C Sansom - Sovereign

‘Saturday tomorrow,’ I said. ‘You can have a free day. I will go and see Master Wrenne, see how he is. And what the arrangements are for hearing the petitioners. I may have to do it myself if he is indisposed.’

‘The bear-baiting is in the morning,’ Barak said. ‘But some of the clerks are going hawking, I thought I might accompany them.’ He hesitated. ‘Tamasin would like to go.’

‘Good idea. Get some fresh air. How does the old rhyme go? A Greyfalcon for a King…’

‘A Merlin for a Lady,’ Barak continued cheerfully.

‘A Goshawk for a Yeoman, a Sparrowhawk for a Priest -’

‘A Kestrel for a Knave. I’m hoping someone might lend me a kestrel.’ He laughed.

‘Tamasin was telling me about her father,’ I said.

‘Oh?’ He looked surprised. ‘When did you see her?’

‘We happened to meet. Had a little talk. Perhaps I have been a little hard on the girl.’

‘I’m glad you see that.’

‘She believes her father was a professional man.’

‘I think that’s probably a story her mother told to comfort the girl. Nobody likes the taint of bastardy.’

‘That’s what I thought.’ I was reminded of Maleverer. He too had that taint. His way of dealing with it was more brutal.

Barak shook his head. ‘Tammy is so practical in many ways. But she has this notion about her father fixed in her head.’ He sighed. ‘Women need things to comfort them, and she sets no great store by religion. At the court she has seen something of the politics and greed that have brought the religious changes.’

‘You will see eye to eye with her on that, I think. As do I.’

Barak nodded. ‘I thought I might write to a contact of mine in the household office. I did him a favour in the old days, when I worked for Lord Cromwell. If someone is illegitimate, there is always a trail of gossip.’

‘Might be better not to find out the truth.’

‘If her father turns out to have been in charge of putting stray dogs out of the kitchens or something, I needn’t tell her.’

‘No.’

We heard voices. It was dark here, on the fringe of the camp, but I saw, a little way ahead, the light of a small fire, a group of men and boys gathered round it. A pit had been dug and filled with faggots. A group of gallapins had unloaded the pieces of another giant spit from a cart and were labouring to set it up, thrusting the great spiked central rods through the centre of the apparatus.

‘Don’t put the turning-handles on yet, Danny,’ a stout cook in an apron called out.

‘All right, Father,’ a boy’s high voice replied from the far end of the spit. The spit was so long that I could only make out his dim shape at the end.

‘Where’s that damned ox?’

‘Owen has gone to look.’

‘Keep your voice down. We don’t want the men from yonder tents shouting for food before the beast’s even skewered. Who’s that?’ the cook demanded sharply as he heard our footsteps, then doffed his cap at the sight of my robe. ‘Ah, sir, I’m sorry, only we don’t want people here till the cooking’s under way.’

‘We were just walking by.’ I stepped away from the end of the spit, where the sharp points waved to and fro as the little gallapin at the other end adjusted them. ‘That is a mighty spit,’ I said. ‘Are you cooking a whole ox on there?’

‘Ay, and chickens and ducks underneath. We must feed a hundred tonight.’

‘Have you been doing this every night since London?’ It was a relief to talk to someone who would neither know nor care about what had happened at Fulford.

‘Ay. In worse conditions than this too. In fields turned to seas of mud in July. One day the rains put out the fire and the men looked set to riot – the soldiers had to be brought in.’ The cook shook his head. ‘I will never complain about the cold in the Hampton Court kitchens again -’

He broke off, as a cry sounded from the gallapin at the other end of the spit. I heard a sudden grating noise. Then Barak grabbed me and threw me to the ground.

‘What in Hell-’ I shouted as I thudded heavily into the rough grass. Then I stared up in horror at the great metal spike that had been thrust through the centre of the spit and now quivered in the air three feet above my head. If Barak had not pushed me it would have skewered me through. Barak and the cook were running to the other end of the spit, then there was another loud cry, in the cook’s voice: ‘Murder!’

I got to my feet, wincing at the renewed pain in my neck, and ran to where Barak and the cook were crouched over a small figure lying on the ground. ‘Someone knocked the gallapin on the head,’ Barak called out to me. ‘Then he pushed that spike at you, he was trying to kill you!’

‘Danny!’ the cook was crying. ‘Danny!’

‘That boy,’ I breathed. ‘Is he…’

‘Let’s see.’

The cook was crouched on the ground, the boy’s head in his lap. To my relief the small figure was moving.

‘Careful with him,’ Barak said. ‘Watch his head.’

The cook gave him an angry stare. ‘Do you think I don’t know that? He is my son!’

‘I am sorry.’ I bent down. ‘Where is he hurt?’

‘There’s blood on the back of his head,’ the cook said. I felt the lad’s skull carefully. ‘I think it’s just a scalp wound. Someone hit him on the back of the head.’

The boy groaned. ‘Father! I can’t see properly,’ he said. The boy was no more than twelve or so. I felt a sudden rage at the brute who had struck him down.

‘Hold him still,’ I said. ‘See if his vision settles down.’

The cook was looking at me. ‘This was meant to kill you, sir.’

‘I can see better now, Father.’ The boy tried to lift himself up, then groaned and leaned back. ‘I’m dizzy.’

‘Listen, fellow,’ I said. ‘Your lad has a concussion. Let him lie and rest, cover him with a blanket. If he is no better tomorrow, come to me and I will pay for a doctor. What is your name?’

‘Goodrich, sir.’

‘Ask for Master Shardlake, at the lawyers’ lodging house.’

‘All right.’ The cook looked fearfully at the spit, then at the darkness beyond. ‘What if he should come back?’

‘We’ll see to that,’ Barak said grimly. He ran back and lit a stick of wood from the fire. I followed him as he walked into the darkness, but we could see nothing, only the river flowing strongly and behind us the lights of the camp. Barak looked back.

‘He’ll have gone back to the camp. Shit.’

‘Ay,’ I said quietly. ‘Come on, let’s get back ourselves.’ We returned to where the cook still crouched by his son. I saw a group of men approaching, a cart laden with an ox carcass. I touched the cook’s arm. ‘Remember my name, Master Shardlake. Let me know how he does.’

‘This should be reported!’

‘I’ll deal with that. Don’t forget. Come and see me, at the lawyers’ lodgings.’

We walked away, back to the relative safety of the lit areas, and stood looking over the crowd. Some of the men who had finished eating were sitting around their tents playing music, the sound of shawms and bagpipes wafting through the air.

‘So,’ I said quietly. ‘I am in danger. I have been careless today, grumbling about on my own.’

‘Why haven’t they tried before this?’

‘Perhaps this was the first opportunity. Someone who saw us come into the camp.’

‘There must be hundreds here from King’s Manor. If Maleverer would tell you what those damned papers were, why they were so important, you might know where to start looking.’

‘He won’t do that. I’ll tell him what’s happened, but even if he cared enough he wouldn’t be able to protect me, not among these hundreds of people.’