C.J. Sansom - Revelation

Joan was standing in the doorway. She looked frightened, and her eyes widened at the sight of Barak's arm. 'What happened?' she asked, her voice trembling.

'The man who attacked Tamasin and me was outside,' I said. 'He got away.' I looked at her wrinkled, worried face. I could not bear to tell her what might have happened had she, rather than Orr, opened the door to the pedlar. 'It's all right now. Where are the boys?'

'I told them to stay in the stable.'

I nodded wearily. 'They can come out now. Goodman Orr, thank you for your help.'

He nodded and followed Joan into the kitchen. Barak leaned against the banister, his face pale as shock caught up with him.

'I'd have had him but for that gabbling old arsehole Rowland,' he said fiercely.

'Yes, I think you would.'

'I can't tell Tammy about the vitriol. I can't even bear to think of it.' He sighed. 'She can't go outside until this is over. I'll tell her.'

'Why shouldn't I go out if I want to?' I looked up to find Tamasin at the top of the stairs, looking down at us. She must have heard Barak's final words. She looked at his arm. 'What the hell have you done to yourself now?' Her voice was sharp with anger and panic. I realized I had never before heard her swear.

'The killer was outside. We almost caught him, but he got away. This is nothing, just a scratch. Get some water and bathe it for me, would you?'

'But why do you say I can't go out?' Tamasin called down. 'He may still be around.'

'He's been around these last three weeks. Will you tell me what has happened?'

'I think you should tell her,' I said to Barak under my breath. 'She can bear it.'

'I can't. I can't bear such a thing might have happened to her because she is my wife.' He took a shuddering breath.

'What are you muttering about now?' Tamasin called down.

'Will you do as I say, woman?' Barak called up the stairs. Holding his arm, he strode up to where Tamasin stood, her expression a mixture of anger and perplexity. He walked past her into their room. She followed. The door slammed behind her.

Outside, the rain started up again, pelting hard against the windows.

I WAS PREPARING to get ready for bed, looking out of the window at the rain and wondering if they had repaired the gates at the Charterhouse, when there was a knock at my door. I opened it to find Barak there.

'News from Harsnet?' I asked.

'No.' He was in his shirt, his right sleeve rolled up and his forearm bandaged. On the bare skin above the bandage I saw other scars, relics of old sword-battles. He looked very tired. 'May I come in?' he asked brusquely. 'I need to talk.'

I nodded assent, and he sat down on the bed. He was silent a long moment, then shook his head. 'She is angry because I will not let her go out of doors and will not tell her why.'

'You should tell her about the vitriol.'

He shook his head. 'I could not tell her that something so awful might have happened to her. Just the thought of him doing that to her face—' He broke off and I saw tears in the corners of his eyes.

'Come, you know how strong she is. That is what you first liked about her at York. Do you remember;'

'But I am her husband now. I should be able to protect her.' And then he added, 'I should be able to give her a child.' He was silent a few moments again. 'I know it is supposed to be the woman's fault when a child dies just after it leaves the womb, but who knows anything any more these days; What if the fault is mine; All I wanted was to provide for her, keep her safe, give her a family. Carry on my father's old Jewish name. And I have been able to do none of those things.' He stared bleakly at the door. 'I love her, I have never felt for any woman what I feel for her and God knows I have known plenty.'

'Perhaps that is the problem,' I answered gently. 'You built a fantasy of how married life would be, and find hard the reality of a union which heaven knows has been blessed with little luck. But that is the fault of neither of you. If only the two of you could talk freely.'

He gave me a sidelong look. 'For one who has always lived alone you are a shrewd old bird, aren't you;'

'Easy enough to see the problems in others' lives. I have made the opposite mistake with Dorothy. I have said too much to her too soon.'

'Ah, I wondered what was happening there.'

'Nothing is happening. And if you tell anyone else about it, I will have you out of Lincoln's Inn faster than a crow can fly,' I added jestingly, to relieve the tension. Barak smiled and nodded.

'Talking of crows,' he said, 'you don't think you may have competition from Bealknap? Maybe he is not ill at all, and seeks to rouse her pity.'

'Bealknap would only be interested in a woman if she were made of gold and could be melted down.'

We took refuge in brief laughter, then Barak said seriously, 'Will you be able to make it up with the old Moor?'

'I do not know. I will try. As you should with Tamasin.'

He rose with a sigh. 'I ought to go back to her. Thank you,' he added.

'Jack,' I said. 'Do you remember once at York you told me you were torn between your old adventurous, rakchell life and settling down. You chose to settle down with Tamasin, you made your choice. To move from a life of self-reliance to sharing. You have much courage, now you must have the courage to open yourself to her.'

He paused at the door. 'There are different types of courage,' he said gloomily. 'Few have them all in good measure.'

THE RIDER FROM Lambeth Palace called after midnight, when we had all gone to bed. I was not asleep, however, for lying in bed I could hear muffled shouts from Barak and Tamasin's room; they were arguing again. The sound stopped suddenly at the loud knocking on the front door.

Barak and I were told to come immediately to a conference with Archbishop Cranmer. We dressed quickly, fetched the horses and rode through the darkened city to Whitehall Stairs, where a large boat was waiting to ferry us across the Thames. It had stopped raining and bright moonlight shone down on the silvery, deserted river.

We were led to Cranmer's office. As Barak and I arrived outside another clerk approached from the opposite direction, Harsnet beside him. The coroner too looked as though he had just been roused from his bed.

The Archbishop was sitting behind his desk. His face was strained, great bags under his eyes. Lord Hertford was not present but Sir Thomas Seymour was, gaudily dressed as usual, his arms folded across his chest and a look of excitement on his face.

I told them of the incident with the pedlar. 'You could not see who he was?' Harsnet asked quietly when I had finished.

'No. He was well disguised.'

'Goddard had a large mole on his face,' Cranmer said.

'I did not see it. But he was caked with make-up.'

Cranmer sat considering for a moment. Then he turned to Sir Thomas. 'Tell them the news from Hertfordshire,' he said.

'I found Kinesworth easily enough. It's just a small village, a mile from Totteridge. The local magistrate knew all about the Goddard family. They lived in a manor house just outside the village. They were wealthy once, but Goddard's father was a drunk and lost it all. Their estates were sold by the time the father died thirty years ago. Goddard was still a boy then. He and his mother holed up in the house; apparently she was a woman of good breeding and ashamed of what had happened to the family. When he was old enough Goddard went to Westminster Abbey to be a monk. The old woman lived on at the house alone as a recluse until she died a few months ago and Goddard inherited it.'

'That was when he moved out of his London lodgings,' I said. 'That was where he went.' I took a deep breath. 'Is he there now?'

'Apparently he comes and goes. He was seen riding out to London yesterday. We waited all day to see if he would come back, but there was no sign until well after nightfall yesterday. Then smoke was seen coming from the chimney of the house.'