Lamentation

Chapter Forty-nine

By three o’clock, several ragged boys had come or been brought to my door, but none was Timothy. I left Barak and took a wherry upriver to Hampton Court. I had done my best to clean the London dust from my robe before I left. I carried the rented gold chain in a bag; wearing it in the city would be a sore temptation to street robbers. I was tired, my back hurt, and I would have liked to lie down rather than be forced to sit on the hard bench of the boat.

‘Going to the celebrations to welcome the French admiral, sir?’ the boatman asked.

‘That’s right.’

‘They enlisted me last year, sent me to Hampshire. Our company didn’t go on the King’s ships, though. We came home after the French fleet sailed away. I lost a lot of money through being taken from my trade.’

‘At least you came back with your life.’

‘Ay. Not all did. And now we’ve to welcome that Frenchie like a hero.’ He turned and spat in the river as the high brick chimneys of Hampton Court came into view in the distance.

One of the many guards posted at the landing stage led me into the Great Court fronting the palace. The wide lawned court backed on to high walls, and in the centre was the Great Gate leading to the inner court and the main buildings, whose red-brick facade looked mellow in the sunlight. Hampton Court was a complex of wide interlocking spaces, a complete contrast to the cramped turrets and tiny courts of Whitehall — less colourful, but more splendid.

In the Great Court I saw two large temporary banqueting houses, skilfully painted to look like brickwork, with the flags of England and France flying from pennants above. Even the smaller of the two structures looked as though it could seat a hundred people. Some of the royal tents had also been put up, their bright varied colours making a vivid picture. Hundreds of people, mostly men, but a goodly number of women too, stood conversing in the wide courtyard, all in their finest clothes. Servants bustled to and fro, handing out silver mugs of wine and offering sweetmeats from trays. There was a steady hum of conversation.

An usher marked my name on a list — there was a list, of course, and anyone who did not turn up would hear about it — and told me that at six o’clock the King and Queen would walk with Admiral d’Annebault and their households from the Great Gate, cross the Great Court and enter the banqueting halls. Later there would be music and dancing. All of us were to cheer loudly when the trumpets sounded. Until then I was told I should mingle, just mingle.

I took a mug of wine from a servant and made my way through the throng, looking for Lord Parr. I could not see him, though there were many other faces I recognized. The old Duke of Norfolk, in a scarlet robe with white fur trim despite the heat, stood with his son the Earl of Surrey, whom I had seen with the ladies in the Queen’s Presence Chamber at Whitehall. Both looked over the crowd with aristocratic disdain. In one corner Bishop Gardiner in his white surplice was talking earnestly to Lord Chancellor Wriothesley. Both looked angry. Edward Seymour, Lord Hertford, peregrinated across the court, looking over the crowd of city dignitaries and gentry courtiers with confident, calculating eyes. On his arm was a thin woman in a green farthingale and feathered hat. I recognized her from my first visit to Whitehall Palace to see the Queen; she had asked if I was another hunchback fool. It had annoyed the Queen. Only five weeks ago; it seemed like an age. Many said that Hertford’s wife, Anne, was a shrew who ruled him in private, for all his success as soldier and politician. She certainly had a sour, vinegary face.

The wine was very strong. That and the hubbub made me feel a little light-headed. I saw Sir William Paget in his usual dark robe, walking with a woman who despite her finery had a pleasant, homely countenance. He turned to her as she said something, his hard face softening unexpectedly.

I recalled the boatman spitting in the river. All this splendour for d’Annebault, ambassador of France. I wondered where Bertano, the Pope’s emissary, was. Not here, for sure: his mission was still a secret. Perhaps he had already left England. As I walked slowly around, trying to spot Lord Parr, I began to find the gold chain heavy and the sun hot. I halted for a moment under the shade of one of the broad oak trees beside the outer wall.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and I turned: Sir Thomas Seymour, in a silver doublet, with a short yellow cloak over his shoulder and a matching cap worn at a jaunty angle. ‘Master Shardlake again,’ he said mockingly. ‘Are you here as a member of the Queen’s Learned Council?’

‘No, Sir Thomas. As a serjeant of Lincoln’s Inn. I no longer serve the Queen.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Indeed? Not out of favour with her majesty, I hope?’

‘No, Sir Thomas. The task she set me came to an end.’

‘Ah, that missing jewel. Wicked, that some servant should steal an object of such great value to the Queen and get away with it. He should have been found and hanged.’ His brown eyes narrowed. ‘It was a jewel, wasn’t it?’

‘It was.’

Seymour nodded slowly, fingering that long, shiny, coppery beard. ‘Strange, strange. Well, I must find my brother. We shall be sitting at the King’s table at the banquet.’ He smiled again, with preening self-satisfaction. You vain, stupid man, I thought. No wonder not even your brother wants you on the Privy Council.

My feelings must have shown on my face, for Seymour frowned. ‘A pity you will not be dining. Only the highest in the land will be seated at the banquet. It must be uncomfortable for you, standing about here. See, even now you shift from foot to foot.’

I knew Thomas Seymour would never part without an insult. I did not reply as he leaned close. ‘Watch your step, Master Shardlake. Things are changing, things are changing.’ He nodded, smiled maliciously, and walked away.

I looked at his back, and that ridiculous cloak, wondering what he meant. Then, a little way off, I spied Mary Odell, in a dress of deep blue, the Queen’s badge on her cap, talking to a young man in an orange doublet. She looked bored. I crossed to her, removed my cap and bowed. The gold links of my chain tinkled.

‘Master Shardlake,’ she said, relief in her voice.

The young man, handsome but with calculating eyes, looked slightly offended. He twirled the stem of his silver goblet. I said, ‘Forgive me, sir, but I must speak with Mistress Odell on a matter of business.’

He bowed stiffly and walked away. ‘Thank you, Master Shardlake.’ Mistress Odell spoke with that agreeable touch of humour I remembered. ‘That young fellow is another would-be courtier, keen to talk with someone close to the Queen.’ She grimaced.

‘I am glad to have served,’ I answered with a smile. Then, more earnestly, ‘I need to speak with Lord Parr urgently. I hoped to see him here.’

She glanced back at the Great Gate behind us. ‘He is in the Palace Court, with the Queen and her ladies, waiting for the King to come out with the admiral.’

‘Could you fetch him? I am sorry to ask, but it is very urgent. He is expecting to talk to me today.’

Her face grew serious. ‘I know you would not ask on a trivial matter. Wait, I will try to find him.’

She walked away, her dress swishing on the cobbles, and was allowed by the guards to pass through the Great Gate. I took some more wine and a comfit from a waiter. Looking over the crowd, I saw Serjeant Blower with a couple of aldermen, laughing heartily at some joke. William Cecil passed with an attractive young woman who must be his wife. He nodded to me but did not come over. Then, a little way off, I saw that Wriothesley was now talking to Sir Richard Rich, their heads together. I looked back at the gate. The feather plumes on the guards’ steel helmets stirred in a cooling breeze from the river. The sun was low now.

Lord Parr appeared at the Great Gate, looking out at the throng. He craned his neck, trying to find me in the crowd. He looked tired. I walked over to him.

‘Master Shardlake,’ he said, irritation in his voice. ‘I am needed inside. The King and Queen and the admiral will be out in ten minutes.’

‘I am sorry, my Lord. I would not interrupt, but we must act against Stice tonight. He will be at the house near St Bartholomew’s at nine. Have you heard any more? Has anyone been to the house?’

The old man shifted his weight a little uneasily. ‘My man says Stice came briefly yesterday, but soon left again.’

‘Alone?’

‘Yes.’

I spoke urgently, ‘Then if you could spare a couple of men to go tonight, I will go too. Stice must be questioned. Even if we have no cause —’

Then Lord Parr said firmly, ‘No.’

‘My Lord?’

‘Things have changed, Master Shardlake. Charles Stice must be left alone.’

‘But — why?’

He leaned in. ‘This is confidential, Shardlake. I have had a direct approach from Richard Rich. He is in bad odour with Gardiner, for several reasons; his speaking up for you at the Privy Council did not help. He has offered to aid the Seymours and Parrs against Norfolk and Gardiner. He has changed sides, following the wind again.’

I looked at him in amazement. ‘The Queen will work with Rich now? But she loathes him.’

‘She will,’ Lord Parr answered firmly. ‘For the sake of the Parr family, and the cause of reform. Rich is on the council, he is important, the King respects his skills, if not the man. As do I.’

‘But — why has he been spying on me? And may he not have information about the Lamentation?’

Lord Parr shook his head firmly. ‘Rich will do nothing to harm the reformers now. Even if he had the book, which I do not believe he ever did.’

‘If he is your ally now should you not ask him?’

Irritation entered the old man’s voice. ‘Our agreement involves my drawing a veil over all his activities this spring and summer. Those are not to be discussed. That includes what he did to Anne Askew, and everything else. As for his spying on you,’ he added more civilly, ‘in due course, when the time is right, I will ask him.’

Stunned, I continued to stare at Lord Parr. He flushed, then burst out with sudden impatience, ‘God’s death, man, do not stand there with your mouth open like a fish. These are the necessities of politics. Rich and his people are to be left alone.’

And with that, the Queen’s Chamberlain turned away, back to the Great Gate.

I stepped back, feeling as though I had been punched in the stomach. So Rich was finally turning his coat. And, I thought wearily, Lord Parr was right; these were the necessities of politics. Why should it matter to any of them what Rich had done to me? I looked across to where he stood talking to Wriothesley; Wriothesley’s face was red, they were arguing. The alliance between them, which had led to the torture of Anne Askew, was over now.

A trumpet blew, then another. The guards at the Great Gate stood to attention and everyone ceased talking and looked towards it in silence. Then the King appeared in the gateway, Admiral d’Annebault at his side. The King was dressed more magnificently than I had ever seen before, in a yellow coat with padded shoulders and fur collar, a cream-coloured doublet set with jewels, and a broad white feathered cap on his head. He was smiling broadly. One arm rested on his jewelled stick, the other round the shoulder of Archbishop Cranmer. No doubt he needed Cranmer to hold him up. Fortunately it was but a short walk to the banqueting houses. On d’Annebault’s other side, her arm through the admiral’s, was the Queen. She wore a dress in Tudor green and white, her auburn hair bright under a green cap, a light smile on her face. She looked radiant: knowing her inner turmoil, I marvelled again at her composure.

The royal party was followed by the men from the King’s household, and women from the Queen’s ladies in their bright new livery, led by Lord Parr. The crowd in the Great Court parted to let them walk through to the larger of the two banqueting houses. I joined the others in raising my cup. There were claps and shouts of ‘God save the King!’

Now the junior members of the households halted and turned towards the second, smaller banqueting house. Guards opened the doors of both and I glimpsed cloth-covered tables on which candles in gold sconces were already lit against the coming dusk. The leading men of the realm — Norfolk and Gardiner and Paget, the Seymour brothers and others — left the crowd and followed the King, Queen and d’Annebault into the larger banqueting house. From within I heard lutes starting to play.

The Lady Mary had now appeared through the gateway, followed by her own retinue. Jane Fool was there, and began dancing and frolicking round Mary, who laughed and bade her cease. They, too, passed into the royal banqueting house.

The crowd outside relaxed, as a fresh column of servants came through the Great Gate carrying large trays of food from the Hampton Court kitchens. They were followed by a group of guards bearing torches, which they slotted into brackets set into the walls of the Great Court and on the trunks of trees. As the servants handed round cold meats and more wine, I saw some people were getting drunk; in Serjeant Blower’s party, one or two were swaying slightly. Son of a drunkard myself, the sight revolted me.

I looked over all these rich men and women and thought of Timothy, somewhere alone out on the streets. The notion came to me that perhaps the Anabaptists had something after all: a world where the gulf between the few rich and the many poor did not exist, a world where preening peacocks like Thomas Seymour and Serjeant Blower wore wadmol and cheap leather, might not be so bad a place after all.

I waved away a waiter carrying plates in one hand and a silver dish of swan’s meat in the other. I was shocked by what Lord Parr had said. It was dusk and the breeze felt suddenly cold. My back hurt. My mission was over. I should go and tell Barak and Nicolas they would not be needed.

I saw that Rich and Wriothesley were still engrossed in their argument, whatever it was. They would be in trouble if they did not soon make their way to their appointed places in the royal banqueting hall. Then I saw somebody else I recognized. Stice. I stepped back into the deepening shadows of the tree. He wore an expensive grey doublet, with ‘RR’ embossed on the chest, and as he passed at a little distance a torch picked out the shiny scar tissue of his damaged ear. The way he was moving puzzled me; he walked stealthily as he moved towards the royal banqueting house, constantly seeking cover, slipping behind those who stood between him and his master. There could be no doubt, I realized suddenly: Stice was avoiding Rich, not seeking him. Rich and Wriothesley were still arguing fiercely; Rich waved a waiter aside so violently that the man dropped a tray filled with goblets of wine. People laughed as the waiter bent to pick them up, Rich berating him angrily as though it were the waiter’s fault. Stice took the opportunity to move swiftly to the guards at the doors of the banqueting house. A steel-helmeted soldier put out a hand to stop him.

Stice pulled something from the purse at his belt and showed it to the guard. I could not make it out but it looked like a seal, that of one of the great men of the realm, no doubt. Not Rich, who still stood with Wriothesley, glowering at the unfortunate waiter, for Stice would have pointed to him. As the guard examined the seal, Stice cast a quick glance over his shoulder at Rich. Then the soldier nodded to him, and Stice entered the tent.

I stood there, my heart thudding. For I realized now that Stice, like Curdy the spy, had more than one loyalty. A man in Richard Rich’s employment had outmanoeuvred his master. Stice had used that seal to get himself into the royal banquet, and his purpose in hurrying there now must be to tell his other master, whoever that was, about the note retrieved from the tavern where Brocket had left it, the note mentioning the ‘Italian gentleman’. But who, among those leading men, was Stice’s other master? Whoever it was, he had ordered Stice to spy on me, for many months. Rich had been telling the truth, after all. I stared intently at the open doors, but I could only vaguely make out the bright-clad courtiers moving to take their seats.

Rich and Wriothesley realized they were late. They began walking towards the banqueting house with long strides, not speaking. The guards let them through. Would Rich see Stice now?

No. For a moment later Stice walked briskly along the outside wall of the banqueting house, ducking as he passed a window; he must have left through a rear entrance. Keeping close to the tree, I watched as he stepped rapidly away to the river steps, and disappeared.

A group of minstrels walked into the centre of the Great Court, strumming their instruments for the crowd. People cheered, and as I watched a space was cleared. Men and women began dancing, robes and skirts whirling. I thought for a moment, Lord Parr should be told about Stice, especially if Rich was on his side now. But he was inside the main banqueting house. I had seen how difficult it had been for Stice to gain entrance; and I no longer had the Queen’s seal to show anyone, for I had returned it along with the robe with her badge on it.

Stice must already be on his way back to London by boat, to go to what he thought was a rendezvous with Brocket. I clenched my fists. Obstinacy and anger rose in me. Well, it would be me and Barak and Nicholas whom Stice would be meeting. Three of us against one, we would take him easily, and we would finally have some answers.