C Sansom - Sovereign

I sighed. ‘I have to see him later.’

‘In connection with that?’ He nodded at the box, which Barak held clasped to his chest. ‘You found that at Oldroyd’s house?’

‘Yes. Yes, we did.’

‘What is it, if I might ask?’

‘We do not know. We are taking it back to Sir William.’

He looked at me sharply. ‘Something the poor apprentice told them about, at St Mary’s?’

‘I may not say, sir. And we do not know what is inside, it is locked.’

Wrenne looked at the box again, but said no more. We walked on to St Mary’s. Master Wrenne walked slowly, remarkable though he otherwise seemed for his age. Young Sergeant Leacon was still at his post at the gate, and I asked him whether Sir William had returned, noticing as I did so that Wrenne gave him a curious look.

‘Not yet, sir,’ he answered. ‘He’s expected any time. There’s many that want to see him and are having to wait. Master Dereham has arrived, the Queen’s new secretary, and he is making a mighty stink.’

Wrenne glanced at a little clock that had been set on the table in the sergeant’s cubby hole. It stood at twenty to nine.

‘We are due at Master Fealty’s office,’ Wrenne reminded us.

‘Barak and I still have half an hour. And first we must make sure this box is kept somewhere safe until Maleverer comes.’ I thought a moment, then turned to the sergeant, who was looking curiously at the casket in Barak’s arms. ‘Do you know where Master Craike might be found?’

‘He should be at his office in the manor house.’

‘Thank you.’ I turned to Barak and Wrenne. ‘We will ask him where the box may be kept safely, then change and go to the rehearsal.’

Wrenne turned to look over his shoulder at Sergeant Leacon, who was still watching us curiously. ‘That young fellow has a look of my father,’ he said in a voice tinged with sadness. ‘The same height and broad build, and my father’s hair was yellow and curly like that into his old age. He brought him back to mind.’ He turned round, then stopped and stared at his first clear view of the courtyard. Young Adam, too, was staring open-mouthed at the pavilions and the three huge tents. Men were still moving in furniture under the watchful eyes of red-coated soldiers. Through the door of one tent I saw a gigantic tapestry, bright with rich colours, being hung.

‘Jesu,’ Wrenne said again. ‘I have never seen anything like this.’

‘We still do not know what is planned. The senior officials do but may not say.’

Wrenne’s eyes turned to the monastery church. He looked sadly at the empty windows, the trail of mud by the door. A packman was leading a train of donkeys inside. ‘I expect the interior has been gutted,’ he said quietly.

‘Completely destroyed. It is being used to stable the horses.’

‘Sad,’ he murmured. ‘I visited it many times in the old days. Well, we had better get to the manor house. Sir James Fealty will be there as well as your Master Craike. Master Barak, could you carry the petitions? They are rather heavy.’

Barak took the heavy panniers from the donkey, which a guard allowed us to tie to a post. We left the boy with it, though he obviously hoped to come inside, and mounted the steps. We entered the large central hall. Here too the carpenters were finishing work, and I saw the hall had been hung from floor to ceiling with their the most splendid tapestries I had ever seen, interwoven with gold leaf that glinted among the bright colours. Looking up I saw the roof too had been painted in the most intricate and colourful designs.

Several officials stood around in earnest discussion and I saw Lady Rochford in a corner, speaking in a low voice to a bearded young man in a silken doublet with slashed sleeves, the colours gaudy. It was the man we had seen in the inn doorway the day we arrived, mocking the locals. Both their faces were tight with anger. Jennet Marlin stood a little way off. She looked curiously at Barak, the heavy panniers over his shoulders and holding the brightly painted box in his hands. Catching my eye, she made the briefest nod. Lady Rochford and the young man, catching her look, followed her gaze; Lady Rochford raised her eyes haughtily.

‘What’s the matter with them?’ I muttered.

‘Your coat’s all white down the back,’ Barak said. I twisted to look at it and saw it was smeared with white plaster dust where I had backed against Oldroyd’s wall. I heard a guffaw from the gaudily dressed young man.

‘Your coat, Master Wrenne,’ I said apologetically.

‘No matter. It will rub off. Come, sir, we must go.’

We walked on. We asked a guard where Craike’s office was located and he directed us up two flights of stairs to a suite of rooms behind the hall. Wrenne left us to find Sir James Fealty’s office, and we promised we would see him there shortly. I gave him his coat, apologizing again for its state.

There was a great bustle on the top floor, servants in King’s livery heaving trunks and boxes out of the rooms. Craike stood in a little office floored with rush matting, watching anxiously as papers and books were loaded into a chest. ‘Have a care,’ he said fussily. ‘Don’t get those papers out of order.’ He looked up in surprise as we entered. ‘Brother Shardlake!’

‘Good day, Brother Craike. Might we speak with you in confidence?’

He gave me a puzzled frown, but ordered the servants out. They took the chest with them, leaving the room bare save for a table on which Craike’s portable desk stood, a thick wad of papers pinned to it. I closed the door.

‘We are being shifted to the monks’ dormitory,’ he said. ‘It is a nightmare.’

‘I understand. But something has come into my possession, sir, that belonged to the dead glazier.’ I indicated the casket under Barak’s arm. ‘It is vital it be kept secure till Sir William returns. Do you know where I might leave it? I have to attend Sir James Fealty shortly.’

Craike ran a hand through his scanty hair. ‘The whole house is being turned upside down. You could leave it here, I suppose. I have been told to lock this room when I leave, but I do not have to surrender the key till six.’

I looked round dubiously. ‘Will this room be secure enough?’

‘The door is solid,’ Barak said, ‘and we are two floors up.’

Craike ran his hands through his hair again, then gave me a sudden apologetic smile. ‘Oh, Master Shardlake, you must think me an unhelpful churl. Only, with so much to do…’ He delved in his pocket, and handed me a key. ‘Here, take this. When you are done perhaps you could find me and return it.’

‘I will, sir. And thank you for your help at this busy time.’

‘Then I will see you later.’ Craike picked up his little desk, slung it round his shoulders and hurried from the room. Barak placed the box on the table.

‘It is light.’ He shook it. ‘There’s something inside. Cloth, perhaps?’ He gave the lid another experimental tug but it stayed fast.

‘Empty or no, it is safe now. Come, we must get changed.’ We left the room, but I cast a last anxious look at the casket before I locked the door behind us.

BARAK AND I SOON found Sir James Fealty’s office, a large room on the ground floor of the manor. We were in our best clothes, I in my best robe and my new cap, which I had bought in London. It was expensive, black velvet decorated with tiny garnets and a blue feather on the side. I disliked the gaudy thing. The feather had come a little loose in its clasp and the tip drifted in and out of my vision like a circling insect.

Sir James was a thin old fellow in a brown doublet, an embroidered collar to his shirt and a long wispy white beard that came to a point halfway down his chest. He was sitting at a large desk, reading the petitions and frowning. The clerk Cowfold who had insulted me behind my back the night before was standing at his shoulder, his face expressionless. His demeanour did not change as I gave him a hard look. Wrenne stood a little way off.