Sovereign (21 page)

I took a deep breath. ‘Well, go and find some, for Jesu’s sake. I knew I should not have agreed to this.’

He looked, for once, crestfallen. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ he said, and made for the door. He turned the key to let himself out. I heard his footsteps moving away down
the corridor and sighed, looking anxiously at the box. I gently touched the broken end of the pin, wondering if my thinner fingers might get it out, but it was impossible.

Then I heard a faint click. I stared at the casket. Had my fiddling moved the tumblers? Hesitantly, I grasped the lid. It opened. Very tentatively, I pulled it fully up. A musty smell assailed
my nostrils. I bent my head and slowly, carefully, looked inside.

The box was half full of papers. I picked out the top one, unfolded it carefully, then stared in puzzlement. It was a chart of the royal family tree such as one sees in ornamental genealogies,
but written crudely in ink. It went back a century to Yorkist times, though some minor members of the family who had died without issue were missing. I studied it carefully, quite bemused. There
was nothing secret here – it was the familiar royal line such as one saw displayed in many official buildings. If someone had made an abbreviated family tree of the royal house for a pastime,
why on earth hide it?

I looked in the box again. Underneath the family tree was a scrappy piece of paper on which a rude text had been written. ‘This is the prophecy of the great magician Merlin,’ it
began. ‘Revealed in the days of King Arthur, his prophecy of the Kings that will follow John . . .’ There was stuff about monarchs who would be called the Goat, the Lion and the Ass,
before it concluded with, ‘The eighth Henry, that shall be called the Mouldwarp, who shall be cursed by God for his actions. His kingdom shall be divided into three, and none of his heirs
shall inherit.’

I laid the scrawl down. It looked like one of the scurrilous prophecies that had been hawked around London at the time of the Pilgrimage of Grace. The penalty for distributing such things had
been death.

The next document was not a paper but a parchment, quite a large one, folded over several times. I opened it out. To my astonishment it had the seal of Parliament at the bottom: this was an Act
of Parliament, though not one I recognized. ‘
Titulus Regulus
,’ I read. ‘
An Act for the Settlement of the Crown upon the King and his Issue . . .
’ Which King? I
hastily scanned the thick, beautifully inscribed black lettering. ‘
Our Soveraign Lord the King Richard the Thirde . . .
’ I read. I frowned again. I had never heard of this Act. I
laid it carefully aside and turned to the box. The rest of the pages seemed to be a series of handwritten scrawls on cheap paper. The top one was larger than the rest. I took it out and laid it on
the table.

Then something struck me on the side of the head, a heavy blow that made me gasp. My vision went misty, but I saw a big red drop fall on to Blaybourne’s confession. As I realized that it
was my own blood, I felt another blow on the back of my neck. My legs buckled beneath me, and I fell into a great darkness.

M
Y FIRST SENSATION WHEN
I woke was of unaccustomed warmth. I luxuriated in it for a second, realizing how used I had become
in York to feeling cold and damp. But why was I in York? Then I remembered everything in a rush. I tried to sit up but a throbbing pain banged at the back of my neck. Hands grasped me and eased me
back to a lying position. ‘He’s awake!’ I heard Master Craike call out. ‘Bring the hippocras! Careful there, sir, you have had a bad blow to the head.’

I opened my eyes: I was lying on a nest of cushions on a rush-matting floor. Master Craike stood above me, his plump hands clasped anxiously. Barak appeared behind him, bearing a jug and a
glass. ‘Have some of this, sir,’ he said. ‘Not too much.’

I drank some of the warm wine. The sweetness revived me. I endeavoured again to sit up but the back of my neck hurt and there was another pain at the side of my head. I felt it and my hand came
away sticky with blood.

‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ Barak said. ‘That one was a glancing blow.’

I stared groggily around the room, which seemed familiar, and realized I was in Maleverer’s office at the King’s Manor. The warmth came from a firepan, one of the charcoal-burning
braziers used to heat rooms in wealthy houses. A red-coated soldier with a pike stood by the door, watching us, and I realized we were under guard.

‘How long have I been unconscious?’ I asked.

‘Over an hour,’ Barak answered. ‘I was worried.’ And indeed his face was as anxious as Craike’s.

‘Do you remember what happened, sir?’ Craike asked.

‘Something hit me. The box clicked open when I touched the lock, there were papers inside. I was looking at them – Barak, the box! Where is it?’

‘The box is safe enough.’ He nodded at the table, where the casket stood, the lid open. ‘It’s empty,’ he said heavily.

‘Papers,’ I said. ‘It was full of papers.’

His face set. ‘We’re in the shit,’ he said. ‘I came back with some pliers, perhaps half an hour after I left you. I found you lying on the floor of Master Craike’s
office, with him bending over you.’ He looked suspiciously at Craike, who frowned back at him.

‘The steward’s office asked me for the key,’ the plump official said. ‘They had told me it wasn’t required till this evening but they changed their minds.’ He
gave Barak a haughty look. ‘You may check with them. I looked for you but could not find you. In the end I came to the office. As I turned the corner I heard footsteps, someone going down the
back stairs. The office door was open and you were lying on the floor. Then this fellow came in.’

I felt my head carefully. It was a wonder I had not been killed. Oldroyd had been, I thought, and felt a stab of terror lance through me. I looked at Craike. ‘You must have interrupted the
person who assaulted me. You may have saved my life. Did you hear or see anything of the person running?’

‘No. Only those footsteps.’

I sighed deeply. ‘So the papers are gone.’ I looked at Barak. If his lockpicking had not come to grief this would not have happened. I tried to marshal my thoughts. ‘If whoever
attacked me heard Master Craike coming they could have grabbed the papers and fled. The box would be more difficult to hide.’ I looked at the wretched thing that I had tried to guard with
such care. ‘With the papers gone it has no value.’

Barak stepped in front of Craike and bent to refill my glass. ‘Yes. Anyone could hide the papers in their clothes.’ He inclined his head slightly at Craike, still suspicious of
him.

I glanced again at the guard. ‘Why are we being held here?’

‘Sir William returned just after I found you,’ Barak said. ‘He ordered us all to be brought here. He has gone to make some enquiries.’ He reddened. ‘He is in a
mighty rage with us for opening the box. I had hoped it had been empty. What were the papers?’

‘They were – they made no sense.’

The guard stirred himself. ‘I should send word you have recovered.’ He opened the door, spoke to someone outside, then returned to his post, gripping his pike. A few moments later we
heard heavy footsteps outside, and I braced myself as the door banged open and Maleverer came in.

He was still in riding clothes, heavy boots and a riding coat spattered with mud. He stared at me coldly. ‘So you are awake,’ he said unceremoniously. ‘Well, would you care to
tell me what in Christ’s name has been going on? I come back to find you attacked right here in King’s Manor, with His Majesty due in two days.’ His Yorkshire accent strengthened
as his voice rose with anger. He threw off his coat, revealing a black velvet jerkin over a silk shirt. A thick gold chain of office gleamed on his broad chest. He stood, hands on hips, glaring
down at me.

I struggled to sit up properly. ‘In the box, Sir William. We found it at Oldroyd’s house. There were some papers in it —’

His eyes widened and he leaned forward. ‘What papers? Quick, what were they? Who saw them?’

‘Only I. When I was attacked, they were taken —’

‘You had them and let them be stolen. You—’ He checked himself and turned to the guard. ‘Wait outside, this is a privy matter. You too, Master Craike. No, wait. You were
the one who found the lawyer?’

‘Yes. I told you —’

‘You came upstairs,’ I said, my mind beginning to work again. ‘To the top floor, and as you reached the hallway you heard someone going down the back stairs?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you say,’ Maleverer interjected brutally. ‘And just afterwards this Barak found you bending over his body.’

‘That is right,’ Barak confirmed.

Craike’s lips set. ‘I see. I am under suspicion.’

Maleverer turned to Barak. ‘You have been with Master Craike since you found him?’

‘Yes, Sir William. We went together to tell the guards—’

Maleverer turned back to Craike. ‘So if you had some implement you used to try to brain the lawyer here, it’ll be about your person still. And now we have these papers missing too.
Take off your robe, let’s see if there’s anything under there besides your fat carcass.’

‘I have nothing to hide, sir.’ Craike removed his long robe. I was relieved to see, underneath, only a doublet whose buttons strained at his plump stomach. Maleverer called the guard
in. ‘Search him. See there’s nothing concealed in his upper hose.’ He turned to me. ‘These papers, how many were there?’

‘The box was half full. A thick packet.’

Maleverer nodded to the guard. ‘See if they’re there.’

The guard came over and patted Craike from neck to feet. Craike began to sweat. The guard turned to Maleverer with a shake of his head. ‘Nothing, sir.’

Maleverer gave a grimace of disappointment. He nodded at Barak. ‘Now him, just to be sure.’ He watched as Barak submitted to the same treatment, then looked balefully at Craike.
‘Right, you can go. For now. But I find it hard to credit that someone heard you coming upstairs in time to run off without being seen. You
are
under suspicion, sir. You have long been
known for papist leanings.’

Craike’s eyes were wide with fear as he turned and left the room. Maleverer turned his gaze to Barak. ‘You can stay. You were Lord Cromwell’s trusted man once, were you
not?’

‘You are well informed, sir,’ Barak said quietly.

‘Yes. I am.’

I struggled to get up. Barak helped me to a chair. Maleverer studied me. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

‘Yes. A little dizzy, and my head and neck are sore.’

He grunted. ‘Your head sits oddly enough on your body to start with.’ He crossed the room and sat on a corner of his desk, thrusting a booted foot out in front of him and folding his
arms. He looked at me, his dark eyes hard and probing. ‘What were these papers you saw?’

‘I looked at the top four. There were more underneath I did not see. The first was a royal family tree. Hand drawn.’

‘Where did it start? Think a moment, get this right.’

‘With Richard Duke of York, father of Edward IV. And his wife, Duchess Cecily Neville.’

Maleverer sighed, a sigh that turned into a bitter laugh. ‘Oh yes. Everything starts with Cecily Neville.’ I noticed a look of strain about his face. ‘Do you think you could
draw that tree?’

‘Yes. I think so.’

He nodded. ‘Ay. Lawyers ever had good memories for papers, that they may quote them to ordinary men to puzzle them. Do that today, but in secret, and get Barak there to bring it to
me.’

‘I will, sir.’

‘And the others?’

‘There was a scribbled paper that claimed to tell of a legend from the days of Merlin, that our present King would rouse God’s enmity and be driven from the realm.’ I
hesitated. ‘It called him the Mouldwarp.’

Maleverer smiled cynically. ‘The Mouldwarp legend. Those fake prophecies were circulated by the hundred during the Pilgrimage of Grace. Sounds like this box may have been full of rubbish.
What else?’

‘The third document was written on parchment. It was an official copy of an Act of Parliament. But one I have never heard of. It was called the
Titulus Regulus
.’

Maleverer’s head jerked forward. ‘What?’ He hesitated, then asked, very quietly, ‘Did you read it?’

‘No. Only the title page. It was from the reign of Richard III.’

Maleverer was silent a moment, running a finger along the edge of his black beard. ‘That was not a real Act of Parliament,’ he said at length. ‘It was a fake.’

‘But the seal —’

‘God’s body, did you not near me! It was a forgery.’ He leaned forward. ‘Produced by the followers of Lambert Simnel, who pretended to be one of the Princes in the Tower
and challenged the King’s father.’

It was clear he was lying – mention of that Act had shaken Maleverer to the core.

‘And the fourth document?’ he asked.

‘Different again. An old scrawled paper. It claimed to be a confession. By a man named Edward Blaybourne. It said it was made in contemplation of death, that the world might know of his
great sin.’

Maleverer seemed to have stopped breathing for a moment. ‘And that great sin,’ he said very quietly. ‘Did he say what it was?’

‘I had got no further when I was struck down.’

‘Are you sure?’ His voice was scarce above a whisper. I looked back at him steadily.

‘Yes.’

He considered a moment. ‘You said the paper was old. There was no date on it?’

‘Not at the head of the paper, at least.’ I hesitated. ‘Blaybourne, that was the name Master Oldroyd mentioned.’

He nodded. ‘Yes, it was. That glazier was not what he seemed, he was part of the conspiracy to topple the King from his throne this spring.’ He gave me a long hard look. ‘Do
you swear you read no more than you have told me, that you do not know what Blaybourne’s sin was? Think before you answer. If you lie you make yourself liable to great penalties.’

‘I will swear on the Bible, sir.’