C Sansom: Sovereign

‘I understand,’ I said neutrally.

‘If the prisoner be bound uncomfortably, make the fetters looser though no less certain. If he is hungry, give him food. If he is ill, ensure he has medical care.’ Cranmer smiled. ‘There, that is a charitable commission, is it not?’

I took a deep breath. ‘My lord,’ I said. ‘I undertook to go to York only on a matter of pleas before the King. My past service on matters of state has cost me much in peace of mind. Now I wish to remain, as Lord Cromwell said, a private man. I have seen men die most horribly-’

‘Then ensure for me that a man lives,’ Cranmer said quietly, ‘and in decent conditions. That is all I want, and I think you are the man for it. I was a private man once, Master Shardlake, a Cambridge don. Until the King plucked me out to advise on the Great Divorce. Sometimes God calls us to hard duty. Then -’ his look was hard again – ‘then we must find the stomach for it.’

I looked at him. If I refused I would no doubt lose my place on the Progress, and might be unable to redeem the mortgage on the farm. And I had made enemies at court, I dared not alienate the Archbishop too. I was trapped. I took a deep breath.

‘Very well, my lord.’

He smiled. ‘I will have your commission sent to your house tomorrow. To act as counsel on the Progress.’ He picked up the seal and set it in my hand. It was heavy. ‘And that is my authority to show Radwinter. No papers.’

‘May I tell my assistant? Barak?’

Cranmer nodded. ‘Yes. I know Lord Cromwell trusted him. Though he said neither of you had real zeal for reform.’ He gave me a sudden questing look. ‘Though you did, once.’

‘I served my apprenticeship.’

The Archbishop nodded. ‘I know. You are one of those who worked in the early days to bring England to religious truth.’ He gave me a keen look. ‘The truth that the right head of the Church in England is not the Bishop of Rome, but the King, set by God above his people as Supreme Head, to guide them. When the King’s conscience is moved it is God who speaks through him.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ I said, though I had never believed that.

‘These conspirators are dangerous and wicked men. Harsh measures have been needed. I do not like them, but they have been forced upon us. To protect what we have achieved. Though there is much more to be done if we are to build the Christian commonwealth in England.’

‘There is indeed, my lord.’

He smiled, taking my words for agreement. ‘Then go, Master Shardlake, and may God guide your enterprise.’ He rose in dismissal. I bowed my way out of the chamber. As I walked away, I thought, this is no charitable mission. I am keeping a man safe for the torturers in the Tower. And what had this Broderick done, to bring that look of fear to Cranmer’s eyes?

MY MUSINGS WERE interrupted by voices outside the room. I nudged Barak awake with my foot, and we stood up hurriedly, wincing, for our legs were still stiff. The door opened and a man in a rather threadbare lawyer’s robe came in. Master Wrenne was a square-built man, very tall, overtopping Barak by a head. I was relieved to see that although he was indeed elderly, his square face deeply lined, he walked steady and straight and the blue eyes under the faded reddish-gold hair were keen. He gripped my hand.

‘Master Shardlake,’ he said in a clear voice with a strong touch of the local accent. ‘Or Brother Shardlake I should say, my brother in the law. Giles Wrenne. It is good to see you. Why, we feared you had met with an accident on the road.’

I noticed that as he studied me his eyes did not linger over my bent back, as most people’s do. A man of sensitivity. ‘I fear I got us lost. May I introduce my assistant, Jack Barak.’

Barak bowed, then shook Wrenne’s extended hand.

‘By Jesu,’ the old man said. ‘That’s a champion grip for a law-clerk.’ He clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Good to see, our young men take too little exercise now. So many clerks these days have a pasty look.’ Wrenne looked at the empty plates. ‘I see my good Madge has fed you. Excellent.’ He moved over to the fire. The falcon turned to him, a little bell tied to its foot jingling, and let him stroke its neck. ‘There, my old Octavia, hast tha kept warm?’ He turned to us with a smile. ‘This bird and I have hunted around York through many a winter, but we are both too old now. Please, be seated again. I am sorry I cannot accommodate you while you are in the city.’ He eased himself into a chair, and looked ruefully at the dusty furniture and books. ‘I fear since my poor wife died three years ago I have not kept up her standards of housekeeping. A man alone. I only keep Madge and a boy, and Madge is getting old, she could not cater for three. But she was my wife’s maid.’

So much for Barak’s theory about Madge, I thought. ‘We have accommodation at St Mary’s, but thank you.’

‘Yes.’ Wrenne smiled and rubbed his hands together. ‘And there will be much of interest to see there, the Progress in all its glory when it arrives. You will want to rest now. I suggest you both come here at ten tomorrow morning, and we can spend the day working through the petitions.’

‘Very well. There seems to be much work going on at St Mary’s,’ I added.

The old man nodded. ‘They say any number of wondrous buildings are being erected. And that Lucas Hourenbout is there, supervising it all.’

‘Hourenbout? The King’s Dutch artist?’

Wrenne nodded, smiling. ‘They say the greatest designer in the land, after Holbein.’

‘So he is. I did not know he was here.’

‘It seems the place is being prepared for some great ceremony. I have not seen it, only those with business are allowed into St Mary’s. Some say the Queen is pregnant, and is to be crowned here. But no one knows.’ He paused. ‘Have you heard anything?’

‘Only the same gossip.’ I remembered Cranmer’s annoyance when I had mentioned that rumour.

‘Ah well. We Yorkers will be told when it is good for us to know.’

I looked at Wrenne sharply, detecting a note of bitterness under the bluffness. ‘Perhaps Queen Catherine will be crowned,’ I said. ‘After all, she’s lasted over a year now.’ I made the remark deliberately; I wanted to establish that I was not one of those stiff-necked people in the royal employ that would talk of the King only with formal reverence.

Wrenne smiled and nodded, getting the point. ‘Well, we shall have much work to do on the petitions. I am glad of your assistance. We have to weed out the silly fratches, like the man disputing with the Council of the North over an inch of land, whose papers I read yesterday.’ He laughed. ‘But you will be familiar with such nonsense, brother.’

‘Indeed I am. Property law is my specialism.’

‘Ah! You will regret telling me that, sir.’ He winked at Barak. ‘For now I shall pass all the property cases to you. I shall keep the debts and the feuds with the lesser officials.’

‘Are they all such matters?’ I asked.

‘For the most part.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘I have been told the point is that the King must be seen to care for his northern subjects. The small matters will be arbitrated by us under the King’s authority, the larger remitted to the King’s Council.’

‘How shall our arbitration be conducted?’

‘At informal hearings under delegated powers. I will be in charge, with you and a representative of the Council of the North sitting with me. Have you done arbitration work before?’

‘Yes, I have. So the King will have no personal involvement with the small matters?’

‘None.’ He paused. ‘But we may meet him nonetheless.’