C Sansom - Sovereign

After a minute Sir James deigned to look up. ‘So you’re the lawyer,’ he said in a reedy voice. ‘Well, I suppose your clothes will do, though that feather in your cap needs straightening.’ He pointed his quill at Barak. ‘Who is that?’

‘My assistant, sir.’

He made a flicking motion with the quill. ‘You won’t be there. Outside.’

Barak gave him a nasty look, but left the room. Sir James turned back to the petitions and our summary. He studied them for another ten minutes, ignoring Wrenne and me completely. I had met self-important officials in my time, but Fealty was something new. I glanced at Wrenne, who winked at me.

After a while my back started to hurt, and I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. ‘You’d better not bob around like that on Friday,’ Sir James said without looking up. ‘You stand stock-still when you’re in the presence of the King.’ He tossed the summary aside. ‘Well, those will do I suppose.’ He heaved himself up from his desk. ‘Now listen carefully. This is what will happen on Friday.’

He took us through the planned event step by step. Early in the morning we would journey to Fulford Cross with the deputation from York sent to abase themselves before the King and present him with gifts from the city. We would all wait until the Progress arrived. All would kneel, as Henry had decreed everyone must do at his approach. There would be various ceremonies, during which Recorder Tankerd and I would wait, kneeling, at the front of the York delegation. Then the King and Queen would step forward and Tankerd would make his speech from his knees. Afterwards, Wrenne and I could rise to our feet, to present the petitions.

‘You will hand the petitions to the King’s pages, who will be standing by; they in turn will hand them to the King. Having thus formally accepted the documents, the King will pass them to another official. Later they will be given back to you to deal with from then on.’

‘Round in a circle like the maypole,’ Wrenne said with a smile. He seemed not at all intimidated by Sir James, who gave him an offended stare.

‘His Majesty will have graciously consented to deal with them,’ he rasped. ‘That is the point.’

‘Of course, Sir James,’ Wrenne answered mildly.

‘One thing more. The King may choose to address some words to you, some pleasantries. If he does you may look him in the face and reply, briefly, and thank him for addressing you. And you address him as Your Majesty, not Your Grace – he prefers that term now. Is that understood?’

‘It would be a great honour,’ Wrenne murmured.

Sir James grunted. ‘But unless he addresses you – ’ Sir James leaned forward threateningly – ‘do not look the King in the eye. Keep your heads bowed. It is a fact that many of the common sort who are brought into His Majesty’s presence never actually see his countenance. People will try to risk an upward glance, from vulgar curiosity. If the King sees that – well, he has a harsh tongue, and if he is in ill-humour, from the pain he suffers in his leg or some other cause, he is good at thinking up nasty punishments for those who offend him.’ He smiled tightly at us.

A picture of Aske’s skeleton, hanging in its chains, came into my head. ‘We will be careful on Friday, Sir James,’ I said.

‘You had better be. This is not a game. It is to show these barbarian papists the power and glory of their king.’ He motioned to Cowfold, who replaced the petitions in the panniers and handed them to me.

‘That is all. Present yourselves in the hall of King’s Manor at eight on Friday. And you, master lawyer, make sure you get a shave before then. Barbers are being laid on.’ He motioned us away with his pen.

We left and rejoined Barak, who was waiting outside. I blew out my cheeks.

‘He was a pompous old arsehole,’ Barak said.

‘I am glad that’s over, though I confess I am looking forward to Friday even less now.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Let us see whether Maleverer is back yet. Brother Wrenne, I shall see you on Friday morning. Can I give you the petitions to keep?’

‘Ay. I will take them back to my house.’

I shook his hand. ‘Thank you again for what you did this morning. You saved us a nasty beating, or worse.’

‘I am glad to have helped. Well, good luck with Sir William.’

‘Thank you. Until Friday then.’

‘Until Friday. The great day.’ He raised his eyebrows, then turned and left us.

MALEVERER, THOUGH, was not yet back. We waited for a while in the hall of the manor, where quite a little group had gathered with matters requiring his attention on his return. Lady Rochford and Jennet Marlin were still there, and the bearded young man, talking intently to Lady Rochford.

‘Is he going to be all day?’ Barak asked.

‘I am reluctant to leave that box all this time.’

‘Then let’s wait with it,’ Barak said. ‘We might as well be there as here.’

I considered. ‘Yes, why not. We can see from the window when he returns.’ I looked at him. ‘You don’t think I’m being too anxious.’

‘Not where Maleverer’s concerned, no.’

‘All right.’

He leaned close. ‘And perhaps we could take a look inside.’

I looked at him irritably. ‘It’s locked. I am not going to break it open.’

‘Don’t need to.’ Barak gave a sly smile. ‘You forget my skills at picking locks. A box like that would be child’s play.’ He glanced at my cap, which I had removed and was holding carefully. ‘Give me the pin keeping that feather in your cap and I could easily unlock it, see what is inside. Then we can lock it up again. No one need know if we didn’t want them to.’

I hesitated. Barak had that eager light in his eyes again. ‘We’ll see,’ I said.

We walked up to Craike’s office. My heart was beating fast, for I had an irrational fear the wretched casket might be gone. The corridor was silent and empty, the work of moving the officials out evidently complete. I unlocked Craike’s door and sighed with relief at the sight of the box sitting where we had left it on the table.

We locked the door again. Barak looked at me questioningly. Curiosity fought the fear of getting ever deeper into this grim business. But we were in deep as it was, and I knew how good a lockpick Barak was – I had seen him in action before. ‘Do it,’ I said abruptly. ‘But for Jesu’s sake, be careful.’ I removed the pin from my cap and handed it to him

He inserted it into the little lock, twisting it gently to and fro. I looked again at the scene painted on the box, Diana the huntress. The paint was lined with hairline cracks through age, but the picture was very well done; this box must have been very expensive once.

‘Shit,’ Barak said suddenly. He stood holding up half the pin. It had broken off, leaving the other half stuck in the lock. I could just see a tiny sliver of metal protruding. He tried to grasp it but it was not sticking out far enough.

‘You dolt!’ I cried ‘So much for your brag! If that pin’s stuck the box will have to be smashed open. Maleverer will see it’s been tampered with.’

‘The damned pin was too thin.’

‘Excuses won’t help.’

‘We could say we found it like that.’

‘I do not fancy lying to him. Do you?’

He frowned. ‘If I could lay hold of a pair of thin pliers I could have that pin out of the lock. Those workmen are bound to have pliers.’

I took a deep breath. ‘Well, go and find some, for Jesu’s sake. I knew I should not have agreed to this.’

He looked, for once, crestfallen. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ he said, and made for the door. He turned the key to let himself out. I heard his footsteps moving away down the corridor and sighed, looking anxiously at the box. I gently touched the broken end of the pin, wondering if my thinner fingers might get it out, but it was impossible.