Dark Fire

Chapter Twelve

OUTSIDE IN THE COURTYARD black-robed barristers were heading towards the hall from all directions. I saw Bealknap among them, walking alone as usual, for he had few if any friends – though he never seemed to care. It was too late to talk to him now, I would have to wait till after the lunch. Joining the crowd filing into hall, I saw Godfrey a little ahead of me and tapped him on the shoulder.

Lincoln's Inn Hall looked its very best. Beneath the vaulting hammerbeam roof the richly coloured tapestries glowed in the light of many candles. The dark oak floorboards gleamed with polish. A throne-like chair had been set for the duke in the centre of the High Table at the north end of the hall. Other long tables, set with the Inn's best silver, had been placed at right angles to High Table. People were finding their places; a few students selected for their good backgrounds, short black robes over their gaudy doublets, took the places furthest from High Table. The serjeants, sweating under the white coifs tied around their faces, sat nearest and the benchers and barristers in between.

As benchers Godfrey and I were entitled to places next to the serjeants, and to my surprise Godfrey shouldered his way to a place as near as possible to where the duke would sit. I sat next to him. On my other side was an aged bencher called Fox. As he never tired of telling people, he had been a student at Lincoln's Inn during the reign of King Richard III and had watched the hall being built. As we took our places, I saw Bealknap arguing with a bencher over a place nearly opposite me. Although he had fifteen years at the Bar, Bealknap's unsavoury reputation meant he had never been called to read, yet he was disputing crossly for the place. Perhaps thinking such an argument beneath him, the bencher allowed Bealknap to take the place. He sat down with a smile of satisfaction on his thin features.

A servant banged his staff. Everyone rose as the officers of the Inn marched up the hall. Among the black robes was one man in the rich scarlet of a peer, his wide collar trimmed with black fur; Thomas Howard, third Duke of Norfolk. I was surprised to see how small he was. How old, too, for his long face was deeply lined and the hair beneath the wide jewelled cap was thin and grey. He looked, I thought, insignificant; in ordinary clothes one would not have glanced at him twice. A dozen retainers in the red and gold quarters of the Howard livery spread out and stood against the walls.

The Inn's officers bowed and smiled as they bade the duke take his seat. I saw Marchamount take a place at High Table. He was not an officer, but from what he said had been instrumental in organizing the lunch. He beamed at the crowd, in his element. I wondered how well he knew Cromwell's, and reform's, greatest enemy. Curious, I studied the duke's lined face. It was as hard as any man's I had seen, the thin mouth under the prominent nose pursed with severity. Small black eyes surveyed the crowd with lively calculation. The duke's gaze met mine for a second and I dropped my eyes.

The first course was brought in, steaming dishes of vegetables carved into the shapes of stars and half-moons, richly sauced with sugar and vinegar and accompanied by cold meat. As this was a lunch there would be none of the spectacular fare of an evening supper, but much effort had been put into the preparation of the food. I turned appreciatively to Godfrey.

'This fare is almost worth the company,' I whispered.

'Nothing is worth this company.' Godfrey was staring at the duke, a bitter look on his normally amiable features.

'Don't let him catch you giving him foul looks,' I whispered, but he shrugged and went on staring. The duke was talking to the treasurer, Serjeant Cuffleigh.

'Our defences couldn't stand a combined assault by the French and Spaniards,' I heard the duke tell Cuffleigh in a deep voice.

Cuffleigh smiled. 'Few have as much military experience as you, your grace. You hammered the Scots for us at Flodden.'

'I'm afraid of fighting nobody, but the balance of forces needs to be right. When I faced the northern rebels three years ago I hadn't enough men to meet them, so the king and I got them to disband their forces with sweet words. Then we hammered the churls.' He smiled coldly.

Marchamount leaned across. 'And we can't do that with the French and Spaniards.'

'I dare say not,' Cuffleigh agreed hesitantly.

'That's why we need peace. A half-baked alliance with a bunch of squabbling Germans is no use.'

Old Brother Fox leaned across to me. 'I see his grace is talking to the treasurer,' he said. 'You know, Thomas More refused the treasurership and was fined a pound. Ah, the king exacted a higher penalty when More refused to recognize Nan Bullen as queen.'

'Brother Cuffleigh looks a trifle anxious,' I said, to divert Brother Fox before he began his reminiscences of More's time at the Inn.

'Cuffleigh is a reformer and the duke loves baiting evangelicals.' Fox, a traditionalist, spoke with satisfaction. The duke was smiling coldly at the treasurer now. 'Not just apprentices,' I heard him say loudly. 'Even silly little women fancy they can read the Bible now and understand God's Word.' He laughed.

'It is permitted, your grace,' Cuffleigh replied weakly.

'It won't be for long. The king plans to restrict Bible-reading to heads of households. I'd restrict it further – I'd only permit it for the clergy. I've never read it and never will.'

All along the upper part of the tables, where the duke's words could be heard, men were looking at him, some approvingly and others with set faces. He glanced over the assembly with those bright, hard eyes and smiled cynically.

Then, before I could stop him, Godfrey rose in his place. All eyes turned to him as he took a deep breath, faced the duke, and said loudly, 'God's Word is for all to read. It is the bringer of the sweetest light there is, the light of truth.'

His words rang and echoed round the hall. All along the tables eyes widened. Norfolk leaned over, resting his chin on a beringed hand, and stared at Godfrey with cold amusement. I grabbed at the sleeve of his robe and tried to pull him down but he shook me off.

'The Bible brings us from error to truth, to the presence of Jesus Christ,' he continued. A couple of students clapped until furious glares from the Inn's officers scared them into silence. Godfrey reddened, as though he suddenly realized what an unforgivably bold thing he had done, but he went on. 'Were I to be killed for my beliefs, I would rise from the grave to proclaim the truth once more,' he said and then, to my relief, sat down.

The duke rose in his place. 'No, sir, you would not,' he said evenly. 'You would not, you would be screaming in hell with all the other Lutheran heretics. You should have a care, sir, that your tongue does not lose you your head and put you in the pit before your time.' He sat down again. Leaning over to Marchamount, who was glaring at Godfrey as though he could have slain him, he began whispering in his ear.

'Jesu, man, what were you thinking of?' I asked Godfrey. 'You'll be disciplined for this.'

He looked at me. His normally soft features had taken on a steely expression. 'I care not.' He almost spat the words. 'Jesus Christ is my Saviour, through grace, and I will not have His Word made mock of.' His eyes gleamed with self-righteous anger. I turned away. When his emotions were roused by his faith Godfrey could sometimes change into a different person, a dangerous one.

AT LAST THE MEAL ended. The duke and his retinue filed out and at once a buzz of conversation erupted. Godfrey sat there, taking satisfaction, it seemed to me, from a myriad stares. Some barristers, the traditionalists mostly, got up and left. Old Brother Fox, looking much disturbed, rose from his bench. I stood up too. Godfrey gave me a reproachful look.

'Will you stay a moment?' he asked. 'Or do you not wish to be associated with me any more?'

'God's wounds, Godfrey,' I snapped, 'I've work to do, a cartload of it. There are others in the world besides you. I have to see Bealknap before he disappears.' And indeed he was even now heading for the door. I hurried after him, catching him as he stepped into the sunny quadrangle, blinking in the light.

'Brother Bealknap,' I said crisply, 'I need to talk to you.'

'About the case?' He smiled. 'Your friend made a monkey of himself in there, by the way. He'll be disciplined –'

'It is not about the case, Bealknap. I have a commission, from Lord Cromwell. To investigate the murder yesterday of Michael Gristwood.'

His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. If he was acting ignorance, it was a good performance. But lawyers can act better than any mummer in a mystery play.

'Your chambers, I think.'

Bealknap nodded, stunned into silence, and led the way across Gatehouse Court. He had a room on the first floor of a corner building, up a narrow flight of creaking stairs. His chamber was plainly furnished, a poor-looking desk and a couple of battered tables heaped untidily with papers. The room was dominated by a huge iron-bound chest that stood in one corner, made of thick boards and secured by iron bands and padlocks. It was said about the Inns that all the gold Bealknap earned went in there and that he passed his evenings running it through his fingers and counting it. He hardly spent any, though; it was known that tailors and innkeepers had been chasing him through the courts for years for money he owed.

Bealknap looked at the chest and seemed momentarily to relax. Many lawyers would have been embarrassed to have such stories of miserliness spread about them, but Bealknap seemed not to mind. Keeping the chest in his office was safe enough for he lived in rooms next door, and with its guards and watchmen the Inn was as safe a place as anywhere in London. Yet I remembered what the Gristwoods' killers had made of the chest in Sepultus's workshop.

Bealknap took off his cap and ran a hand through his wiry blond hair. 'Will you take a seat, Brother?'

'Thank you.' I sat by his desk, casting an eye over the papers. To my surprise I saw the crest of the Hanseatic League on one document, French writing on another.

'You have business with French merchants?' I asked.

'They pay well. The French are having problems with the Custom House these days.'

'Not surprising as they threaten war on us.'

'That won't happen. The king knows the dangers, as the duke was saying at lunch.' He waved the subject away. 'In God's name, Brother, what is this about Michael Gristwood?'

'He was found dead yesterday morning at his home. His brother was murdered too. The formula is gone. You know what I am talking about.'

'My poor friend. This is very shocking.' His eyes darted all over the room, avoiding mine.

'Did you tell anyone apart from Serjeant Marchamount about the formula?' I asked.

He shook his head firmly. 'No, sir, I did not. When Michael brought me the papers he found at Bart's I said he should get them to Lord Cromwell.'

'For payment, though they were the king's by right. Was that your idea, or his?'

He hesitated, then looked at me directly. 'His. But I didn't quarrel with him about that, Brother. It was an opportunity, and only a fool passes those up. I offered to go to Marchamount for him.'

'For a fee?'

'Naturally.' He raised a hand. 'But – but Lord Cromwell accepted the position, and I was only a poor intermediary –'

'You are a shameless fellow, Bealknap.' I looked at the papers again. 'You could have taken them to the French, perhaps. They might have offered more to keep this secret out of Cromwell's hands.'

He jumped up, agitated. 'God's death, that would have been treason! D'ye think I'd take the risk of being gutted alive at Tyburn? You have to believe me.'

I said nothing. He sat down again, then laughed nervously. 'Besides, I thought the whole thing was nonsense. After I took Michael to Marchamount he paid me and I heard no more till just now.' He jabbed a finger at me. 'Don't try to involve me in this, Shardlake. I'd no part in it, on my oath!'

'When did Michael first bring you the papers?'

'In March.'

'He waited six months after finding them?'

'He said he and his brother the alchemist had been experimenting with the formula, making more, building some sort of apparatus to fire the stuff at ships. It made no sense to me.'

It was a similar tale to Marchamount's. 'Ah yes,' I said, 'the apparatus. Did they build it themselves, I wonder?'

Bealknap shrugged. 'I've no idea. Michael said only that it had been made. I tell you, I know nothing.'

'They said nothing of where the apparatus, or the formula, were kept?'

'No. I didn't even study their papers. Michael showed them to me, but half of them were in Greek and what I could read sounded like nonsense. You know some of those old monks were jesters? They'd forge documents to pass the time.'

'Is that what you thought those papers were? A jest, a forgery?'

'I didn't know. I introduced Michael to Marchamount and then I was glad to be shot of the matter.'

'Back to your compurgators, eh?'

'Back to business.'

'Very well.' I rose. 'That will do for now. You will tell no one Michael is dead, Bealknap, or that we have spoken, or you will answer to Lord Cromwell.'

'I've no wish to tell anyone, I don't want to be involved at all.'

'I am afraid you are.' I gave him a tight smile. 'I will see you at Westminster Hall on Tuesday for the case. By the way,' I added with apparent casualness, 'did you resolve the problem with your corrodiary?'

'Oh, yes.'

'Strange, I did not think friaries took on pensioners living in.'

'This one did,' he said with a glare. 'Ask Sir Richard Rich if you don't believe me.'

'Ah, yes, you mentioned his name at Augmentations. I did not know you had his patronage.'

'I don't,' he answered smoothly, 'but I knew the clerk had a meeting with Sir Richard Rich. That was why I urged him to hurry.'

I smiled and left him. I was sure I was right about corrodians, I would check. I frowned. There was something about Bealknap's response to my question about the corrodian that did not ring true. He had been frightened, but had seemed suddenly confident when he mentioned Richard Rich. Somehow that worried me very much.