C Sansom - Sovereign

I walked down the side of the church to the main courtyard. It was late in the afternoon but fortunately the day was still warm, for in my haste I had come out without robe or coat. It had turned into one of those golden autumn afternoons when everything is still and full of colour, a slight misty quality in the air. The pleasantness of the day seemed only to point up my black mood.

The courtyard was a hive of activity. There were many soldiers outside King’s Manor and I wondered if the King and Queen were in there now. Servants were rushing to and fro and I almost collided with a fellow carrying a huge carved chair to the pavilions. I went to lean against the wall, out of the way, watching the scurrying figures as they weaved to and fro.

I heard a bray of cultivated laughter. A little group of courtiers appeared. I recognized Lady Rochford, who had changed now into a yellow silk dress. Beside her Jennet Marlin clutched a little flop-eared dog to her chest. Some other ladies I did not recognize were with them, all richly dressed, with painted faces and necks, waxy in the sunlight. Their wide skirts swished on the paving stones as they walked towards me.

The women were jesting with a group of young men, among whom I recognized the Queen’s secretary, Francis Dereham. He wore a discontented scowl, perhaps because the ladies seemed to be giving most of their attention to an athletic-looking young man with a pretty, sculpted face and curled brown hair, resplendent in a purple doublet with slashed yellow sleeves and a curved golden codpiece. He turned his head, a jewel in his ear flashing in the sun. His features had a weakness to them, a lubricious smoothness.

‘You should take your dog, Lady Rochford,’ the young popinjay said. ‘I think it heats up Mistress Marlin’s bosom too much, she is quite flushed.’ He gave a teasing smile at Jennet, who was indeed pink. She gave him a vicious look in return.

‘Perhaps I should, Master Culpeper,’ Lady Rochford replied. ‘Here, Jennet, let me have him.’

Mistress Marlin handed over the dog, which struggled as Lady Rochford clasped it to her chest. ‘There, to hold a dog thus is wholesome for a weak stomach. Is it not, my Rex?’

‘I know better things to comfort a woman’s stomach,’ Culpeper said, bringing a titter from the group. Lady Rochford, to my surprise, gave him a look of girlish coquettishness. ‘Come, sir, fie,’ she said with a laugh.

‘No shame in bringing comfort to a fine lady,’ he answered, touching the dog. It growled and struggled again, its tan coat marked with flecks of whitelead from Lady Rochford’s neck. The group was level with me now and I turned away, but not before Jennet Marlin caught my eye; she frowned at me. They passed on and I followed them with my eyes. Lady Rochford, Mistress Marlin and that glowering young secretary, Dereham. Three who had seen me enter King’s Manor with the box the day I was struck down.

I left the wall and wandered back to the lodging house. Where was Barak, I wondered? Somewhere with young Tamasin, probably. I was about to go in when a voice called my name. I turned and saw Master Craike heading towards me.

‘Brother Shardlake,’ he said with a smile. ‘How are you?’ His manner was friendly. I wondered if he had heard what had happened to me at Fulford, and guessed not. ‘Well enough,’ I answered. ‘And you, sir?’

He sighed. ‘There are endless complaints about the accommodation. People seem to think I can conjure the lice from the beds at all the inns in York.’

‘What of those thousands of people?’ I asked. ‘Where have they all been put?’

‘I have a minute,’ he said. ‘Would you like me to show you where they all are?’

I raised my eyebrows. ‘All? In one minute?’ He smiled. ‘All the servants and carriers, at least. Over two thousand of them.’

‘Very well. I could do with a distraction.’ ‘So could I, sir. This nightmare – but, come.’ To my surprise, Craike led me to the church. We stepped inside, into a tumult of noise. Most of the stalls were occupied now with riding horses. Grooms were carrying great bundles of hay to the animals, who ate lustily as more grooms washed them down. There was an overwhelming stink of dung. I saw that in some of the empty side-chapels blacksmiths’ forges were being erected; one or two fires had already been lit and the smiths were working hard, mending shoes that had been damaged on the journey. Five thousand horses on the Progress, I thought. Twenty thousand shoes.

I followed Master Craike’s example as he lifted the hem of his robe above the straw and dung that littered the nave. He stopped at a door in the centre of the nave, under the great steeple, where two soldiers stood guard. They saluted him.

‘Anyone up there now, soldier?’ Craike asked.

‘No, sir, not at present.’

Craike turned to me. ‘Come, sir,’ he said. ‘Are you fit to climb some steps?’

‘I think so.’ For a moment I hesitated; was this wise, allowing myself to be led away, alone, by the man who might have been my assailant? But I thought, to hell with it. I will not cower away in that damned lodging house.

We passed through the door and up a long winding staircase. We climbed very high, and were both out of breath by the time Craike opened another door and we stepped into what had once been the belltower, though the bells themselves were long gone for melting down. Over the railings that had once enclosed them we could see down into the nave. Far below us another blacksmith’s forge flared redly into life, the effect unearthly against the pillared walls. I suddenly remembered the fight to the death I had had in another belltower, at Scarnsea four years before; then I had nearly gone to my death. I did feel afraid then, and jumped as Master Craike touched my arm.

‘Do heights trouble you, sir? I do not like them either. But this sight makes it worthwhile.’ He beckoned me over to a window. ‘Down there, look.’

I joined him, my eyes widening at what I saw. Behind the monastery, several fields had been enclosed with wicker fencing, forming a gigantic campsite. Conical soldiers’ tents were pitched in hundreds around an open grassy space where cauldrons and gigantic spits were being set up over wood fires from which smoke was beginning to drift into the late afternoon sky. In the next field hundreds upon hundreds of wagons were drawn up, guarded by soldiers, while the big carrying horses had been stockaded in more fields beyond and stood cropping the grass, hundreds upon hundreds of them. In a nearer field I saw the latrine-men digging. What seemed like a city-full of men sat around in front of the tents, or diced or ran at football games. Laughter and cheers drifted up from a makeshift ring where a cockfight was taking place.

‘Jesu,’ I said.

‘The Progress at camp. It was my idea to make this belltower a watching place, the officials and captains can come up here from time to time to see what is going on. Though thank God I am responsible only for the courtiers’ and gentlemen’s accommodation, not all this.’

‘Such organization,’ I said quietly. ‘It is a marvel. Somehow terrifying.’

He nodded slowly, the sun catching the wrinkles in his plump face. ‘The Royal household has been organizing progresses for years, of course. Armies too, for this is an army as well. But to have done all this in weeks! It cost much effort. And money,’ he added, raising his eyebrows. ‘You have no idea how much money.’

I looked at the rows and rows of carts. ‘It astounded me this morning, how much was being carried.’

‘Oh, yes. All the tents, for there have been country places along the way where even privy councillors have had to make do with canvas. And a thousand other things, from stores of food and fodder to the Privy Council records and the King’s greyhounds for when he goes hunting.’ He looked at me gravely. ‘And extra weapons, in case there was trouble in the north and the carriers and drivers had to be pressed as soldiers.’