Chapter Thirty-one

BARAK AND I SAT IN an alehouse on the corner of Wolf's Lane, almost opposite the Gristwood house. It was a dingy place, where men of the poorer sort sat at battered tables playing cards or talking. A slatternly girl passed wooden tankards of beer through a hatch in the wall. Opposite me, Barak was looking through the open door at the darkening streets.

'Should we not go now?' I asked.

'It's too early. She said they'd not be there till after dark. We don't want to startle them.'

I sat back. Despite my tiredness and aching back, I found myself seized with a new excitement. It was clear Bathsheba knew more than she had indicated at the whorehouse. Now, perhaps, we could find out how much. I took another drink of the watery beer as Barak studied a group of four men playing dice by the opposite wall. He leaned across to me.

'Those dice are loaded. See the gloomy-looking young fellow in the dull clothes? He's new to town, those others have invited him here to cheat him.'

'The City knows countless ways to cheat people. It's nothing to be proud of. The country has more honest ways.'

'Does it?' He looked at me with frank curiosity. 'I've never been there. All the country folk I meet seem dozy clowns.'

'My father has a farm near Lichfield. Country folk aren't stupid. Innocent in some ways, perhaps.'

'Look, he's having to get his purse out now, silly arsehole.' Barak shook his head, then leaned closer. 'Will you see Marchamount again tomorrow? Try to find out what's going on with Lady Honor?'

'Yes, I will. I'll go to Lincoln's Inn first thing.' I had told him reluctantly of the new mystery my conversation on the river had raised, but I realized that where Lady Honor was concerned I needed to sound the opinion of someone whose mind was unclouded by feeling. He had said I must ask Marchamount for the whole story of what was going on between him, Lady Honor and the Duke of Norfolk. I agreed, though with a sinking heart, for I hated the idea of picking her affairs apart with Marchamount again. 'Maybe there'll be some news of Bealknap, too, at last,' I added, for there was still no word of him. At least on my return from the river I had found a note from Guy, saying he was back and I could call on him on the morrow.

At the far table I saw the young man had been persuaded to start another game. I caught a country accent, he was from Essex like Joseph. I thought of Elizabeth languishing in the Hole, a distracted Joseph wondering what I was doing. 'We must go down that well again,' I whispered.

'I know, but it's risky with the dogs.' He frowned. 'I'll put my mind to how it might be done.'

'Thank you, I am grateful.'

'I see those Anabaptists have repented. It's the talk of the streets.'

'Are people disappointed that there won't be a big burning?'

'Some are, but it's a thing many prefer not to see.'

'I have always feared it,' I said. 'When I was first in London as a student it was fashionable to support reform in the Church. Even Thomas More supported it. But then forbidden Lutheran books started to appear and when More was made chancellor the burnings started in earnest. He was a great believer in burning as a purge for sin and to create fear. And it did. The time came when there were few who hadn't been to a burning, if only because it might be noticed if they didn't go.'

'I don't remember much about the days before Lutheranism, I was just a child.' Barak laughed sadly. 'Only the smell of shit my dad brought everywhere with him, making me escape to my schoolwork in the attic. Poor old arsehole, he only wanted to stroke my head.'

'Homework for St Paul's school?'

'Ay. The old monks were all right, but by God they lived well.'

'I know. I went to a monks' school too.'

He shook his head. 'I saw one of my old teachers begging in the gutter a couple of years ago. He looked half-crazed, one of those who couldn't cope with being put out in the world. It was a terrible thing to see.' He looked at me interrogatively. 'And where's it all going now, can you tell me that?'

'No. I fear the endless changes of the last ten years can only have undermined the faith of many.' I was thinking of Lady Honor.

'I never had too much faith.'

'I did once. But it grows less certain every day.'

'Lord Cromwell has faith. And he'd like to help the poor. But all his schemes —' Barak shrugged his broad shoulders — 'between what the king wants and what parliament wants, they never seem to happen.'

'Strange. Lady Honor said something similar this morning.' I looked at him. Again he was showing a different side — reflective and, like many in King Henry's England, puzzled and insecure.

He nodded at the door. 'I think we can go now.' He rose, adjusting the sword at his waist. I followed him out into the night.

===OO=OOO=OO===

IT WAS AFTER CURFEW and the streets were quiet. The air was hot and still, without a breeze. Candlelight shone from a few windows here and there, but the Gristwood house was dark, sinister-looking in the moonlight. Barak signed me to halt opposite the broken front door. 'Let them have a few minutes to see we're alone.'

I looked up at the shuttered windows. The thought of Bathsheba and her brother peering through the slats at us made me uneasy.

'Where's the watchman?' I asked.

'I don't know. I've been looking out for him. He's off somewhere, like they are when there's nobody to keep an eye on them. Arsehole.'

'What if this is a trap? They could have a whole gang of George Green's wherrymen in there, ready to spring on us.'

'What would they gain? Bathsheba and her brother have run out of places to hide. They've no alternative but to throw themselves on our mercy.' As ever when there was danger, his expression was alert, excited. 'All right, let's go.'

Barak crossed the road swiftly. He knocked gently at the front door, then jumped back in surprise as the door swung open. I saw the new lock, a flimsy thing, had been smashed in. Barak whistled. 'Insolent arseholes, they've broken it. Did that watchman see nothing?'

I looked uneasily at the strip of deep blackness beyond the half-open door. 'Madam Neller said George Green got in through a window.'

'You're right,' Barak said. He bit his lip, then kicked the door wide open. 'Hello,' he called in a loud whisper. 'Hello!' There was no reply.

'I don't like this,' he said. 'Something feels wrong.'

Barak stepped cautiously over the threshold, sword raised. I followed him into the Gristwoods' hall. Two closed doors and the staircase could just be made out ahead of us. Water dripped somewhere. Barak took out a tinderbox and handed me a pair of candles.

'Here, let's get these alight.' He struggled to strike a spark as I looked into the shadows. The dripping sound continued.

The tinder caught and I lit the candles. A dim yellow light illuminated the hall, flickering over the crooked walls and stairs, the dusty old tapestry and the dry rushes in the corners. 'Let's try the kitchen,' Barak said. He opened the door and I followed him inside. The table was dotted with mouse droppings. 'Look there,' Barak whispered. I lowered my candle and saw the dusty floor was marked by footprints, several pairs.

'There's at least three sets there,' I whispered. 'I told you, it's a trap.' I looked back at the door, putting my hand on my dagger and wishing I had brought a sword myself.

'Here!' Barak called, a sharp urgency in his tone. He had drawn the shutters back and was looking out at the unkempt yard. The gate was wide open and something was lying against the wall beside it, a heap of deeper blackness.

'It's a man,' I said.

'It's the watchman! Come on!'

The door to the yard, like the front door, had been broken open. It was a relief to be outside, to have a way of escape open to the lane behind the house. I looked up briefly at the shuttered windows, then joined Barak as he held his candle over the slumped figure by the gate.

For a moment I hoped that the man was asleep in some drunken stupor, but then I saw the great wound in his head, the pale shimmer of brains. Barak stood up, fingering the talisman inside his shirt. For the first time since I had known him he looked afraid.

'You were right,' he breathed. 'It's a trap. Let's get out of here.'

Then we heard the sound. I hope never to hear anything like it again. It came from inside the house, starting as a moan and rising to a keening wail, filled with sorrow and pain.

'That's a woman,' I said.

Barak nodded. His eyes roved around the yard. 'What shall we do?'

I was torn between the desire to run and the thought there was a woman in dreadful pain inside. 'Is it Bathsheba? It must be.'

Barak squinted up at the shutters. 'She might be pretending to be hurt to draw us in.'

'That sound is no pretence,' I said. 'We have to go to her.'

He took a deep breath, then raised his sword once more.

===OO=OOO=OO===

I FOLLOWED HIM BACK through the kitchen, into the hall. The broken-down old house was silent again except for that slow drip-drip from somewhere.

'The sound came from upstairs,' I whispered. 'God's death, what's that?' I jumped back in alarm as four black shapes scurried along the side of the wall, then shot out of the door.

'Rats.' Barak gave a bark of nervous laughter.

'Why should they be running away?'

The awful moaning began again, a keening wail that broke into choking sobs. I looked up the dark staircase. 'That came from Sepultus's workshop.'

Barak set his jaw and, sword held ready, began mounting the stairs. I followed slowly. Barak held the candle high. It cast our shadows into monstrous forms on the wall.

The workshop door was open. Barak banged it wide, lest anyone was hiding behind it. But the room was silent, although the slow drip-drip was louder. He stepped inside. I followed him, nearly gagging at the awful stench. 'Oh, Jesus,' Barak whispered. 'Oh, our Saviour.'

The room was still bare except for Sepultus's large table. Young George Green was lying sprawled across it. His eyes, wide and still in death, glimmered in the candlelight. His throat had been cut horribly; the table was covered with dark blood that still dripped slowly, one thick drop at a time, to the floor. Sprawled over him, weeping, her arms flung round his body, was Bathsheba, her dress torn and cut and soaked with blood.

Barak was the first to move. He crossed to Bathsheba, who gave a little cry and flinched. He leant over her. 'It's all right,' he said. 'We won't harm you. Who did this?'

I stood beside him as Bathsheba tried to speak. To my horror, when she opened her mouth a foamy trickle of blood spilled out; she too was badly hurt. She tried to speak, but managed only to moan again. I laid a hand on her shoulder, trying not to shudder at the sticky wetness. I tried to see where she was injured, but it was too dark and she would not let go of her brother's body.

'It's all right,' I whispered. 'Don't speak. We'll help you.'

She lifted wild eyes to me, pale and frantic in her bloody face. 'Get—' she tried to speak, blood-soaked spittle running down her chin. 'Get — out — while you can—'

Barak turned swiftly to the doorway, but there was nothing there. The house was utterly silent. We looked at each other. Bathsheba's voice had sunk to that keening moan again. Then we heard a door open downstairs, the parlour, I was sure. A sudden harsh smell stung my nostrils, making me cough. Barak caught it too. His eyes widened. 'Shit,' he shouted. 'No—'

An extraordinary noise came from downstairs, a loud 'whump'. It was followed by a crash as someone threw shutters open. Barak and I dashed to the window. I made out the shapes of two men, running down the street. Toky and Wright. Toky paused and looked back at us and I caught an evil grin on his pale face. He looked at me and drew a finger across his throat. Then he turned again and ran after his confederate.

'Oh, Jesu. Shit.' I turned at Barak's voice. He was standing in the doorway, looking out. I could see the staircase was brightly lit with a red dancing light. There was a blast of heat, a crackling noise.

I ran to the door and stood beside him, hardly able to believe what I saw. The door to the parlour was wide open and the room was alive with fire, brighter than a thousand candles, the entire floor and walls covered in red flames that were already roaring through the open door and licking at the hall. The old tapestry outside caught fire immediately. A heavy, evil-smelling black smoke began rolling across the hall.

'Jesu,' Barak breathed. 'It's Greek Fire. They mean to kill us with Greek Fire. Come on!' He turned to Bathsheba. 'We've got to get out of here. Help me with her!'

I helped him lift Bathsheba from her brother's body. Desperately weak as she was, she tried to resist, she looked at me and I caught a throaty bubbling, 'No.'

'Your brother is dead,' I said gently. 'You can't help him.'

Barak and I heaved her up. As we lifted her I saw fresh blood run down her dress from a great wound in her stomach. The poor creature had been stabbed.

'Hold her,' Barak said. He ran back to the door. The fire was spreading with preternatural speed, the walls of the hallway had caught now and the flames were almost at the bottom of the staircase. The roaring, cracking noise was much louder. I caught a whiff of the thick black smoke and gagged. Barak paused a second, then unbuckled his sword and threw it to the floor. He grasped the workshop door and, with a tremendous heave, pulled it free of its remaining hinge.

'Follow me! Quick, before the staircase goes!'

'We can't get down there!' I shouted, trying to keep Bathsheba's slippery body from falling. She was very light or I could not have held her. She seemed insensible now.

'We can't get her out of the window, and we'd likely break our necks on the cobbles if we jumped! Come on!'

Holding the door in front of him like a shield, Barak stepped quickly across to the staircase and began descending. All the ground-floor walls were blazing now, the flames licking at the banisters, smoke curling upwards, ever thicker. This was it, the thing I had always feared had come to pass. Death by fire, red flames burning the skin from my body, sweating the blood out of me, my eyes melting. The words of a pamphlet reporting a burning returned to me. The kiss of fire so light and agonizing. I stood, paralysed.

Barak turned round and screamed at me. 'Come on, you arsehole! We've only seconds! See, there's the front door!'

His words brought me to my senses. Across the burning hallway I could see the half-open door to the street, a black shape in a red house of fire. The sight spurred me to follow him, dragging the girl with me. I made myself count the steps as I descended. One — two — three. From somewhere outside I heard a cry of 'Fire! Dear God, fire!'

The smoke made my eyes sting and I had to keep blinking, trying desperately to breathe, the air so hot it felt as though it too was burning. Barak and I were both coughing now. I had a terror the staircase would collapse and bury us in burning wood.

Then suddenly I was at the foot of the steps, red flames all around me. I heard Barak scream, 'Run.' I thought I was about to fall, but then a flame licked at my arm, I heard my doublet sizzle and from somewhere I found the energy to leap forward. Then in a moment I was outside, in the street, the searing heat and the smoke gone. Someone grasped me and I fell into their arms. Someone else took Bathsheba's weight and she slid away from me. I was lowered to the street and lay, gasping desperately for air, fearful I would suffocate, every intake of air burning my throat. There was a crackling of flames from the house and all around terrified yells of 'Fire!'

At length my breath returned. I sat up groggily. Ahead of me the Gristwoods' house was ablaze from end to end, flames roaring through every window. The roof had caught too and the fire had already spread to the neighbouring house. People had spilled from the alehouse and from all the houses in the street. They were running to and fro with terrified faces, calling for water, desperate to save their homes from this sudden, terrible outburst. I thought: thank God there's no wind. I saw Barak was sitting beside me, retching and coughing. Next to him lay Bathsheba, still as death. Barak turned to me, his face black and all the hair on one side of his head gone.

'You all right?' he gasped.

'I think so.'

A man in a watchman's jerkin, carrying a staff, bustled over to us. His face was alive with fury. 'What have you done to set the house on fire like that?' he shouted. 'Wizards!'

'We didn't do it,' Barak croaked. 'Fetch a physician — there's a woman hurt here.'

The man looked at Bathsheba, his eyes widening as he saw the blood covering her. I shook my head, the tumult of shouts and running feet seemed to have taken on a strangely distant, echoing sound.

'What have you done?' the watchman breathed again.

'It was Dark Fire,' I said. 'The rats knew.'

Then the noise of the fire and the shouting faded away, and I blacked out.

Chapter Thirty-two

I REGAINED CONSCIOUSNESS slowly, as though swimming up from a dark lake. When I opened my eyes I thought for an awful moment I was blind. Then my eyes accustomed themselves to the darkness and I realized I was in an unlit room, at night. There was an open window to one side of the truckle bed I lay on, just visible as a slightly lighter square through which a hot breeze sighed.

I could not remember what had happened or where I was. I tried to sit up to see more of my surroundings but my body was seized with pain and I lay down again with a groan. My back was agony and I had a smarting pain in my left forearm. I realized I was thirsty, a terrible dry thirst; when I swallowed it was like gulping down thorns.

I became aware of a smell. Burning. Fire, I thought, and everything that had happened at Wolf's Lane flew back into my mind. I tried to sit up again and shout, but the effort was too much and I nearly passed out. For a few seconds I lay there in terror. Had the fire spread to wherever it was I had been taken? Then I lifted my right arm to my nose. The smell of smoke was coming from my shirt. I lay back, breathing heavily and painfully. I must gather my strength, then try to call out for water, find out where I was. The thought came that I had been arrested for starting the fire, put in prison. Where were Barak and poor Bathsheba? That awful tableau of the girl leaning over her dead brother, the pair of them boltered in blood, returned and I let out a harsh dry sob.

There was an unexpected sound from the window, a soft chirruping. Other birds joined in and as I lay there the sky began to lighten, turning from dark blue to greyish white. I made out the steep outlines of roofs and realized I was on the upper floor of a house somewhere. The sun appeared, at first a little dark-red orb but very soon, as the mist burned away, a fierce yellow ball.

As the light grew I studied the room I was in. It was sparsely furnished: just the bed I was lying on, a chest and on the wall a big cross, Christ hanging with agonized face and gaping wounds. I stared at it in puzzlement for a moment, then I remembered; it was Guy's old Spanish cross, I was at Guy's.

I lay back with a sense of relief. I must have slept again, for when next I stirred and looked around the sun was high, the room hot. My thirst was unbearable now. I tried to call out but could manage only a croak. I leaned over, wincing at a sharp pain from my left arm, and banged on the floor.

To my relief I heard movement downstairs, then foot-steps. Guy came in, carrying a large flagon and a cup. His face was drawn with anxiety and lack of sleep.

'Wa — water,' I croaked.

He sat on the bed and lifted my head to the cup. 'Do not gulp it,' he said. 'You will want to, but you must take small sips or you will be sick.' I nodded, letting him trickle water slowly into my mouth. My throat seemed to sing with relief as it passed down. He sat with me thus for several minutes, letting me drink slowly. At length I lay back, noticing that my arm was bandaged.

'What happened?' I whispered.

'You were brought here insensible last night, on a cart with that man Barak and the girl Bathsheba. You are suffering from the effects of smoke and you have a burn on your arm.' He looked at me seriously. 'The fire has caused much damage. Two streets at Queenhithe were quite burned down. Thank the Lord they were so close to the river — they were able to draw water from there.'

'Is anyone hurt?'

'I do not know. Your friend Barak has gone to rouse Lord Cromwell, he says he will need to deal with this. Barak was affected by the smoke too. I told him he should not go out but he insisted.'

'Bathsheba,' I said. 'The girl, how is she?'

Guy's face darkened. 'She has been stabbed in the stomach, there is little I can do. I have given her some drugs to ease her pain and she is sleeping. But it is only a matter of time. Who did that to her, Matthew?'

'The same villain who set fire to the house and left me and Barak to burn to death. There were two more bodies there, the girl's brother and the watchman.'

'Dear Christ.' Guy crossed himself.

'Barak is right: Cromwell's intervention will be needed here or there will be a great hue and cry.' I closed my eyes. 'Dear God, is this to be Scarnsea again, a host of innocent people torn from the world in blood and violence?'

Guy continued to look at me, sternly but also doubtfully, in a way he never had before.

'What is it?' I asked.

'I went out to buy some things I needed while you were sleeping. There are rumours abroad that the fire was started by supernatural means, that there is magic involved. Apparently it was not a normal fire, it roared up suddenly and consumed the ground floor of the house in a moment.'

'It did,' I said. 'I was there. But there is no magic, Guy, I promise you. Did you think I could ever become involved in the dark arts?'

'No, but—'

'No forbidden knowledge, I swear. An ancient way of making fire rediscovered, that is all. It is what I have been working on for Cromwell. I could not tell you.'

He continued to look at me questioningly. 'I see. Your friend distrusts me. Perhaps you did too, if this matter affects Cromwell whom, yes, I see as an enemy. I wondered why you would not tell me more.'

'I don't distrust you, Guy. God's wounds, I think you're the only one left I do trust.'

Guy looked at the cross. 'There is the only one you need to trust and follow.'

I shook my head sadly. 'Where was Christ when that poor girl and her brother were being cut to pieces last night?'

'Watching, in the sorrow you see there in his face, as men used the free will God gave them to do terrible evil.' He sighed. 'Here, take this flagon. Keep taking water but remember, drink slowly.'

===OO=OOO=OO===

WHEN BARAK RETURNED an hour later, Guy brought him to my room and left us together. Barak's eyes were red and smarting and his voice was a strangled croak. His shirt was smoke-stained and the hair on the right side of his head was quite singed away, leaving only stubble. The contrast with the untidy brown locks on the other side was so bizarre I could not help letting out a bark of nervous laughter. He grunted.

'You should see your own face, it's black as soot. And Lord Cromwell's not laughing. He's going to have to put pressure on the mayor and coroner to keep this quiet. The people down at Queenhithe found what was left of George Green's body and the watchman's, little more than charred sticks, and they're talking about magic. You know there's two streets gone? It's lucky there was no wind or the fire could have spread across the City.'

'Was anyone else hurt?'

'A few have burns and plenty more are homeless. The Gristwoods' house is a pile of ashes. Goodwife Gristwood will have no home to come back to.'

'No. Poor old creature.' I paused. 'Well, now I've seen it. That was Greek Fire, wasn't it?'

'Yes, I recognized the smell as the fire started. Those bastards must have been waiting in the parlour till we were trapped upstairs. They must have coated the walls with the stuff, set light to it, then got out the window.' He sat down on the bed. 'Jesu, the terror when I saw it. It was just like at the wharf, the whole place alive with red fire in a second. The same thick black smoke.' He frowned. 'Why try to kill us in that way? They could have surprised us and struck us down as they did Bathsheba and her brother.'

'To show Lord Cromwell they had Greek Fire.'

'That they could make and use it at will.'

'Yes. That was what they wanted him to think.' I looked at him again. 'Thank you, Barak. I would not have got out of that house without you. For a moment there I could not move from fear.'

'I know.' He grinned. 'I thought I might have to kick your arse downstairs.'

'How did you get us here?'

'I grabbed a horse and cart that had been used to bring water and got you and the girl on it, God knows how. I was afraid we'd be arrested or slain on the spot. I couldn't think where to go, then I remembered your apothecary lived nearby. It was only a few minutes' drive.'

I nodded. His quick thinking had saved us from arrest. He stood smiling, pleased with his success.

'How is the girl?' he asked.

'Like to die, Guy said. Are you all right?'

He fingered his talisman, then winced suddenly. 'I got burned on the shoulder as I went through the front door.'

There was a knock and Guy entered. He looked between us. 'The girl is awake,' he said quietly. 'She wants to speak to you.' He took a deep breath. 'I don't think she can last long.'

'Can you get up?' Barak asked me. I nodded and rose painfully from the bed, coughing again. Every muscle seemed to howl in protest.

Guy led us into a little room where Bathsheba lay on a bed, her eyes closed. Her breathing was shallow and she was deathly pale, the colour leached from her face. The whiteness of her skin contrasted with the vivid red spots on the bandage swathing her lower body. Guy had washed her face but her hair was still matted with blood. For a moment I felt giddy.

'I've given her something to ease the pain,' Guy said. 'She is very sleepy.' He touched Bathsheba gently on the shoulder and her eyes flickered open.

'Mistress Green, I have brought them as you asked.'

Bathsheba stared at us. She said something, her voice so faint I could not hear. I took a stool and sat beside her. She turned painfully and looked at me.

'They would have killed you too,' she whispered.

'Yes, they would.'

'I was going to tell you everything and throw myself on Lord Cromwell's mercy. But they were waiting for us, poor George and me. They rushed in at us, lashing with their swords. That man with the scarred face, he struck me in the stomach.' She shuddered. 'They left us for dead, said they would give the hunchback lawyer a spectacular death when he arrived.' She leaned back, exhausted with the effort of speaking.

'How did they know you were there?' I asked gently.

'It must have been Madam Neller, she must have told them. She'd do anything for gold.'

'She will pay for that.'

She winced with pain, then turned again to me and spoke rapidly. 'I want to tell you what Michael said to me. If it will help you find them.'

I tried to smile. 'Go on. You are safe now.'

'Those last weeks before he was killed Michael was afraid, terrified. He said he was involved in a scheme, something he and his brother thought could make them rich. It involved some papers he had at his house. He said he was afraid for their safety.'

'Madam Neller said your brother had been searching there.'

'Yes.' She winced with pain. 'He thought if he could find them, perhaps Lord Cromwell would help us. But they'll all be burned to cinders now.'

'I already have the papers, Bathsheba. Except for one that is missing. A formula. Did Michael say anything about that?'

'No. Only that he feared the people they were working with. He feared they would be killed. They were working to bring down Lord Cromwell.'

'But — but I thought he was working with Cromwell. He had something the earl wanted badly.'

'No. No, the scheme was against the earl.'

I stared at her. It made no sense. She coughed again, and a little watery fluid dribbled down her chin. She winced, then looked at me again. 'We were going to have a child. Michael talked of us escaping the country with his brother, going to Scotland or France and starting afresh. But then he was killed. That man last night, he killed my baby when he stabbed me.'

I reached out and took her hand. It was as light and thin as a bird's foot. 'I am sorry.'

'What do our lives matter?' she asked bitterly. 'What are any of us but pawns in the schemes of the great?' She shook her head in despair, then coughed again and closed her eyes. Guy stepped forward and took her other hand gently.

'Bathsheba,' he said quietly. 'I fear you are like to die. I am an ordained priest. Will you repent of your sins, acknowledge Christ as your Saviour?'

She did not reply. Guy pressed her hand harder. 'Bathsheba. You are about to face your Maker. Will you acknowledge Him?'

Barak leaned forward, put a finger to the pulse in the girl's neck. 'She's gone,' he said quietly.

Guy knelt by the bed and began praying softly in Latin.

'What good's that going to do?' Barak asked harshly. I rose and took his arm, leading him from the room. We returned to my chamber and I sat back on the bed, exhausted.

'Poor bitch,' Barak said. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean any disrespect to the Moor.' He ran a hand through what was left of his hair. 'What in heaven's name did she mean, Michael was involved in a plot against Lord Cromwell?'

'I don't know. All this time we've assumed the person who took the formula stole it for reasons of profit, perhaps to sell to a foreign power.'

'Ay. But you've doubted whether there was a formula at all.'

'Yes. I wondered if the whole thing could have been a fraud on Cromwell, but that something went wrong and the rogues fell out.'

'But we know Greek Fire is real.'

I clenched my fists. 'There are still things that don't add up. Toky's involvement from the beginning, investigating that Polish stuff months before the Gristwoods went to Cromwell. Why the delay? And there are other things—'

I broke off as Guy entered, carrying a bowl of water and some cloths. There was an awkward silence for a moment. 'I must dress your arm, Matthew,' he said. 'You should rest here at least a day before you go abroad again.'

I remembered Marchamount and Bealknap. 'I can't.' We had lost half a day, there were only five days left now. 'I must go to Lincoln's Inn.'

He shook his head. 'You will make yourself ill.'

I sat up painfully. 'Will you dress my arm? Then I must

'I've a burn on my shoulder,' Barak said. 'It stings horribly. Could you look at that too?'

Guy nodded. Barak took off his shirt, revealing a muscular torso boasting a number of scars from old knife thrusts. One shoulder was red and raw, the skin peeling. As Guy examined it he noticed the golden symbol hanging from its chain.

'What's that?' he asked.

'It's called a mezzah. An old Jewish symbol. You were right before when you said my name was Jewish.'

Guy nodded. 'Mezuzah is the full name. The Jews used to fix them on their doors with a scroll from the Torah inside. To welcome visitors. I remember them from my boyhood in Granada.'

Barak looked impressed. 'All these years I've wondered what it was for. You are a knowledgeable man, apothecary. Ah, that stings!'

Guy dressed his burn, coating it with a harsh-smelling oil, then sent him back to his room while he dressed my arm. I winced as he lifted my sleeve to expose the livid red mark, the puckered skin. He applied some of his oil and I felt the smarting ease a little.

'What is that stuff?'

'Oil of lavender. It has cold and wet properties, it draws the dry heat from the fire that has stung your flesh.'

'I remember you using it on the young founder who burned himself.' I looked at him seriously. 'There is a fire I think no amount of lavender could quench. Guy, I was going to talk to you anyway, ask you some questions about the matter that has caused all this death and ruin. It involves alchemy, as I told you, and there are aspects that have me sore puzzled. I would tell you all, if you will listen.'

'Is it safe for me to know?'

'If you keep it close, there should be no danger from those that pursue us. But I will not tell you if you would rather not know.'

'Cromwell would not be pleased, I think. I note you have waited till friend Barak was gone.'

'I'll take the risk if you will.'

'Very well.'

As he bound my arm with a strip of cloth, I told him all I knew of Greek Fire, from Cromwell's first summons to the fire last night. As he listened his face grew more troubled.

'Your aim is to catch these killers?' he asked.

'Yes. They have killed five people now. The Gristwood brothers, Bathsheba and her brother, and the watchman. A founder called Leighton is probably dead too.'

'I remember you were asking about founders.'

'Yes. I think we were too late to save him. And there are three more people kept in hiding for fear of these monstrous rogues. I want to catch them, stop them cutting this swathe through London.'

'And to recover the formula for Greek Fire for Cromwell?'

I hesitated. 'Yes.'

'Have you considered the havoc such a weapon may wreak? It could burn whole navies. It could be used to fire a city, as we saw last night.'

'I know,' I said quietly. 'The image of great ships on fire forever comes unbidden to my head. But, Guy, if Cromwell does not get it, others will, foreign powers who would use it against England.'

'And take her back to Rome?' He raised his eyebrows, and I remembered he was neither English nor Protestant. He considered for a moment. 'What did you wish to ask me?'

'Do not answer if you feel you cannot. But I know now that there was a barrel of Greek Fire kept at Barry's for a hundred years. And that there was a formula. My belief is the Gristwoods used the period between their discovery last October and their approach to Cromwell in March to build their apparatus — there is evidence of that — but also to try and make some more, using the formula.'

'A barrel would not last for ever.'

'Exactly. And with two ships destroyed, most of the barrel is probably used up. That they could set that fire last night may indicate they have made more. But how, Guy? How does an alchemist create material from a formula?'

'By finding the correct mixture of the four elements. Earth, air, fire and water.'

'That all things are composed of. Yes, but that is no easy task.'

'To be sure. It is easy enough to make iron, using the minerals God has seeded in the earth, but hard to make gold or we would all be eating from gold plates and the stuff would be worthless.'

'And to make Greek Fire, how easy might that be?'

'Without the formula, it is impossible to tell.'

I sat up. 'You spoke of iron and gold just then. There are some things that are common, easy to find, like iron, and others like gold which are very rare.'

'Of course. That is obvious.'

'I have been reading about the history of fire weapons in the east. We know the Byzantines had no problem in finding the elements needed to create the liquid that is set on fire. Equally, similar substances are mentioned by the Romans, but they were not developed as weapons. I think that perhaps a crucial element needed to manufacture Greek Fire is hard to get. I think the Gristwoods may have been looking for a substitute for this missing element. This could have led them to the Polish drink that burned the table at the inn.'

He stroked his chin. 'So they used that to make Greek Fire?'

'I don't know. Perhaps.'

'And, from what you say, they were already working with the rogues who were to become their killers in a plot against Cromwell?'

'Yes. I don't know how that came about. But, Guy, if I was able to find some of the original Greek Fire in the Barty's churchyard I told you of—'

His face wrinkled in distaste. 'Desecrating graves—'

'Yes, yes, I agree. But it is to be done anyway. If I found some and brought it to you, could you analyse it for me, distil its essence or whatever it is you do?'

'I am an apothecary, not an alchemist.'

'You know as much of their arts as most of them do.'

He took a deep breath and folded his arms. 'To what end, Matthew?' he asked.

'To help me find out what has happened—'

He broke in sharply. 'Matthew, you forget what you are asking me. To analyse Greek Fire so that Thomas Cromwell may have the secret.' He paced the room, his dark face more serious than I had ever seen it. At length he turned to me.

'If you can find this cursed stuff and bring it to me I will look at it. But then I will destroy it. I will give you no clue to its manufacture that may help Cromwell. If my researches throw up anything that will aid you to catch these murderers without doing that, I will tell you. I am sorry, Matthew, but that is all I am prepared to do.'

'Very well. I agree.' I extended my hand and he took it. He still looked serious. 'St Gregory of Nyssa once said all the arts and sciences have their roots in the struggle against death. And so they should have. This thing of ruin and destruction is a perversion, a monstrosity. If you find that formula, you should destroy it and all the world will be safer.'

I sighed. 'I am bound to Cromwell. And to help my country.'

'And how do you think Cromwell, and King Henry, would use Greek Fire, ruthless men of blood that they are? For murder and mayhem, that is how.' He was angry. 'This is far worse than Scarnsea, Matthew. Cromwell has used you again not just to hunt a murderer, but to aid him in a brutal, cruel blasphemy.'

I bit my lip.

'And Barak,' he continued, 'how does he see things?'

'He is utterly loyal to his master.' I looked at Guy. 'I will tell him nothing of this conversation.' I leaned back on the bed with a sigh. 'You do well to upbraid me,' I said quietly. 'I have worried about what Greek Fire may do, but — yes, I have been driven on by a passion to catch these murderers, recover what was stolen. And to save Elizabeth Wentworth. At any cost.'

'That cost may be too high. You must decide when the time comes, Matthew. It will be between you and God.'

Chapter Thirty-three

IT WAS LATE MORNING by the time we arrived home. I opened the front door quietly, hoping we might get upstairs without Joan seeing our sorry condition, but paused at the sight of a note in Godfrey's large round hand on the table. I broke the seal.

'Bealknap's back!' I said. 'He's in his chambers. Thank God, I feared he might be—' I did not finish the sentence.

'Let's get a message to Leman then,' Barak said, 'and go to Lincoln's Inn.'

Just then Joan appeared from the kitchen, alerted by our voices. Her eyes widened at the state we were in.

'Sir, what's happened now?' There was a slight quaver in her voice. 'When you didn't come back last night I was worried.'

'There's been a bad fire over at Queenhithe,' I said gently. 'We were caught up in it, but we're all right. I'm sorry, Joan, there have been many turmoils this week.'

'You look worn out, sir. What happened to your hair, Master Barak?'

'It got singed. I look monstrous, hey?' He gave her his most charming smile. 'What I need is someone to cut the other side, so I don't frighten the children.'

'I could have a try.'

'You are a pearl among women, Mistress Woode.'

While Joan fetched some scissors and took Barak up to his room, I scribbled a note to Leman and gave it to a wide-eyed Simon to take to Cheapside. Then I went up. I shut my bedroom door and leaned on it wearily. Guy's words about the nature of my mission returned to me. I had been too tired, too frightened for myself and the others involved, to think much further than uncovering the conspirators. But what if I were to succeed? What if the time came when the Greek Fire formula was in my hands? What would I do then? I remembered poor Bathsheba's words. A plot against Lord Cromwell. Just what had Michael and his brother planned that had been interrupted by their deaths? I shook my head. For now there was nothing to do but go on, beard Bealknap in his den now I had the chance. It was the fifth of June, I realized, only five days left.

===OO=OOO=OO===

AT LINCOLN'S INN I left Barak and Leman in my rooms, then crossed the courtyard to Marchamount's chambers to enquire after him. Distasteful though the prospect was, I had to talk to him about Lady Honor once I had seen Bealknap. His clerk, though, said he was out at Hertford, appearing in a case before the circuit judge, and would not be back until the morrow. I cursed inwardly. At least on my mission for Cromwell three years before I had had all the parties secure in a monastery enclosure. I told the clerk I would return on the morrow also, and went back to where Leman and Barak waited, watching Skelly laboriously copying out the application for the Chancery writ for Bealknap's case. Leman, who seemed more confident today, asked if Bealknap was in his rooms.

'So the message said. I shall just check with my colleague,' I replied.

Leman smiled, a grim smile that anticipated revenge.

I knocked at Godfrey's door and went in. He was standing looking from the window, a troubled expression on his thin face. He gave me a watery smile.

'Come to see Brother Bealknap, Matthew? I saw him go to his chambers earlier.'

'Good. Are you all right, Godfrey?'

He fingered the hem of his robe. 'I have had a letter from the secretary. It seems the Duke of Norfolk is not satisfied with my fine. He wants a public apology in hall.'

I sighed. 'Well, Godfrey, you did break all the rules of courtesy—'

'You know it is not about that!' he snapped out, his eyes flashing. 'However it is worded, it will be taken as an apology for my religious beliefs.'

'Godfrey,' I said seriously, 'for Jesu's sake, make your apology and live to fight another day. If you refuse you'll be debarred, and a marked man.'

'Perhaps it would be worth it,' he said quietly. 'It could become a legal cause célèbre, like the Hunne case.'

'Hunne was murdered for defying the Church by thugs employed by the papists.'

'It was a noble way to die.' A strange smile played round the corners of Godfrey's mouth. 'Is there any better way?'

I shuddered involuntarily. There it was again, that strange urge some had to be martyred, to exult in the righteousness of their suffering. I stared at him. He gave a little laugh.

'That's a strange look, Matthew.'

On the spur of the moment, I said, 'Godfrey, may I put a case to you?'

'Of course.'

'What if that God gave you a miraculous power, a thunderbolt that could fell all your enemies at once, whole armies. All you needed to do was raise your hand.'

He laughed. 'That is a far-fetched case, Matthew. There have been no such miracles since Our Lord's time on earth.'

'But just say you were given such a gift.'

He shook his head piously. 'I would not be worthy.'

'But say you had it,' I persisted. 'Something that, if used, would inevitably kill thousands, many of them innocent. Would you use it?'

'Yes, I would. I would place it at the service of King Henry to confound his enemies at home and abroad. Does not the Old Testament tell us that often many must die if God's cause is to be served? Remember Sodom and Gomorrah.'

'They were destroyed in fire and thunder.' I closed my eyes a moment, then looked at him. 'You won't apologize, will you?'

He smiled gently, that fierce holy light in his eyes again. 'No, Matthew, I will not.'

===OO=OOO=OO===

WE MOUNTED THE NARROW stairs to Bealknap's rooms. The padlock had been taken away. I gave a peremptory knock on the door. Bealknap himself opened it. He had left off his robe and his doublet too in the hot weather, and was wearing only his white linen shirt. Coarse yellow hairs protruded above the collar. With his lawyer's regalia off, he looked more like the rogue he was.

'Brother,' I said, 'I have been trying to find you. Where have you been?'

He frowned. 'On business.' He eyed Barak's shorn head in surprise. 'Who's this?' Then he caught sight of Leman and his eyes widened. The stallholder gave him an evil grin. Bealknap tried to slam the door in our faces, but Barak was too quick for him, jamming his foot in the door and putting his shoulder to it. Bealknap staggered back, while Barak winced and rubbed his arm. 'God's death, I'd forgotten the burn.'

We stepped in. Bealknap's chamber was as untidy as ever, the chest prominent in its corner. The door to his living quarters was open. Bealknap stood in the middle of the room, his face red with outrage.

'How dare you!' he shouted. 'How dare you burst in here?' He pointed a long finger at Leman. 'Why have you brought that rogue, Shardlake? He has a grudge against me, he will tell any lies—'

Barak spoke up. 'You won't remember me, master, I was just a boy, but my stepfather used to be one of your witnesses in the bishop's court. Edward Stevens. Strange people, witnesses. Sometimes they'll appear out of the blue and swear to the honesty of a man they couldn't possibly have met.'

In all the time I had known this pestilential lawyer I had never seen him lose his composure, but now he stood with clenched fists, taking deep breaths. 'This is all lies,' he blustered angrily. 'I don't know what game you're playing, Shardlake—'

'No game.'

Bealknap's lips parted, showing long yellow teeth. 'If you're trying to pressure me into giving way on my properties, it won't work. I'll have you disbarred.'

'It's not that,' I said contemptuously.

'Your clutch-fistedness has caught up with you, Master Bealknap,' Leman said with pleasure. 'Only a tiny piece of gold from yonder chest to pay me what you owed would have saved you this.'

'Master Leman has prepared a statement,' I said. I took a copy from my robe and held it out to Bealknap. He clutched it and read, frowning. Yet as I watched him I sensed that something was wrong. He should have been terrified, facing the ruin of his career, yet he seemed only enraged. He lowered the statement.

'Hunting down a brother barrister,' he said in a savage whisper, 'getting Cheapside stallholders to swear false statements — what is this about? What do you want?'

'You remember I have a commission from Lord Cromwell?'

'I told you all I knew about that matter. Which was next to nothing.' He waved a hand angrily. If he was lying he did it well.

'I want to know the nature of your connection with Sir Richard Rich, Bealknap.'

'That is none of your damned business,' he said stoutly. 'Yes, I have a commission from Sir Richard, I work for him. It is his business I have been on these last few days.' He raised a hand. 'And I will not be questioned about that. God's death, I'll go to Sir Richard now, I'll tell him of your pestering—'

'Brother Bealknap, if you do not answer my questions, I shall go to Lord Cromwell.'

'Then he can speak to Sir Richard.' Bealknap nodded grimly. 'There, you did not expect that, did you?' He reached for his robe. 'I shall go to him now. You are out of your depth, sir; you have been dabbling in matters that are beyond you.' He laughed in my face. 'Have you not realized that yet? Now, out of my chambers.' He threw open the door. Barak clenched his fists.

'Lord Cromwell can have you on the rack, you great bony arsehole.'

Bealknap laughed. 'I think not, though he might make your arses smart after my master and he have spoken. Now leave!' He waved at the door.

There was nothing left but to go. As soon as we were outside, the door was slammed in our faces.

We stood on the landing. Barak gave me a puzzled look. 'I thought he'd be terrified.'

'So did I.'

'Lord Cromwell, Richard Rich.' Leman gave me a sidelong look. 'I don't want any more to do with this, sir, I'm going back to my stall.' And with that he turned and hastened downstairs, without even asking for the rest of the money I had promised him.

Barak and I were left looking at each other. 'Well, that went well,' Barak said sarcastically.

'What can Rich have to say to Cromwell that will turn his anger on to us?' I shook my head. 'Cromwell is the chief secretary, Rich is a big fish but nowhere near that big.'

'And what does he know about Greek Fire?' Barak took a deep breath. 'I'm going to have to get word to the earl about this.' He began descending the stairs.

I followed him. 'Do you know where Cromwell is today?'

'Whitehall again. I'll ride there now. You go home and rest. You look like you need it. Do nothing till I return.'

I wondered if he and Cromwell might have things to say he did not want me to hear. But if he did, there was nothing I could do about that.

Chapter Thirty-four

IT WAS MORE THAN two hours before Barak returned. I waited for him in my parlour, looking out over the garden as the afternoon shadows began to lengthen. I was still exhausted after my terrifying experience of the night before, but though my eyes smarted with tiredness I could not rest. Thoughts chased each other round my head. What had Bealknap meant? What was it I should have realized? And what was I to do if my planned trip to St Bartholomew's proved successful and we actually found some traces of Greek Fire? My conversation with Guy nagged at me; I could not keep the broader implications of what I was doing from my mind. It would be better, surely, if nobody had Greek Fire. But Toky's master, whoever that was, had it already.

At length, tired of prowling round the room, I decided to go to the stables. As I stepped outside, I winced at the heat — it was hotter than ever — and became conscious that everything ached, my burned arm, my back, my eyes, my head.

Barak had collected Sukey, but Genesis stood quietly in his stall. He gave a whicker of recognition when he saw me. Young Simon was mucking out the stables.

'How is Genesis settling in?' I asked.

'Well enough, sir, he's a good horse. Though I miss old Chancery.'

'So do I. Genesis seems a placid beast.'

'He wasn't at first, sir. He was anxious in his stall, couldn't settle. I feared he might kick me.'

'Really?' I was surprised. 'He was no trouble to ride.'

'He's probably been well trained in Lord Cromwell's stables, sir, but I think he was used to larger quarters there.' Simon flushed as he mentioned the earl's name; it was a source of wonder to the boy that I was associated with so great a man.

'Maybe.'

'Master Barak told me he had his hair burned off last night in a fire.' The boy's eyes were wide with curiosity. 'Is he a soldier, sir? I sometimes think he looks like one.'

'No. Just a minor servant of the earl, like me.'

'I would like to be a soldier one day.'

'Would you, Simon?'

'When I'm older I shall train for the muster. Fight the king's enemies, who would invade our realm.'

From his words I guessed someone had been reading an official proclamation to him. I smiled sadly as I stroked Genesis's neck. 'Soldiering is a bloody trade.'

'But one has to fight the papists, sir. Oh, yes, I'd like to be a soldier or a sailor one day.'

I prepared to argue, but turned at the sound of hooves. Barak, looking tired and dusty, had come to a halt outside the stable. Simon ran out and took the reins.

'What news?' I asked.

'Let's go inside.'

I followed him back to the parlour. He ran a hand over his stubbly head, wrinkling the skin on his pate, then blew out his cheeks. 'The earl was fierce with me,' he said bluntly. 'Told me he'd had to waste half the morning persuading the coroner to keep the bodies they found at Queenhithe quiet for a few days. He was furious to hear your efforts to make Bealknap talk had sent him off to Rich.'

'I wasn't to know Rich could be a shield against Cromwell.'

'He can't. The earl was outraged at the very idea. He thinks Rich has been exaggerating his powers to Bealknap and Bealknap believed him. He's sending men out now to find Rich, find out what Bealknap meant. He says if Rich knows about Greek Fire he'll sweat it out of him one way or another. I don't envy friend Bealknap afterwards.'

I frowned. 'That doesn't sound right. Bealknap's every sort of rogue, but he's no fool where his own interests are concerned. He wouldn't have said what he did unless he knew he was safe. There's something we're not seeing.'

'Another thing the earl said: he knows how you like to find all the facts and lay them flat on the table before coming to a conclusion. He says there isn't time for that, you'll have to cut corners.'

I laughed bitterly. 'In dealing with an enemy as clever as ours and in a matter as complex and secret as this? Does he think I'm a miracle worker?'

'Maybe you'd like to ask him that. He was prowling around his office at Whitehall like a bear in the pit, ready to lash out. And he's scared. He says to go to Barty's now, today. It's a good time, with Rich taken in to be questioned. He wants that coffin opened.' Barak slumped down on the cushions. His face had a grey tinge under his tan; the events of last night were catching up with even his powerful constitution.

'How is your shoulder?' I asked.

'Sore. But better than it was. What about your arm?'

'The same. Bearable.' I pondered a moment. If I was to go to St Bartholomew's I wanted to go alone; if there was Greek Fire buried with the soldier, I would take it to Guy. Barak, I knew, would take it straight to Cromwell.

'I'll go over to Barty's on my own,' I said, my heart suddenly pounding fast. 'You're tired, you stay here.'

He looked at me in surprise. 'You look worse than I do.'

'I've had a chance to rest upstairs,' I lied, 'while you've been facing the earl in a bad temper. Let me go alone.'

'What if Toky's about?'

'I'll be all right.'

He hesitated, but to my relief relaxed deeper into the cushions. 'All right. Jesu, I don't think I've ever been so tired. The earl says Madam Neller will suffer for her betrayal once this matter is over.'

'Good. I'll get Simon to bring you in some beer. I'll be back before dark.'

'All right.' He laughed. 'I think the boy believes I'm a soldier of fortune. He's always asking me what I do for Lord Cromwell, whether he sends me to battles.'

'He's sent us both to one this time. Don't let Simon bother you.'

'He's no trouble.' He looked at me. 'Good luck.'

I left the room and stood in the corridor. I felt relieved at Barak's ready acquiescence, but also guilty. Evidently he trusted me now; I doubted he would have let me go alone on such a mission a week before. I shuddered at the thought that in deceiving Barak, I was deceiving Cromwell too.

===OO=OOO=OO===

THE STREETS WERE quiet in the late afternoon heat as I rode up to Smithfield. As I turned into the open area a cart passed, driven by an old man with a rag covering his face. I saw that it was full of ancient bones, ribcages and sharp pelvises and limb bones piled together in an unholy jumble, skulls peering out with their mocking grins. Rotten scraps of ancient winding sheets trailed through the bones and as the cart passed I caught the damp, sickly smell of the tomb. I knew many skeletons from the monastic graveyards were driven out to the Lambeth marshes and quietly dumped; these must be from Barty's. I hoped that I would be in time; Rich had said it would be a few days before they got to the hospital graveyard. As I spurred Genesis on across Smithfield, feeling a welcome breeze in my face, I noticed that though the Anabaptists might have recanted the stake stood already planted in the ground, the iron fetters hanging from it a grim reminder of its purpose.

A new watchman from Augmentations stood by the priory gatehouse, a keen young fellow who demanded to know my business. I cursed when I remembered Barak had Cromwell's seal, but my lawyer's robe and mention of the earl's name were enough to gain me entrance. I enquired after progress in excavating the graveyards. Looking surprised, the man said the work on the hospital graveyard had just begun. He called to another watchman, a lantern-jawed old fellow with a limp, to escort me there.

The old man led me through a maze of buildings, some destroyed and others awaiting conversion to residences, across Little Britain Street to the grounds behind the priory hospital. The high crenellated City wall loomed in the distance.

'Is the work far advanced?' I asked.

'They started yesterday,' he grunted. 'There's hundreds of graves to dig up. Filthy business — it's a known fact corpse odours can bring plague.'

'I saw a cart full of bones on my way.'

'The labourers have no respect for the dead. Reminds me of my time fighting in France, corpses everywhere given no proper burial.' He crossed himself.

I smiled sadly. 'My stable boy wants to be a soldier.'

'More fool him.' The old man lowered his voice as we turned a corner. 'It's round here. Watch these men, sir. They're a rough lot.'

The spectacle that met our eyes was like something from an old painting of the Last Judgement. A wide graveyard, sewn thickly with tombstones, was being dug up. The sun was starting to set behind the hospital, casting a fiery ochre light over the scene. The work was organized methodically: as each coffin was dug up two men carried it to a trestle table, where an Augmentations official in a long robe sat with a clerk. I watched as a coffin was opened under the clerk's eye; he rose and delved inside, then nodded. The workmen began removing the bones and piling them onto a waiting cart; the clerk took a small object and laid it before the official.

A little way off a meal break was in progress; a group of labourers were playing football with a skull, kicking it to and fro. As we watched a long kick sent it crashing against a gravestone, where it shattered into a hundred pieces. The labourers laughed. The old man shook his head and led me across to the official, who looked me over with a cold glance. He was a small, plump fellow with a pursed mouth and small sharp eyes, the very embodiment of an Augmentations man.

'Can I assist you, master lawyer?' he asked.

'I am on Lord Cromwell's business, sir. Have you charge of these proceedings?'

He hesitated. 'Yes, I am Paul Hoskyn of Augmentations.' He nodded at the old man. 'That will do, Hogge.'

'Matthew Shardlake, of Lincoln's Inn,' I said as the old man hobbled away, leaving me feeling strangely exposed. 'I am looking for a grave which I have reason to believe may contain something of interest to my master.'

Hoskyn's eyes narrowed. 'Everything of value is kept for Sir Richard to examine.'

'Yes, I know.' I bent to look at the items on the table. Gold rings and badges, little daggers and silver boxes, giving off that sickly whiff of death. 'It is not an item of value. Of interest only.'

He eyed me shrewdly. 'It must be important, for the earl to send you here. Does Sir Richard know?'

'No. The earl has sent for him on another matter. He is probably there now. In truth, it is only of antiquarian interest.'

'I never heard the earl had any interest in such things.'

'He does. And I am an antiquarian,' I added, adopting an earnest manner. I had thought this story up on the way. 'I recently found some stones set in the Ludgate that had Hebrew markings. They came from an old synagogue, you know. All ancient things interest me.'

The official grunted, his face still full of suspicion.

'We think this man buried here may have been a foreign Jew,' I went on eagerly, 'and had Jewish artefacts buried with him. Hebrew studies are of interest now the Old Testament is so widely read.'

'Have you any authority from the earl you can show me?'

'Only his name,' I replied, looking the fellow in the eye. He pursed his little mouth, then rose and led me across the brown grass of the graveyard. I looked at the gravestones; they were small, of cheap sandstone, the older ones indecipherable.

'I am looking for a gravestone from the middle of the last century. The name is St John.'

'That would be over by the wall. I don't want to go digging over there yet,' he added pettishly. 'It'll throw my work plan out of joint.'

'The earl wishes it.'

He looked among the gravestones, then stopped and pointed. 'Is that it?'

My heart thumped with excitement as I read the simple inscription. 'Alan St John, Soldier against the Turk, 1423—54.' Only thirty-one when he died. I had not realized he had been so young.

'This is it,' I said quietly. 'Can I have two of your men?'

Hoskyn frowned. 'A Jew would not have been buried in consecrated ground. Nor have a Christian's name.'

'He would if he was a convert. There are records that this man was in the Domus.'

He shook his head, then crossed to the men who had been playing football. They gave me unfriendly looks. I knew those who laboured for Augmentations had an easy time of it, they would not like outsiders barging in with extra duties. Two of the men returned with Hoskyn, carrying shovels. He pointed at St John's grave.

'He wants that one opened up. Call me as soon as it's uncovered.' With that, Hoskyn went back to his table, where three more coffins were laid out.

The two labourers, large young fellows in stained smocks, began digging at the hard dry earth. 'What're we digging for?' one asked. 'A box of gold?'

'Nothing of value.'

'We're supposed to stop work at dusk.' He glanced at the bloodied sky. 'That's our contract.'

'Just the one grave,' I said, mollifying him. He grunted and bent to his task.

===OO=OOO=OO===

ST JOHN HAD BEEN buried deep, the light was failing and redder than ever before the shovel struck wood. The men dug out the earth around the coffin, then stood beside it. It was a cheap thing of some dark wood. I was aware several other labourers had come over and were standing watching.

'Come, Samuel,' one said. 'It's past time to go. It's nearly dark.'

'There's no need to take the coffin out,' I said. 'Just open it there, if you'll help me down.'

The other labourer helped me into the grave, then clambered out himself and called to Hoskyn that they were done. I watched as the man Samuel worked at the coffin lid with his spade. It came open with a crack. He slid it off, then stepped back with a gasp. 'God's wounds, what's that stink?'

I felt the hairs rise on the back of my neck. It was the same harsh smell that had wafted up the stairs of Madam Gristwood's house the night before.

I bent slowly and looked into the coffin. In the red light of sunset St John's remains looked strangely peaceful. His skeleton lay on its back, arms crossed. His skull was turned to one side, as though sleeping, the jaws closed rather than grinning open, a few brown hairs still clinging to it. The winding sheet had rotted away, there were only a few mouldy scraps of cloth in the bottom of the coffin. And among them, a little pewter jar, the size of a man's hand. There was a crack at the top, but when I bent and lifted it gently I could feel it was almost full. I was right, I thought. I have found it.

'What's that?' Samuel asked. He sounded disappointed, no doubt he had been hoping for the glint of gold after all. 'Here,' he called to his fellows. 'Bring a torch. We can hardly see here!'

I turned to see a man brandishing a flaming torch at the edge of the grave, about to hand it down. 'No!' I shouted. 'No fire, whatever you do!'

'Why not?' Samuel asked, frowning.

'It's witchcraft,' someone else said. 'That's some Christ-killing Jew down there.' Samuel crossed himself and there was a murmur among the crowd. I clambered back out, holding the jar carefully. No one leant over to help me and I had to balance on the coffin and heave myself up with one hand. I stood on the edge of the grave, breathing heavily. I looked for Hoskyn, but he had left his table and was nowhere to be seen. About ten labourers stood around me, their faces hostile and frightened, a couple carrying torches. 'Damned hunchback,' someone muttered.

Then everyone turned at the sound of footsteps, and the men bowed and fell back like wheat before a gale as the frowning figure of Sir Richard Rich, in feathered cap and a yellow silk robe, stepped into the centre of the group, Hoskyn at his elbow.

'You men,' he called sharply, 'leave now. All of you.' The labourers melted away like smoke, Samuel clambering rapidly out of the grave and following them. Left alone with Rich and Hoskyn, I slid the hand with the little jar behind my back. Rich looked into the grave. His cold eyes passed over St John's remains, then he turned back to me.

'Jesu, what a stink. Christ's blood, Master Shardlake, it seems you cannot stay away from Barty's. First you're in my garden among the washing and now you're digging up graves looking for trinkets.'

I took a deep breath. 'I am here on Lord Cromwell's authority—'

He waved a hand dismissively. 'Hoskyn told me. Sounds like a cock-and-bull story to me. The earl doesn't collect monastic relics, he burns them.'

'It was not a relic I was seeking, sir. I — I thought Lord Cromwell had asked you to attend him—'

'I've heard nothing of it, I've been out on audit all day.' Rich frowned. 'You are a hard man to get rid of, Shardlake.' He nodded at the grave. 'If I find this is some frolic of your own, I'll put you in there to add to the smell.' He turned, frowning, as a servant ran up to him. Rich looked at him irritably.

'Sir Richard,' the man gasped, 'an urgent message. From Lord Cromwell. His man has been trying to find you all day. He wishes to see you at once at Whitehall.'

Rich gave me a startled look. He set his lips, then nodded to the steward. 'Make my horse ready.' He turned back to me. 'You are becoming a nuisance, Shardlake,' he said. His voice was low, but furious. 'A serious nuisance. I do not tolerate nuisances. Be warned.' With that he turned and stalked away, Hoskyn waddling after him. I clutched the jar hard. Then, my legs shaking like jelly, I walked quickly out of the graveyard.

Chapter Thirty-five

I SAT IN MY BEDROOM, staring down at the jar of Greek Fire on my table. I had brought a plate from the kitchen and poured a little onto it; the brownish-black viscous liquid lay there, glistening like a toad's skin. I pulled the table over to the open window to dispel the acrid tang of the stuff. I left the candle on the other side of the room for safety, though that meant there was insufficient light to examine it further. In truth, I was afraid of it. Tomorrow, I had decided, I would take it to Guy.

A knock at the door made me jump. Wincing at a spasm from my back, I hastily covered the jar and plate with a cloth, calling, 'Wait a moment!'

'It's me,' Barak replied through the door. 'Can I come in?'

'I — I'm getting dressed. Wait in your room, I'll come to you.'

To my relief I heard retreating footsteps. I sniffed the air, but the smell was faint and could not have reached him through the door. Leaving the window open, I slipped out of the room, locking it behind me.

Barak had been asleep when I had returned from St Bartholomew's half an hour before and I had left him. As I knocked at his door I recalled that in the conflicts that had raged around reformers over which of apparently conflicting biblical passages one should follow, I had ever preferred, 'Obey God rather than man,' over 'Let every man be subject to the governing authorities.' I knew I would have to lie to Barak now, and did not relish it, but I felt in my heart that taking the Greek Fire to Guy was the right course. I shuddered at the thought that if the servant had not arrived when he did, Rich might have had it. Although he might have plenty already, for all I knew.

Barak was sitting on the bed in his shirt, mournfully examining a pair of dusty netherstocks. He put his finger through a hole. 'Hard riding's done for these,' he said.

'I'm sure Lord Cromwell will pay for more.' The room was a mess, dirty clothes and greasy plates strewn over the floor and the table. I remembered my former assistant Mark, who had once had this room, how tidy he had kept it.

Barak crumpled the torn stocks into a ball and threw them into a corner.

'Any luck at Barty's?'

'No. We dug up the grave but there was nothing in it, only St John's skeleton. Rich was there. He came up and demanded to know my business.'

'Shit. What did you tell the arsehole?'

'I thought there might be trouble, but the summons from Cromwell arrived just then and he went off in a hurry.'

Barak sighed. 'Another trail gone cold. We must see what the earl gets out of Rich. He'll send a message once he's talked to him.'

'And Marchamount is back tomorrow. I'll go into chambers and see him.'

Barak nodded, then looked up at me. 'Are you up to trying the well again tonight? There won't be a message from the earl for hours, perhaps not till tomorrow morning. My shoulder's much better.'

I was far from up to it, I ached with tiredness from head to toe and my arm hurt. But I had promised, and after all it was for Elizabeth that I had agreed to do everything else in the first place. I nodded wearily. 'Let me just get some food, then we will go.'

'Good idea. I'm hungry too.' Barak, evidently restored by his rest, leaped from the bed and led the way downstairs. I followed, guilt at my deception of him gnawing at me.

Joan had prepared a pottage for us, which she brought to the parlour.

Barak scratched at his near-bald pate. 'Shit, this itches, damn it. I'll have to wear a cap when I go out from now on, I hate the way people stare at me, my head bald as a bird's arse like some old dotard—'

He was interrupted by a loud knock at the front door. 'That'll be the message,' he said, rising. 'That was quick.'

But it was Joseph Wentworth that Joan showed into the parlour a moment later. He looked exhausted, his clothes were dusty and his hair glinted with sweat. Haggard eyes stared from a dirty face.

'Joseph,' I said. 'What has happened?'

'I've come from Newgate,' he said. 'She's dying, sir. Elizabeth is dying.' And then the big man burst into tears, covering his face with his hands.

I made him sit down and tried to calm him. He wiped his face with a dirty rag of handkerchief, the same one he had brought the day he first came to the house, which Elizabeth had embroidered. He looked up at me, helpless and distraught, his earlier anger at my lack of progress apparently forgotten.

'What has happened?' I asked again gently.

'These last two days Elizabeth has had another cellmate. A child, a mad beggar girl who has been running round the wards accusing all she meets of abducting her little brother. She made trouble at a baker's shop in Cheapside—'

'We saw her the other day—'

'The baker complained. She was picked up by the constable and taken to the Hole. Elizabeth wouldn't talk to her, any more than she would to the old woman who was hanged—' He paused.

'She went wild when the old woman was taken out, though. Has that happened again?'

Joseph shook his head wearily. 'No. When I went to visit Lizzy this morning the turnkey told me the child had been examined by a doctor and removed to the Bedlam. He reckoned her mad. But he said when he went to take them food last night, he heard Lizzy and the girl talking. He couldn't hear what they were saying but he remarked it; it was the first time he had heard Elizabeth speak, and the girl had been sullen and quiet too since she was put in the Hole.'

'What was her name?'

'Sarah, I believe. She and her brother were orphans, kicked out of St Helen's foundling hospital when the nunnery closed.' He sighed. 'This morning Elizabeth just sat, hollow-eyed, would not even look at me or at the food I had brought, though her last meal was lying there untouched. Then when I went this evening—' He broke off and put his head in his hands again.

'Joseph,' I said, 'I was hoping to have some news for you tomorrow. I know you feared I had forgotten you—'

He looked up at me. 'You're all I have, Master Shardlake. You were my only hope. But now I fear it's too late. This evening Lizzy was lying insensible on the straw, her face burning hot to the touch. She has gaol fever, sir.'

Barak and I exchanged glances. Outbreaks of fever were common in gaols, blamed on the foul humours released by the stinking straw. Whole prisons had sometimes died of it, and it had been known to penetrate the Old Bailey, felling witnesses and even judges. If Elizabeth had it, her chances were slim.

'The turnkeys won't go near her,' Joseph said. 'I said I'd pay to have her put somewhere better, get a physician. Though God knows how, I hear my crops are ruined by the heat.' A note of hysteria entered his voice.

I rose wearily. 'Then I shall have to take a hand. I have assumed a responsibility for Elizabeth and it is time I met it. I'll come to the gaol. I know they have good rooms for those who can pay. And I know an apothecary who can cure her if anyone can.'

'She needs a physician.'

'This man is a physician, though as a foreigner he is not allowed to practise here.'

'But the cost—'

'I'll deal with that — you can repay me later. God knows,' I muttered, 'at least this is something clean and clear to do.'

'I'll come if you like,' Barak said.

'You will?' Joseph looked at him, staring a little as he noticed his shaven head for the first time.

'Thank you, Barak. Then come, I will get Simon to run to Guy with a note, ask him to come to Newgate.' I stood up. From somewhere, God knew where, I had found a last reserve of energy. Joseph might have thought me self-sacrificing, but I felt that if Elizabeth died now before our time was up, after all my decision to act for her had led me into, the irony would be so dark as to be beyond bearing.

===OO=OOO=OO===

THE GAOL LOOKED DARK and sinister at night, its towers a grim outline against the starry sky. The gaoler was sleepy, angry at being woken until I pressed a shilling into his hand. He summoned the fat turnkey. The man's face fell when the gaoler told him to take us to the Hole and he led us below ground without his usual brutal badinage. Quickly unlocking the door, he retreated fast and stood against the opposite wall.

The stink of urine and bad food that hit us in the hot cell was appalling: it stung the throat and brought tears to the eyes. We held our sleeves to our noses as we went in. Elizabeth lay insensible on the straw, her limbs askew. Even unconscious her face was troubled, the eyes working beneath the closed lids in some fevered dream. Her colour was high, her obscenely bald head shining bright pink. I put my hand to her brow. Joseph was right — she was burning. I motioned the others to go back outside and went over to the turnkey. 'Listen,' I said, 'I know you have comfortable rooms upstairs.'

'Only for those that can pay.'

'We'll pay,' I said. 'Take me back to the gaoler.'

The turnkey locked the door again and, motioning the others to remain behind, I followed him back up to the gaoler's room, a comfortable chamber with a feather bed and a wall hanging. The gaoler was sitting at his table, a worried look on his hard features.

'Is she dead yet, Williams'' he asked.

'No, master.'

'Listen,' I said. 'We want to get her out of these foul airs. I'll pay for a good room.'

The gaoler shook his head. 'Moving her will only spread the humours of her fever round the gaol. And the judge's order was she was to stay in the Hole.'

'I'll answer to Forbizer. I have an apothecary who may be able to help her. He might be able to cure her fever. Then it won't spread, eh?'

He still looked doubtful. 'Who's to carry her up there! I'm not going near, and nor are my men.'

I hesitated a moment, then said, 'We will. There must be some back stairs we could use.'

He pursed his lips. 'Two shillings a night's the price. I'll show you where to take her.' Even in his terror of gaol fever the man's greed glinted in his sharp eyes.

'Agreed,' I said, though the price was outrageous. I reached for my purse and held up a gold half angel. 'For five nights. That'll cover her till she goes before Forbizer.'

That seemed to decide the wretch. He nodded, holding out his hand for the coin.

===OO=OOO=OO===

IT WAS A NIGHTMARE climb, up four floors from the Hole to the tower room my half angel had bought. The gaoler walked well ahead with a candle while Barak and Joseph carried the unconscious Elizabeth between them. I clambered up behind as they half-dragged, half-carried the poor girl up the stone steps, the outlines of Elizabeth's and Barak's two shaven heads making weird shadows on the walls. A vile smell came from poor Elizabeth's unwashed, feverish body. As I climbed painfully upwards, I realized my strength was ebbing again — I could not possibly make it to the well that night.

We were shown into a light, airy room with a good bed with a blanket, a ewer of water on a table and a large window which though barred was at least open; a gentleman prisoner's room. Joseph and Barak laid Elizabeth on the bed. She seemed unaware of her removal, only stirring slightly and moaning, Then she muttered a name. 'Sarah,' she muttered. 'Oh, Sarah.'

Joseph bit his lip. 'The girl who went to Bedlam,' he whispered.

I nodded. 'Maybe if she recovers she will speak at last, tell us why the girl upset her so. Tell us everything she has chosen to keep to herself while we are distracted with worry,' I added with sudden bitterness.

Joseph looked at me, then said softly, 'I become angered with her too.'

I sighed. 'My apothecary should be here soon.'

'You are generous, sir,' Joseph said. 'How much—'

I raised a hand. 'No, Joseph, we can discuss that later. Barak, you look exhausted. You should go home.'

'I can stay,' he said. 'I'd like to see whether the Old Moor can help her.'

It was strange, even touching, to see how absorbed he had become in Elizabeth's fate. Yet I did not want him here when Guy came; I had secreted the pewter jar of Greek Fire in a pocket of my robe. 'No, go,' I said sharply. 'I don't want you risking gaol fever, I need you fit.'

He nodded reluctantly and went out. I clutched at the jar of Greek Fire as Joseph and I stood in silence, listening to Elizabeth's fevered breathing.

===OO=OOO=OO===

GUY ARRIVED an hour later. The gaoler himself fetched him up, goggling at his brown face till I bade him sharply to be gone. I introduced Guy to Joseph, who likewise stared at him in surprise, although Guy affected not to notice.

'So this is the poor girl whose travails have worried you so,' he said to me.

'Yes.' I told him of the onset of her fever. He looked at her for a long moment.

'I don't think it's gaol fever,' he said at length. 'The fever would be higher. I'm not sure what it is. It would help to see her urine. Does she have a pisspot?'

'She was left to piss on the straw in the Hole.'

He shook his head. 'Then I will give her something to try and stop her burning up, and it would be good if she were to be washed and that filthy dress taken off her.'

Joseph blushed. 'Sir, it would hardly be proper for me to see her unclothed—'

'I will do it, if you like. In my trade a naked body is hardly a new sight. Could you buy her a shift tomorrow and bring it here?'

'Yes. Yes, I will.'

As we watched Elizabeth stirred and made a little moan, then lay back again. Guy shook his head. 'What pain and anger there are in that face, even while her mind sleeps.'

'Is there any hope, sir?' Joseph asked.

'I do not know,' Guy said frankly. 'This may be one of those cases where much depends on the sufferer's will to live.'

'Then she will surely die,' he said.

'Come, we do not know that.' Guy smiled gently. 'And now, if you will leave me, I will wash her.'

Joseph and I waited outside while Guy carried out his task. 'I cannot help being angered, sir,' he said. 'But I love her; for all she has put me through I still love her.'

I touched his shoulder. 'That is very plain, Joseph.'

At length Guy called us back. He had laid Elizabeth under the blanket and lit some sort of oil in a lamp, which made a sweet smell in the room. A cloth, black with dirt, floated in the ewer. Elizabeth's face was clean, the first time I had seen it so.

'She is pretty,' I said. 'How sad she should come to this.'

'Sad whether she is pretty or ugly,' Guy said.

'What is that smell?' Joseph asked.

'An infusion of lemons.' Guy smiled. 'Sometimes when a soul is in pain a foul or cruel environment can drive it deeper into darkness. Thus light and cleanliness and soft airs may help lift her spirit, perhaps even reach it while she lies unconscious.' He shrugged self-deprecatingly. 'So I think, at least.' He looked at us. 'You both look exhausted. You should sleep. I will stay with her till morning if you wish.'

'I could not ask that—' Joseph protested.

'Please, I would be happy to.'

'I would stay a little too,' I said. 'I have something else I wish to discuss with you.'

Joseph left, with fulsome thanks, his weary footsteps clattering down the stairs.

'Thank you for this, Guy.' I said.

'It is all right. I confess I am intrigued. This is a strange condition.'

'I have something even more intriguing,' I said. I reached into my pocket and took out the cloth with the pewter jar in it. 'This, I believe, is Greek Fire. No one else knows I have it.' I unwrapped the jar and laid it on the table, first putting the oil lamp on the floor. 'Don't bring the candle near, Guy. I fear it may take light.'

He examined the stuff as best he could in the weak light, rubbing the dark liquid between his fingers, sniffing it with a look of distaste. 'So this is it,' he said. 'Dark Fire.' I had never seen his face more serious.

'Ay. I wondered how fire could be dark; I see now they meant the liquid was black.'

'Perhaps they also meant the darkness it could bring to men's lives.'

'Perhaps. They called it the devil's tears as well in the old books.' I told him how I had found it at Smithfield, how narrowly it had escaped Rich's clutches. 'Take it. Will you examine it tomorrow?'

'On the terms I gave you. I will do nothing to help Cromwell use it.'

'Agreed.'

He shook his head. 'You would be in serious trouble, Matthew, if he were to find you had given this to me instead of to him.'

I smiled nervously. 'Then we must be sure he does not find out.' I shook my head. 'Yet I cannot help thinking—' I hesitated — 'Cromwell has done many evil things. But at least he has a vision of a Christian commonwealth, while Norfolk would take England back to superstition and darkness.'

'A Christian commonwealth? Is such a thing even possible in this fallen world? Surely the annals of the last thousand years show it is not. That is why many like me chose to escape to the cloister before that was forbidden.'

'Yes, the old Church always believed the sinful world was heading towards a final cataclysm; nothing man did could make any difference. And that excused much oppression.'

'You would need fierce measures to make a perfect commonwealth. If you were to end poverty and beggary you'd need to squeeze their wealth from the rich, for example.'

'Sometimes I think that would be a good thing.'

'Now you sound like an Anabaptist.'

I laughed. 'No, just a puzzled old lawyer.'

He looked at me seriously. 'But ending social injustice is not Cromwell's first priority, you know that. What matters to him is the Protestant faith and he would use Greek Fire to cut a terrible swathe to achieve that if he could.'

I nodded sadly. 'Yes, you are right. He cannot be trusted with it. No one can.'

Guy looked relieved. 'Thank Christ you see that.' He looked at the pewter pot, then carefully put it in his pocket. 'I will let you know as soon as I have something to tell you.'

'Thank you. Tomorrow if you can — there are only five days now till the demonstration before the king.' I sighed. 'On the day Elizabeth goes back to court.'

As though in response to her name Elizabeth stirred, her legs moving beneath the blanket. We turned to her. 'Sarah,' she muttered again, then, 'that evil boy. The evil boy.' And then her eyes fluttered open and she looked at us uncomprehendingly.

Guy leant over her. 'Miss Wentworth, you are in a clean room in the prison. You have a fever. I am Guy Malton, an apothecary. Your good uncle and Master Shardlake had you brought here.'

I leant over her. Her eyes were heavy with fever but she seemed fully conscious. Knowing this was a chance that might never come again, I said slowly, 'We are still trying to find the truth, Elizabeth. We are trying to save you. I know there is something in the well at your uncle's house—'

She seemed to shrink back. 'The death of God,' she whispered. 'The death of God.'

'What?' I asked, but her eyes closed again. I made to shake her but Guy held my arm.

'Do not distress her further.'

'But — what did she mean? The death of God? God's death is a common curse, but—'

He looked at me seriously. 'The death of God is despair. When I was a monk sometimes one of my brethren would lose his faith, succumb to despair. Usually they came back to faith, but until they did—' he shook his head — 'it felt as though God was dead.'

'The well,' Elizabeth muttered. 'The well.' And then she fell back to her pillows, sinking once more into unconsciousness.

Chapter Thirty-six

I LEFT SOON AFTER. I was so exhausted that the short ride home through the darkness felt as though it lasted for ever, and once I had to pinch myself to stop myself from falling asleep in the saddle. I wondered whether Guy would be able to fathom how Greek Fire was made up. So many had died to keep that secret.

When I arrived home it was past two in the morning and Barak had already gone to his room. I hauled myself upstairs and fell fully clothed onto the bed. I fell asleep at once, but found myself troubled by a nightmare. I dreamed I was back in Forbizer's court, sitting watching as the judge coldly sentenced a succession of prisoners to death. Yet their faces were those of people already dead: Sepultus and Michael Gristwood, Bathsheba and her brother, the watchman and a strange man in a leather apron whom I knew must be the founder. All their faces were sad, yet whole, not shattered and bloodied as I had seen them. In my dream I took the pewter jar of Greek Fire from my robe, lifted it and let it fall on the floor. At once a roaring tide of flame shot from it, engulfing everyone: prisoners, spectators, judge. I saw Forbizer raise his arms with a scream as his beard flared and crackled. I sat in the centre of the flames, untouched for a moment, but then the fire seemed to gather itself and rushed at me, engulfing me. I felt its searing heat on my face and screamed, then jolted awake to the bright light of morning, the sun hot on my face and the bells of London's hundred churches clamouring in the distance, calling the City to prayer. It was Sunday, the sixth of June.

I was stiff and aching, and as I dressed slowly I told myself that when this matter was done I would leave London. It seemed my clients had had enough of me, and I had just enough money for a quiet life in the countryside if I was careful. Still frightened by my dream, I stumbled downstairs to find Barak sitting at the parlour table, staring gloomily at a letter.

'From Cromwell?' I asked, taking a seat.

'Ay. It's from Hampton Court, he must be there on some business for the king. You might as well see it.' He tossed the sheet of paper over to me. It was in Cromwell's own hand.

 

I have spoken to Rich. You have both been worrying at the wrong hare, his schemes with that churl Bealknap have nothing to do with Greek Fire. Continue your investigations, for what they are worth, and I will see you at Whitehall tomorrow, when I return to London.

 

I laid the letter on the table. 'He's not pleased with us.'

'No. What in God's name were Bealknap and Rich up to?'

'Jesu knows. We will find out tomorrow. Today there is Marchamount to deal with.'

'We'd better get on. I left you to sleep, or I thought you'd be fit for nothing, but half the morning's gone. We've only four days left.'

'D'you think I've forgotten that?' I snapped, then raised a hand. 'We do no good sniping at each other, I've told you before.'

'No.' He scratched his stubbly head. 'The tone of that letter worries me, that's all.'

I ate a hasty breakfast and then we walked along the dusty lane to the Inn. Looking at the cloudless sky, I thought of Joseph and his ruined crops. Wheat would be scarce and there would be hunger by autumn.

'Elizabeth had a moment of consciousness last night,' I said. 'I mentioned the well again and she said, "Death of God". Guy said it means she's in despair. And she said something about the girl and "that evil boy".'

'Her young cousin or the mad girl's brother?'

'I don't know.' I looked at him. 'But we must go to the well again tonight. We must delay no more.'

He nodded. 'I want to see the truth of this too. That poor creature reminds me of when I was in the gutter, consumed with fury at my mother for marrying that confederate of Bealknap's.' He laughed bitterly. 'I may end up back in the gutter if I lose the earl's favour.'

'There's still time,' I said.

I hoped Marchamount would be in. I hoped desperately that, whatever secret Lady Honor was still keeping, it was not incriminating. As we entered the courtyard I saw the service had ended in the chapel and the lawyers were filing out. I saw Marchamount among the throng, walking back to his chambers, his robe billowing around his portly form.

'All right if I come with you?' Barak asked.

I hesitated. What if Marchamount told me something that led the way to the Gristwoods' stock of Greek Fire? But I could not exclude Barak again. I nodded, wondering whether Guy was even now examining that dreadful stuff.

We caught up with Marchamount at the door to his chambers. He looked round in surprise.

'Brother Shardlake, this is an unexpected meeting.' He smiled, that little flash of white teeth. 'What happened to you on Friday? Had you no stomach for the bear-baiting?'

'Lady Honor did not feel like attending,' I said briskly. 'I went for a walk with her.'

He stared at Barak. 'Who is this?'

'An agent of Lord Cromwell's. He is helping me on the Greek Fire matter.'

Barak took off his cap and made a little bow. Marchamount's eyes widened at his bald head, then he frowned in exasperation. 'I have told you all I know. How many times

'As many times as I see fit, Serjeant.' I had decided bluntness was the best way. 'May we come in?'

He set his lips but permitted us to follow him to his private room. There he sat in his thronelike chair and gave us a haughty stare. I leaned forward.

'In the boat going to Southwark, Serjeant, we spoke of a certain pressure his grace the Duke of Norfolk was putting on you, to obtain something from Lady Honor. You confirmed he wanted to obtain some of the Vaughan lands in return for furthering young Henry Vaughan to a place at the king's court.'

Marchamount sat very still. I knew at once I had struck a nerve.

'I thought you seemed evasive in the boat, so I asked Lady Honor about the matter on our walk—'

'Sir, you had no right. For a gentleman to ask—'

'Lady Honor told me the matter began with pressure from the duke over the land, but then it developed into something else. She refused to say more, but I need to know what it was.'

He smiled shrewdly. 'So you come to me, as an alternative to Cromwell putting pressure on her?'

'Never mind why. I want the whole story, Marchamount. No bluster, no evasions, just the story.'

He sat back in his chair. 'It is nothing to do with Greek Fire.'

'Then why it is so secret?'

'Because it is shameful.' He frowned, reddening. 'I had an interest in Lady Honor, a romantic interest. You know that.' He took a deep breath. 'She would not have me and I would not press a lady who rejected me.' He fingered his emerald ring, then looked me in the eye. 'But the duke would.'

'The duke?'

He frowned. 'He does not just want her family lands in return for helping that boy. He wants Lady Honor as his mistress.'

'But, dear God, he's in his sixties.'

Marchamount shrugged. 'In some men the sap still runs into old age. The duke is one, though you would not think it to look at him. He would not approach her directly' — he laughed bitterly — 'he's too proud for that. He made me act as intermediary.'

'Poor Lady Honor.'

Marchamount shifted uncomfortably. 'It was a job I disliked, sir, but I could not gainsay the Duke of Norfolk. He said the Vaughan boy's a fool and a weakling, which is true enough, and he'd have to exert a mighty effort to get him accepted at court. He wanted a high price in return. Lady Honor knows his reputation for cruel ways with women; she's refused him time and again. But he's one of those that is only excited further by refusal.' He shifted uneasily again. 'I have had to try and persuade her. I told you, the duke is not one to be gainsaid.'

'What has Norfolk promised you in return? Help towards a knighthood perhaps?'

Marchamount set his lips. 'I want something for my family's future too. To advance one's family, that is no dishonourable thing.'

'Thirty pieces of silver would be the right reward for what you have done,' I said. Barak laughed harshly and Marchamount gave him a furious look. He glared at me, his face reddening further.

'How dare you talk to me like that! And you — you are no impartial witness. You lust after her yourself.'

'Come, Serjeant, you are losing control of yourself. So that is the whole story, is it?' I asked. 'No connection at all to Greek Fire? That is what I need to know, Marchamount.'

'I have told you before, I know nothing of that. Nothing.'

'Are you quite sure?'

The merest hesitation. 'Of course.' He ran a hand through his red hair, then began to bluster. 'You have troubled me enough with this. No gentleman—'

I stood. 'Come, Barak. I think I have an apology to make to Lady Honor.' Barak got up and made another bow to Marchamount, a mocking, exaggerated one.

The serjeant glared at me. 'You have embarrassed me, Shardlake, in front of this churl,' he said. 'I will not forget it.'

===OO=OOO=OO===

OUTSIDE IN THE courtyard, I turned to Barak. 'He's still keeping something back — I'd swear he is. But what? I'll have to talk to Lady Honor.'

'She won't be pleased you know this story. Nor at being questioned further.'

'There's no help for it. She knows my position. I'll go there now.'

'I suppose there's nothing else we can we do today. But—'

'What?' I asked impatiently.

'You should have squeezed what else he's hiding out of him. You shy at every fence,' he said in sudden irritation.

I glared at him. 'I do not shy. If I feel someone will say no more, and I've no evidence to use as a lever, I go and find the evidence. That's what I've always done and it's what I'm going to do now with Lady Honor.'

He grunted.

'What else could I do?' I raised my voice in exasperation. 'I pushed him as far as he'd go, how could I make him tell me more? How? Eh?'

'Threaten him with the earl, as you did with Bealknap.'

'And look where that led. No, I will leave him to stew in his own juice, see if Lady Honor can tell me more, then come back later. Unless you've a better idea.'

He shrugged. 'No. I haven't.'

'I'm going into chambers for a minute.'

I entered the office to find Skelly working by the light of a candle he hardly needed in the full daylight. 'Here again on Sunday, John?' I asked, hiding my irritation.

He gave me a shifty look. 'I'm behind, sir.'

I could not face looking over his scribbles. I turned to Godfrey's door. 'Master Wheelwright in?'

'Yes, sir.'

Godfrey was working quietly at his desk. 'Here on the Sabbath?' I asked. He looked at me seriously.

'God will forgive me. I want to get my cases in order. Word is I am to be disbarred if I don't apologize to the duke.' He smiled wryly. 'That will create a mighty furore. Perhaps it will make our brothers consider who it is we lawyers serve, God and the commonwealth or the Duke of Norfolk.'

'Many will ease their consciences by saying it was a matter of discourtesy, Godfrey, not religion.'

'Then they deceive themselves.'

'What will you do if you leave chambers?'

'Become a preacher.' He smiled. 'I believe that is what God is calling me to do.'

'Dangerous times may be coming.' If Cromwell falls, I thought. If I fail. If he doesn't get Greek Fire. The hideous tangle of loyalties I was caught in made me feel faint for a moment and I clutched at the edge of a chair.

'Are you all right, Matthew?'

I nodded. 'I have been working hard.'

'At least no more of your cases have gone,' he said.

'Good.' I decided to make one last attempt to make him see reason. 'Godfrey, would it not be a dreadful thing to throw over your position, the talent you have used these many years?' And yet, I thought even as I spoke the words, was that not what I too had been thinking of doing?

'Sometimes God calls us to a new life.'

'And to great tribulations.' I gave up. 'I may not be in for a few days now.'

I stepped back into the office, where Barak was talking to Skelly in a low voice. Getting gossip about me, I supposed. 'I'm going to Lady Honor's,' I said.

'I'll ride with you,' he said. 'Then I can call in at the Old Barge.'

We walked back down Chancery Lane in silence. I cursed inwardly. I had hoped Barak would leave me to go to Lady Honor's alone, for afterwards I planned to go to Guy's. But he seemed to be sticking to me today.

Chapter Thirty-seven

WE FETCHED THE HORSES and rode down to the City. Barak was still morose, saying little. As we rode under the Ludgate I noticed a patch of lighter colour in the wall where the repairs had been completed.

'The stones from the old synagogue came from there,' I said to make conversation.

Barak grunted. 'I bet the watchman had some ripe comments about Christ killers ready when you said they came from a synagogue.'

'I don't remember,' I said, though I well recalled that he had.

We rode on past St Paul's, the huge spire casting a welcome patch of shade. As we came into the sun again, Barak pulled his horse in close. 'Look round slowly,' he said. 'Don't stop the horse. By the bookstalls near St Paul's Cross.'

I turned and saw Toky leaning against a rail, ignoring the crowds and scanning the passers-by with that pale ravaged face of his.

'I thought he'd disappeared,' I said. 'Could we not try to apprehend him? Or call the constable?'

'If Toky's there, Wright's nearby and they'll be armed. I don't fancy a tussle with the two of them, and some old constable wouldn't last long.'

'They know a great deal. Their capture could solve many of our problems.'

'That's why Lord Cromwell's men are looking for them all over town. The yard's a good place to see who's coming in and out of the City. I wonder who he's looking out for.'

'Us probably.'

'Well, he missed us. I know who's dealing with it for the earl — I'll send word to them.' He shook his head, half-admiringly. 'They're as smart a pair of rogues as I've ever seen, the way they dodge about the City.'

'They swim in its filthy waters, hidden by its blackness.'

'You sounded like your evangelist friend Godfrey, then.' He rode on into the crowds of Cheapside and I followed, keeping a wary eye out even though Toky was far behind us.

===OO=OOO=OO===

WE PARTED COMPANY at the Walbrook. Barak went off to send a message to Cromwell, saying to my dismay that he would call to collect me in an hour at Lady Honor's. We should stay together, he said, if Toky was about. I could think of no objection, though that meant I could not go to Guy's. Barak rode off and I went on to Blue Lion Street.

At the House of Glass a couple of servants were washing the windows with vinegar. Informed that Lady Honor was at home, I passed Genesis to a stable boy and was ushered through the house to the inner courtyard. A servant was watering the plants set in pots round the walls. Lady Honor sat on a bench watching him. She wore a blue dress and her blonde hair was uncovered today, tied in a bun with a silk ribbon. She smiled in welcome.

'Matthew. This is an unexpected visit.'

I bowed. 'I apologize for coming unannounced. But—'

'Official business?'

'I fear so.'

She took a deep breath. 'Come then, sit with me. Edward, that will do for now. Finish the watering this evening.' The man bowed and left us. Lady Honor looked over her courtyard. 'I fear my little bushes are dying in the heat. See there, I have been trying to grow pomegranates, but my foolish servants know nothing about the care of plants, they water them at the wrong times, too much or too little.'

'Everything is dying in this fierce weather. The crops will be bad.'

'Will they?' she asked indifferently. 'But you have not come to talk of planting, I think.'

'No. Lady Honor, I have a confession.' I cursed my awkwardness. I should not be apologizing for questioning her, it was my duty. 'I know about the Duke of Norfolk's pursuit of you,' I said bluntly. 'I needed to follow up the question you left me with on the river bank. I spoke to Marchamount.'

I half-expected anger but she only turned away and stared ahead for a moment. When she turned back to me her face wore a tired smile. 'After we spoke on the river I feared you would report me to Cromwell and I should be in trouble. Did you ask Marchamount first to save me from the earl's rough ways?'

'Perhaps.'

'You are gentle with me, more than I deserve. I felt that if the duke's insulting demands were forced out of me by Cromwell, my honour would be less besmirched. A foolish notion, perhaps.'

'I am sorry I could not save you from my knowing.'

'At least you will not gossip like most would.' She looked at me seriously. 'Will you? It is a tasty morsel, I realize.'

'You know I think too much of you for that, Lady Honor.'

She laid a hand on mine for a second, then lifted it, although I had the odd sensation it was still there. 'You are a natural gentleman.' She sighed. 'I have sent Henry back to the country. He could never make his way at court. So I have been able to reject the crude advances of that old brute with a clear conscience.'

'I did not realize you disliked the duke so.'

'He is unfit for the position he occupies. He may be the senior peer of the realm, but his lineage is not old, you know.' She smiled. 'Unlike the Vaughans.'

I took a deep breath. 'Lady Honor, I must ask — for the last time, I promise — is there anything you have not told me that could be of any possible relevance, however remote, to my search for the Gristwoods' murderers?'

She looked at me impatiently. 'Matthew, I swore that already on the Bible. If you recall, I made oath the duke had put no pressure on me about Greek Fire. And I swore true. He has never mentioned it to me and Marchamount did so only to warn me against you. As I have said, I wish my foolish curiosity had never led me to look at those papers.'

I looked into her eyes. 'I felt when Marchamount spoke about the duke and you this morning he was still keeping something back.'

She smiled again. 'If he did, it is nothing to do with me, I swear. Shall I fetch the Bible again?'

I shook my head. 'No. That is not necessary. Forgive me.'

She looked at me indulgently. 'By Our Lady, you are a courteous inquisitor.'

'Marchamount would not agree.'

'That puffed-up creature.' She looked over her wilting plants again. 'He is a rogue despite his smoothness and he would do anything to advance himself.' She gave a shudder. 'I told you I am thinking of escaping to the country, to my Lincolnshire estates. I have had enough of the City, of Marchamount and the duke and everyone.' She smiled quickly. 'Almost everyone.'

'I would miss you. Though I have also been thinking of taking a quiet house in the country.'

She looked at me in surprise. 'Would not the country bore you?'

'I come from Lichfield — my father has the freehold of a farm there. Though he is old now, even his steward is not getting any younger. The farm is hard for them to manage.' I smiled sadly. 'But I have never been fitted to be a farmer, nor wanted to be one.'

'But he would like to have his son by him in his old age?'

'I don't know.' I shrugged. 'I always felt he was ashamed of me. Yet he seems pleased to see me when I visit, which I do not do enough.'

She was silent a moment, then asked quietly, 'The Wentworth girl comes back before the judge this week, does she not?'

'On Thursday the tenth. She is very ill and may not last till then.'

'Poor Matthew. How you take the sufferings of others on yourself.' She laid her hand on mine again and this time did not move it. I turned to her and she inclined her head towards me. Then she jerked away as footsteps sounded in the yard. I turned to see Barak standing with the steward, cap in hand. The steward's face was impassive but Barak was grinning broadly.

'Come at a bad time, have I?' he asked.

Lady Honor stood, her face dark with anger. 'Matthew, do you know this fellow?'

I rose too. 'This is Jack Barak,' I said hastily. 'He is assisting me. He works for Lord Cromwell.'

'Then the earl should teach him some manners.' She rounded on him. 'How dare you burst in on us like this? Do you not know how to comport yourself in a lady's house?'

Barak reddened too, his eyes angry. 'I have a message for Master Shardlake from Lord Cromwell.'

'Have you never been told to bow to a lady? And what is the matter with your head? Do you have nits? You had better not spread them in my house.' She spoke with a harshness I had never heard from her, but Barak had been extremely discourteous.

'I am sorry, Lady Honor,' I said quickly. 'Perhaps we should withdraw.' I took a step away, then gasped as my head swam. My legs seemed suddenly heavy and I half-fell, half-sat on the bench again. Lady Honor's face was at once full of concern.

'Matthew, what is it?'

I struggled up, though my head still swam. 'I am sorry — the heat—'

'Come inside,' she said. 'You,' she snapped at Barak, 'help your master. This is your fault.'

Barak gave her a hard look but put my arm round his shoulder and helped me into the parlour, then sat me on a pile of cushions. Lady Honor waved him away. He gave her another look, but left the room.

'I am sorry. A moment's weakness—' I struggled to get up. What a fool I must look. Damn Barak, if he had not come then—

Lady Honor stepped to a cabinet. I heard her pour some liquid into a glass. She crossed and knelt beside me, smiling gently. 'I have some aqua vitae here, my apothecary prescribes it for faintness.'

'Aqua vitae?' I laughed as I took the delicate little glass she gave me.

'You have heard of it?'

'Oh, yes.' I took a cautious sip of the colourless liquid. It burned, but far less than the Polish stuff. It seemed to reawaken me. 'Thank you,' I said.

She looked at me thoughtfully. 'I think you have had much to try you, it has brought you low. Who is that creature?'

'Lord Cromwell has set him to work with me on the Greek Fire matter. He lacks grace, I fear.' I stood up, ashamed at my weakness. 'Lady Honor, I must go. If Barak has a message from the earl I must attend to it.'

'Come again soon,' she said, 'to dinner. Just the two of us. No Marchamount, no duke, no Barak.' She smiled.

'I should like that, Lady Honor.'

'Honor will do.'

We stood facing each other a moment. I was tempted to lean forward and kiss her, but I merely bowed and left the room. Outside I cursed myself for my cowardice.

Barak was standing glowering in the hall. I led the way out and we stood waiting while the horses were brought round.

'What was the message?' I asked curtly.

'He's brought the meeting forward, to eleven o'clock.'

'Was that all? It could have waited.'

'A message from the earl could have waited? I think not. What did Lady Honor tell you, by the way?'

'She confirmed the Duke of Norfolk has sought her for his mistress; she didn't want to talk about it, felt it would have been less dishonourable to her if the information was forced from her by Cromwell.'

He grunted. 'It wasted our time.'

'It was fealty to her family.'

'You are sure she knows no more?'

'She knows nothing more than what she has told me before. I am convinced of that now.'

'Rude woman,' he said.

'God's death,' I snapped, 'you are a churl. You enjoy mocking your betters, don't you? Refinement seems a crime in your eyes.'

'She's got haughty ways and a vile tongue,' Barak said, 'like all her class. People like her grow rich on the sweat of those who toil on their lands. Put her out to fend for herself and she wouldn't last a week.' He smiled bitterly. 'They use honeyed words when it suits them, but see how they address their inferiors and you divine their true natures.'

'Oh, you are a bitter man, Jack Barak,' I said. 'Your time in the gutter has soured you like an old apple. She has more care for the people around her than you do.'

'And you?' he asked unexpectedly. 'Do you have a care for your servants?'

I laughed. 'You are hardly a servant. If you were I should have put you out long ago.'

'I did not mean me. I mean your clerk John Skelly. Has it never occurred to you why his copying is so bad, why he works with a candle?'

'What on earth do you mean?'

'The man is half blind.'

'What?'

'He can hardly see. I noticed it the first time I saw him. He's afraid to say anything lest you put him on the street. But you didn't notice, did you? Neither you nor your holy friend, Brother Wheelwright.'

I stared at him, realizing that if Skelly could not see properly that would explain all his inefficiencies. 'I — I did not think—'

'No. He was beneath notice,' Barak replied bitterly. He jammed his cap back on his head as a boy appeared, leading the horses. 'Well, where to now?' he said. 'Did the fine lady tell you anything new?'

'No. Whatever Marchamount is hiding, I think perhaps it is now time to leave the earl to pressure him.'

Barak grunted. 'You're seeing sense at last.'