C.J. Sansom - Revelation

Barak frowned. 'Aren't you making what happened to the cottar fit what's in here:' he asked dubiously. 'Like the hot-gospellers try to fit everything that happened into these prophecies: He didn't have any mark on him, of the beast or anything else. What is the mark anyway:'

'The number 666. But it's not clear from Revelation whether that is an actual mark on the body.'

'And if all apostate hot-gospellers were to be killed there'd be men dead of grievous sores all over London.'

'The one death may be symbolic. Barak, if it was only this one reference I would agree with you. But listen to this:

'And the second angel poured out his vial upon the sea; and it turned as it were into the blood of a dead man: and every living thing died in the sea. If Wilf Tupholme was the first to die, that means Dr Gurney was the second. He died in salt water, a tidal pool, turned to blood.'

Barak frowned, read the passage for himself. I had given even his sceptical mind food for thought. 'And it continues,' I went on quietly. 'And the third angel shed out his vial upon the rivers and fountains of waters; and they turned to blood. Roger Elliard died in a fountain turned to blood.' Suddenly overcome with emotion, I gripped the sides of the lectern. 'Poor Roger. This is a blasphemy.'

'Dr Gurney and Master Elliard were said to be good people, though,' Barak said.

'Yes, they were. It looks as if they did something sinful; or the brute that killed them thought they had.' I took a long deep breath. 'And Roger, like Tupholme, had once been a radical but abandoned that path. I wonder if Dr Gurney did too.' I looked at Barak. 'Well, do you agree with me: Someone is killing people in accordance with the prophecy of the vials of wrath:'

'To fulfil the prophecy,' Barak said slowly.

'Yes. Symbolically.'

'Jesus.' He looked truly shocked. He was silent for a moment, then said, 'That means four more murders.'

'Yes.'

'What happens next?'

I looked at Revelation again. 'And the fourth angel poured out his vial upon the sun; and power was given unto him to burn men with heat of fire.'

'Shit,' Barak said. 'People left to rot, dead in water; and burned with fire next.'

'I do not think this is to do with Catherine Parr,' I said. 'This is not politics after all, Barak; it is religion. Mad, debased religion.'

Barak looked at the pages, turned them over. 'What happens after the seven vials have been spilled? Where does it end?'

I laughed, heard the half-hysterical sound echo round the old church. 'What do you think? This is the Book of Revelation, Barak. It ends with the destruction of the whole world.'

WE WENT AT ONCE to Lambeth Palace, riding fast along the Thames-side path, sending up spatters of mud and attracting stares from passers-by. When we arrived at the palace I asked at once for Cranmer's secretary. Morice quickly appeared, a little pale-faced man in a black robe who looked at us dubiously. I told him who I was and that I had urgent news, and he scuttled away, leaving us standing in the Great Hall. He returned a few minutes later and told us in hushed tones that the Archbishop had sent across to Whitehall for the others involved in the matter. He showed us into a comfortable little room to await their arrival.

'One thing,' I asked him. 'Could you please fetch me a copy of the New Testament in English?'

'I will have one brought.' He looked at us in puzzlement, then smiled before bowing himself out.

'Are you sure about this notion?' Barak asked when the door was closed. 'It seems fantastic. I don't know what Cranmer and the others will make of it.'

'You saw the chapter. It speaks for itself, surely.'

'But it talked of thousands being killed by each vial of wrath, not just one man each time.'

'I think this is some sort of devilish, perverted symbolism—' I broke off as a servant appeared bearing a copy of the Testament. I laid it on the table and again I pored over the text of Revelation, Barak peering over my shoulder. I was only too well aware that if I had misread, or misunderstood something, my reception from the great men now being gathered from Whitehall was likely to be unpleasant.

'This book makes no sense,' Barak said at length. 'It tells the same story in different ways, different versions of how the world will end, angels and wars and vials. There is no . . .'

'Narrative? I know. It is the only book in the New Testament that is so obscure.'

'It's powerful stuff though. Fixes itself inside your head somehow.' He read. 'The smoke of their torment ascendeth up for ever and ever, and they have no rest day or night, who worship the beast and his image. The beast being the devil?'

'Yes, though some say it is the Church of Rome. There are as many interpretations of Revelation as there are interpreters, each one saying his understanding is the true one. And most are Uneducated fanatics. This book is causing much trouble in the world.'

'You know your Bible well.' Barak eyed me curiously.

'Not Revelation especially, but the Bible, yes.' I smiled sadly. 'From my teens to my thirties I was an earnest seeker after reform.'

'You said Erasmus and Luther doubted Revelation was authentic? Why was that?'

'In ancient times there were many gospels, far more than the four we have in the Bible now, and countless Apocalypses, foretellings of how the world will end. But the ancient scholars who decided which were the authentic Christian texts inspired directly by God, rejected all the Apocalypses save the one we have, mainly because they believed the author was St John. But Erasmus and Luther cast doubt on that, because it was so different from the rest of the New Testament. In its violence and cruelty, its representation of Jesus as God's harsh judge, who holds the keys of hell and death.'

'Someone else holds them now,' Barak said. He blew out his cheeks, shook his head. He had never come across anything like this horror, and it had shaken him to the core. As it had me; but I had to act now, to tell Cranmer and the others, focus on that.

We both started as the door opened to reveal Cranmer's secretary.

He bowed. 'His grace will see you now, Master Shardlake,' he said. 'Only you, your man is to stay here.'

CRANMER SAT behind his desk. Lord Hertford, Thomas Seymour and coroner Harsnet stood round him. Thomas Seymour was in a red silk doublet today, the sleeves slashed to show a vivid yellow lining; his brother in dull brown. All looked at me seriously, expectantly.

'What have you found, Matthew?' the Archbishop asked quietly.

I took a deep breath. 'My lord, I believe I know why Dr Gurney and my friend were killed. And a third who was killed in December.'

Cranmer leaned forward. 'A third?' His voice was horrified.

'Yes. And if I am right, there are four more deaths to come.'

Lord Hertford frowned, his eyes boring into mine.

Sir Thomas spoke. 'Come on then, man, spit out your tale.'

I told as concisely as I could how I had learned of Tupholme's death, how the manner of it had led me to the connection with Revelation. My auditors heard me in silence. I glanced at Cranmer's bookshelf. 'If you will check Chapter 16 of Revelation, my lord—'

'I know the New Testament by heart, Matthew.' He frowned, thinking hard.

Thomas Seymour laughed. A rich, booming sound that made Cranmer wince. 'I have never heard such a tale. The crookback lawyer's mind is addled by too much reading.'

Lord Hertford gave his brother a stern look. 'Remember where you are, Thomas, and watch your language.'

Cranmer seemed to have retreated into a brown study, his fingers toying with the big silver cross at his neck. When he sat up his expressive eyes were full of sorrow.