no, it wasn’t his fault.’

The student took me up a flight of stairs and knocked on a door. Nicholas answered. He was in his shirt, the strings untied, showing the line of the bandage across his chest. The bruises on his face had come out yellow and black. He made a sorry sight.

‘How are you?’ I asked.

‘It looks worse than it is, sir. And my chest is healing well.’

I followed him into an untidy room thick with dust, unwashed plates on the table, law books scattered about. It took me back to my own student days a quarter-century before; though I had been tidier than this. Nicholas evidently lodged alone, as I had. But whereas my father had not been wealthy enough to send a servant with me, Nicholas’s father had chosen not to; another sign, no doubt, of his disapproval. He invited me to take the only chair, while he sat on the unmade bed. I studied him thoughtfully. He had courage and intelligence, but also the reckless bravado of the young. But of his trustworthiness I felt certain now.