The former cloister yard had been converted too, the roofed walkway filled with more wooden partitions between the pillars to make a quadrangle of tiny ramshackle dwellings. Rags hung at the windows in place of curtains; these were hovels for the poorest of the poor. I blinked in the sunlight reflected from the white quadrangle stones where once the friars had paced.
The smallest of the little dwellings had an open door, from which a horrible stink issued. Holding my nose, I looked inside. A hole had been dug in the earth, with a plank set on bricks thrown across. It was a ‘whistle and thud’ cesspit, and should have been twenty feet deep so the flies could not reach the top, but from the cloud of them buzzing round the planks I guessed it was no more than ten feet deep. I held my nose as I looked down the dark, evil-smelling pit. It had not even been lined with wood, let alone the mandatory stone: no wonder it leaked. I remembered what Barak had said about his father falling down one of these pits and shuddered.
I stepped outside with relief. I must visit the house next door, the one the council owned, then get back to Chancery Lane. The morning was wearing on, the hot sun near its zenith. I paused and rubbed my sleeve across my brow, easing the uncomfortable weight of my satchel.
Then I saw them. They stood one on each side of the door to the church, so still that I had not immediately noticed them. A tall thin man with a pale face as pitted with pox marks as though the devil had scraped his claws across it, and on the other side an enormous, hulking fellow who kept small frowning eyes fixed on me as he hefted a chopping axe, the shaft cut short to make a fearsome weapon, in his big hand. Toky, and his mate Wright. I swallowed, feeling my legs begin to tremble. Other than the door to the church there was no way out of the cloister yard. I glanced along the rows of doors but all were shut, the inhabitants no doubt out at work or begging in the streets. I felt for my dagger.
Toky smiled, a broad smile that showed a perfect set of white teeth, as he lifted his own dagger. ‘Didn’t see us following you, did you?’ he asked cheerfully in a sharp voice with a country burr. ‘You’ve been getting careless without Master Barak at your side.’ He nodded at the cesspit. ‘Fancy going down there? They wouldn’t find you till they cleaned it out, wouldn’t notice the smell with what’s down there already.’ He grinned at Wright. The big man nodded briefly, never taking his gaze off me. His eyes were focused and still, like a dog stalking its prey; Toky’s glittered with the bright cruel intensity of a cat’s. He smiled with pleasure.
‘Whatever you are being paid,’ I said, trying to keep my voice steady, ‘Lord Cromwell will double it in return for the name of your employer, I promise.’
Toky laughed, then spat on the ground. ‘That for the tavern keeper’s son.’
‘Who is paying you?’ I asked. ‘Bealknap? Marchamount? Rich? Norfolk? Lady Honor Bryanston?’ I watched their faces for any sign of recognition, but they were both too professional for that. Toky spread his arms and began moving towards me while the big man stepped to the side, raising his axe. Toky was trying to nudge me towards his confederate, so he could make the killing blow, guiding me to the slaughter like a sheep. ‘Help!’ I called out, but if anyone was within the wooden hovels they were not going to intervene. None of the window curtains stirred. My heart thudded in my breast and despite the heat I felt cold, paralysed. I was done for this time. I almost gave in. Then in my mind’s eye I saw Sepultus Gristwood’s shattered face and I resolved, if I was to end like that, at least I would go down fighting.
Their eyes were concentrated on my dagger arm. I let my shoulder drop so the strap of my satchel slid down my other arm, then I grabbed it and swung at Wright with all my strength. The heavy books caught him on the side of the head and he stumbled with a cry.
I ran for the doorway, thanking God for the broken door. I heard Toky close behind me and winced in anticipation of a blade thrust into my back. I grabbed at the door. It came right off the hinges. I turned and thrust it at Toky; he stumbled against it with a cry, giving me time to run into the nave. The old woman was still on her staircase, talking to a younger woman who had emerged from the next-door hovel. Their mouths fell open in amazement as I ran down the passage. I passed them and turned. Toky was standing in the doorway, blood running from his nose. To my surprise, he laughed.
‘We’ll put you down the pit alive for this, matey,’ he said. He stepped aside as Wright charged through the door and headed straight for me, axe raised high.
Then he stopped with a howl as a flood of liquid landed on him from above, followed by an earthenware pot that banged on his shoulder. I stared upwards. The old woman had thrown a full pisspot at him. Her neighbour ran from her door, carrying another. She hurled it too at the big man. This time it caught him on the forehead and he stumbled against the wall with another cry, dropping his axe.
‘Run!’ the old woman yelled. Toky was running down the aisle, fury in his eyes now. I sped for the main door, jerking Chancery’s reins free. He was wide-eyed and trembling with anxiety, but allowed me to haul him outside. Riding away was my only chance - on foot they would get me in the street. I leaped clumsily into the saddle and grasped the reins. Then they were seized from below, jerking Chancery’s head aside. I looked down. To my horror I saw Toky directly underneath me, staring up at me with a snarling smile, the sunlight flashing off his dagger. I fumbled frantically for my own, which I had slipped up my sleeve as I mounted, but I was too late. Toky thrust upwards at my groin.
Chancery saved me. As Toky stabbed he reared up, neighing in terror and kicking out. Toky jumped back. I saw with a thrill of horror that his dagger was bloody; I glanced down at my waist, clutching the slippery neck of the rearing horse, but it was Chancery’s blood that stained it, welling from a great gash in his side. Toky dodged the flying hooves and struck at me again but Chancery, screaming now, shied away, almost unseating me. Toky looked quickly round; along the street shutters were banging open; a group of men had appeared in the doorway of an inn at the top of the street. I pulled at the reins and Chancery stumbled towards them, his blood dripping on the road. I looked over my shoulder. Wright had joined. Toky now but half the street lay between us. The sunlight glinted on Wright’s axe.
‘Hey, what’s going on?’ someone called. ‘Constable!’ The men from the inn spilled into the road; doors were being opened along the street, people looking fearfully out. Toky glanced at them, gave me a savage look, then turned and ran off up the street, Wright running after him. The men from the inn came over to where Chancery stood trembling from head to foot.
The innkeeper approached me. ‘You all right, lawyer?’
‘Yes. Thank you, yes.’
‘God’s death, what happened? Your horse is hurt.’
‘I must get him home.’ But at that moment Chancery shuddered and slipped forward to his knees. I had barely time to jump off before he fell on his side. I looked at the blood still welling on to the dusty cobbles, and thought how easily it could have been mine. I looked at his eyes but already they were glazing over; my old horse was dead.
Chapter Twenty-five
SOME HOURS LATER, as the heat of the day began to fade, I sat under the shade of a trellis in my garden. I had told the crowd in the street that I had been the victim of a robbery, bringing forth mutterings about the type of people living at the old friary. The innkeeper had insisted a cart be sent for to remove the horse, which was blocking the narrow street, and that I pay for it. When the cart arrived I had a ridiculous urge to ask the driver to take Chancery’s corpse to my house; but what would I do with it there? As they loaded him on the cart, to take him to the Shambles, I walked down to the river to catch a boat. I blinked back tears. There was no point in going to Lady Honor’s now, I was too dusty to present myself at the House of Glass, and my legs were trembling as I walked.
I closed my eyes at the memory of the sudden stillness in Chancery’s eyes. He had died of shock as much as loss of blood and I blamed myself; for days I had ridden him beyond endurance through London in t
he heat. The poor old horse, with his quiet gentle ways. Young Simon wept when I told him Chancery was dead. I had not realized the boy was so fond of him; he had seemed more taken with Barak’s mare.
I remembered the day I bought Chancery. I had been eighteen, not long in London, and he was the first horse I had bought for myself. I remembered how proud I had been as I led the pretty white creature with the broad hooves from the stables, how gentle he had been from the start. I had promised myself I would put him out to grass, but now he would never enjoy those last years in the orchard behind my garden. Tears formed at the corners of my eyes again. I wiped them away.
There was a cough at my elbow and I turned to find Barak, looking hot and dusty.
‘What’s happened? The boy tells me your horse has died.’
I told Barak of the attack. He frowned as he sat beside me. ‘Shit, that’s more bad news for the earl tomorrow. How did they know you were going there?’ He thought a moment. ‘It was Bealknap’s property. That’points to him.’
I shook my head. ‘Bealknap had no idea I was going there today. No, I think Toky was following me again. I wasn’t looking round me as I should, I was careless. I had an - an - encounter with Sir Edwin Wentworth at the Guildhall. They knew who you are,’ I added. ‘They know you have been looking for them.’
‘Word’s got around.’ He shook his head. ‘What did Lady Honor have to say?’
‘I didn’t go to see her. I was covered in dust and blood and sore shaken.’
‘We’ve only eight days.’ He eyed my face. ‘Have you been weeping?’
‘For Chancery,’ I said, my voice gruff with embarrassment.
‘God’s death, it was only a horse. Well, I’ve been working while you’ve been sitting here. I’ve found a man Bealknap used as a compurgator, vouching for the good character of people he’d never heard of.’
I sat up. ‘Where is he?’
Barak jerked his head towards the house. ‘In there. He keeps a clothing stall in Cheapside, works for Bealknap on the side. I’ve put him in the kitchen. Want to talk to him?’
I followed Barak to the kitchen, trying to pull myself together. A middle-aged man sat at the table. He was plump and respectable looking, which no doubt was why Bealknap had chosen him. He rose to his feet and gave a deep bow. ‘Master Shardlake, sir, a pleasure to meet you. Adam Leman, sir.’
I sat down opposite him, while Barak stood looking on.
‘Well, Master Leman, I hear my brother in the law, Stephen Bealknap, has employed you as a compurgator.’
Leman nodded. ‘I have assisted him.’
‘To swear to the good character of men held in the bishop’s gaol under benefit of clergy.’
He hesitated. I noticed his eyes were watery, and his nose a mess of broken red veins. A drunk, probably unable to run his stall properly and in need of extra cash for strong beer.
‘Master Bealknap is kind enough to pay me a retainer,’ he said cautiously. ‘Perhaps I do not know all the gentlemen whose character I swear to as well as I might, but I feel I am doing a Christian service, sir. The conditions in the bishop’s gaol—’
I cut through his nonsense. ‘You pretend to know people you have never heard of and pervert the course of justice for money. We both know that. Now, have a beer.’ I nodded at Barak, who fetched a jug from the cold cupboard. Leman coughed, then sat up in his chair.
‘Bealknap hasn’t paid me, sir. I said I’d do no more work for him till he did. He’s the meanest man alive, he’d skin a flea for its hide and tallow. Makes a point of never paying anyone if he can get out of it.’ He nodded self-righteously. ‘Well, now it’s caught up with the bastard. I’ve told your man I’ll help you nail him and I shall. Thank you.’ He took a cup from Barak and gulped noisily. ‘That’s good in this hot weather.’ He looked at me sharply. ‘You can give me immunity?’
I ever preferred a rogue who would come to the point. I nodded. ‘In exchange for an affidavit to go before the disciplinary authorities of Lincoln’s Inn. But once we’ve completed the affidavit I want you to come with me and tell Bealknap to his face what damage you can do him. Will you do that?’
He hesitated. ‘How much?’
‘A pound for the affidavit, another for coming to see Bealknap.’
‘Then it’ll be a job I’ll be happy to do, sir.’ His looked at me curiously. ‘You got some grudge against him yourself?’
‘You mind your business,’ Barak said.
I rose. ‘Come then, Master Leman, let us go to my study and prepare this affidavit.’
I spent an hour with the rogue. He signed the document with a scrawled flourish and I sent him on his way with five shillings on account for his fee. As I rubbed sand over the florid signature to dry it Barak laughed.
‘I’ve never seen an affidavit taken before. The way you kept him to the point.’
‘It’s an art you learn. Now I am hungry. I’ll get Joan to make us an early supper.’
‘And then - the well?’ Barak looked at me. ‘We may not get another chance.’
For myself, now the business with Leman was done, the horror of the day’s earlier events was crowding back into my mind and the expedition to Sir Edwin’s house in the dark was the last thing I wished for. But it had to be done.
‘Yes, the well. We’ll have to wait till it’s dark.’ I glanced at the satchel, which I had retrieved from the cloister of St Michael’s before returning home, and slung in a corner. ‘I’ll take the chance to look at those books.’
I RETURNED TO MY STUDY after a quick supper. I read for hours, lighting candles as the summer sun dropped to the horizon and the moon came up with the thick, hot darkness. As ever, reading soothed my mind and took me far away from my troubles. I read about Roman experiments with fire weaponry that seemed to come to naught. The name Medea came up again and again; the name of the ancient Greek sorceress who presented her enemy with a shirt that burst into all-consuming fire when it was put on. Placing ‘the Shirt of Medea’ on victims in the arena was a sport in Nero’s time, mentioned in Plutarch and Lucullus. But what was it that made the shirt burn, and why had the Romans not developed this ‘infernal fire’ for military use?
I read on, finding references to military experiments with a mysterious substance called ‘naphtha’ that was found in Mesopotamia, on the eastern frontier of the empire. Pliny said it bubbled to the surface from underground and could be set on fire even if it spilled into a river. So God had seeded something in the earth there, as he seeded gold or iron in different places. I knew alchemists were able to locate deposits of some desired substance, such as iron or coal, by studying the nature of the ground, though they had never found deposits of the fabled ‘philosopher’s stone’ that could turn base metals into gold, however often they might gull poor fools into believing they had.
I laid down my book and rubbed my eyes. I must see Guy, I thought. Barak would not like me telling Guy more, so I would have to keep the visit from him. This world of the discovery and transformation of matter was alien to me, yet there was something in these books, some clue, I was sure. Or why had the Lincoln’s Inn copies been stolen? Who had stolen those books? Who was it the old librarian was afraid of? I sighed. Every step I took seemed only to throw up more puzzles.
I jumped at a knock on the door. Barak stood there, dressed in black doublet and hose, suppressed excitement in his eyes. ‘Ready?’ he asked. ‘It’s time to go to Sir Edwin’s.’
WE WALKED DOWN TO Temple Stairs to catch a boat. Barak carried a heavy knapsack that he told me contained tools to break the locks on the well cap, candles and a rope ladder to climb down. It felt strange to be out on illicit business at night; if a constable asked to see the contents of that knapsack we would be in trouble. Barak, though, seemed quite unconcerned, nodding and smiling at the occasional watchman who lifted his lamp as we passed.
We took the path through Temple Inn, silent and dark save for the occasional flicker of candles at a window. We passed the great round bulk of Te
mple church, where the crusading Knights Templar had worshipped.
‘Those were the fellows, eh?’ Barak said. ‘The Christian powers were on the march in those days, not forever being beaten by the heathen Turks like now.’
‘Christendom was united then.’
‘Maybe it will be again if we get Greek Fire. Under us. King Henry’s navies burning the French and Spanish navies off the seas. We could cross the Atlantic and take the Spanish colonies.’
‘Don’t get carried away.’ I gave him a cold look. The way he talked of burning navies repelled me. Had he not seen the burnings at Smithfield? Seen what fire did to men? ‘Perhaps it would be better if it never came to pass.’
He inclined his head, but did not reply. A moment later he bent down and picked up some of the pebbles that separated the rose-filled flower beds from the path, putting them in his pocket.
‘What are you doing?’
‘These might come in useful,’ he said ambiguously.
The Thames came into view, broad and shining in the moonlight, the lamps on the boats pinpricks on the water. ‘We’re in luck,’ I said. ‘There’s a wherry at the stairs.’
THE MOONLIT RIVER was quiet, only a few boats carrying officials between the City and Westminster. I sat looking at the faint lights on the Southwark shore, thinking of Chancery again. Well, he was gone, gone to nothing for animals have no souls, but that was better than hell, where most men must have their end, perhaps me too for all I knew. I realized that when I was attacked I had thought only of survival, my mind sharpened by danger, I had not thought to pray or of what might happen after if I was killed. Was that sinful? I shook my head; I was exhausted, but I had to stay awake and sharp.