Sovereign (28 page)

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘It is sad.’

‘What better way to reveal the stories of the Bible, of their Saviour, to the unlettered?’ I realized that Wrenne was something I could hardly call myself these days, a man of
faith.

The musicians tuned their instruments. The whispering ceased and in the sudden silence I heard Lady Rochford’s voice, on a high, excited note. ‘ ’Tis true! Anne of Cleves was
so innocent she thought a mere kiss—’ I turned, as others did, and saw her redden and bite her lip. What a loud-mouthed foolish creature she was. I saw that Barak was in animated talk
with Tamasin. Then I saw Sir Richard Rich’s eyes upon me, his expression speculative. I turned away as the music began.

The players were skilful, producing a selection of merry tunes. Then the boys began to sing:

Moved by their wires, the paper clouds parted and a bright yellow sun was revealed as the rainbow lifted higher and higher.

‘Let’s hope they’re not playing this in another downpour tomorrow,’ Wrenne whispered.

Other songs followed, all extolling Yorkshire’s loyalty, its regret for its past sins and its delight the King had come to bring justice and prosperity. I glanced round the crowd. Many
stood watching eagerly, enjoying the spectacle, but others, especially the big Dalesmen, stood with folded arms and cynical smiles. After half an hour there was an interval, the curtain descended
and pie sellers appeared, carrying their wares on trays that made me think of Craike’s little desk. I turned to find Wrenne looking at me seriously.

‘Brother Shardlake, do you know how long the King is to be here? They have announced the Scotch King is coming to York, yet no one has heard of any party leaving Scotland.’

‘I do not know.’

He nodded. ‘Perhaps some days then. I wished to know because I have arrangements to make.’ He took a deep breath, then looked at me seriously. ‘May I confide in you,
sir?’

‘Of course.’

‘You see, I plan to return to London with the Progress. To visit the Inns of Court, see if I can find my nephew, Martin Dakin.’

I looked at him in surprise. ‘Might it not be better to write first? If there was a family quarrel?’

He shook his head vigorously. ‘No. This may be my last opportunity. Already I am too old to travel to London alone. I have done many favours for people in York over the years. Including
friend Maleverer, in his less exalted days. I think I may work a place for myself on the Progress.’

‘Even so. After a family quarrel . . .’

‘No! I must see him.’

I was startled by the sudden passion in Wrenne’s voice, normally so evenly modulated. He winced, his strong face racked by a sudden grimace. I took his arm. ‘Brother! Are you all
right?’

He gave me a serious look, then to my surprise grasped my hand. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Press my belly. On the side, there.’ Astonished by his request, I let him put my hand to
his lower stomach. I felt something strange there, a little hard lump. He let my hand go.

‘There. I have a growth inside me; it gets bigger every week and now it starts to give me pain. My father had the same thing and in a year he died of the wasting sickness such lumps can
bring.’

‘A physician —’

He waved a hand impatiently. ‘I have seen physicians. They know nothing, they can do nothing. But I remember how it passed with my father. I shall never see another spring Mystery
Play.’

I looked at him, aghast. ‘Brother Wrenne, I am sorry.’

‘No one knows, only Madge. But . . .’ He sighed deeply, then resumed in his usual even tone. ‘You see why I do not feel I can travel to London on my own. If I could go with the
Progress to Hull, then on to London by easy stages or even by boat, it would be easier. And if you would accompany me, help me should I fall ill, it would be a great comfort.’ He looked at me
pleadingly. ‘It is much to ask, sir, but I had a feeling you might be willing to help me.’

‘Brother Wrenne,’ I said warmly, ‘I will aid you in any way I can.’

‘And perhaps in London, you could guide me to Gray’s Inn, smooth my path. I have not been there in fifty years and they say London is far bigger now. Forgive me telling you this,
sir, but –’ he smiled at me sadly – ‘I fear the time has come when I must ask for help.’

‘It will be done. I am so sorry.’

‘No!’ he said fiercely. ‘No pity, I cannot bear that. I have lived far beyond the age of most men. Though it is always better not to see your end walking down the road towards
you. I would like to see Martin again, make up with him. It is the one important thing I have left undone.’

‘Of course.’

In front of us the singing rose to a new crescendo, but I had no ears for it now. Wrenne sighed as the voices descended the scale again. ‘My father was a farmer, out towards Holderness. He
had great hopes for me, worked hard so he could send me to law.’

‘Mine was a farmer too. In Lichfield. I buried him just before we came to York. I – I did not take good care of him in his old days.’

‘I cannot believe you were not a good son.’

‘I left him to die alone.’

Wrenne’s eyes became unfocused for a moment, as though looking deep within himself, then his face set in firm resolve. ‘When my son died and no more children came, for a time I was
not easy to live with and perhaps that was why I quarrelled with my poor wife’s family. I want to make it up with Martin; he is the only family I have left.’

I took his arm. ‘We will find him, sir. Barak can find anyone in London.’

He smiled. ‘I did not know you were a farmer’s son. Perhaps that is why we seem to rub along so well,’ he added awkwardly.

‘Perhaps it is.’

‘I am sorry to throw my troubles at your head.’

‘I am humbled you have confided in me.’

‘Thank you. From now on, please call me Giles. As a friend.’

‘Matthew,’ I said. I extended my hand, and he took it. His grip was so strong that I thought, perhaps he will not die, perhaps it is a mistake. He patted my arm, then turned back to
watch as the curtains parted again and a choirboy, rouged and dressed as a noblewoman, began to sing plaintively of love.

I
WALKED BACK TO
St Mary’s alone, for after what Giles had told me, I had no wish for company, whatever danger I might be in. I thought of poor
Wrenne’s family quarrel. I had a sense it had been serious. What had his dead wife’s feelings been about it, I wondered?

‘Fine singing, eh?’ I jerked round to find Barak at my elbow. He was in a cheery mood, young Tamasin walking by his side. I saw her look up at him, her pretty face flushed. Yes, I
thought, you’ve got what you wanted, as a pretty girl often will. Jennet Marlin walked on her other side, looking as though she was chewing sour cheese, the brown curls bobbing on her
forehead making her look oddly childlike at the same time. Yes, she reminded me of my childhood friend Suzanne.

‘’Twas well enough,’ I acknowledged.

Tamasin smiled. ‘The King will be happy to see it, I am sure. Perhaps they will perform it at St Mary’s too for the Scotch King. Though ’tis a pity the preparations turn out to
be for him. We had thought the Queen pregnant, that there might be an announcement and perhaps a coronation for her. She is very pretty, sir.’

‘Is she?’

‘Very much. I have seen her several times, though of course I have never spoken to her.’ Tamasin was trying to ingratiate herself with me. Barak looked at me then, no doubt gauging
my mood, then nudged her arm. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘We block the way standing four abreast.’ He steered her in front of me, leaving me with Mistress Marlin, who gave me a smile
that contained no warmth at all.

‘Well, mistress,’ I asked, ‘did you enjoy the performance?’

‘Not really,’ she answered. She fixed me with her large dark eyes. ‘I must speak with you.’ She nodded ahead, at Tamasin and Barak’s backs. ‘I am disturbed
your man is still courting Mistress Reedbourne. She is my responsibility in York. And after being brought before Sir William like that.’

‘It was Mistress Reedbourne’s behaviour that caused the trouble, not Barak’s.’

‘He is a man, he is the one with the authority.’

‘Mistress Reedbourne strikes me as well able to look after herself. You know her, Mistress Marlin, you must see that. She dresses very well,’ I added, looking at her fine green
dress.

Her disapproving look intensified. ‘I do not think their association wise. And your man looks to me like a lecherous monkey. Tamasin is still young, with no one to protect her in the
world. Her mother is dead. It is my duty to look after her.’ She looked at me fixedly. ‘From those who might seek to use association with her to find a way into court employment. As for
her clothes, her grandmother who was her guardian left her a little money. She is not extravagant, merely likes to turn out well.’

‘You do my assistant an injustice,’ I said abruptly.

‘Do I? Royal servants are a great catch, they earn so much.’ Again that pursing of the mouth as though a bad tooth stabbed at her.

‘I doubt Barak has given that a thought. He earns a good enough wage with me,’ I added.

‘I see much greed about the court, sir.’

‘No doubt. But we have nothing to do with the court. We are London lawyers.’

She gave me a sharp look. ‘But you have contacts in the court as well, I believe. They say you will go before the King tomorrow.’

‘With the petitions, yes.’ I wished she had not reminded me.

‘And I hear you have been working directly for Sir William Maleverer.’

I frowned. ‘Where did you hear that?’

She shrugged. ‘The world of the royal servants is a small one.’

‘Legal matters,’ I said brusquely. ‘And what has that to do with Barak and Mistress Reedbourne?’ Ahead of us Barak leaned close and said something to Tamasin, making her
trill with laughter. Mistress Marlin watched them, then turned and gave me a look that had something like hate in it. It took me back over twenty years, to Suzanne standing in that country lane
– it was the same look of ferocious, unreasoning anger.

‘You are one of those have spent your life climbing towards profit in the service of the state,’ Mistress Marlin said viciously. ‘And like master, like servant.’

‘How dare you!’ I replied hotly, angry now. We had almost slowed to a halt, people were barging past us. She faced me.

‘I believe you are one of those who has used reform as a ladder for ambition. Like Maleverer.’

‘By my oath, lady. You have an accusing tongue for a stranger. What do you know or care of my life?’

She did not quail, merely looked me hard in the eye. ‘I have heard Tamasin and your man talking of your history. How you were a reformer in the old days, how Lord Cromwell was your patron.
But you have no zeal left in you now, anyone may see that. Like so many, you care only to guard your wealth.’

Yorkers passing turned to look at us. One called, ‘Slap thy scolding wench, maister!’

‘Do you know why my poor Bernard lies in the Tower?’ Mistress Marlin went on regardless. ‘Because people in London would like him convicted of conspiracy and papacy, so that
they may have his lands! His lands!’ Her voice was almost hysterical.

‘Then I am sorry for you, mistress,’ I said evenly. ‘But that has nothing to do with me. Do not dare to assume you know my mind or history. That is an insolence and I will not
have it. I will not be your scapegoat!’ And with that I turned and walked away, leaving her standing alone in the street.

I
RETURNED TO
St Mary’s half an hour later. The tent was up again, workmen brushing it down by candlelight to remove every speck of mud. I went
into the manor house. It was very quiet there now, everything standing ready for the King’s arrival, the few servants and courtiers walking with an air of quiet reverence, practising the
demeanour they must use when the King was in residence. A guard took me up to Maleverer’s office. He was still working, his big black-bearded face white in the candlelight. He looked up
angrily.