К Сэнсом - Revelation

‘Danger, too,’ I said with a smile. ‘As it turned out.’

‘I know.’ She paused. ‘They say there will be a new queen soon. A widow. Catherine, Lady Latimer. She will be the sixth. Fantastic, is it not?’

‘Strange indeed.’

She shook her head wonderingly. ‘Was there ever such a king?’

I left her. As I descended the dark staircase, I remembered when Barak and Tamasin had married, on a fine spring day the year before. I had felt envious of their content. A single man can easily assume all marriages are blissful, the couple devoted like Roger and Dorothy. But tonight I had seen the sad things that could lurk beneath the surface. I had been right to guess something was amiss, but had not known things were as bad as this. ‘Damn Barak!’ I said aloud as I stepped out on to the road, startling a gentleman going into the Barge, perhaps to see one of the prostitutes.

I SPENT MOST OF Good Friday and Easter Saturday at home, working on papers. I did not go to church on Easter Sunday. The weather remained unseasonably cold, with a further light fall of snow. I was in an unsettled, restless mood. On Saturday I even took out my pencils and drawing pad; this last year I had gone back to my old hobby of painting and sketching, but that day I could think of nothing to draw. I looked at the blank paper but nothing came to mind but vague circles and dark lines and a sane man could hardly make a drawing of those. I went to bed but could not sleep. I lay thinking how I might broach the subject of Tamasin to Barak without making matters worse. Then when I did get to sleep I dreamed of poor mad Adam Kite. I came into his wretched room at the Bedlam to find him crouched on the floor, praying desperately. But as I approached I realized it was not God’s name nor Jesus’ that he was invoking, but mine – it was ‘Master Shardlake’ that he was begging for salvation. I woke with a start.

It was still dark, but dawn was not far off and I thought I might as well go into work, even though it was Easter Sunday. There was more paperwork to do in chambers. My housekeeper was already up, chivvying the boy, Peter, to light the fire and bring some heat to the cold morning. I breakfasted, then donned my robe and wrapped myself in my coat to walk up Chancery Lane to Lincoln’s Inn.

As I turned out of my gate I fancied it was less cold again, the remaining snow turning once more to muddy slush. I looked back at my house. The tall chimneys rising from the tiled roof were outlined against a strange-coloured sky, streaks of faint blue interspersed with banks of cloud tinged pink underneath by the rising sun. I set off, turning my mind to the cases to be heard on Tuesday, including Adam Kite’s. I passed under the Great Gate, past the still-shuttered porter’s lodge, and walked across the slushy yard towards my chambers.

It was not yet full day. Almost all the windows were unlit, but to my surprise I saw a light in my own chambers; Barak must have come straight here from wherever he had been last night, not gone home at all. Damn the wretch, I thought.

Then I jumped at the sound of a cry. A man’s voice, yelling out in terror. I made out two figures standing by the fountain, looking into the water. ‘Oh God!’ one cried.

I turned and crossed to them. I saw the ice was broken into pieces. The water under the ice was red, bright red. My heart began thumping painfully.

By their short black robes, the two young men standing staring into the fountain were students. One was short and thickset, the other tall and thin. They looked red-eyed, probably returning to their quarters from some all-night roister.

‘What is it?’ I asked sharply. ‘What is happening?’

The thickset student turned to me. ‘There’s – there’s a man in the fountain,’ he said in a trembling voice.

The other student pointed at something sticking out of the water. ‘That – that’s a foot.’

I looked at them sharply, wondering if this was some prank. But as I stepped close I saw in the growing light that a man’s booted leg was sticking out between the chunks of ice. Taking a deep breath, I leaned over. I made out the shape of a long dark robe billowing out in that bright red water. This was a lawyer. I felt a moment’s giddiness, then pulled myself together and turned to the students. ‘Help me get him out,’ I said sharply. The one who had spoken shrank back but the tall thin one approached.

‘You’ll have to pull on that leg,’ I said. ‘Then I’ll take hold of him.’

The student crossed himself, then grabbed the leg by the ankle, took a deep breath, and pulled. The ice heaved up in big fragments as the leg emerged, then the body. The other student joined me in seizing hold of the stone-cold corpse.

We hauled it out, then laid it on the slushy ground. The gown had ridden up over the head, hiding the man’s face. I looked at the body: a small, thin man.

‘Look at that water.’ The tall student spoke in a whisper. It was almost full light now, showing a bright vermilion circle.

‘It’s full of blood,’ the other said. ‘Sweet Jesus.’

I turned back to the body. I was shivering, and not just from the cold water that had soaked me as we pulled the body out. I crouched down, took the hem of the robe and pulled it away from the face.

‘Oh Christ Jesus!’ one of the students cried out. He turned away and I heard a retching sound. But I sat transfixed by what was, for me, a double horror. The first was the great gaping wound in the man’s throat, red against the dead-white skin and stretching almost from ear to ear. The second was the face. It was Roger.

FOR A FEW MOMENTS I stood transfixed, staring at that awful corpse, the terrible wound in the throat. Roger’s eyes were closed, the alabaster face looked peaceful. I thought, surely his face should be contorted with horror as he suffered that appalling death? For a second, in the shadowy early morning light, I hoped madly that the thing on the ground might not be Roger at all, but a plaster figure some crazed artist had created as an evil joke. But even as I watched, some dark blood from the ripped neck seeped on to the snow.

‘Please, sir, cover him!’ the stocky student called in a shrill voice. I removed my coat and bent down to the body. Suddenly I was overcome by emotion. ‘Oh, my poor friend!’ I cried out, tears starting to my eyes as I gently touched Roger’s face. It was icy cold. I covered it with my coat and knelt by him, letting the tears come.

A hand on my shoulder made me jump. I looked up at the anxious face of the tall student who had helped me. ‘Please, sir,’ he asked tremulously. ‘What shall we do? People will be coming in soon.’

I rose shakily to my feet and took a deep breath. ‘Go and tell the gatekeeper to rouse the constable, who must fetch the coroner. Can you do that, lad?’

‘Yes, sir.’ The boy nodded and ran off towards the lodge. I turned and stared again at that great stone bowl of bright red water. The sun was almost fully risen now, bringing an unaccustomed warmth but showing the corpse and the fountain in their full horror. The other boy, who was leaning against the fountain, his back to that awful red water, was shivering violently. ‘You,’ I said, ‘will you run across the court to my chambers – see, there where there is already a light? My assistant is there; tell him to come at once. His name is Barak.’

The boy gulped, nodded and staggered away. I looked up at the windows of the Elliards’ quarters. There were no lights; I prayed Dorothy was still abed. I realized with sinking heart that I would have to tell her that Roger was dead. I could not leave that task to some stranger.

Moments later, to my relief, I saw Barak running towards me; the student was following more slowly. His mouth fell open when he saw the body by the fountain.