C. Sansom - Dark Fire

NEXT MORNING I ROSE to find a bank of heavy clouds louring over the City. The air coining through my open bedroom window was heavy, oppressive. It was the first of June; nine days till Elizabeth returned to the Old Bailey courthouse and to the demonstration of Greek Fire before the king.

Over breakfast I told Barak about the missing books and the man in the shadows by Lincoln's Inn. In return he related what he had discovered during his evening touring the taverns. He had heard that the strange Baltic drink had been offered for sale at a riverside tavern in Billingsgate, the Blue Boar. He had also visited the taverns round Walbrook but found none of the Wentworths' servants; they were known as a sober, churchy lot.

'I got to speak to the servant from the house next door, but he said only that the Wentworths kept themselves to themselves. He bent my ear for an hour about how his old dog had gone missing.'

'You had a busy night.' Despite the beer he must have quaffed last night, Barak looked quite fresh.

'I did some more asking after pock-face and the man with the wens on his face too. Nothing. They must be out-of-town men. I was starting to wonder if they'd been called off, but it seems not from what you say.'

Joan entered with a note. I tore open the seal.

'From Goodwife Gristwood. She'll meet us at Lothbury at twelve. If the case is heard on time we can make it by then.'

'I'll come to Westminster with you first, if you like.'

There was nothing else he could usefully do that morning. 'Thank you. I will feel safer. Have you something in sober black?'

'Ay, I can look respectable when I need. Lady Honor's tonight.' He winked. 'Bet you're looking forward to that.'

I grunted. I had not mentioned meeting her at Lincoln's Inn; Barak would have upbraided me for not questioning her there and then. And he would have been right, I thought.

As we walked down to catch a boat at Temple Stairs I noticed people casting looks at the louring sky. I was already sweating in the heavy, putrid air. With luck there would be a thunderstorm soon. Early as it was, a little crowd had gathered along Fleet Street. I wondered what they were waiting for, then heard the grate of iron wheels on cobbles and a cry of 'Courage, brothers!' It was hanging day. I watched as a big cart, drawn by four horses, passed by, a group of guards in red and white City livery walking alongside. It was on its way to Tyburn, going via Fleet Street so more of the populace might see – and be warned where crime led.

We halted to let the cart pass. There were a dozen prisoners within, hands bound behind them and ropes around their necks. I reflected Elizabeth might have been in there, might still be the following week. The end of the felons' last journey would be the big multiple gallows at Tyburn, where the cart would halt while the ropes were secured to hooks on the gallows. Then the cart's tail would be let down, the horses led on, and the prisoners be left hanging by their necks, to strangle slowly unless friends pulled on their heels to break their necks. I shuddered.

Most of the condemned were making their last journey with heads bowed, but one or two smiled and nodded at the crowd with terrible forced jollity. I saw the old woman and her son, who had been convicted of horse stealing – the young man was staring ahead, his face twitching, while his mother leaned against him, her grey head resting on his chest. The cart passed creaking by.

'We'd better get on,' Barak said, shouldering his way through the crowd. 'I've never liked that sight,' he said quietly. 'I've pulled the legs of an old friend at Tyburn before now, ended his last dance.' He gave me a serious look. 'When d'you want me to go down that well?'

'I'd say tonight, but there's the banquet. Tomorrow, without fail.'

As we rode a wherry downriver I felt guilty. Each day's delay was another day in the Hole for Elizabeth, another day of desperate anxiety for Joseph. The bulk of Westminster Hall loomed into view and I forced my mind to the Bealknap case. One thing at a time, I thought, or I must go mad. Barak looked at me curiously and I realized I had whispered the words aloud.

AS ALWAYS DURING the law term, Westminster Palace Yard was thronged with people. We shoved through them into the hall, where under the cavernous roof lawyers and clients, booksellers and sightseers, trod the ancient flagstones. I stretched to see over the heads of the spectators crowded at the King's Bench partition. Inside, a row of barristers stood waiting at the wooden bar, beyond which lay the great table where the court officials sat with their mounds of papers. Under the tapestry of the royal arms the judge sat on his high chair, listening to a barrister with a bored expression. I was disconcerted to see the judge was Heslop, a lazy-minded fellow who I knew had bought a number of monastic properties. He was unlikely to favour a case against a fellow man of spoil. I clenched my fists, reflecting that today I had drawn a low card in the gamble of the law. Nonetheless, after the previous evening's labour I was ready to present what should have been conclusive arguments, all else being equal.

'Master Shardlake.' I gave a start and turned to find Vervey, one of the Common Council attorneys, at my elbow. He was a clerkly, serious man of my own age, a stalwart reformer. I bowed. Evidently he had been sent to keep an eye on the case; it was important to the council.

'Heslop is fair racing through the cases,' he said. 'We shall soon be on, Master Shardlake. Bealknap is here.' He nodded to where my adversary stood leaning on the bar with the other advocates, sleek in his robes.

I forced a smile and lifted my satchel from my shoulders. 'I am ready. Wait here, Barak.'

Barak stared at the attorney. 'Nice day for a bit of devilment,' he said cheerily.

I went through the partition, bowed to the bench and took a place at the bar. Bealknap turned round and I bowed briefly. A few minutes later the current case ended and the parties, one smiling and the other scowling, passed through the bar. 'Common Council of London and Bealknap,' an usher called.

I opened by saying the cesspit in dispute had been badly built and the sewage leaking into the tenement next door was making life miserable for the inhabitants. I spoke of the ill construction of Bealknap's conversion. 'The turning of the old monasteries into such mean and dangerous habitations is against the common weal as well as the City ordinances,' I concluded.

Heslop, who was sitting back comfortably in his chair, gave me a bored look. 'This is not the Court of Chancery, Brother. What are the legal issues at stake?'

I saw Bealknap nod complacently, but I was ready. 'That was by way of introduction, your honour. I have here half a dozen cases confirming the sovereignty of the Common Council over monastic properties in cases of nuisance.' I handed up copies and summarized their arguments. As I spoke I saw a glazed look had come over Heslop's face and my heart sank. When a judge looks thus it means he has already made up his mind. I pressed on manfully, however. When I finished, Heslop grunted and nodded to my opponent.

'Brother Bealknap, what do you say?'

He bowed and rose. With his lean features newly shaved and a confident smile on his face, he looked every inch the respectable lawyer. He nodded and smiled as though to say, I am an honest fellow who will give you the truth of this.

'Your honour,' he began, 'we live in a time of great changes for our city. The going down of the monasteries has brought a glut of land to the market, rents are low and men of enterprise must make the best shift we can to turn our investments to a profit. Otherwise more monastic sites will go to ruin and become the haunt of vagabonds.'