Sovereign (4 page)

In a deep, quiet voice he bade me sit. I had only seen him at a distance before, preaching. He wore a white clerical robe with a fur stole but had cast off his cap, revealing a shock of greying
black hair. I noticed the pallor of his broad, oval face, the lines around the full mouth, but above all his eyes. They were large, dark blue. As he studied me I read anxiety there, and conflict
and passion.

‘So you are Matthew Shardlake,’ he said. He smiled pleasantly, seeking to put me at ease.

‘My lord Archbishop.’

I took a hard chair facing him. A large pectoral cross, solid silver, glinted on his chest.

‘How goes trade at Lincoln’s Inn?’ he asked.

I hesitated. ‘It has been better.’

‘Times are hard for those who worked for Earl Cromwell.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ I said cautiously.

‘I wish they would take his head from London Bridge. I see it each time I cross. What the gulls have left.’

‘It is a sad thing to see.’

‘I visited him, you know, in the Tower. I confessed him. He told me of that last matter he engaged you in.’

My eyes widened and I felt a chill despite the heat from the fire. So Cranmer knew about that.

‘I told the King about the Dark Fire quest. Some months ago.’ I caught my breath, but Cranmer smiled and raised a beringed hand. ‘I waited until his anger against Lord Cromwell
over the Cleves marriage faded, and he’d begun to miss his counsel. Those responsible for what happened walk on eggshells now; though they denied they were behind it, they dissembled and
lied.’

A chilling thought came to me. ‘My lord – does the King know of my involvement?’

He shook his head reassuringly. ‘Lord Cromwell asked me not to tell the King; he knew you had served him as well as you could, and that you preferred to stay a private man.’

So he had thought of me kindly at the end, that harsh great man facing a savage death. I felt sudden tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

‘He had many fine qualities, Master Shardlake, for all his hard measures. I told the King only that servants of Lord Cromwell’s had been involved. His Majesty left matters there,
though he was angry with those who had deceived him. He told the Duke of Norfolk not long ago he wished he had Lord Cromwell back, said he’d been tricked into executing the greatest servant
he ever had. As he was.’ Cranmer looked at me seriously. ‘Lord Cromwell said you were a man of rare discretion, good at keeping even the greatest matters secret.’

‘That is part of my trade.’

He smiled. ‘In that hotbed of gossip, the Inns of Court? No, the Earl said your discretion was of rare quality.’

Then I realized with a jolt that Cromwell, in the Tower, had been telling Cranmer about people who might be of use to him.

‘I was sorry to hear your father died,’ the Archbishop said.

My eyes widened. How had he known that? He caught my look and smiled sadly. ‘I asked the Inn Treasurer if you were in London, and he told me. I wished to speak to you, you see. May God
rest your father’s soul.’

‘Amen, my lord.’

‘He lived in Lichfield, I believe?’

‘Yes. I must leave for there in two days, for the funeral.’

‘The King is well north of there now. At Hatfield. The Great Progress has had a hard time of it, with all the rains in July. The post-riders were delayed; often ascertaining the
King’s wishes was not easy.’ He shook his head, a strained expression crossing his features. They said Cranmer was no skilful politician.

‘It has been a poor summer,’ I observed. ‘As wet as last year’s was dry.’

‘Thank God it has lately improved. It made the Queen ill.’

‘People say she is pregnant,’ I ventured.

The Archbishop frowned. ‘Rumours,’ he said. He paused a moment as though gathering his thoughts, then continued. ‘As you may know, there are several lawyers with the royal
train. This is the greatest Progress ever seen in England, and lawyers are needed so that disputes that arise within the royal court, and with suppliers along the way, may be resolved.’ He
took a deep breath. ‘Also, the King has promised the northmen his justice. At every town he invites petitioners with complaints against the local officialdom, and lawyers are needed to sort
through them, weed out the petty and the foolish, arbitrate where they can and send the rest to the Council of the North. One of the King’s lawyers has died, poor fellow, he took pneumonia.
The Chamberlain’s office sent a message asking the Council to send a replacement to meet the Progress at York, for there will be much business there. I remembered you.’

‘Oh.’ This was not what I had expected; this was a favour.

‘And if you are going halfway there already, so much the better. You’d return with the Progress next month, and bring back fifty pounds for your work. You’d only be allowed one
servant; best to take your assistant rather than a bodyservant.’

That was generous, even for the high rewards royal service brought. Yet I hesitated, for I had no wish to go anywhere near the King’s court again. I took a deep breath.

‘My lord, I hear Sir Richard Rich is with the Progress.’

‘Ah, yes. You made an enemy of Rich over the Dark Fire matter.’

‘And I am still involved in a case in which he has an interest. Rich would do me any ill turn he could.’

The Archbishop shook his head. ‘You need have no dealings with Rich or any royal councillor. He is there in his role as Chancellor of the Court of Augmentations, to advise the King on the
disposition of lands seized in Yorkshire from the rebels. Neither the councillors nor the King have any real involvement with the petitions – the lawyers deal with everything.’

I hesitated. This would solve my financial worries, ensure I could discharge my responsibility to my father. Moreover, something stirred in me at the prospect of seeing this great spectacle; it
would be the journey of a lifetime. And it might distract me from my sorrow.

The Archbishop inclined his head. ‘Be quick, Master Shardlake. I have little time.’

‘I will go, my lord,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

The Archbishop nodded. ‘Good.’ Then he leaned forward, the heavy sleeves of his tunic rustling as they brushed the papers on his desk. ‘I also have a small private
mission,’ he said. ‘Something I would like you to do for me in York.’

I caught my breath. I had let him spring a trap. He was a good politician after all.

The Archbishop saw my expression and shook his head. ‘Do not worry, sir. There is no scurrying after danger in this, and the mission itself is a virtuous one. It requires only a certain
authority of manner, and above all –’ he looked at me sharply – ‘discretion.’

I set my lips. Cranmer made a steeple of his fingers and looked at me.

‘You know the purpose of the Great Progress to the North?’ he asked.

‘To show the King’s power in those rebellious parts, establish his authority.’

‘They say the north is the last place God made,’ Cranmer said with sudden anger. ‘They are a barbarous people there, still mired in papist heresy.’

I nodded but said nothing, waiting for him to show his hand.

‘Lord Cromwell established forceful government in the north after the rebellion five years ago. The new Council of the North employs many spies, and it is as well they do, for the new
conspiracy they discovered last spring was serious.’ He stared at me with those passionate eyes. ‘Last time they called only for the King to rid himself of reformist
advisers.’

Like you, I thought; they would have had Cranmer in the fire.

‘This time they called him tyrant, they wanted to overthrow him. And they planned an alliance with the Scotch, though the northmen have always hated them as even worse barbarians than
themselves. But the Scotch, like them, are papists. Had their plan not been exposed, Jesu knows what might have followed.’

I took a deep breath. He was telling me secrets I did not wish to hear. Secrets that would bind me to him.

‘Not all the conspirators were caught. Many escaped to the wild mountains up there. There is still much we have to learn about their plans. There is a certain conspirator of York, recently
taken prisoner there, who is to be brought back to London by boat. Sir Edward Broderick.’ Cranmer set his lips tight, and for a moment I saw fear in his face.

‘There is an aspect of the conspirators’ plans that is not generally known. Only a few of the conspirators knew, and we believe Broderick was one. It is better you do not know about
it. No one does except the King, and a few trusted councillors in London and York. Broderick will not talk. The King sent questioners to York but they got nowhere, he is obstinate as Satan. He is
to be brought from York to Hull in a sealed wagon when the Progress moves on there, then sent back to London by boat, guarded by the most loyal and trusted men. The King wants to be in London when
he is questioned, and it is safe to question him only in the Tower, where we can trust the interrogators and be sure their skill will extract the truth from him.’

I knew what that meant. Torture. I took a deep breath. ‘How does this involve me, my lord?’

His reply surprised me. ‘I want you to ensure he is alive and in good health when he arrives.’

‘But – will he not be in the King’s care?’

‘The Duke of Suffolk is in charge of arrangements for the Progress, and he chose Broderick’s gaoler. A man who can be trusted, although even he has not been told what we suspect of
Broderick. He is in charge of Broderick in the prison at York Castle. His name is Fulke Radwinter.’

‘I do not know that name, my lord.’

‘The appointment was made hurriedly, and I have been – concerned.’ The Archbishop pursed his lips, fiddling with a brass seal on his desk. ‘Radwinter has experience of
guarding and of – questioning – heretics. He is a man of true and honest faith, and can be trusted to keep Broderick under close guard.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Yet
Radwinter can be too severe. A prisoner once – died.’ He frowned. ‘I want someone else present, to keep an eye on Broderick’s welfare till he can be brought to the
Tower.’

‘I see.’

‘I have already written to the Duke of Suffolk, obtained his agreement. He understands my point, I think.’ He picked up the seal and laid it flat on the desk before me. A big oval
lozenge, Cranmer’s name and office traced in Latin round the edge, a portrayal of the scourging of Christ in the centre. ‘I want you to take this, as your authority. You will have
overall charge of Broderick’s welfare, in York and then on to London. You will not talk to him beyond asking after his welfare, ensuring he comes to no harm. Radwinter knows I am sending
someone, he will respect my authority.’ The Archbishop smiled again, that sad smile of his. ‘He is my own employee; he guards the prisoners under my jurisdiction, in the Lollards’
Tower.’

‘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?