C.J. Sansom - Revelation

'This has to be the devil's work. Such a dreadful display, on a Sunday. This killer was possessed—'

I stared round at the young fool of a juror who had spoken. Loose talk, indeed.

'His unnatural strength. That is always seen in cases of pos- session—'

Margaret turned to me. 'We should get my mistress out of here.' And indeed Dorothy looked as though she might faint. I rose and helped Margaret steer her out of the room. Her arm felt light as a bird's; I wondered if she was eating. We led her to a bench and sat her down. Barak and Guy followed. Treasurer Rowland emerged, looking angry. I hoped he might come and offer some words of encouragement to Dorothy but he only gave me a nod and swept away, shoes clicking on the tiles; his concern was with the Inn's reputation and power, not a grieving widow. Turning back to her, I reflected the Inn would want her out of her lodgings before long.

She had closed her eyes, but now she opened them and heaved herself upright. She looked at each of us in turn: me, Margaret, Barak and Guy.

'Thank you for your help, all of you, and for refusing to be swayed from the truth.' She turned to me. 'They won't investigate, will they? They think the killer has got away, and it will be too much trouble.'

'There's something going on. Harsnet wanted the matter kept entirely to himself.'

'Who is that man:'

'I know nothing of him.'

'They want it buried,' she said bitterly. 'Don't they?'

'Well. . .'

'Come, Matthew, I was not married to Roger near twenty years without learning a good deal about the law. They want this dropped and forgotten.'

'It looks like it.' I shook my head. 'If we waste more time the killer may never be found.'

'Will you help me, Matthew, please? I am a woman, they will take no notice of me.'

'I give you my word. I will start by talking to Coroner Harsnet. Guy, will you wait with Dorothy?' I sensed she was holding on by her fingertips. He nodded.

'Then come, Barak.'

'You've taken something on there,' Barak said as he followed me to the Guildhall steps. 'Seems to me finding the killer is all she has to hold on to. I don't know what would happen to her if we fail.'

'We will not fail,' I said firmly.

Outside in the paved square I saw the black-robed figure of Harsnet. He was talking to a tall, strongly built man in his thirties with a long, copper-coloured beard, richly dressed in a green jerkin with gold piping, a shirt decorated with intricate Spanish lacework showing beneath, and a red cap with a white feather worn at a jaunty angle. The scabbard for the sword he wore at his waist was leather decorated with gold. He carried a heavy coat. Normally I would have hesitated in challenging a royal official in public, especially when he was engaged with a man of obviously high status; but I was fired by anger as seldom before in my life.

The two men turned to us as we approached. The bearded man, whose long face was handsome yet with something harsh about it, turned to Harsnet with a smile. 'He was right,' he said. 'Here he is.'

I looked from one to the other, noticing the younger man was sunburned. 'What do you mean, sir?' I asked. 'I do not understand. Who told you what?'

Harsnet took a deep breath. Close to, he looked strained, burdened. 'I was told you might to be unhappy with the verdict, Brother Shardlake.'

'Told? By whom?'

The young man waved at Barak. 'Get rid of your minion and we'll tell you.'

Barak gave him a nasty look, but I nodded. 'Jack, tell Dorothy I may be some time, she had best go home. I will visit her later. Go back with them.'

He went reluctantly back to the Guildhall. I turned to Harsnet, who eyed me keenly. So did his friend. I began to feel uneasy.

'I dare say you have come to ask why I adjourned the hearing,' Harsnet said quietly.

'Yes.' I took a deep breath. 'It seems you do not want the killer discovered.'

The tall man laughed bitterly. 'Oh, you mistake us there, lawyer.' He spoke in a deep, musical voice. 'There is nothing in this world we want more.'

'Then why . . . ?'

'Because this matter has political implications,' Harsnet said. He glanced round to ensure nobody was in earshot. 'I was told you would contest my decision. By Archbishop Cranmer.'

'What?'

He fixed those keen blue eyes on me. 'Do you truly seek to find Master Elliard's killer, above all else?'

A chill had run down my back at Cranmer's name. Somehow Roger's death was involved with high politics, which I had sworn never to involve myself in again. But then I remembered Roger's brutalized corpse, Dorothy's ravaged face.

'Yes,' I said.

The richly dressed man laughed. 'There, Gregory, he has courage after all.'

'Who are you, sir?' I asked boldly. He frowned at my insolence. 'This is Sir Thomas Seymour,' Harsnet said. 'Brother of the late Queen Jane.'

'So watch your manners, churl,' Seymour growled.

I was lost for words for a moment. 'If you questioned my actions,' Harsnet continued, almost apologetic, 'my instructions were to bring you to Archbishop Cranmer.'

'What is this about?'

'Much more than the death of Master Elliard.' He looked me in the eye. 'Something truly dark and terrible. But come, we have a wherry waiting to go to Lambeth Palace.'

ONE OF ARCHBISHOP Cranmer's own boats was waiting for us at Three Cranes Stairs, four oarsmen in the Archbishop's white livery in their places. Harsnet told the men to row fast for Lambeth Palace.

After the thaw the river was thronged with white sails as wherries carried customers to and fro; heavy barges pulled upriver, blowing horns to warn smaller craft out of the way, all under a pale blue sky, the river breeze light and cool. But I thought of the depths beneath us that had spewed up those giant fish.

Behind us I saw London Bridge with its crowds of houses and shops, the great bulk of the Tower looming beyond. Atop the arch at the south end of the bridge long stakes thrust into the sky, the heads of those who had defied or angered the King set atop them mercifully indistinct. Among them, still, those of my old master Thomas Cromwell and those of Dereham and Culpeper, alleged lovers of the executed Queen Catherine Howard. I remembered Thomas Culpeper at York, in all his peacock pride and beauty, and shuddered at the thought that now I was sailing back into the world of the King's court.

'Ay, 'tis still cold,' Seymour said, mistaking my tremor. He had wrapped his heavy coat around him. I studied him covertly. I knew he was the younger brother of Henry's third queen, Jane Seymour, who died giving birth to his heir Prince Edward. It was said she was the only one of his five wives that Henry mourned. Seymour's older brother, Edward, Earl of Hertford, held high office at court, and had been appointed Lord Admiral of the Navy. Barak had told me that

Sir Thomas was something of an adventurer; he would never be trusted with a place on the Privy Council, but he had been awarded a number of lucrative monopolies and had recently been ambassador in Austria where the emperor was fighting the Turks. Lord Hertford, with Cranmer, was one of the few serious reformers to have survived on the Privy Council after Cromwell's fall three years before. He was known as a serious and capable politician, and a successful military commander who had led the campaign against Scotland the previous autumn; his brother Thomas, though, had the reputation of an irresponsible ladies' man. Looking at his handsome face I could believe it: the way he wrapped his coat round himself, gently stroking the long fur collar while his eyes roved over the water, the full lips held in a half smile under the heavy, fashionably long brown beard, all spoke of a sensualist. Harsnet, with his rugged features, serious eyes and worried expression, was an entire contrast. As the boat bobbed through the choppy water of mid-river I wondered fearfully what Thomas Seymour could have to do with poor Roger.