Sovereign (36 page)

‘The bear-baiting is in the morning,’ Barak said. ‘But some of the clerks are going hawking, I thought I might accompany them.’ He hesitated. ‘Tamasin would like to
go.’

‘Good idea. Get some fresh air. How does the old rhyme go? A Greyfalcon for a King . . .’

‘A Merlin for a Lady,’ Barak continued cheerfully.

‘A Goshawk for a Yeoman, a Sparrowhawk for a Priest —’

‘A Kestrel for a Knave. I’m hoping someone might lend me a kestrel.’ He laughed.

‘Tamasin was telling me about her father,’ I said.

‘Oh?’ He looked surprised. ‘When did you see her?’

‘We happened to meet. Had a little talk. Perhaps I have been a little hard on the girl.’

‘I’m glad you see that.’

‘She believes her father was a professional man.’

‘I think that’s probably a story her mother told to comfort the girl. Nobody likes the taint of bastardy.’

‘That’s what I thought.’ I was reminded of Maleverer. He too had that taint. His way of dealing with it was more brutal.

Barak shook his head. ‘Tammy is so practical in many ways. But she has this notion about her father fixed in her head.’ He sighed. ‘Women need things to comfort them, and she
sets no great store by religion. At the court she has seen something of the politics and greed that have brought the religious changes.’

‘You will see eye to eye with her on that, I think. As do I.’

Barak nodded. ‘I thought I might write to a contact of mine in the household office. I did him a favour in the old days, when I worked for Lord Cromwell. If someone is illegitimate, there
is always a trail of gossip.’

‘Might be better not to find out the truth.’

‘If her father turns out to have been in charge of putting stray dogs out of the kitchens or something, I needn’t tell her.’

‘No.’

We heard voices. It was dark here, on the fringe of the camp, but I saw, a little way ahead, the light of a small fire, a group of men and boys gathered round it. A pit had been dug and filled
with faggots. A group of gallapins had unloaded the pieces of another giant spit from a cart and were labouring to set it up, thrusting the great spiked central rods through the centre of the
apparatus.

‘Don’t put the turning-handles on yet, Danny,’ a stout cook in an apron called out.

‘All right, Father,’ a boy’s high voice replied from the far end of the spit. The spit was so long that I could only make out his dim shape at the end.

‘Where’s that damned ox?’

‘Owen has gone to look.’

‘Keep your voice down. We don’t want the men from yonder tents shouting for food before the beast’s even skewered. Who’s that?’ the cook demanded sharply as he
heard our footsteps, then doffed his cap at the sight of my robe. ‘Ah, sir, I’m sorry, only we don’t want people here till the cooking’s under way.’

‘We were just walking by.’ I stepped away from the end of the spit, where the sharp points waved to and fro as the little gallapin at the other end adjusted them. ‘That is a
mighty spit,’ I said. ‘Are you cooking a whole ox on there?’

‘Ay, and chickens and ducks underneath. We must feed a hundred tonight.’

‘Have you been doing this every night since London?’ It was a relief to talk to someone who would neither know nor care about what had happened at Fulford.

‘Ay. In worse conditions than this too. In fields turned to seas of mud in July. One day the rains put out the fire and the men looked set to riot – the soldiers had to be brought
in.’ The cook shook his head. ‘I will never complain about the cold in the Hampton Court kitchens again —’

He broke off, as a cry sounded from the gallapin at the other end of the spit. I heard a sudden grating noise. Then Barak grabbed me and threw me to the ground.

‘What in Hell—’ I shouted as I thudded heavily into the rough grass. Then I stared up in horror at the great metal spike that had been thrust through the centre of the spit and
now quivered in the air three feet above my head. If Barak had not pushed me it would have skewered me through. Barak and the cook were running to the other end of the spit, then there was another
loud cry, in the cook’s voice: ‘Murder!’

I got to my feet, wincing at the renewed pain in my neck, and ran to where Barak and the cook were crouched over a small figure lying on the ground. ‘Someone knocked the gallapin on the
head,’ Barak called out to me. ‘Then he pushed that spike at you, he was trying to kill you!’

‘Danny!’ the cook was crying. ‘Danny!’

‘That boy,’ I breathed. ‘Is he . . .’

‘Let’s see.’

The cook was crouched on the ground, the boy’s head in his lap. To my relief the small figure was moving.

‘Careful with him,’ Barak said. ‘Watch his head.’

The cook gave him an angry stare. ‘Do you think I don’t know that? He is my son!’

‘I am sorry.’ I bent down. ‘Where is he hurt?’

‘There’s blood on the back of his head,’ the cook said. I felt the lad’s skull carefully. ‘I think it’s just a scalp wound. Someone hit him on the back of the
head.’

The boy groaned. ‘Father! I can’t see properly,’ he said. The boy was no more than twelve or so. I felt a sudden rage at the brute who had struck him down.

‘Hold him still,’ I said. ‘See if his vision settles down.’

The cook was looking at me. ‘This was meant to kill you, sir.’

‘I can see better now, Father.’ The boy tried to lift himself up, then groaned and leaned back. ‘I’m dizzy.’

‘Listen, fellow,’ I said. ‘Your lad has a concussion. Let him lie and rest, cover him with a blanket. If he is no better tomorrow, come to me and I will pay for a doctor. What
is your name?’

‘Goodrich, sir.’

‘Ask for Master Shardlake, at the lawyers’ lodging house.’

‘All right.’ The cook looked fearfully at the spit, then at the darkness beyond. ‘What if he should come back?’

‘We’ll see to that,’ Barak said grimly. He ran back and lit a stick of wood from the fire. I followed him as he walked into the darkness, but we could see nothing, only the
river flowing strongly and behind us the lights of the camp. Barak looked back.

‘He’ll have gone back to the camp. Shit.’

‘Ay,’ I said quietly. ‘Come on, let’s get back ourselves.’ We returned to where the cook still crouched by his son. I saw a group of men approaching, a cart laden
with an ox carcass. I touched the cook’s arm. ‘Remember my name, Master Shardlake. Let me know how he does.’

‘This should be reported!’

‘I’ll deal with that. Don’t forget. Come and see me, at the lawyers’ lodgings.’

We walked away, back to the relative safety of the lit areas, and stood looking over the crowd. Some of the men who had finished eating were sitting around their tents playing music, the sound
of shawms and bagpipes wafting through the air.

‘So,’ I said quietly. ‘I
am
in danger. I have been careless today, grumbling about on my own.’

‘Why haven’t they tried before this?’

‘Perhaps this was the first opportunity. Someone who saw us come into the camp.’

‘There must be hundreds here from King’s Manor. If Maleverer would tell you what those damned papers were, why they were so important, you might know where to start
looking.’

‘He won’t do that. I’ll tell him what’s happened, but even if he cared enough he wouldn’t be able to protect me, not among these hundreds of people.’

‘He’s an arsehole.’

‘And he’s up to some corrupt business with Rich. No, I doubt I can look for aid from that quarter. Rich would probably be glad to have me out of the way.’

Barak whistled. ‘You don’t think . . .’

‘I don’t know. Except that whoever tried to kill me tonight is likely to try again.’

‘We could ask to go home. As you’re in danger.’

‘They seem to want me here. Besides, even if we did go back to London, what’s to stop whoever it is following us there? And there are supposed to be conspirators at the Inns of Court
too.’ I looked out again over the milling crowds. It was not the first time in my life that I had walked in fear of an assassin, though never had I felt so helpless. I looked at Barak.
‘Thank you, Jack,’ I said quietly. ‘You saved my life there. You reacted quickly.’

‘I turned when I heard the metal grating, saw it moving. By Jesu, though, it was a matter of a split second.’

I was silent a moment, then took a deep breath. ‘I have resolved something. Now I know someone is after my life I am going to try and track
them
down. I have had enough, I will
not
allow myself to be beaten down into a mere hunted quarry. And other lives may be at risk too, since this enemy thinks nothing of knocking children on the head.’ I looked at him.
‘Perhaps yours too. Will you help me? I have no right to ask, I have been a boorish churl with you over the girl Tamasin.’

He nodded. ‘I’m with you all the way. I’d prefer action to sitting around like a target.’ He extended a hand, and I took it. ‘Like last time,’ he said.

S
ATURDAY DAWNED CHILL
, a light rain falling through a grey mist that hid the St Mary’s steeple. I had tried to see
Maleverer the night before, but was told he could not be disturbed. Barak and I rose early, both having slept very little, and went outside. I locked the door behind me; since the first attack on
me at King’s Manor I had always locked myself into my cubicle.

A little way off the two bears lay asleep in their big iron cages. Today they would be set to fight with great mastiffs for the King’s entertainment. We made our way over to King’s
Manor again. I noticed the trees were becoming bare; autumn was further on up here. Squirrels ran to and fro along the branches, blurs of red movement. I looked up at the walls where the soldiers
patrolled with their guns and swords, the only people allowed to carry weapons in the royal precincts. The household officials had sharp eyes out for weapons, particularly given what had happened
at St Mary’s. Barak and I had sat up late talking, and agreed I was probably safe from a sword-thrust. Our assailant, whoever he was, would be concerned not to be recognized by anyone. It
looked as though someone in the darkness of the camp had seen us and followed at a distance, waiting for an opportunity to strike unseen and seizing it boldly when it came.

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you today?’ Barak asked.

‘No – after I’ve seen Maleverer I’ll walk over and see Wrenne, then come back to the lodging house. I’m safe enough in daylight if I keep to public areas. No, you
have your day’s hunting.’

‘Thanks. One of the clerks is lending me a goshawk. ’Tis newly trained, only a few weeks since its eyes were sewn closed to tame it, but it will be better than nothing.’

‘Then take care.’

He walked off and I went across to the manor, a phalanx of soldiers now guarding the steps. I looked up at the windows of the upper rooms where the King slept. They were shuttered. I wondered if
he had taken the Queen to his bed with him. I remembered the smell of his huge leg, and shuddered.

I gained admittance and was led again to Maleverer’s office. He was up already, working at his papers. He looked tired, there were dark rings under his fierce eyes. He was not afraid of
hard work, I had to grant him that.

‘What now?’ he grunted, looking at me balefully. ‘I’m surprised at you showing your face again.’

‘I was attacked last night, Sir William. I thought you should know.’

That got his interest. He listened attentively as I told him what had happened. He frowned thoughtfully, then gave me a hard look.

‘Are you sure it was no accident? Servants can be cunning as cats. Perhaps the gallapin was never struck, only made it up to excuse carelessness with the spit. Did you think of
that?’

‘His head was bloody. And that spit was pushed at me with more force than a child could command.’ I remembered the sharp tip, quivering in the air.

Maleverer was silent for a moment. When he spoke again it was in a quiet voice. ‘We thought whoever took the papers had fled. There are escaped conspirators among the fells, others in
Scotland, and some in London too. That would have been the sensible thing to do. Yet no one has been reported as leaving the Progress unexpectedly. Perhaps they passed the papers on to an associate
and came back here. To finish you off, as the only one who had seen inside that box. Or so at least they think.’ He frowned. ‘Perhaps they believe you have kept the knowledge to
yourself and not told me.’

‘That is possible.’

‘I shall have to report this to the Privy Council.’

I hesitated. ‘I wondered whether it might be better for me to leave the Progress now, go back to London?’

He smiled coldly. ‘No. No, Master Shardlake. You can be our stalking horse. Perhaps you will lead our killer into the open.’

‘Perhaps he will kill me,’ I said.

Maleverer shrugged. ‘Then you must take care. This can be your penance for losing the papers in the first place. No, I forbid you to leave the Progress.’ And he smiled at me for a
long moment, running a thick hairy finger along the edge of his beard, the yellow nail standing out against the black hairs.

‘As you command, Sir William.’ I kept my voice neutral, professional. ‘I plan to go to see Master Wrenne now. I gather he has been taken ill. Other arrangements may need to be
made if he cannot attend the hearings on the petitions.’

Maleverer grunted. ‘I said he was too old for this. Send a message to me if he is unable to do it. We’ll have to find someone else. You can’t do it, we need someone with
presence and a reputation up here.’ He smiled at me again.

I bowed and left. As I descended the staircase I thought, so, it is up to me to save myself. From now on I would wear a dagger at my belt, for all it was forbidden to carry weapons at
King’s Manor.