C Sansom - Sovereign

‘Yes, sir,’ I answered heavily. So Maleverer was one of the trusted men on the Council of the North, whom Cranmer had told me of. I wondered if he knew what Broderick was accused of.

He gave his harsh smile again. ‘As for your other task, it is probably a good idea for someone to keep an eye on Master Radwinter from what I hear of him. How is Broderick, have you seen him?’

‘Yesterday. He has an infected burn, I ordered a physician fetched.’

‘Good. But one thing, Brother Shardlake.’ He pointed a big square finger at me. ‘Apart from watching for Broderick’s welfare, you keep that long nose of yours out of that matter. Right out.’ He stared hard at me again. ‘I don’t like long noses. I cut them off sometimes, and the heads as well.’

I FOUND BARAK STANDING ON the steps of the manor house, looking across the courtyard. The day’s work had begun and was continuing at the same breakneck pace. Visible progress had been made on the two pavilions; through the open doors I could see workmen finishing the interior decorations. Nearby, frames were being erected for three enormous tents, carts loaded with huge canvases standing by. The mist had cleared, leaving a grey sky.

‘They took the horse away.’ Barak nodded over to the wall, where a man with a brush and pail was washing away the blood.

‘Killing the poor beast was unnecessary,’ I said. I told him of Maleverer’s orders. ‘I wish I’d kept my mouth shut after all. Now I’m landed with this task, and if I find evidence Oldroyd was murdered I’ll be less popular than ever.’

‘Where do we start?’

‘At the Guildhall, I suppose. I should liaise with the city coroner. And if poor Oldroyd was a master glazier they’ll be able to put us in touch with his guild, and perhaps tell us where he lived.’

Barak nodded. He still had a gloomy look, I saw, and I remembered his sudden outburst in the church. I must talk to him later on. ‘Let’s get started, then,’ I said with a sigh.

‘We’re due to meet old Wrenne at ten.’

‘Damn it, so we are. I’ll send a message to say we’ll be late. I must visit the prison as well, to see if Radwinter’s brought a doctor to Broderick.’

‘Master Shardlake!’ I turned at the sound of a familiar voice, and saw Tamasin Reedbourne approaching from the direction of the church. She was accompanied by the sour-looking woman who had been with Lady Rochford the day before. I set my teeth; was there no avoiding this importunate girl? She came up to us.

‘There is no time to stand talking, Tamasin,’ her companion said disapprovingly.

‘But these are the gentlemen who saved the Queen’s doucets yesterday. And Master Shardlake came to my aid today, when the horse ran at us.’

The older woman looked at me curiously. ‘You are the lawyer that found that man’s body?’

‘I am, madam.’ I bowed. ‘Matthew Shardlake. And you are Mistress Marlin, I believe.’

I was surprised by the angry look that came into her large brown eyes. ‘And how, sir, do you know that?’

‘Master Craike mentioned your name after we saw you yesterday.’

‘Did he?’ Again that cynical, humourless smile. ‘Yes, I am Jennet Marlin, I attend on Lady Rochford as you saw yesterday.’ She looked at me. ‘They say you got yourself locked in the chapterhouse afterwards and had to call for help.’

I looked at her evenly. ‘Indeed we did.’

‘How did that come about?’

‘I am not at liberty to say,’ I answered coldly.

‘A man of mystery,’ she said, turning away. ‘Come, Tamasin, we must see what they are about in the Queen’s kitchen.’

Tamasin smiled at us, her smile lingering on Barak. ‘The King and Queen are having their own privy kitchens installed in the abbot’s house,’ she said proudly. ‘We are helping with the arrangements, as I told you earlier.’

‘Come on!’ Mistress Marlin walked away with a swish of skirts. There was an odd stiffness about her gait, as though her body was held tight with tension. If she had a fiancé in the Tower she would have much to worry about. Tamasin spoke quickly to Barak. ‘Will you be dining in the hall tonight?’

‘I don’t know, mistress. We haven’t even had time for breakfast yet.’

‘But you will be entitled to bouche of court. Do you not have dockets?’

‘Not yet,’ I said.

‘I will get some for you.’

‘We will not be dining till late,’ I said. ‘We have a busy day.’

‘Say six, then?’

‘That will be fine,’ Barak said. ‘Six o’clock.’

Tamasin curtsied quickly and went to join her mistress. They disappeared into the house. I shook my head. ‘That girl is the most pert creature I have ever come across.’

‘Her mistress is a rude bitch.’

‘Yes, she is. These royal women-servants seem to think they can take any liberty. And that young Tamasin has set her sights on you.’

Barak smiled. ‘Can’t say I mind. Not short of spirit, is she?’

‘Come,’ I said. ‘Let’s see if there’s anywhere in this great warren where we can arrange for messages to be sent.’

A guard directed us to a tent where boys were running in and out, carrying papers. A whole system for sending messages around the city had been set up. The man in charge seemed reluctant to get word to Wrenne, but mention of Maleverer’s name worked wonders, and a lad was despatched with a scribbled note.

We fetched our outdoor clothes and made our way to the gate to Bootham. People were scurrying in and out under the barbican and one of the King’s soldiers was arguing with a dusty-looking couple who had stepped down from a poor wagon covered with sacks. Both wore baggy smocks of strange design, green squares of different sizes intersecting across a russet background.

‘We heard they were crying out for all the produce as they can get for the King’s visit!’ the man said in the accent of a Scotchman.

‘No Scotch in the city while the King’s here, no vagabonds,’ the guard said implacably.

‘But we’ve driven from Jedburgh. We’ve the year’s oat harvest here.’

‘Then serve it to thy border reivers that steal our cattle. Turn round and be off. No Scotch!’

The couple remounted their wagon wearily. The guard winked at us as we approached. ‘Keep the barbarians out, eh?’ A Yorkman by his accent, he looked pleased with himself. I reflected that yesterday Brother Kimber had used the same word about the northern English.

We walked back into the city. The Guildhall was only a few streets away, in a square next to another abandoned monastery, the roof gone. How full this city must have been of monks and friars. The Guildhall was busy as the King’s Manor, a scurry of people going in and out. It was an imposing building, though far smaller than its counterpart in London. I asked the guard at the door where I might find the city coroner.

‘He’s not here, maister.’ The man looked at us curiously. ‘But Recorder Tankerd is within.’ He let us pass, into a big hall with a splendid hammerbeam roof where merchants and officials stood talking as officials bustled in and out of side-rooms. I asked a passing clerk where I could find the Recorder; the title of the city’s chief legal officer was the same as in London.

‘He’s with t’mayor. I doubt he can see you, sir.’

‘I come from Sir William Maleverer.’

Once again that name brought results. ‘Oh. Then come with me, sir.’

We followed the clerk to a large room with a fine view across the river, where two men stood at a table poring over gold coins, counted into piles. I recognized the plump figure of the mayor in his bright red robes from the day before. ‘With all the people we’ve canvassed,’ he was saying crossly, ‘they’ll say we should have collected more.’