C Sansom - Sovereign

‘Jesu knows.’

‘Why’s the Duke of Suffolk involved? He’s in charge of the Progress, isn’t he?’

‘Yes. He’s the senior official, close to the King.’

‘What was Oldroyd up to? They wouldn’t send a troop of soldiers if he’d been overcharging for taking out the glass. That’s balls.’

‘No. I think that was the first thing that came into Maleverer’s head when he saw us.’ I lowered my voice. ‘It’s something political, it has to be.’

‘Something to do with the conspiracy?’ Barak whistled softly. ‘I remember Oldroyd sounded like he might be a papist, mourning the stained glass.’

I nodded, then frowned. ‘God knows what they’ll do to that apprentice.’

‘Poor little arsehole.’ Barak gave me a hard look. ‘Still, apprentices often learn things through listening at doors and with a callow lad like that scaring it out of him is the quickest way to the truth.’

‘That’s what Lord Cromwell would have done?’

He shrugged. ‘If the boy has any sense he’ll tell them all he knows.’

‘And he did know something,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘He kept glancing at a spot on the wall, as though there were something hidden behind that hanging.’

‘Did he? I missed that.’

‘I was going to tell Maleverer about it, but he stormed out.’

‘Maybe we should go back and tell him now.’

I shook my head. ‘You saw he wanted us out of there quick. I’ll speak to him later.’

‘Anyway, we’re off the case. Can’t say I’m sorry.’

‘No. Yet…’ I hesitated. ‘I cannot but wonder what it is all about. I’ll never forget that desperate look in Oldroyd’s eyes. What he said about the King and Queen and that name, Blaybourne. It was obviously important after all.’

‘Seems so.’

‘I’d guess that when Maleverer told the Duke of Suffolk about Oldroyd’s words they meant something to him. He’d know secrets of state Maleverer wouldn’t.’

‘Your curiosity is piqued, then?’ Barak grinned. ‘We’ll have to watch out now; you will be wanting to investigate the glazier’s death after all.’

‘No, I have enough to deal with.’ I pushed my bowl away. ‘We should go,’ I said. ‘There is another delightful gentleman I should see today. Master Radwinter. As we are in the city, let’s get it out the way before we go to Master Wrenne’s.’

IT WAS EASIER to negotiate the narrow crowded streets on foot than on horseback, and within half an hour we had crossed the city. York was far smaller than London, and we were beginning to recognize the landmarks. It was raining again by the time we reached the castle, a mizzling rain that seemed to sink into one. The leaves and mud of the inner bailey were slimy underfoot. I looked up at Aske’s skeleton.

‘ ’Tis not healthy to stare too long at these displays,’ Barak said quietly.

‘Broderick told me that sight should be a reminder of what lawyers may come to.’ I looked up at the tower, the little window at the top that marked Broderick’s cell. ‘Well, I had better go in.’

‘Do you want me to come with you this time?’ Barak asked.

‘No.’ I smiled. ‘I know you’re curious, I would be in your shoes. But I feel I have to meet Radwinter man to man. If I took someone with me he’d take it as a sign of weakness.’

He nodded, and I led the way to the guardroom, where the hard-faced fellow from the day before agreed Barak could sit by his fire. He took me again to the tower, unlocking the outer door.

‘May I leave you to go up by yourself, sir?’

‘Very well.’ I passed inside. He turned the key behind me. I climbed the stone steps again. All was silent apart from the drip of water somewhere, and I guessed Radwinter and Broderick were the only people in the tower. Broderick was secure indeed, I thought; between him and the outside world stood the guards at the castle drawbridge, those in the guardroom, then the locked door to the tower and another to his cell.

I paused on the landing outside Radwinter’s door to catch my breath, so that he should not see me out of wind again. But he had the hearing of a cat, for I had only stopped a few moments when the heavy door jerked open. Radwinter stood in the doorway, his face set hard and holding a sharp-looking sword. When he saw it was me, he laughed.

‘Master Shardlake!’

I reddened, expecting some sardonic remark, but he beckoned me in. ‘I fear you startled me, I heard someone outside.’ He put down his sword. ‘You are wet, sir, come and stand by the fire.’

I was glad to go and stand by a charcoal brazier in the centre of the room. ‘The year tumbles to its end, does it not?’ Radwinter said in the same friendly tone, smoothing down his already tidy hair. ‘We must hope for dry weather on Friday when the Progress arrives. Though in this damp demesne of York nothing is guaranteed.’

‘No indeed.’ Why was he being friendly now, I wondered.

‘You will have a glass of wine today?’ he asked. I hesitated, then nodded. He passed me a goblet. ‘There, sir. The doctor has been and dressed Sir Edward’s burns. He gave him a poultice for the one that was weeping fluid. He will come again tomorrow.’

‘Good.’

‘I fear we made a bad start yesterday. You must forgive me, I am alone in this tower with only my prisoner and those churls of guards for company. Such isolation causes the black humours to rise.’ He smiled at me, yet his eyes still held that icy glitter.

‘Consider it forgotten,’ I said mildly. I hoped this might mean I had won, that there would be no more challenges to my authority. Radwinter nodded, then stepped to one of the windows and beckoned me over. Through the rain-spattered pane I saw a view of the broad river, some houses and, beyond the city wall, a bleak flat countryside of woods and heath. Radwinter pointed to a road leading out of the city.

‘That is the Walmgate. The Progress will enter there on Friday.’

‘I wonder how those thousands will get across the city to St Mary’s.’

‘The royal household has been organizing progresses time out of mind. Though never one like this.’ He pointed to the horizon. ‘Over there is Fulford Cross, which marks the boundary of the city. The city fathers will make their submission there.’

‘I am to be there,’ I said.

He turned to me. ‘Indeed?’

‘I am involved with the preparation of the petitions to the King. I will be at the presentation to him.’

‘You do not sound as though it is a task you relish.’

I hesitated. ‘It is a little daunting.’

‘I have seen the King, you know.’

‘Have you?’

Radwinter nodded proudly. ‘Do you remember the trial of John Lambert three years ago?’

I did. The King, as Supreme Head of the Church, had presided over the heresy trial of Lambert, a radical reformer. It was the first sign he felt reform had gone far enough.

‘Ay,’ I answered slowly. ‘He was burned.’

‘As he deserved. Lambert was under my care while he was held in the Lollards’ Tower; I accompanied him to the trial. The King was -’ a smile played round the corners of his mouth – ‘splendid. Magnificent. Dressed all in white, the colour of purity. When Lambert tried to air his heretical interpretations of the scriptures, he shouted him down, reduced him to a cringing dog. I saw Lambert burned too, he made a great shouting.’ Radwinter looked at me; I sensed that he guessed how distasteful I would find this. He was playing with me again after all. I did not reply.

‘And he will be magnificent again, with the Yorkers. He has been clever, forcing the gentry to take personal oaths to him. He forgives their trespasses and at the same time makes it clear that if those oaths are broken they can expect no mercy. Carrot and stick, that is how one deals with donkeys like these. So,’ he added, ‘your journey to York is concerned with more than Broderick.’