C Sansom - Sovereign

I turned to him. ‘Pardon me, sir. Is the King leaving?’

The old man smiled. ‘Ay sir. First thing tomorrow. He has given up on waiting for King James. They’re packing everything up at the camp already.’ He smiled, evidently pleased at the news.

I turned back to my companions. Our faces lit up with relief. ‘At last,’ Tamasin said. ‘God be praised!’

WHEN WE RETURNED TO St Mary’s we found the scene already transformed. The royal tents were being taken down, men carefully wrapping the rich tapestries and furnishings and loading them on to carts.

An official posted in the yard stopped us. ‘Sirs, mistress. A moment please. Have you horses stabled in the church?’

‘Yes.’

‘Be sure you fetch them early tomorrow morning. All must be present in the courtyard by six.’

‘That early?’

‘Yes. The Progress is to be at Howlme on Spalding Moor by nightfall The King wants to shake the dust of York from his feet.’

‘Where will we sleep tomorrow?’ Barak asked.

‘In tents, of course, in the fields. Howlme Manor is big enough only for the royal household. Sir, excuse me.’ The official grabbed the arm of another man who had come in, and Barak grinned at Tamasin. ‘You’ll have to sleep in the mud tomorrow, Tammy.’

She tossed her head. ‘The Queen’s servants always have good tents.’ She made a face. ‘Well, usually.’ We laughed, our hearts lifted by the thought of moving on at last.

‘I had best check what the arrangements are for Broderick,’ I said to Barak. ‘I will see you later.’

‘D’you not want me to come with you?’

I hesitated. But surely I was safe in full daylight. ‘No. I will be safe among the soldiery. I will see you at the refectory in an hour.’

I left them and headed off to the cell. I thought about Giles. He had said he would arrive at King’s Manor at dawn; I hoped he would be able to find us in the mêlée there was bound to be tomorrow morning. He had returned home, to prepare for the journey that would end in London.

SERGEANT LEACON WAS standing guard over Broderick’s cell with a soldier. I greeted them.

‘Well, sir,’ the sergeant said. ‘So we are to be off at last. I am not sorry.’

‘Me neither. What is to happen with Broderick?’

‘He is to be put in a carriage with Radwinter. Sir William came and told us. He is relieved Broderick is to be moved at last. He will be in the Tower soon.’

‘Ay.’ I thought the news that had brought such relief to me only brought Broderick nearer to torture and death.

‘My men and I will ride alongside the carriage.’ The sergeant looked at me seriously. ‘It is to be close guarded, sealed from the rest of the Progress.’

‘How is he?’

‘Quiet, as usual. Radwinter is in with him now. He is back in charge.’ His face twisted with distaste.

I looked through the barred window. Broderick was lying on his bed, Radwinter kneeling beside him talking quietly. A candle was set by the bed. Broderick’s eyes glinted as he turned to look at me. Radwinter stood, frowned for a second, then came and unlocked the door. He gave me his mocking smile. ‘Master Shardlake. We have been looking forward to your visit, Sir Edward and I tire of each other.’

I entered the cell. It smelled rankly. ‘He fares well?’

‘Ay. And has eaten his meals like a good fellow.’ I looked at Broderick. He did not look well to me; his face had a yellow tinge.

‘He should have some exercise,’ I said.

Radwinter shook his head firmly. ‘No, he is not to be seen abroad. He is to be kept close till we reach London. Though it makes the hours hang heavy. To help them pass I have been telling Sir Edward tales of the Lollards’ Tower, some of the prisoners I have known.’

Broderick raised himself on one elbow. ‘He seeks to frighten me with accounts of the burnings and disembowellings he has sent people to. It is a relief to see even your long face, Master Shardlake.’ There was a hint of patrician disdain in his voice, reminding me he had once been a man of status.

‘We move on tomorrow, Sir Edward,’ I said. ‘Have you been told?’

Radwinter answered. ‘Ay. I’ve to rattle in a closed carriage with him all the way to Hull.’

‘We stop at a place called Howlme tomorrow night.’

Broderick nodded. ‘I know it well. The manor house used to belong to Sir Robert Constable, Robert Aske’s deputy in the Pilgrimage of Grace. Constable’s remains hang over the gates of Hull now, and the King stole his house at Howlme. ’Twas a fine mansion.’

I grunted, then nodded my head at the door. ‘A word, sir,’ I said to Radwinter. He followed me outside, telling the soldier to sit with Broderick. Clearly he was not to be left alone for a minute now.

Radwinter leaned against the wall and stared at me interrogatively. Sergeant Leacon stood looking on, leaning on his pike.

‘I am worried by how pale Broderick is. And that cell stinks. He needs air.’

‘He’ll be in the carriage tomorrow.’

‘I am not sure he is fit to travel.’

‘What you think does not matter. Those are the rules.’

I met his gaze. ‘I remember Cranmer said a man died under your care once. Were that to happen again, with this prisoner, I would not envy your position.’

I wondered if he would burst out in mocking anger, but he only nodded and smiled again. ‘We are all allowed one mistake, Master Shardlake. The circumstances were quite different. Shall I tell you what happened?’

‘Well?’

He shifted his position, making himself more comfortable. ‘It was seven years ago, when the King had not long married Anne Boleyn. There was a Dominican monk from a house in Hertfordshire who had come to London and was preaching that the King’s break with Rome meant he was condemned by God. He was brought before the Archbishop but would say nothing about who was feeding and sheltering him. Your old master Cromwell wanted him taken to the Tower so the information could be racked out of him, but the Archbishop decided a sojourn in the Lollards’ Tower might be sufficient to cool him down and loosen his tongue. He was put under my care and I was told to deal with him strictly, and find out what I could.’

‘And?’

‘He was quite unrepentant. When I gave him an English book of prayers to read he threw it across the cell. So I decided to bring him to his senses by hanging him from the ceiling by his wrists, his toes just touching the floor. I am told the Scotch have a variant where they hang you by your thumbs, but of course the thumbs are wrenched out after a while and I wanted this Brother Frederick to suffer a good while.’

I gave him a look of disgust, which perhaps was what he had been waiting for.

He smiled again. ‘That silenced the good old brother. It is hard to breathe in that position, as well as very painful. But I had not realized Brother Frederick had a weakness of the heart. Oh, I should have considered the possibility, I see that now; he was fat and had a high colour and wheezed when he was led up the stairs to the Lollards’ Tower. On the second day I found him hanging dead in his chains. The Archbishop was sore angry with me, I confess. He sent me on a visit to the Tower, where I learned from the experts how to judge how much a man may take.’

‘Cranmer did that?’

‘Yes.’ Radwinter inclined his head. ‘So now I have the skill to weigh a man’s condition.’

‘You are a vile creature,’ I said.

‘You feel sorry for that monk, crookback? Well, reflect that his death was easier than being drawn and quartered for treason. I did the churl a favour.’