Sovereign (27 page)

‘That is so.’

‘I know Kent a little. A few years ago I was engaged on a complex dispute involving the boundaries of some properties near Ashford. Different conveyances had contradictory maps attached,
details of landownership locally were in a terrible muddle.’

Leacon shook his head. ‘Strange work lawyers do, sir. I have some experience of it, I fear.’

‘Have you?’ I looked at him curiously.

‘Ay. Perhaps you might even advise me,’ he added diffidently.

‘If I can.’

‘There is a dispute regarding my parents’ farm. My family have owned the land for generations, it was gifted them by the local priory more than a hundred years ago. But since the
priory was dissolved the new owner claims the land is his, that the priory’s gift was defective in some way.’

I nodded sympathetically. ‘There have been many such claims since the dissolution. Sometimes the smaller monastic houses were not good with their documentation. But after such long usage
– though I could not advise without seeing the papers.’

‘You would think these landowners would be content to get so much of the monks’ lands cheap.’

‘People who covet land are never content. Have your parents taken legal advice?’

‘They cannot afford it. My uncle is helping them – he can read, which they cannot. It is a worry to be posted so far away.’

‘Yes. I can see you would help them all you could.’ I remembered the extortionate mortgage on my father’s farm that he had not even felt able to tell me about, and bit my lip.
‘I wish you good luck.’ Then a thought struck me, and I took a sharp breath.

‘Have you thought of something?’ he asked eagerly.

‘No,’ I replied hastily. ‘My neck hurts a little, that is all.’ But it was not that. Our talk of names, and my time in Kent, had brought back the name of one of the
districts I had been concerned with. Braybourne. Or perhaps, corrupted as a man’s name, Blaybourne.

A
SMALL, HIGH-SIDED
cart with a big cloth cover had been provided, drawn by a pair of horses, and Barak and I and the sergeant walked alongside with half
a dozen soldiers with pikes, who shoved a way though the crowds. Despite the wind and rain, the city was busier than ever with the Great Progress’s arrival imminent.

I had expected argument when I told Radwinter of Maleverer’s plans, but though his eyes gleamed bitterness he merely nodded. At Leacon’s direction he unlocked the long chains binding
Broderick to the wall, though his wrists were kept manacled. He groaned into wakefulness; he still looked weak. When he saw the helmeted soldiers standing over him I noticed terror spark in his
eyes.

‘You’re to be taken to St Mary’s,’ I told him quietly. ‘For your own safety.’ He gave me a bitter smile but said nothing.

On the way down the steps to the cart, Broderick’s legs trembled mightily, his steps uncertain, and I guessed it had been long since he had walked more than a few yards. I was surprised to
see that he was a small man, shorter than me. When we reached the open air he paused for a moment, bracing himself against the wind and rain, and looked up at the clouds scudding across the sky in
various shades of dirty grey. He took in a deep lungful of air that almost made him faint.

‘Take care,’ I said, as a soldier steadied his arm. Broderick stared for a moment at his friend Robert Aske’s skeleton, swinging to and fro in the breeze, then gave me that
twist of a smile again.

‘Who poisoned you?’ I asked him quietly. ‘Do you know?’

He laughed weakly. ‘King Henry did.’

I sighed. ‘Get him in the cart. He’ll catch an ague standing out here.’ Broderick had gone very pale, and was only half conscious as the soldiers raised him and laid him gently
in the bottom of the cart, where someone had thought to lay some cushions. The cart smelled of apples, oddly domestic in the grim context of our business. The soldiers covered him and so we drove
back, to all appearances soldiers escorting some goods of value to the abbey. I watched the rainswept crowds and wondered how many, had they known Broderick lay there, might have rushed to rescue
him.

I
WALKED WITH BARAK
along the Fossgate, one of the main city roads, among a crowd heading for the public rehearsal for the
musical entertainment that would be given before the King tomorrow evening. As night fell the wind and rain had ceased, though the street was miry, strewn with leaves and small branches, and the
doorsteps and shopfronts glinted wetly in the moonlight. It was a merry crowd, the most cheerful I had seen in York, that made its way towards the Merchant Adventurers’ Hall.

I had decided to accompany Barak to the rehearsal rather than sit alone in the lodging-house with anxious thoughts for company, listening for more nasty comments from the clerks. Barak was
dressed in his best green doublet and, above it, a pretty shirt-collar decorated with lacework. Both our faces were smooth, cleared of nearly a week’s growth of beard, for that afternoon the
barbers from the Progress had ridden into St Mary’s. There had been a mass shaving, so all the gentlemen should look their best when the King arrived. I had put on my best robe but donned my
old cap. I had had trouble fixing the feather back properly on the new one and did not want it coming unstuck again tonight. Tomorrow I would doff it to the King. My stomach gave a strange lurch at
the thought.

We passed the Minster; it was brightly lit from within, the huge stained-glass windows a shout of colour against the dark sky.

‘Look at that,’ I said to Barak.

He gave it a glance. ‘Ay. All ready for the King.’

I jerked my robe aside as a couple of apprentices ran past, splashing us as they ran whooping through a puddle.

Barak smiled sardonically. ‘I heard in the taverns last night that the latest instructions about clearing the middens have caused problems because people have been forbidden from dumping
anything in the river – they want it smelling sweet for the King. So people without proper cesspits are having to keep everything in their backyards, which will stink to heaven at the same
time they’re being told to prettify the housefronts.’

‘There is discontent, then.’

He nodded. ‘Most Yorkers don’t want the King here at all.’

‘You kept out of trouble, then, last night?’

‘Ay. I attached myself to a group of carpenters. Most of the workmen came up from London but there were Yorkmen too. Paid well, so quite happy with His Majesty. We steered clear of the
taverns where they don’t like southrons.’ He looked at me. ‘I saw one interesting thing though.’

‘What was that?’

‘We were passing through a poor part of town, past some alehouses the carpenters said we should avoid, and who do you think I saw down an alley, going through the door of a mean-looking
little place?’

‘Go on.’

‘Master Craike. He had on a dark cloak and a cap, but I recognized that fat face of his in the moonlight. It had an odd, set look.’

‘Did he see you?’

‘No, I’m sure he didn’t.’

‘Craike,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘He’s the last person I’d have expected to be visiting disreputable alehouses at night. What was he up to?’

‘Maybe someone should ask him.’

I nodded as we turned into the square that housed the Merchant Adventurers’ Hall. It was an impressive old building, wide and three-storied, with a cobbled space before it that was already
crowded. A stage had been erected in front, covered by curtains, torches blazing around it. Guildsmen in their robes stood in little groups among the crowd, and I saw a number of richly dressed men
surrounded by retainers: the advance guard of the Progress. The open space was lined with constables in York livery, and I glimpsed little groups of soldiers in the doorways, breastplates glinting
in the torchlight. I remembered what Maleverer had said about increased security.

A serious-faced young man in a lawyer’s robe came across to us and bowed. ‘Brother Shardlake.’

‘Brother Tankerd.’ I recognized the city Recorder, who had been at the Guildhall two days before. ‘How is it all going?’

‘I think all is ready at last. We have been waiting so long, I cannot believe the King will actually be here tomorrow.’ He laughed nervously. ‘And that I shall be making a
speech to him. I gather Sir James Fealty is happy with the petitions.’

‘Yes.’

‘I confess I am somewhat nervous.’

‘I think everyone is.’

‘It will be a wondrous thing to see the King. They say in his youth he was the most magnificent prince in Christendom, tall and strong and fair of face.’

‘That was over thirty years ago.’

He studied my face. ‘You have a nasty bruise there, sir.’

‘Yes.’ I adjusted my cap. ‘I shall have to try and hide it tomorrow.’

He looked at me curiously. ‘And your enquiries about Master Oldroyd, how are they proceeding?’

‘Sir William Maleverer has taken it into his own hands.’

Someone hailed Tankerd, and he excused himself. I turned to Barak, who was craning his neck to look over the crowd.

‘Where is she?’ he muttered.

‘Mistress Reedbourne? Over there.’ I pointed to a group of courtiers some way off. I recognized Lady Rochford, her face alight as she retailed some story to a little group of ladies.
As always there was something hectic, overexcited, in her expression. Jennet Marlin stood a few paces off, Tamasin beside her. Mistress Marlin was looking disapprovingly at the stage, but Tamasin
was glancing around eagerly.

Then I drew in my breath, for I recognized a small, neat man with sharp, delicate features and a rich fur robe who stood near to Lady Rochford. He was talking to Dereham, the Queen’s young
secretary. Sir Richard Rich, Chancellor of the Court of Augmentations, whom I had made an enemy of the year before, and who had backed my opponent Bealknap in my Chancery case. I had known I might
encounter Rich here, but now I shrank away.

Barak had seen him too. ‘That arsehole,’ he murmured.

‘I don’t want to meet him unless I have to.’

‘Then I’ll leave you if I may, go over and see Tamasin. Rich won’t remember a common fellow like me.’

‘All right.’

‘Take care for cutpurses,’ he warned, then threaded his way through the crowd towards Tamasin. Alone, I felt suddenly vulnerable. Cutpurses, yes. And assassins.

Musicians had appeared in the hall doorway, carrying sackbuts and lutes. A man in a chorister’s robe shepherded a group of chattering boys on to the stage. They disappeared behind the
curtain.

‘That’s my bairn Oswald!’ a woman behind me called out excitedly. I shifted my position, wishing I could sit down for my neck hurt again. I thought about what I had remembered
earlier, the name Blaybourne and the place in Kent. Should I tell Maleverer? If there was a connection between this Blaybourne and Kent he should perhaps know, for York was already full of Kentish
soldiers and hundreds more would be arriving tomorrow. Yet I sensed Maleverer would not be pleased to find that I had not put that name out of my mind.

‘Brother Shardlake.’ I started at a deep voice at my elbow, then smiled as I turned.

‘Brother Wrenne. How are you, sir?’

The old lawyer wore his cap and thick coat and, I saw, carried a cane that he seemed to lean on heavily.

‘A little stiff this evening. But what of you? Maleverer told me you were attacked after I left you yesterday, and that old casket you found at Oldroyd’s stolen.’

‘I am all right, I was only knocked out.’

‘Is that a bruise you have? It looks painful.’

‘It is nothing. I was sorry to learn Sir William questioned you.’

He smiled wryly. ‘Oh, Maleverer does not frighten me. I answered his questions and left.’

‘He did a cruel thing to Oldroyd’s young apprentice.’

‘Madge told me. That news is all over York. But the glazier’s guild are looking for another place for Master Green.’

‘I am glad.’

‘I remember Sir William when he was but another younger son of an old family, twisting and bullying his way towards power in the aftermath of the rebellion. He is a man of great ambition.
As men often are when they have the taint of bastardy.’

‘He is illegitimate?’

‘So ’tis said. Not a true sprig of the old Maleverer family. His mother and father were part of the train that accompanied Margaret Tudor to Scotland when she married the Scotch
King’s father forty years ago. His mother had a dalliance up there, they say.’

‘Really?’

‘William Maleverer is a man driven to prove himself. But he will overreach himself one day, for he lacks subtlety.’ Wrenne waved his free hand, dismissing Maleverer, his big emerald
ring catching the torchlight. ‘I thought I would come out and see the performance. I asked Madge to accompany me, but she says it will be a heathen thing.’

‘ ’Tis but a musical entertainment.’

‘Ay, but they are using the musicians and some of the equipment from the Mystery Plays. She does not approve. She is another York traditionalist in religious matters.’ He smiled
gently, the lights from the stage emphasizing the deep lines in his face.

The curtains began to move. The excited voices of the crowd faded to whispers as a beautifully decorated stage was revealed. Backcloth curtains had been painted to resemble a sylvan glade, with
blue sky and a bright rainbow just visible behind painted mountains beyond. Paper clouds suspended by invisible wires from the canopy slid back and forth. The musicians had gathered in a semicircle
round the choirboys. ‘Those are the city waits,’ Wrenne told me. He smiled sadly ‘I have loved the York Mystery Plays since I was a child. Yet there are reformers who would have
them banned as yet another superstitious ceremony.’