C.J. Sansom - Revelation

'He's in Hertfordshire.'

'He's concentrated our attention there. Fetch Orr,' I said. 'Then go to the end of the front garden and see if the pedlar's in sight. Don't let him see you.'

Barak gave me a doubtful look, but hurried away. Orr appeared a minute later. 'What was that pedlar selling?' I asked.

'The usual stuff. Bits of cheap jewellery. Brushes and pans. I told him to be off.'

'Pedlars do not usually waste time on second calls if they have had no luck the first time.'

'He asked for the woman of the house. Perhaps he thought he could wheedle Tamasin or Joan into buying something. When he called he kept looking past me, into the house.'

Barak returned. 'He's coming down Chancery Lane from Aid- gate. He'll be here in a minute.' He frowned. 'You're right, there's something odd. He's just pushing his cart down the street, not stopping at any houses or accosting passers-by.'

'I think he may be the killer,' I said quietly. 'What better way to go around unnoticed, follow people, listen to conversations, than pass yourself off as a ragged pedlar whom people will notice only to avoid, part of the refuse of mankind none of us wants to see.'

'But he's an old man,' Orr protested.

'I'm not sure he is,' Barak said. 'He walks like a younger man. And have we not recently passed Palm Sunday, when people dress up as the old prophets and false beards are ten a groat?'

'Jesu, have we got him?' Orr breathed.

'Shall we try to take him now, we two?' Barak asked him.

Orr nodded. 'He seems unarmed.'

'Let's do it now,' Barak said. 'We must hurry, or he'll be past us and into the throng of Fleet Street.'

I stood up. 'I'm coming too.' I spoke with more bravado than I felt. 'And if when we take him he proves to be a devil with forked horns under that beard and flies off over Holborn then we will know Harsnet was right.'

'I'll get my sword. Is yours in your room?'

'Yes.' It had lain there years; lawyers did not wear swords.

'Mine's in the kitchen.' Orr left, his face grimly determined. I looked round my parlour: the tall buffet displaying my plate, my prized wall-painting of a classical hunting scene. I realized how much it meant to me, the room at the centre of my life. I set my lips and went to fetch the sword from my room. As I went out to the landing, buckling on my scabbard, Barak's door opened and he stepped out. 'This is urgent, woman!' he called over his shoulder. 'We've got him!' He thundered down the stairs. Orr was already standing by the open door. Tamasin rushed out of her room, her face furious. She grabbed my arm. 'What in Heaven's name is happening; Will someone tell me;'

'We think the killer is outside,' I said. 'We think he is disguised as a pedlar. This is our chance, we must go.' I ran hastily downstairs. Orr and Barak were already outside. I caught a glimpse of Joan standing in the kitchen doorway, the two boys clinging to her skirts.

THE SUN WAS low in the sky, the house casting long shadows across Chancery Lane. From the gateway I saw the pedlar had now passed my house, trundling his cart on down the gently sloping street. The three of us ran pell-mell after him. Lawyers and clerks passing by stopped and stared. As we splashed through a puddle I saw a blob of mud fly out and hit the coat of Treasurer Rowland, who had pressed himself against the wall to avoid our rush. I felt a momentary stab of satisfaction.

'We'll look silly if it's just some old pedlar,' Orr said. I had not breath to answer.

As we ran up behind him the pedlar heard us coming and turned, pulling a brake on one of the rear wheels of his cart. As Barak had said, he moved quickly for an old man. I caught another glimpse of a grey beard, wild hair, bright eyes in a dirty face. Then he turned to run.

Barak jumped him, grasping his ragged collar. Most men would have toppled but the pedlar stayed upright and seized Barak's arm, preventing him from reaching his sword. Orr grabbed at the grey beard, but it pulled away from his face with a ripping sound, opening a red gash on the man's cheek and hanging lopsided over his mouth. He ignored it. Then his knee came up between Barak's legs and Barak doubled over with a gasp. The pedlar jumped for his cart, thrust his hand to the bottom and pulled out a large sword, sending a heap of cheap bangles flying. He stood at bay against the cart; Orr and I, swords drawn, had him pinned against it. I became aware that we were surrounded by a whole crowd of passers-by, looking on from a safe distance.

I tried to get a look at the pedlar's face. The bushy grey hair obscured his brow, and blood from where his beard had been torn off was running from his left cheek into the wig. Something struck me as odd about the colour of his long nose, and I realized that like the beard it was a fake, and what I had taken for a dirty face was in fact caked with actor's make-up. Only the blue eyes, glittering with hatred and excitement, were real.

The pedlar made a sudden jump, striking out at me. More by luck than judgement I managed to parry the blow. Then Barak, face pale with pain, jumped to my side. He thrust at the pedlar's sword- arm, but a sudden shout from the side of the road distracted him and he missed.

'Stop this melee!' Treasurer Rowland was yelling at us as though we were a group of frolicking students. He disoriented us for a second. The pedlar took his chance and thrust his sword at Barak, catching him on the forearm and making him drop his sword. Then he jumped aside and ran at a man in the crowd, a law student who had dismounted from his horse to watch and held his animal by the reins. The pedlar slashed at his cheek with his sword, then dropped it on the ground as the boy screamed and put his hands to his face. The pedlar jumped into the horse's saddle, kicked at the horse and in a second he was racing back up Chancery Lane towards Holborn. The poor student lay writhing and screaming on the ground as Barak held his bloody arm and cursed. I thought of commandeering a horse from the street and making chase, but by the time I had done that the killer would be long gone. I turned wearily back to the scene around the cart.

Barak had received only a small flesh wound but the poor student was badly hurt, a slash across the nose and cheek that would scar him for life. It was a miracle the blow had missed his eyes. Treasurer Rowland ordered him taken back to Lincoln's Inn. Then he turned to me, furious, demanding to know why we had attacked a pedlar. Telling him it was the man who had killed Roger Elliard shut him up.

The crowd slowly dispersed, and Barak and Orr and I were left with the cart. We looked through it but there was nothing there but trays of pasteboard jewellery, some cloths and dusters and bottles of cleaning-vinegar for silver.

'Big enough to hide a body,' Barak observed. He took one of the cloths and wound it round his arm to staunch the blood dripping to his fingers.

'This is how he followed us, no doubt listening to our conversations. I don't remember any greybeard pedlar with a cart in the crowd when I was struck, but he may have other disguises.'

'Was it Goddard, sir?' Orr asked.

'With that false nose and hair and the blood on his face, who can say?'

'I saw no sign of a mole,' Barak said. 'If it's as big as people say, it'd be hard to hide.'

'Why was he here?' Orr asked.

'Perhaps to observe comings and goings. Perhaps to frighten us again, or even to do something to the women.' I thought a moment, then delved into the cart and pulled out the half dozen bottles of cleaning-vinegar. One by one I emptied them into the bottom of the cart. The contents of the fourth made a hissing sound and began to sear the wood.

'Vitriol again,' I said. 'That is why he has been calling at the house. This was meant to be thrown at Tamasin or Joan.'

THE THREE OF US walked slowly back home. The cart we left where it was. It could tell us nothing more. I threw the fake beard inside it.