THAT NIGHT I SLEPT DEEPLY, exhausted. I woke with a leaden feeling of tiredness and the realization that I should have to face Cromwell that afternoon. The third of June. In exactly a week's time the demonstration would be due. My back ached horribly from pulling Barak out of the well. I lay there, wondering how much longer I could keep up this pace, cope with the constant danger.
I did Guy's exercises carefully, in case I did more harm than good, then went and looked out over my garden, the flowers wilting in their beds under a sun whose heat was powerful already. I thought of Joseph's farm, his crops shrivelling in the fields. I would have no news for him this morning after all; we still did not know what was down that well. Barak had manfully offered to try again: but not tonight, for they would certainly be on watch. I wondered if they had guessed at our purpose. Barak had left no sign the well had been disturbed; most likely they thought they had surprised a pair of burglars. I scribbled a hasty note to Joseph, saying it would be another day or two before I got back to him and asking him to keep faith with me.
Barak was already at breakfast when I went downstairs. Joan was serving and kept giving us worried glances; these last few days she had noticed how tense I seemed. I had told her that Chancery had simply collapsed and died of heatstroke, but I suspected she did not believe me.
'Well, what now?' Barak asked after she had left.
'I'll go to Lady Honor's first, question her again. If I go early I'm most likely to catch her in.'
He was as ebullient as ever. 'What's it they say? A ship could be rigged in the time it takes a lady of fashion to get ready. I see you've put a new doublet and robe on for her.'
'Might as well look my best.'
He took a deep breath and made a grimace. 'We've to see the earl at one. He wants us at Whitehall. I hope you find out something new from Lady Honor. Shall I come with you?'
'No. I thought perhaps you might visit Madam Neller again; see if there is any news of the girl Bathsheba. I'll come back here and meet you at twelve. And I'll send Simon to Leman, asking him to come here at two. Then we can go to Lincoln's Inn and confront Bealknap.' I did not want Barak to know that after seeing Lady Honor I planned to visit Guy and tell him more about Greek Fire. I felt obscurely that the fact the Romans knew of it or something similar, but had been unable to develop it, went to the heart of the matter.
I saw Barak was giving me one of his keen looks and wondered if he had noticed something unusual in my manner. He was sharp enough for anything. I remembered anew that his loyalty was to Cromwell, not to me.
'We have that inn to visit tonight,' I said, 'where they tried to sell that Polish stuff.'
'Yes. I suppose it'd do no harm to see old Neller, remind her we haven't forgotten her. I'd rather not hang about here thinking about our meeting with the earl. But are you sure you'll be safe on your own?'
'Ay. I'll be going by public ways, and I'll be keeping a careful eye out.'
We were interrupted by a knock at the door. Joan stood there, a look of surprise on her face. 'There's a messenger, sir, from Lord Cromwell's office. He has a new horse for you, sir.'
Barak got up, nodding. 'I sent a message to Grey yesterday afternoon, saying your horse was killed and asking for a new one to be sent. You've no time to go to the market.'
'Oh.'
'You need a horse, we can't go everywhere by water. I asked for a younger horse, better able to keep up with Sukey.'
'Oh,' I said again. I was suddenly filled with anger. Did Barak think Chancery's loss could be repaired so casually? Yet from a practical point of view he was right. I went outside. Simon had brought both horses round. Barak's sleek mare was accompanied by a big brown gelding. I patted it. It seemed placid enough. Yet it felt almost a betrayal to see this animal in Chancery's place.
'What's his name?' I asked Simon.
'Genesis, sir. Though as he's a gelding he won't be able to generate a foal, will he?' Simon smiled shyly, pleased at his own cleverness.
I looked at the pattens on his feet. 'How are you managing with those?'
'Very well, thank you, sir. They are easy on the feet after a while.'
'The effort was worth it, you see.' I gave him two notes. 'Take this to Master Wentworth's lodging house, please, and the other to the stall of a Master Leman, at Cheapside.'
I heaved myself into the saddle. Barak had come to the door, that speculative look still on his face. I gave him a brief wave and rode off.
I decided to go to Lady Honor's house by the quieter route, via Smithfield and entering the City through the Cripplegate. It would give Genesis a chance to get used to me. I rode on steadily, half an eye always open for danger. I had brought the Greek Fire papers with me and they bumped against my side in the knapsack I had used yesterday to hit Wright. I shuddered again at the thought of his axe.
My thoughts turned to the Wentworths. What in God's name was going on in that family? I could not see any of the family engaged in what now seemed likely to be more than one murder. The old woman was harsh and ruthless, but her interest was only in her family and her blindness prevented her taking an active role in any devilry. The two girls too surely had no horizons beyond their family and a good marriage; if Sabine was engaged in some girlish fancy for the steward that was surely not so unusual. Both were classic Little Lady Favours, well-brought-up, well-mannered girls as content with their lot as cows in a field.
I turned my thoughts to Sir Edwin. He was a man consumed by fury and sorrow and it was hard to guess what he was like in normal circumstances. From all I had heard he seemed to be a typical rich merchant, concerned above all to build up his and his family's status. Needler, the steward, was a nasty piece of work but his main interest seemed to be keeping well in with the family. All normal, really. In fact the only members of the Wentworth household whose behaviour was abnormal were Elizabeth, whom I believed innocent, and Ralph himself.
We had reached Smithfield. I looked around the open space, St Bartholomew's Friary and the hospital still empty and guarded. By the market I saw men in City livery stacking temporary seats in tiers. Others were hammering bolts with chains attached into a long wooden pole. I remembered Vervey telling me there was another burning planned for the next week, a pair of Anabaptists who denied the sacraments and would hold all goods in common. I shuddered, praying they might repent and be spared this horror, and turned the horse towards the priory and Long Lane, where my route lay.
I noticed a little group of retainers in the red and gold Howard livery standing quietly holding their horses by the gatehouse. Then I saw the Duke of Norfolk himself was by the doorway, his scarlet robe a bright slash of colour against the grey stone. He was talking to another man, who stood in the gatehouse doorway with arms folded in a proprietorial gesture. To my surprise I recognized Sir Richard Rich.
They had already seen me and were staring across at me. The duke raised an arm. 'Hey, master lawyer! Over here!'
Hell, I thought, what now? I turned Genesis's head towards the group, praying the horse would continue to behave. I noticed there was a new doorman on the gate, and wondered what had happened to the fat fellow Barak had kicked out of the library. As I pulled up, Rich gave me a cold, angry look, though Norfolk for once looked amiable enough. I guessed Rich had been in the act of welcoming Norfolk to the priory when I turned up and I had a feeling they were not pleased at having been seen together. So febrile was the atmosphere lately that whenever two councillors were seen talking together away from Whitehall, rumours of plots were sparked. And indeed they were an unusual pair to be meeting out here, Cromwell's protégé and his greatest enemy. I dismounted and bowed to them.
'Master Shardlake.' Norfolk's lined face cracked into a thin smile. 'Lord Rich, this is a clever lawyer I met at a banquet of Lady Honor's the other night. Not one of your Augmentations brood, I think.'
'No, he's a Lincoln's Inn deviller, isn't that so, Brother Shardlake? Though he devils in some strange places – I found him wandering about in my garden a few days ago. You haven't come to steal my washing, have you?'
I laughed uneasily at the jest. 'I was passing only, on my way to Bishopsgate. I have a new horse, I wanted to avoid taking him through the City crowds.'
Norfolk turned to Rich. 'A colleague of Master Shardlake's was impertinent to me at Lincoln's Inn a few days ago, read me a lesson on the new religion.' His cold eyes glittered at me. 'But you tell me you're not a Bible puncher, don't you?'
'I follow the rules our king has laid down, your grace.'
Norfolk grunted. He turned to Genesis, looking the horse over with a professional eye. 'That's an ordinary-looking nag. But you can't take a horse of spirit to the City. And I suppose you might have difficulty with a hard ride,' he added brutally, with a glance at my back. He stretched his arms. 'God's wounds, Richard, I'll be glad when parliament rises and I can return to the country. Though you're another City urchin, aren't you?'
'I am a Londoner, your grace,' Rich said stiffly. He turned to me. 'The duke has come to discuss the transfer of some monastic lands.' There was no need to tell me anything at all; he was providing me with an explanation for the meeting in case I spread rumours of conspiracy. What he said might be true: it was well known that Norfolk, for all his religious conservatism, had taken his full share of the monastic spoils.
'Ay,' Norfolk said. 'And you've transferred Barty's to yourself in all but name, eh Richard?' He laughed. 'Sir Richard has granted houses round Bartholomew Close to so many of his officials you might as well call this the Smithfield office of the Court of Augmentations. And poor Prior Fuller not yet dead. It's not true you're poisoning him, is it, Richard?'
Rich smiled thinly. 'The prior has a wasting sickness, your grace.'
I guessed the duke's mockery was intended as further evidence for me that they were not friends. Rich turned aside as a servant appeared at the gate, holding a heavy sack, and murmured something to him. 'Put them in my study,' Rich said sharply, 'I'll go through them later.'
Norfolk looked curiously at the sack as the servant went back inside. 'What's in there?'
'We are digging up the monks' graveyard in the cloister, to make a garden. It seems there is an old custom here that when a man died some personal possession was buried with him. We have found some interesting items.'
I remembered the boys scrabbling in the coffins when I came here to see Kytchyn, the little golden trinket the watchman had appropriated.
'Valuable, eh?'
'Some, yes. Things of antiquarian interest too. Old rings, plague charms, even dried herbs buried with an infirmarian. I have an interest in such things, your grace. My mind does not run on profit all the time,' he added sharply and I realized that for all his ruthlessness and brutality Rich did not enjoy his reputation for venality.
'A strange custom.'
'Yes. I don't know where it came from. But everyone buried here, whether monk or hospital patient, had something personal buried with him, something that was most characteristic of his life, I believe. We'll be finished with the monks in a couple of days, then we'll start on the hospital graveyard. I might have some houses built there.'
I drew a sharp breath as I realized what might have been buried with the old soldier St John. Someone was going to great lengths to conceal all signs of Greek Fire, but what if some was still here at Barty's, buried under the ground!
I became aware Rich was looking at me. 'Something piqued your interest, Shardlake?'
'Just that I too have antiquarian interests, my lord. I found some old stones at the Ludgate, from an ancient synagogue-'
'We had best get to business, my lord,' Norfolk interrupted rudely. 'It's too hot to be out in the sun all day.'
'Yes, your grace. Well, good morning, Brother Shardlake.' He looked at me, the grey eyes narrowing. 'Don't devil too far into others' business; remember, you might get your fingers burned.' And with that they turned and walked away to the gatehouse. The duke's retainers looked at me curiously as I turned Genesis round and rode away. I found I was sweating, and not just from the heat. What had Norfolk and Rich met to discuss? Sales of monastic property, or plots against Cromwell? Or Greek Fire? Rich's warning, mentioning fire, sounded like a reference to that. But was it?
It was with relief that I turned into Long Lane and rode away to Lady Honor's, my mind running now on opened graves.