'I must go, Godfrey,' I said quietly. 'I have to prepare the Common Council's case against Bealknap.' I looked at his set face. 'But if the fine is heavy and places you in difficulty, you can always come to me.'
His face softened again. 'Thank you, Matthew.' He shook his head. 'It is a sad thing the profits of the dissolution go to base men of spoil like Bealknap. They should be used to fund hospitals and true Christian schools for the commonwealth.'
'Yes, they should.' But I recalled Lady Honor's words about the making of fortunes being all men cared for now.
I WORKED ON THE case for two hours, revising case notes and sketching out my arguments. Then I gathered my papers into my satchel, slung it over my shoulder and went across to the library. I wanted to follow up what one of the papers Gristwood had gathered from St Bartholomew's had said about something like Greek Fire being known to the Romans hundreds of years before the Byzantines. What was the substance the Romans had used, yet been unable to develop in the way the Byzantines had? That was strange, given the legendary efficiency of Rome's armed forces.
Most windows were dark now but there was a yellow glow from the library window. I went in. The huge bookshelves loomed over me in the semi-darkness. The only light came from the librarian's desk, where Master Rowley was working surrounded by a little ring of candles. The librarian was a scholarly old fellow who loved nothing better than to pore over legal works, and he was deep in a volume of Bracton. He had never been near a court, yet had an encyclopaedic knowledge of case law and was often discreetly consulted by the serjeants. He got up and bowed as I approached.
'May I take a candle, Rowley? I have some books to find.'
He smiled eagerly. 'Anything I can help you find? Property law, aren't you, Master Shardlake?'
'Not tonight, thank you.' I lifted a candle from the rack and lit it from one of those on Rowley's desk. Then I crossed to the shelf where works on Roman law and history were kept. I had a list of works the papers had referred to: Livy, Plutarch, Lucullus, the great chroniclers.
Every single book I needed was gone. The row was gap-toothed, half empty. I frowned. Had Michael Gristwood been here before me? Yet books were lent rarely and only to senior barristers; Gristwood had been a mere attorney. Rowley's desk was strategically placed, no one could have walked out with half a dozen books without him seeing them. I walked back to his desk. He looked up with an enquiring smile.
'All the books I need have been taken out, Rowley. Every one on this list.' I handed it to him. 'I'm surprised at so many being allowed out. Can you tell me who has them?'
He frowned at the list. 'These books haven't been borrowed, sir. Are you sure they haven't been misfiled?' He looked up at me and in the uneasiness of his smile I knew the old fellow was lying.
'There are big gaps in the shelf. Come, you must have a list of books that are lent out?'
He licked his lips uneasily at my severe tone. 'I'll see, sir,' he said. He made a pretence of consulting a paper, then took a deep breath and looked up at me again.
'No, sir. These have not been taken out. The clerk must have misfiled them, I'll have a search done tomorrow.'
I felt a pang of sorrow that he could lie to me thus. Yet I saw too that he was frightened.
'This is a serious business, Master Rowley. I need those books and they are valuable. I must raise this with the keeper of the library.'
'If you must, sir,' he said, swallowing.
'I shall see Keeper Heath.' But whoever Rowley was scared of, he was more frightened of them than of the keeper. He only repeated, 'If you must.'
I turned and left him. Outside I clenched my fists and swore. Every turn I took someone else had been there first. But I had learned something; what was in those books had a bearing on the Greek Fire story. I had other sources; I would go to the Guildhall library.
I walked to the gate, noticing that the weather had changed; there was a close, sticky feel to the air. The watchman called, 'Good night.' As I turned down Chancery Lane I saw a flicker of movement by the gatehouse. I turned quickly and saw a burly young man with a round, dull-looking face and a warty nose standing just by the gatehouse, his face momentarily illumined by the light from the window. My hand went to the dagger at my belt. The man's eyes followed my movement, then turned away and I heard footsteps disappearing up the lane.
I stepped back under the gatehouse arch, breathing heavily. A man with wens on his nose, George Green had said. I looked around to see if the pock-faced man was here too, peering into the shadows of the walls of the Domus opposite, but could see nobody. The big man no doubt had followed me to the Inn unnoticed and waited to see if he could jump me when I emerged. I shivered.
I waited a little longer, then walked carefully up the dark lane, my ears on the alert. It was a relief at last to turn into my gate, but I cursed as I realized it would be foolish to go out alone at night again.
Chapter Nineteen
NEXT MORNING I ROSE to find a bank of heavy clouds louring over the City. The air coining through my open bedroom window was heavy, oppressive. It was the first of June; nine days till Elizabeth returned to the Old Bailey courthouse and to the demonstration of Greek Fire before the king.
Over breakfast I told Barak about the missing books and the man in the shadows by Lincoln's Inn. In return he related what he had discovered during his evening touring the taverns. He had heard that the strange Baltic drink had been offered for sale at a riverside tavern in Billingsgate, the Blue Boar. He had also visited the taverns round Walbrook but found none of the Wentworths' servants; they were known as a sober, churchy lot.
'I got to speak to the servant from the house next door, but he said only that the Wentworths kept themselves to themselves. He bent my ear for an hour about how his old dog had gone missing.'
'You had a busy night.' Despite the beer he must have quaffed last night, Barak looked quite fresh.
'I did some more asking after pock-face and the man with the wens on his face too. Nothing. They must be out-of-town men. I was starting to wonder if they'd been called off, but it seems not from what you say.'
Joan entered with a note. I tore open the seal.
'From Goodwife Gristwood. She'll meet us at Lothbury at twelve. If the case is heard on time we can make it by then.'
'I'll come to Westminster with you first, if you like.'
There was nothing else he could usefully do that morning. 'Thank you. I will feel safer. Have you something in sober black?'
'Ay, I can look respectable when I need. Lady Honor's tonight.' He winked. 'Bet you're looking forward to that.'
I grunted. I had not mentioned meeting her at Lincoln's Inn; Barak would have upbraided me for not questioning her there and then. And he would have been right, I thought.
As we walked down to catch a boat at Temple Stairs I noticed people casting looks at the louring sky. I was already sweating in the heavy, putrid air. With luck there would be a thunderstorm soon. Early as it was, a little crowd had gathered along Fleet Street. I wondered what they were waiting for, then heard the grate of iron wheels on cobbles and a cry of 'Courage, brothers!' It was hanging day. I watched as a big cart, drawn by four horses, passed by, a group of guards in red and white City livery walking alongside. It was on its way to Tyburn, going via Fleet Street so more of the populace might see – and be warned where crime led.