C Sansom - Sovereign

His eyes widened and he leaned forward. ‘What papers? Quick, what were they? Who saw them?’

‘Only I. When I was attacked, they were taken -’

‘You had them and let them be stolen. You-’ He checked himself and turned to the guard. ‘Wait outside, this is a privy matter. You too, Master Craike. No, wait. You were the one who found the lawyer?’

‘Yes. I told you -’

‘You came upstairs,’ I said, my mind beginning to work again. ‘To the top floor, and as you reached the hallway you heard someone going down the back stairs?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you say,’ Maleverer interjected brutally. ‘And just afterwards this Barak found you bending over his body.’

‘That is right,’ Barak confirmed.

Craike’s lips set. ‘I see. I am under suspicion.’

Maleverer turned to Barak. ‘You have been with Master Craike since you found him?’

‘Yes, Sir William. We went together to tell the guards-’

Maleverer turned back to Craike. ‘So if you had some implement you used to try to brain the lawyer here, it’ll be about your person still. And now we have these papers missing too. Take off your robe, let’s see if there’s anything under there besides your fat carcass.’

‘I have nothing to hide, sir.’ Craike removed his long robe. I was relieved to see, underneath, only a doublet whose buttons strained at his plump stomach. Maleverer called the guard in. ‘Search him. See there’s nothing concealed in his upper hose.’ He turned to me. ‘These papers, how many were there?’

‘The box was half full. A thick packet.’

Maleverer nodded to the guard. ‘See if they’re there.’

The guard came over and patted Craike from neck to feet. Craike began to sweat. The guard turned to Maleverer with a shake of his head. ‘Nothing, sir.’

Maleverer gave a grimace of disappointment. He nodded at Barak. ‘Now him, just to be sure.’ He watched as Barak submitted to the same treatment, then looked balefully at Craike. ‘Right, you can go. For now. But I find it hard to credit that someone heard you coming upstairs in time to run off without being seen. You are under suspicion, sir. You have long been known for papist leanings.’

Craike’s eyes were wide with fear as he turned and left the room. Maleverer turned his gaze to Barak. ‘You can stay. You were Lord Cromwell’s trusted man once, were you not?’

‘You are well informed, sir,’ Barak said quietly.

‘Yes. I am.’

I struggled to get up. Barak helped me to a chair. Maleverer studied me. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

‘Yes. A little dizzy, and my head and neck are sore.’

He grunted. ‘Your head sits oddly enough on your body to start with.’ He crossed the room and sat on a corner of his desk, thrusting a booted foot out in front of him and folding his arms. He looked at me, his dark eyes hard and probing. ‘What were these papers you saw?’

‘I looked at the top four. There were more underneath I did not see. The first was a royal family tree. Hand drawn.’

‘Where did it start? Think a moment, get this right.’

‘With Richard Duke of York, father of Edward IV. And his wife, Duchess Cecily Neville.’

Maleverer sighed, a sigh that turned into a bitter laugh. ‘Oh yes. Everything starts with Cecily Neville.’ I noticed a look of strain about his face. ‘Do you think you could draw that tree?’

‘Yes. I think so.’

He nodded. ‘Ay. Lawyers ever had good memories for papers, that they may quote them to ordinary men to puzzle them. Do that today, but in secret, and get Barak there to bring it to me.’

‘I will, sir.’

‘And the others?’

‘There was a scribbled paper that claimed to tell of a legend from the days of Merlin, that our present King would rouse God’s enmity and be driven from the realm.’ I hesitated. ‘It called him the Mouldwarp.’

Maleverer smiled cynically. ‘The Mouldwarp legend. Those fake prophecies were circulated by the hundred during the Pilgrimage of Grace. Sounds like this box may have been full of rubbish. What else?’

‘The third document was written on parchment. It was an official copy of an Act of Parliament. But one I have never heard of. It was called the Titulus Regulus.’

Maleverer’s head jerked forward. ‘What?’ He hesitated, then asked, very quietly, ‘Did you read it?’

‘No. Only the title page. It was from the reign of Richard III.’

Maleverer was silent a moment, running a finger along the edge of his black beard. ‘That was not a real Act of Parliament,’ he said at length. ‘It was a fake.’

‘But the seal -’

‘God’s body, did you not near me! It was a forgery.’ He leaned forward. ‘Produced by the followers of Lambert Simnel, who pretended to be one of the Princes in the Tower and challenged the King’s father.’

It was clear he was lying – mention of that Act had shaken Maleverer to the core.

‘And the fourth document?’ he asked.

‘Different again. An old scrawled paper. It claimed to be a confession. By a man named Edward Blaybourne. It said it was made in contemplation of death, that the world might know of his great sin.’

Maleverer seemed to have stopped breathing for a moment. ‘And that great sin,’ he said very quietly. ‘Did he say what it was?’

‘I had got no further when I was struck down.’

‘Are you sure?’ His voice was scarce above a whisper. I looked back at him steadily.

‘Yes.’

He considered a moment. ‘You said the paper was old. There was no date on it?’

‘Not at the head of the paper, at least.’ I hesitated. ‘Blaybourne, that was the name Master Oldroyd mentioned.’

He nodded. ‘Yes, it was. That glazier was not what he seemed, he was part of the conspiracy to topple the King from his throne this spring.’ He gave me a long hard look. ‘Do you swear you read no more than you have told me, that you do not know what Blaybourne’s sin was? Think before you answer. If you lie you make yourself liable to great penalties.’

‘I will swear on the Bible, sir.’

He stared at me a long moment, then looked away. For a moment he seemed distracted. Then he glared at us again. ‘You fools. If only you had left that box alone, got those papers to me.’ He clenched his big fists. ‘Right, the boy.’

‘The apprentice?’

‘Ay. Barak said you saw him looking at a spot on his master’s bedroom wall, it was there you found that casket. I’d no time to question him yesterday, I was summoned to the Privy Council.’ He nodded to the guard. ‘Let’s have him brought up.’

The guard left. Maleverer sat behind his desk. He picked up a quill and began writing rapidly, pausing occasionally to ask me to confirm a point about the papers I had seen. He was making notes of what I had said. I looked uneasily at Barak, glad I had spoken only the truth.

‘Sir,’ I ventured. ‘May I ask whom these notes are for?’

‘The Privy Council,’ he answered bluntly, without raising his head.

There was a knock at the door. The guard, helped by another, dragged the red-headed apprentice into the room. He was in a terrible state, his cheek and lip both thick and bloodied where Maleverer had struck him. He was dressed only in his shirt, and the long tail, which barely covered his arse, was streaked with faeces, as were the backs of his fat legs. The stink from him was enough to make me recoil.

‘He shit himself on the way,’ the guard said.

Maleverer laughed. ‘Better than doing it in here. Let him go.’ The guards released the apprentice, who staggered a moment then stood looking at Sir William, his protuberant eyes almost starting from his head.

‘Well, boy,’ he said. ‘Ready to talk?’