C Sansom - Sovereign

‘They’re statues, Barak. The prophets and apostles.’ They were so lifelike in the dim light that his astonishment was understandable. ‘Look, that’s Moses in the blue robe. Jesu, even his lips are painted to look real -’

We both whirled round at a patter of footsteps, just in time to glimpse the hem of a dark robe disappearing through the door before it slammed shut with a bang. As we raced up to it we heard the sound of a key turning. Barak grasped the handle frantically.

‘Shit!’ he cried. ‘He’s locked us in!’ He tugged again, but it was no good.

I set my lips. ‘Then it’s us who are trapped now, while he gets away.’

We walked back into the chapterhouse, where there was more light. Barak’s face was red with embarrassment.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘That was my fault. Charging in here without a thought like an arsehole, then crying out at those statues, pox on them. He must have been hiding in one of those corners, you’d have seen him but for my foolishness.’ There was real distress in his face.

‘Well, it’s done now,’ I said.

‘I’m not the man I was,’ he said with sudden, bitter anger.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’d never have made a mistake like that a couple of years ago. I’ve had too much soft living at Lincoln’s Inn.’ He set his teeth. ‘How are we going to get out of here?’

I looked up at the stained-glass window. ‘There’s only one way. You’ll have to climb up those statues, break the window and call for help. Use your sword-hilt.’

He set his lips. ‘They’ll be laughing at us from one end of St Mary’s to the other.’

‘I doubt Maleverer will be laughing. We need to see him as soon as possible.’

‘Better get on with it, then.’ Barak took a deep breath, then climbed up the statue of Moses. Balanced on his stone head, he shinned up the figure of St Mark above him. He had not, at any rate, lost his agility. Balanced on the stone head of the apostle, he put one arm round a decorated pillar and then, with the hilt of his sword, leaned over and dealt the nearest pane of glass a heavy blow. It shattered, the noise echoing round the chapterhouse. I winced. He smashed the one next to it, then leaned out of the window and shouted ‘Help!’ in a great bellow that echoed round the chapterhouse. I winced again. He yelled twice more, then called down to me. ‘They’ve seen us. People are coming.’

AN HOUR LATER we stood before Maleverer’s desk in his office at the King’s Manor. On the way in we had seen a crowd of people standing round Oldroyd’s horse lying still on the ground. I recoiled at the sight of a wide stream of blood running across the yard; Maleverer’s orders had been carried out. Inside the manor, there was a smell of wood shavings. The sound of sawing came from outside Maleverer’s office, for elaborate works of decoration were going on in the manor house too, making it fit for the King. I told Maleverer our story. He listened with that hard, angry expression that seemed fixed on his face. A big hairy hand toyed with an inkwell as though he would crush it in his palm. A tall thin man in a silk lawyer’s robe and the coif of a serjeant at law at his elbow; he had been called in and introduced to me as Archbold, the King’s coroner, with jurisdiction to investigate all deaths on royal property.

Maleverer was silent a moment after I finished, running a finger along the flat edge of his beard. ‘So the man spoke against the King and Queen. Well, that’s common enough up here. There should have been more hanged last spring. You should hear some of the things our informers tell us.’

‘Yet I felt, sir, that the glazier was trying to tell me something important. And there must have been some reason he was killed.’

‘If he was,’ Maleverer said. ‘What if this person in the church was just someone passing through, who was frightened by that oaf running in with his sword?’ He gave Barak a look of disfavour.

‘I don’t think so, Sir William.’ This was not the reaction I had anticipated. ‘The footprints led from the door near the cart to the chapterhouse. I suspect the person had a key to both, and planned to go into the church from the beginning, so he would not be seen. And that is another thing. Who would have keys to the church?’

Maleverer grunted. ‘The monks probably took copies before they left, so they could come back and steal.’ He studied me. ‘So, then. Are you one of those lawyers who likes ferreting about after puzzles and mysteries? You have the pinched look of such a funny-ossity.’ His Yorkshire accent strengthened as he used a dialect term I did not understand but could guess was uncomplimentary. I did not answer.

‘You haven’t done very well, have you, letting him get away? Did you see nothing of what he looked like?’

‘Only the hem of a dark robe.’

Maleverer turned to the coroner. ‘Have you ever heard that name the glazier mentioned? Blaybourne?’

‘No, sir.’ He looked at me with sharp blue eyes. ‘Mayhap it was the man who pushed the glazier into the cart, if anyone did. Some fellow guildsman he quarrelled with.’

Maleverer nodded. ‘More than likely.’ He leaned across the desk. ‘Brother Shardlake, the King and his Progress will be here in three days. Every official here is working all hours to get everything ready for His Majesty, to ensure all goes smoothly. Especially the submission of the town councillors and the local gentry. What we do not have time for is a lot of fuss about some stupid workman who fell, or was pushed, into his cart of glass. Understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’ I felt disappointment, but also relief. I had discharged my duty and it was up to Maleverer to decide what if anything was to be done. But his next words made my heart sink.

‘Since you like mysteries, you can investigate the glazier’s death on the coroner’s behalf.’

Archbold smiled and nodded. ‘An excellent idea, sir. I’ve no one else to spare.’

‘Go to the man’s house, talk to his friends, find if he had any enemies.’ Maleverer turned to the coroner again. ‘There will have to be a formal investigation, won’t there?’

Archbold nodded. ‘I fear so, Sir William. We can’t just leave it, though if it wasn’t an accident it’s probably some quarrel among the guildsmen, like I say. But we have to be seen doing something. We don’t want the city made even more hostile.’

‘There we are then. Brother Shardlake and his assistant can deal with it.’ Maleverer delved into his robe, produced a large iron key and laid it on the table. I picked it up reluctantly. ‘That’s all he had on him, apart from a purse with a few groats. His house key, probably. Bring the results of your enquiries to me. And it would be good if the evidence supported death by misadventure, you understand?’ He smiled then, showing big yellow teeth. ‘I’ll report to the Duke of Suffolk, tell him it will be settled quietly.’

‘But Sir William,’ I said. ‘I am a witness. It would not be proper -’

‘Pox on what’s proper. I want this out of the way. We can empanel a jury from among the workmen here.’

‘I have to prepare the petitions for the King,’ I ventured.

‘Then you’ll have to work round the clock like the rest of us,’ Maleverer answered bluntly. He turned to Archbold. ‘Master coroner, will you leave us a moment? Take him -’ he waved at Barak – ‘with you.’ They bowed and went outside, leaving Maleverer staring coldly at me. I sensed his dislike, and I wondered whether it was the contempt big hearty fellows will sometimes have for deformity. His eyes narrowed.

‘You have another task as well, don’t you?’ he asked. ‘At the castle? Don’t gawk at me like a new-landed fish. I sit on the Council of the North, I know everything. You know how delicate the political position is. You will obey me to the letter in this matter of the glazier, do you understand? Get it out of the way quick.’