C. Sansom - Dark Fire

'Oh?'

'I went to St Paul's school, got a scholarship for a clever lad, but I had to fend for myself after my father died.' Again that brief shadow of sadness, or was it anger? He tapped his satchel. 'Those Latin papers my master gave me for you, I can read them. Well, just about.'

As we turned in at my gate Barak studied my house; I could see he was impressed by the mullioned windows and tall chimneys. He turned to me, raising that eyebrow again. 'Fine place.'

'Now we are here,' I said, 'we had better have our story clear. I suggest we tell my servants you are the agent of a client and are helping me on a case.'

He nodded. 'All right. What servants have you?'

'My housekeeper, Joan Woode, and a boy.' I gave him a fixed stare. 'You should also look to how you address me. Given our respective stations, "sir" would be appropriate; "Master Shardlake" would at least be civil. All the way here it has been "you" as though I were your brother or your dog. That will not do.'

'Right you are.' He grinned cheekily. 'Need a hand down, sir?'

'I can manage.'

As we dismounted, the boy Simon appeared from behind the house. He stared at Barak's mare in admiration.

'That's Sukey,' Barak told him. 'Look after her well and there'll be something for you.' He winked. 'She likes a carrot now and then.'

'Yes, sir.' Simon bowed and led the horses away. Barak watched him go.

'Shouldn't he have shoes? He'll be cutting his feet on ruts and stones this dry weather.'

'He won't wear them. Joan and I have tried.'

Barak nodded. 'Ay, shoes are uncomfortable at first. They rub on your calluses.'

Joan appeared in the doorway. She gave Barak a look of surprise. 'Good afternoon, sir. May I ask how it went at the court?'

'We've got twelve days' grace for Elizabeth,' I said. 'Joan, this is Master Jack. He will be staying with us a short while, to help me with a new matter on behalf of his master. Could you make a room ready for him?'

'Yes, sir.'

Barak bowed and gave her a smile, as charming as his earlier ones had been mocking. 'Master Shardlake did not tell me his housekeeper was so attractive.'

Joan's plump face reddened and she pushed some greying hairs under her cap. 'Oh, please, sir-'

I stared, surprised my sensible housekeeper should fall for such nonsense, but she was still red-faced as she led Barak in. I supposed women would find him good-looking if they were susceptible to rough charm. She led him upstairs. 'The room hasn't been slept in for a while, sir,' she said, 'but it's clean.'

I went into my parlour. Joan had opened the window and the tapestry on the wall showing the story of Joseph and his brothers stirred in the warm breeze. There was new rush matting on the floor, giving off the harsh tang of the wormwood Joan put on it to discourage fleas.

I remembered I must write to Joseph arranging to meet. I climbed the stairs to my study. As I passed Barak's room I heard my housekeeper clucking like an old hen about the state of the blankets. That room, I remembered, had once belonged to my former assistant, Mark. I shook my head in puzzlement at how the wheel of fortune turned.

JOAN PREPARED an early supper. It was a fish day so we had trout and afterwards a bowl of strawberries. The good weather that spring had brought them on early. Barak joined me at table, and I said grace, though I no longer did that when I was alone. 'For the food the Lord has provided, let us be thankful. Amen.' Barak closed his eyes and bowed his head, raising it as soon as I had finished intoning. He tucked happily into his fish, lifting his food to his mouth with his knife in an ill-bred way. I wondered what his religious views were, if any.

He interrupted my train of thought. 'I'll give you those books and papers later,' he said. 'By Jesu, they're strange reading.'

I nodded. 'And I should consider how to proceed.' It was time to try and stamp my authority on the matter. 'Let me get it right. The first person involved in point of time was the friar, the librarian.' I ticked names off on my fingers. 'Then the Gristwoods went to Bealknap and he went to Marchamount. Marchamount told Lady Honor, who told Cromwell. Three of them, then. We can discount the friar as the moving force behind this.'

'Why?'

'Because someone hired two ruthless rogues to kill the Gristwoods. I can't see Lady Honor or either of the lawyers charging in there with an axe, can you? But any of those three could have afforded to hire killers, though it would cost much more than a pensioned-off friar could raise. I still want to talk to him – he saw the stuff discovered. I'll see Bealknap and Marchamount tomorrow at Lincoln's Inn; there's a lunch in hall. For the Duke of Norfolk,' I added.

He screwed up his face in distaste. 'That arsehole. How he hates my master.'

'I know. We can use tomorrow morning to go to the jetty where you saw that ship burned up, and I'll try to see Joseph then too. We can also go to Augmentations – they're so busy these days they keep open on Sundays. I can miss church for once. What about you?'

'My parish in Cheapside is so full of people coming and going the vicar scarce keeps note of who's there or not.'

Pleased at the brisk way I had formulated my plan of action, I gave Barak a satirical half-smile to match his own. 'You don't feel the need to humble yourself before God then, ask forgiveness of your sins?'

He raised his eyebrows. 'I serve the king's vicar-general and the king is God's anointed representative on earth. If I am on his business, how can I be doing other than God's will?'

'Do you really believe that?'

He gave his mocking grin. 'About as much as you do.'

I took some strawberries and passed the bowl to Barak. He spooned half the dish onto his plate and added cream. 'Then there is Lady Honor,' I continued.

He nodded. 'She usually has these sugar banquets of hers on a Tuesday. If you haven't heard by Monday morning I'll ask his lordship to give her a nudge.'

I looked at him levelly. 'Doing what you can do to assist, eh?'

'Ay.'

'And is that what you are? My assistant?'

'Assist and facilitate,' he replied briskly. 'That's what his lordship asked me to do. I know what I'm about. Don't mind that fussy old arsehole Grey; he doesn't like my rough ways. He thinks he knows my master's business better than my master, but he doesn't. Sniffling old pen gent.'

I would not be diverted. 'You started as my watcher.'

He changed the subject. 'That Wentworth case – there's more to it than meets the eye, if you ask me. That girl in court, y'know what she reminded me of? John Lambert's burning. Remember that?'

I remembered only too well. Lambert was the first Protestant preacher to go too far for the king. Eighteen months earlier he had been tried for the heresy of denying transubstantiation, before the king himself as head of the Church, judge and inquisitor, dressed in the white robes of theological purity. It had been the first major reversal for reform. 'That was a cruel burning,' I said, looking at him sharply.

'Were you there?'

'No. I avoid these spectacles.'

'My master likes his people to go, show loyalty to the king.'

'I remember. He made me go to Anne Boleyn's execution.' I closed my eyes for a moment against that memory.

'It was a slow burning, the fire fairly sweated the blood out of him.'

I was relieved to see a look of distaste cross Barak's face. Burning was a terrible death, and in those days of accusation and counter-accusation it was the one everyone feared. I shuddered, passing my hand across my brow. It felt red and sore, I had a touch of the sun.

Barak leaned his elbows on the table. 'The way Lambert walked to the stake with head bowed, refusing to answer the taunts of the crowd, that was what reminded me of the girl. His demeanour. Later, of course, he was screaming.'