C. Sansom - Lamentation

I said, ‘Nicholas, you saw last night that the matter I am involved in concerns the highest in the land. The one I am working for is of even higher status than Rich.’

His eyes widened. ‘The King himself?’

‘No, not that high. Nicholas, you spoke to me once about the religious quarrels that ravage this country. You said you wish to steer clear of it all, to be left alone and have others left alone. That is my wish, too. But what I am working on now concerns a struggle at court. On the one side are those who would keep the Mass, and in some cases perhaps bring back the Pope. On the other, those who would end what Catholic ceremonies remain. Involvement in that struggle can end in torture, murder and burning. For some, it already has.’

He fell silent. I could see my words had impressed him. ‘You still have not told me who you are working for,’ he said at length.

‘Nor can I, unless you swear an oath of secrecy.’

‘Is Jack working with you?’

‘Yes. He insists.’

‘And you need more help?’

‘Yes.’

He smiled sadly. ‘Nobody has ever asked for my help before.’

‘I say in all honesty, it may be better for you to stay out. Not because I doubt your courage or loyalty, but because of the danger. As I said last night, I can arrange for you to work for another barrister. Nicholas, you should not just think of yourself. Consider your parents, your inheritance, your future as a gentleman.’ I smiled, thinking that would get through to him as nothing else could.

His reaction surprised me. He spoke with sudden, bitter anger. ‘My parents! My inheritance! I told you, sir, why it was I came to London. My father — and my mother — would have had me marry someone I did not love. You know I refused — ’

‘Yes, and so were sent to London to learn the law. I am sure when your studies are finished your parents will have got over their anger, perhaps even come to respect you for what you have done.’

‘That they never will,’ he said bitterly. ‘My father told me if I would not marry according to his wishes he would disinherit me. He sent me to learn law to get me out of his sight. My mother, too; she is even fiercer on the matter than he. She told me that in refusing to marry whom they chose I was no proper man, and not her son. So I have no inheritance.’ He looked at me fiercely.

‘That is very hard. But things said in anger — ’

He shook his head. ‘They meant it. I could see it in their faces when they spoke. I remember well the sinking feeling when I realized they did not love me.’ There was a choking sound in his throat for a moment; he coughed. ‘They have already hired lawyers to see what can be done about barring the estate to me. They would transfer it to a cousin of mine, a young popinjay who would marry a one-legged dwarf if she would bring enough money. No, Master Shardlake, they mean business.’ He looked down, and smoothed the sheet on his unmade bed. ‘I am their only child. That is a burden on me, as I am on them.’

‘I, too, have no brothers and sisters. Yes, that can bring its burdens, though I never had such a hard one placed on me as you have.’

Nicholas looked around the untidy room at the law books. ‘Sometimes I find interest in the law, though at others it all seems like rats fighting in a sack. The Slanning case — ’

I smiled. ‘Fortunately, cases such as that are rare. What matters do you find interest in?’

‘Ones where one can sympathize with the client, where one sees an injustice to be righted.’ He smiled. ‘Exciting ones.’

‘Exciting ones are dangerous ones. And as for the others, one cannot just act for those of whom one approves. However, in the autumn term perhaps you could assist with my cases in the Court of Requests.’

He made a face. ‘Commoners suing the gentlemen who are their natural rulers?’

‘Should everyone not have an equal right to go to law, just as they should have to their private religious views?’

He shrugged.

‘Perhaps you would see matters differently if you were to work on the cases.’

‘I do not know. For now, an active life, in pursuit of an honourable cause, that is what I want. Even if it means being kidnapped again.’ He smiled then, his large green eyes shining.

‘Something with meaning?’

He hesitated, then said, ‘Yes. I need some — meaning.’

I realized now that Nicholas wanted a life of adventure partly to escape the memory of what his unworthy parents had done. I remembered the story I had heard of him getting into a sword fight over a prostitute. I thought, if he does not find the excitement he needs with me he may find it somewhere else, and end with a sword in the guts. And perhaps if he is with me I can guide him, check that self-destructive urge I detected in him. ‘You think the cause I serve is just?’ I asked.

He answered seriously, ‘If it will bring an end to such persecution as I have seen since coming to London, then yes.’

‘If I tell you for whom I am working, and the details of what this is about, you must first swear, on your oath as a gentleman, to tell nobody, nobody at all.’

‘I have no bible here- ’

‘Your word will do.’

‘Then I swear.’

‘My employer is that honourable lady, her majesty Queen Catherine.’

His eyes widened. ‘Skelly told me you used to do legal work for her.’

‘I have known her since before she was Queen. She is a good lady.’

‘Many say she has been in trouble.’

‘She has. She is now. But she is no persecutor of anyone.’

‘Then I will help you.’

‘Thank you. And Nicholas, do as I tell you, with care; no heroics.’

He blushed under his bruises. ‘I will.’

I took his hand. ‘Then thank you.’

I walked from Nicholas’s lodgings back to Needlepin Lane. In daylight it looked even more dingy, the plasterwork crumbling on the old houses, the lane a narrow track with a stinking piss-channel in the middle. Though it was Sunday, men were standing outside the Flag Tavern, quaffing beer from wooden mugs in the sunshine. Among them I saw a couple of girls in bright make-up and low-cut dresses. The King had ordered the Southwark brothels closed that spring, but although prostitution was already illegal in the city and conviction could bring a whipping, many whores had come north of the river. One girl, well in her cups, caught my glance and shouted out, ‘Don’t glower at me like that, crookback, I’m a respectable lady!’ People stared at me, and some laughed. I ignored them and knocked on the door of the house with the green shutters. Stice opened it immediately.

‘You’re back soon.’

‘I have a message for your master.’ I nodded over my shoulder. ‘I’d best come in; I’ve attracted notice from the people outside the tavern.’

‘Common churls, they’re always shouting at passers-by.’ He stood aside, and I walked into the bare room. My hand closed instinctively on my knife as he shut the door and went over to the table. He sat down, smiling insolently. The sword with which he had nearly killed Nicholas the night before lay there; he had been polishing it. The sun glinted on its razor-sharp edge. There was a jug of beer and some pewter mugs on the table, too. ‘No hard feelings, eh, Master Shardlake?’ Stice said. ‘We each serve those to whom we are pledged.’ Then, with an edge to his voice, ‘You have an answer for my master?’

‘Yes. Those I work for agree to our collaborating to try and locate these missing people, and Anne Askew’s writings. I will liaise with you. We have another man, a lawyer named William Cecil, who has been keeping an eye on the docks. These are the people he has paid to look for writings being smuggled out.’ I handed him a copy of Cecil’s list. Stice looked it over and nodded. ‘Well, between us,’ he said, ‘I think we have the docks and the custom house covered.’