Sovereign (74 page)

‘Is there a fire in the parlour?’ I asked.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then bring us some beer.’

He went off. I followed Barak into the parlour and slumped down in my chair by the fire, massaging my wrist.

‘I’ll get my tools,’ he said. I remembered the night he had picked the lock of the Wentworths’ well for me, a year ago. I had been a little scandalized, then, by his
lock-picking skills. Now I was past being scandalized by anything.

H
E WORKED ON
the gyve for half an hour, but without result. ‘The damned lock’s all rusted inside,’ he said.

I looked at the cursed thing; already I hated that tight circle of iron more than any object in the world. ‘Then how are we to get it off? It bites into my wrist.’ I heard the edge
of panic in my voice.

‘I’ve a friend down Cheapside who can have any lock off,’ he said. ‘He’s more skill and better tools than me.’ Barak glared at the manacle, reluctant to admit
defeat. ‘I’ll go and see if he’s about.’

‘You should rest.’

‘No. I’ll go now.’ He finished his pot of beer and left. I heaved myself to my feet and slowly mounted the stairs.

Giles was sitting up in bed, in nightshirt and dressing gown. Tamasin sat at his side, sewing one of her dresses. She jumped up at my arrival. Both stared at my face.

‘It looks worse than it is,’ I said.

‘You are free?’ Giles asked.

‘Yes. Thanks to Barak. I do not want to talk about it, not yet. How are you, Giles?’

He smiled. ‘A little stronger every day. That voyage was too much for me. By Jesu, I am glad you are free. I have been sore worried.’ I was moved by the concern in his face.

‘He is not a good patient, sir,’ Tamasin said. She smiled, but her eyes on me were watchful. She looked pale and tired.

‘I hear you have been attending Master Wrenne well.’

‘She has.’ Giles smiled at her warmly.

‘He will keep getting up, though your friend Master Guy says he should stay abed awhile yet.’

‘Barak told me he came.’

‘May I leave you for a while, sir?’ Tamasin asked. ‘I said I would do some shopping for Mistress Woode.’

‘Ay. And thank you for bringing those things to the Tower.’

‘I am pleased to see you out of that doleful place, sir. Jack was half mad with worry.’ There was still something watchful, evaluating, in her look. Was that because she was
uncertain of the treatment she might expect from me? She curtsied and went out. I took her chair by the bed.

‘What did they do to you?’ Giles asked quietly.

‘Less than they might have, thanks to Jack.’

‘Barak told me of the wicked plot Rich and Maleverer hatched against you.’

‘Yes. Cranmer knows all now. Maleverer will be in trouble, though Cranmer says he cannot touch Rich.’

I saw Wrenne’s eyes on my wrist. My wretched sleeve had ridden up again, exposing the gyve and the raw skin around it.

‘That thing is like a symbol,’ he said quietly. ‘The whole nation fettered and bruised by the King. A piece of filth like Rich may have a man falsely imprisoned, even tortured,
to get a legal case dropped. It is not justice, Matthew. This is not the country I once knew.’

‘No. Giles,’ I said, ‘you said once that Maleverer’s family were all strong Catholics, then he aligned with the reformers after 1536 in hope of gain.’

‘That is right. He is a greedy man. But what —’

‘What if he could satisfy his greed by standing with the reformers, yet secretly help the old cause?’

‘How? What do you mean?’

‘Nothing.’

Giles smiled at me. ‘I am not sure he would have the brains.’

I
WENT TO BED
and fell asleep at once. When I woke it was early morning, I had slept near twenty hours. I felt somewhat rested, though my shattered tooth
hurt and my nerves were still so strung up the squeak of a mouse would have set me bounding. I got up and dressed, cursing the gyve again. I looked at my face in my steel mirror. I was startled by
the staring apparition that looked back at me from sunken eyes, several days’ stubble darkening the cheeks.

I went downstairs. Joan, hearing me, bustled out of the kitchen. She saw me and opened her mouth in horror. I raised a hand, frightened she would scream. ‘It looks worse than it is.’
I was getting used to that phrase.

‘Oh sir, your poor mouth! The rogues! Is no one safe from vagabonds these days!’ I stared at her in surprise, then remembered I was supposed to have been attacked by robbers.
‘I will be all right, Joan. But I am very hungry, might I have some breakfast?’

‘Of course, sir.’ Her face working with concern, she hurried away to the kitchen. I took a seat in the parlour and looked out at my sopping garden, strewn with leaves. It was not
raining, but the sky was heavy with dark clouds. My eye was drawn to the wall at the far end where the Lincoln’s Inn authorities had grubbed up an old orchard for replanting, remembering what
Barak had told me. I had warned them in the summer that without trees to absorb the ground-water the bottom of the slope could flood. I should go and take a look.

My thoughts went back to Maleverer. He had allowed Rich to involve him in a plot against me, no doubt in return for help to get rebels’ lands, and that had been his downfall. But what if
that had been a side issue, what if he had been playing a double game? He had refused to accept that Jennet Marlin might not have stolen those papers, had insisted Radwinter was guilty of
Broderick’s death, and had allowed a pair of drunks to be appointed as his guards. I had taken it all for stupidity and obstinacy, but what if it had been something else? Where was he now, in
London or on his way back to York? I thought, if I knew who appointed those guards . . .

Joan returned with eggs, bread and cheese. ‘I am sorry to land you with such a full household,’ I told her. ‘But I promised old Master Wrenne he could stay here till he is fit
for some family business he has to deal with, and Barak hurt his leg. Where are they, by the way?’

She sniffed. ‘Went out early. Master Jack had some private business, he said, and Tamasin was to go to Whitehall to see if she still had a place. There is some trouble in the Queen’s
household.’

‘So I hear,’ I replied neutrally. The household would be dissolved now. Tamasin could be out of a job.

She paused, then said, ‘I don’t mind Master Wrenne, sir, poor sick old gentleman, but that girl. It’s not right her being in the house with Jack. And she’s a pert way
with her, in her fine ladylike clothes – she may say she only wants to help with the old man but I think she likes having her feet under a gentleman’s table.’

‘She’ll be gone soon, Joan,’ I said wearily. ‘The four of us need a few days’ rest.’

‘She’s no morals. They think I don’t hear her scurrying across to Master Jack’s room at dead of night, but I do.’

‘All right, Joan. I am too tired to deal with that now.’

She curtsied and went out.

I ate heartily. The meal over, I prowled the room restlessly. I thought of Maleverer and Sergeant Leacon, and Broderick swinging in his cell aboard ship. I thought of Tamasin; Barak would
probably see his friend today, what would he find out about her father? I thought of Martin Dakin, and half resolved to go to Lincoln’s Inn, but I was still too tired to face the prospect of
seeing familiar people, nosy lawyers who might have heard about Fulford. It could wait until tomorrow, when with luck the manacle would be off. Perhaps Bealknap would be there, and I wondered if
that rogue knew what had been done to me to save that case for him.

I decided to go and look at the old orchard. Putting on my boots, I walked down the garden. Everything was drenched, and at the far wall, by the gate to the orchard, the ground was quite
waterlogged. I unlocked the gate and went through.

The apple orchard had probably been there centuries; the trees had been gnarled and very old. The orchard walls bounded Chancery Lane on one side, the Lincoln’s Inn grounds on two, and my
garden on the fourth. The ground sloped gently down to my wall. The orchard was, as Barak had said, a sea of mud, dotted with waterlogged holes where tree roots had been grubbed up. Without the
trees to absorb any of the water from the rains, a pool the size of a small house had built up against my wall. I cursed; if there was much more rain my garden could be flooded. I resolved to visit
the Inn Treasurer on the morrow.

The sight of the devastated orchard unsettled me. I went back into my garden and headed for the stables. There I found Genesis and Sukey in their stalls, munching hay. Both looked up and neighed
in greeting. I went and stroked Genesis. Looking into his dark eyes I thought of what it must have been like for the horses, driven two hundred miles through unknown countryside by strangers. Did
they wonder, as I had in the Tower, whether they would ever see home again? I had a sudden memory of Oldroyd’s huge horse charging through the mist at Tamasin and me, that misty morning two
months before. That was where it had all started.

As I left the stable I felt raindrops on my face. I walked quickly round to the front door. There was someone standing in the porch, his back to me, a tall figure in a black coat. He was looking
at the door as though uncertain whether to knock. My hand went to the dagger at my belt. I had worn it since it was returned to me at the Tower.

‘Can I help you?’ I asked sharply.

He turned round. It was Sergeant Leacon, in civilian clothes, a cap on his head instead of a helmet. His boyish face looked careworn. I saw he wore a sword, then thought, so do most men in
London. He doffed his cap and bowed.

‘Master Shardlake—’ He broke off as he saw my face.

‘Yes,’ I said grimly. ‘I have had a hard time in the Tower.’

‘I heard you were released, sir. I got your address from Lincoln’s Inn. Sir, I am sorry I had to detain you at the wharf. Those were my orders—’

‘What do you want?’

‘A word, sir, if I may.’

He seemed tired and crestfallen. I took pity on him. ‘Come in, then.’ I walked past him, opened the door, and led him into the parlour.

‘Would you take off your sword, sergeant? Only I am wary of sharp blades just now.’

‘Of course, sir.’ He reddened as he hastily unbuckled his scabbard. I took it and stood it against the door.

‘Now, sergeant, what may I do for you?’

‘I – I have been discharged, sir. I am plain George Leacon now. For letting those men get drunk, they said, providing Broderick’s killer with an opportunity.’ He
hesitated. ‘I was told Master Radwinter took his life. In the Tower.’

‘Yes, he did.’

‘I was questioned yesterday, by Archbishop Cranmer himself.’ I studied his face but he looked only dejected and exhausted. So Cranmer had not told him I was his informant.

‘Yes?’

‘He asked me how it came the guards were drunk.’

‘What did you say?’

‘That they were a pair of sots, sir, and drunks can always find liquor. They smuggled it aboard.’

‘Who chose those men?’ I asked quietly.

‘The guard captain suggested them to Sir William, I think to get them off his hands, save trouble on the journey back. When Sir William gave me the names of those two, said they were to
come on the boat, I objected. I told him they were not good men to choose.’

I frowned. ‘Then why did he pick them?’

Leacon shrugged. ‘He did not want to be seen to do the bidding of a mere sergeant. I believe it was poor judgement on his part.’

That phrase again. ‘Poor judgement. Yet it is you that pays the price. You are made the scapegoat.’

‘That was ever the way of things, sir. Sir William has paid a price too, though. I hear he has been stripped of his place on the Council of the North.’

‘Tell me, do you think Radwinter killed Broderick?’

He looked puzzled. ‘Who else could it have been? Radwinter became stranger and stranger in his mind as time went on.’

‘Perhaps.’ I looked at him, then asked quickly, ‘Does the name Blaybourne mean anything to you? Or Braybourne?’

‘Braybourne is a place in Kent, sir, some way from where I come from. Have you another land case there?’ He looked puzzled, and a little concerned, as though the dishevelled figure
before him might also be wandering in his mind.