C. Sansom - Dark Fire

'Yes, I have the papers now.' I frowned. 'March, you said. But Michael Gristwood found those papers last autumn. What happened in the six months between?'

'I wondered about that. Michael told me he and his brother had spent the winter building the apparatus used to project the stuff from old plans and experimenting to make more of the Greek Fire.'

I remembered the burn marks in the Gristwoods' yard. 'Had they succeeded?'

He shrugged. 'They said so.'

'So, you helped Michael Gristwood to a meeting with Lord Cromwell. Did Gristwood offer to pay you?'

He gave me a haughty look. 'I had no need of their money. I helped them get the papers to the earl because it was right and proper. Of course, I could not approach the chief secretary myself.' He waved a hand self-deprecatingly. 'My contacts do not quite reach his circles. But I know Lady Honor, a fine woman and discreet as any female in England, and she does know the earl. A fine woman,' he repeated with a smile. 'I asked her to take the papers to him.'

It would be another foot in the doors of power for you, I thought. 'But you could not give her the formula itself?'

'That was not in my gift. I do not think anyone apart from the brothers has seen it since they tore it from that parchment. Michael told me they had done that, but not where it was kept. And the pair wanted money for it. Michael was quite open about that.'

'But as monastic property those papers belonged to the king. Gristwood should have taken them to Sir Richard Rich, as Chancellor of Augmentations, to pass to Lord Cromwell.'

Marchamount spread his hands. 'I know that, of course, but what could I do? I could not make Gristwood give me the formula, Brother Shardlake. Naturally I told him he should have given it straight to the proper authorities.' He raised his chin and looked down his nose at me.

'So you gave the papers to Lady Honor with a message.'

'I did. And a message came back through her, from the earl, for me to give to Gristwood. Afterwards two or three further messages passed through my hands. They were sealed, of course, so I knew nothing of what they said.' He spread his hands. 'I am afraid that is all I know, Brother. I was a mere messenger, I know nothing about this Greek Fire, nor even whether it was genuine.'

'Very well. Serjeant, I must repeat you are to speak to nobody about this.'

He spread his hands. 'Of course. I am at the service of Lord Cromwell's investigation.'

'Tell me if you are approached in any way, or if you remember anything that could be useful.'

'Naturally. I believe we shall be meeting again on Tuesday, by the way; we are both invited to Lady Honor's banquet.'

'Yes.'

'A lady of distinction,' he said again, then looked at me sharply. 'Will you be questioning her?'

'At some point. And I shall probably wish to speak to you once more.' I rose. 'I will leave you to your business for now. I look forward to Tuesday.'

He nodded, then leaned back and smiled, showing his white teeth. 'Is Greek Fire genuine, then?' he asked suddenly.

'I am afraid that is a question I may not answer.'

He inclined his head, then gave me a penetrating look. 'So you are working for Lord Cromwell again,' he said quietly. 'You know, many think you deserve the coif of a serjeant: you should be pleading before Common Pleas, not oafs like Forbizer. Yet you have been passed over a few times. Some say it was because you were out of favour with those that matter.'

I shrugged. 'I cannot help what people say.'

He smiled again. 'Many say Lord Cromwell may soon be out of office. If the king puts Queen Anne away.' He shook his head sadly.

'Again, I cannot help what people say.'

Marchamount was sounding me out, I knew, wondering if I was one of the many who, hearing the rumours, might switch to the religious conservatives. I said nothing, merely folded my hands in front of me.

Marchamount made a little moue. 'Well, I must not keep you.' He rose and bowed.

I smiled inwardly at the way he had made the dismissal his. But looking in his eyes I felt again that he was afraid.

OUTSIDE IN THE COURTYARD black-robed barristers were heading towards the hall from all directions. I saw Bealknap among them, walking alone as usual, for he had few if any friends – though he never seemed to care. It was too late to talk to him now, I would have to wait till after the lunch. Joining the crowd filing into hall, I saw Godfrey a little ahead of me and tapped him on the shoulder.

Lincoln's Inn Hall looked its very best. Beneath the vaulting hammerbeam roof the richly coloured tapestries glowed in the light of many candles. The dark oak floorboards gleamed with polish. A throne-like chair had been set for the duke in the centre of the High Table at the north end of the hall. Other long tables, set with the Inn's best silver, had been placed at right angles to High Table. People were finding their places; a few students selected for their good backgrounds, short black robes over their gaudy doublets, took the places furthest from High Table. The serjeants, sweating under the white coifs tied around their faces, sat nearest and the benchers and barristers in between.

As benchers Godfrey and I were entitled to places next to the serjeants, and to my surprise Godfrey shouldered his way to a place as near as possible to where the duke would sit. I sat next to him. On my other side was an aged bencher called Fox. As he never tired of telling people, he had been a student at Lincoln's Inn during the reign of King Richard III and had watched the hall being built. As we took our places, I saw Bealknap arguing with a bencher over a place nearly opposite me. Although he had fifteen years at the Bar, Bealknap's unsavoury reputation meant he had never been called to read, yet he was disputing crossly for the place. Perhaps thinking such an argument beneath him, the bencher allowed Bealknap to take the place. He sat down with a smile of satisfaction on his thin features.

A servant banged his staff. Everyone rose as the officers of the Inn marched up the hall. Among the black robes was one man in the rich scarlet of a peer, his wide collar trimmed with black fur; Thomas Howard, third Duke of Norfolk. I was surprised to see how small he was. How old, too, for his long face was deeply lined and the hair beneath the wide jewelled cap was thin and grey. He looked, I thought, insignificant; in ordinary clothes one would not have glanced at him twice. A dozen retainers in the red and gold quarters of the Howard livery spread out and stood against the walls.

The Inn's officers bowed and smiled as they bade the duke take his seat. I saw Marchamount take a place at High Table. He was not an officer, but from what he said had been instrumental in organizing the lunch. He beamed at the crowd, in his element. I wondered how well he knew Cromwell's, and reform's, greatest enemy. Curious, I studied the duke's lined face. It was as hard as any man's I had seen, the thin mouth under the prominent nose pursed with severity. Small black eyes surveyed the crowd with lively calculation. The duke's gaze met mine for a second and I dropped my eyes.

The first course was brought in, steaming dishes of vegetables carved into the shapes of stars and half-moons, richly sauced with sugar and vinegar and accompanied by cold meat. As this was a lunch there would be none of the spectacular fare of an evening supper, but much effort had been put into the preparation of the food. I turned appreciatively to Godfrey.

'This fare is almost worth the company,' I whispered.

'Nothing is worth this company.' Godfrey was staring at the duke, a bitter look on his normally amiable features.

'Don't let him catch you giving him foul looks,' I whispered, but he shrugged and went on staring. The duke was talking to the treasurer, Serjeant Cuffleigh.