C. Sansom - Dark Fire

He grunted. 'I thought I should see what the papist rogue looked like in the flesh.'

'Now that we are met, may I ask a favour? Come into my room.'

'Certainly.'

I closed the door on Skelly, and bade my friend sit down. 'Godfrey, I have a – a new matter. Something urgent. Together with the Wentworth case it will take much of my time this next fortnight. Can you deal with some of my work? For a share of the fee, of course.'

'I would be happy to. Including the Bealknap hearing?'

'No, I had better keep that. But everything else.'

He studied me carefully. 'You look troubled, Matthew.'

'I hate losing my temper. But between Skelly and this new affair-'

'Something interesting?'

'I can't speak of it. Now -' I lifted a heap of papers from a table – 'I will show you what cases I have.' I spent half an hour going through my matters with him, relieved that, apart from the Bealknap case next week, I should not have to appear in court for a fortnight.

'I am in your debt again,' I said when we were done. 'Any news of your friend Robert Barnes?'

He sighed heavily. 'Still in the Tower.'

'Barnes is a friend of Archbishop Cranmer's. Surely he'll protect him.'

'I hope so.' He brightened. 'The archbishop is to give the sermons at St Paul's Cross next week now Bishop Sampson is in the Tower.' He clenched his fist, reminding me that for all his mild ways he was fierce in his religion. 'With God's help we will prevail over the papist troop.'

'Listen, Godfrey, I'll try to get into chambers when I can. Keep an eye on Skelly, try and get him to produce work that's at least presentable. I have another appointment now, but I will see you at the lunch. Thank you, my friend.'

I went out again, crossing the courtyard to Marchamount's rooms. Over by the Great Hall servants were bustling in and out, getting everything ready for the dinner. The four Inns of Court vied for the patronage of those near to the king and Norfolk's presence was something of a coup, for all that his politics would be unpopular with many members of Lincoln's Inn.

I knocked and entered Marchamount's outer office. It was impressive, books and documents lining the shelves and, even on Sunday, a clerk labouring busily over papers. He looked up enquiringly.

'Is the serjeant in?'

'He's very busy, sir. Has a big case starting in Common Pleas tomorrow.'

'Tell him it is Brother Shardlake, on Lord Cromwell's business.'

His eyes widened at that and he disappeared through a door. A moment later he was back and bowed me through.

Gabriel Marchamount, like many barristers, lived as well as worked in Lincoln's Inn. His receiving room was as opulent as any I had seen. Expensive wallpaper in bright reds and greens lined the walls. Marchamount sat in a high-backed chair that would not have shamed a bishop, behind a wide desk strewn with papers. His broad figure was encased in an expensive yellow doublet with a pea-green belly that emphasized his choleric colour; his thin reddish hair was combed carefully over his pate. A robe edged with fur lay on a cushion nearby together with his white serjeant's coif, the mark of his rank: the highest position a barrister can reach short of a judgeship. A silver goblet of wine stood at his elbow.

Marchamount was known as a man who lived and breathed the law and loved the status it brought him; since his admission to the Order of the Coif three years before his patrician manner and habits had expanded to the extent that they were the subject of mocking jokes about the Inn. It was said he hoped to rise further, to a judgeship. Though the gossips said his advancement owed much to his cultivation of contacts among the anti-reform party at the king's court, I knew his intelligence was not to be underrated.

He rose and greeted me with a smile and a small bow. I saw his dark eyes were sharp and wary.

'Brother Shardlake. Are you here for my lunch with the duke?' He smiled with false modesty. I had not realized he had arranged the meal. 'My lunch' was typical of him.

'I might look in.'

'How goes business?'

'Well enough, thank you, Serjeant.'

'Wine, Brother?'

'Thank you, it is a little early for me.'

He sat down again. 'I hear you are retained to advise in the Wentworth case. An unpleasant business. Not much unguentum auri there, I'd guess.'

I smiled tightly. 'No. A small fee. In fact, it is another killing I have called to see you about. Michael Gristwood and his brother have been brutally murdered.'

I watched carefully for his reaction, but he only nodded sadly and said, 'Yes, I know. A dreadful business.'

'How did you know, sir?' I asked sharply. 'This has been kept quiet on Lord Cromwell's orders.'

He spread his arms. 'His widow came to see me yesterday. Said you had told her the house was hers, asked for my help in getting it transferred into her name since I knew her husband.' His eyes narrowed. 'Is the Greek Fire formula gone?'

I paused; the words seemed to hang in the stuffy air for a moment. 'Yes, Serjeant. That is why Lord Cromwell wants the matter investigated quickly and secretly. She was quick off the mark,' I added. 'I wonder she didn't go to Bealknap. He was nearer her husband in station.'

'She has no money. Bealknap would turn her away in a second if she couldn't pay him, but she knew I do charitable work sometimes.' He gave a self-satisfied smile. 'I've long since stopped doing minor estate work myself, but I know a junior fellow who will help her.'

Yes, I thought, Marchamount was the sort to do charitable work in the hope it would bring him merit with God, in accordance with the old religion's tenets. He would enjoy having the old ways back, too, the rich ceremonial and sonorous Latin.

'Tell the barrister nothing about the circumstances,' I told him. 'Lord Cromwell doesn't want this news leaking.'

He bridled a little at my peremptory manner. 'I could work that out for myself. I said nothing of Greek Fire to Goodwife Gristwood. Of course, she merely said her husband and his brother had been murdered. Not that that is unusual in these times.' He paused. 'There is to be no inquest?'

'The matter is to stay in Lord Cromwell's hands. And I am instructed to talk to all who knew about Greek Fire. I have to ask you to tell me everything about your involvement, Serjeant.'

Marchamount settled himself in his chair, linking his hands together. Square strong hands, yet soft and as white as his face was red. A gold ring containing an enormous emerald glinted on one middle finger. He adopted a look of judicious consideration, yet I sensed fear there. Goodwife Gristwood's news would have been a shock – Marchamount would guess Cromwell would be making enquiries and know that if he did not satisfy him he could find himself in the Tower, for all his airs.

'I did not know Michael Gristwood well,' he said. 'He approached me to see if I needed a solicitor's assistance a couple of years ago. He had been working with Brother Bealknap, but they had quarrelled.'

'I had heard. What was that about? Do you know?'

He raised an eyebrow. 'Michael was not above a little sharp dealing, but he found the way Bealknap cheated everyone as a matter of daily routine hard to stomach. I told him there'd be no sharp practice if he dealt with me.'

I nodded, acknowledging his point.

'I farmed some small pieces of work out to him, but to be frank they were not well done and I gave him no more. I heard he'd gone to Augmentations and that did not surprise me, for there are easy profits there. God have mercy on his soul,' he added sonorously.

'Amen,' I said.

Marchamount sighed. 'Then one day last March Brother Bealknap came to my office asking to see me. He told me what Michael had found at St Bartholomew's. He wanted an introduction to Lord Cromwell.' He spread his hands. 'I thought it was all some mare's nest and I laughed at Bealknap. But when he brought me the papers I could see there was something here that should at least-' he hesitated – 'be taken further.'