Heartstone

'You'll need someone with you if you go. This could be a dirty business. Ellen's matter too.'

'You're not going, not with Tamasin about to give birth. A gentleman might take a steward on such a journey, but I'd rather join the army myself than take Coldiron. I'll arrange something with Warner.' I shook my head. 'Wardship. Do you know what the motto of the Court of Wards is? Emblazoned above the door. "Pupillis Orphanis et Viduis Adiutor."'

'You know I'm no hand at Latin.'

'It means, a helper to wards, orphans and widows. There's a verbal reference to Maccabees, about the aftermath of a war: "when they had given part of the spoils to the maimed, and the widows, and orphans."'

'Now you're showing off.'

'It just struck me that whoever invented that had a dark sense of humour.'

Barak was quiet a moment, then said, 'I can think of a candidate.'

'Who?'

'I remember Lord Cromwell telling me he had been given an idea that could bring great revenue to the King. By granting out the lands of the monasteries on terms of knight service, bringing all the buyers within the scope of wardship.' He looked at me steadily. 'The man who gave him the idea was the head of the Court of Augmentations, which dealt with the monastic properties.'

'Richard Rich.'

'He was in charge of liveries in the old Office of Wards too. He put the two ideas together.'

'I'd forgotten Rich used to deal with wardships.'

'That rat has had a finger in every dirty pie. He betrayed my master that gave him office. Turned on him and condemned him when he lost the King's favour.' Barak clenched his fist, hard.

'You still remember Cromwell with affection.'

'Yes.' There was defiance in his tone. 'He was like a father to me. He took me off the streets when I was a lad. How could I not remember him well?'

'He was the hardest of men. Promoted many of the hard men we have over us now. Like Sir William Paulet.'

Barak shifted in his seat. 'I didn't like a lot of the things he got me to do,' he said quietly. 'Organizing spies and informers, occasionally frightening someone he thought needed it. But the people against him at court were no better, they hated him for his lowly origins as much as his radical religion. I sometimes still think of those days, my old work. Sometimes it used to make me feel alive.'

'Doesn't Tamasin make you feel alive? And the prospect of the child?'

He looked at me as seriously as he ever had. 'Yes. More than anything. But it's a different sort of alive. I know I can't have both.' He was silent a moment, then stood. 'Come, I'd best get back or I'll be in more trouble.'

Beyond the partition the shouting and singing continued. As I walked past, I turned my head to avoid Coldiron's eye. One of the students was sprawled across the table now, dead drunk. Coldiron's voice sounded out again, slurred now.

'Twenty years I was a soldier. I've served in Carlisle, Boulogne, even in the Tower. All in the King's service.' His voice rose. 'I killed the Scottish King. At Flodden, that great and mighty battle. The Scottish pikemen ran down the hill at us, their cannons firing behind, but we did not flinch.'

'Englishmen never flinch!' one of the students shouted, and the group slapped their hands loudly on the table.

'Did you never want to settle down, Master Coldiron?' one of the apprentices asked.

'With this face? Never. Besides, who wants a woman bossing them around? Ever heard the saying, "There is but one shrew in the world and every man has her for a wife!"'

Laughter from the table followed us as we went out. And I thought, if you never married, then who is Josephine?

Chapter Seven

NEXT MORNING I set out for the Guildhall towards ten. I had sent Timothy round to Alderman Carver's house the previous night with a message, and he had returned saying Carver could not see me earlier. It was a nuisance, for I had much to do. I had then sent a note to Barak's house saying I would meet him outside St Evelyn's church at eleven.

After breakfast I again put on my best robe, coif and cap to impress Alderman Carver. I went into the parlour, where Guy, having breakfasted early as usual, was sitting at the table, reading his treasured copy of Vesalius's De Humani Corporis Fabrica. His first copy had been stolen two years before by his former apprentice, and it had taken him much cost and trouble to find another. He was running a finger down one of the beautiful but gruesome illustrations, a flayed arm.

'Studying again, I see, Guy.'

'The intelligence of this book never ceases to astonish me.' He smiled sadly. 'Coldiron saw me reading it the other day and was very interested. Favoured me with stories of how much he saw of men's insides at Flodden.'

'He would. Guy, what do you think of Josephine?'

He leaned back, considering. 'She is shy. Not happy, I think. But that is hardly surprising with Coldiron for a father. She too saw me reading Vesalius the other day. She turned away and looked quite sick.'

'I don't blame her. She doesn't have a young man, does she?'

'No. A pity, for she is good-natured and could be pretty enough if she cared anything for her appearance.'

'Coldiron is always criticizing her. That does little for her confidence.'

'I was in the hall a few days ago and heard him shouting at her in the kitchen. Calling her a silly, empty-headed wench for dropping something. She burst into tears. I was surprised to hear Coldiron speak to her in comforting tones then. He said, "You're safe with me." Calling her his JoJo like he does.'

'Safe from what?' I shook my head. 'I plan to dismiss him, but I wonder if there is any way of keeping her.'

'I fear she relies on him entirely.'

I sighed. 'Well, I must be gone. To try and save Barak from the soldier's life Coldiron brags about so.'

* * *

AFTER THE STORM it was a cool, clear day with blue skies. As I walked along I thought about what I had discovered regarding Ellen. Like a good lawyer, I considered questions of organization, power. Some arrangement had been made with whoever was Bedlam warden in 1526, and kept going since. But by whom? Somehow, I did not know how, I had to rescue her.

I walked down Cheapside again. It was another busy morning, more angry arguments going on about the new coins. I heard a couple of traders say the hailstorm had flattened many of the crops round London so there would be a dearth of grain again this year.

I turned up to the Guildhall, and mounted the steps into the wide, echoing entrance hall. Master Carver was waiting for me, resplendent in his red alderman's robes. Beside him, to my surprise, stood the bearded officer from Lincoln's Inn Fields in his white and red uniform and with a sword at his belt. He looked at me grimly.

'Good morning, Serjeant Shardlake,' Carver said heartily. 'I am sorry to hear of your clerk's problem.' He turned to the soldier. 'Master Goodryke wished to be here, as the matter concerns him.' The officer's heavy brows drew together in a frown.

'Your man was impertinent, sir,' he said. 'His behaviour was a defiance of the King's authority. He does not possess a bow and did not even pretend to have been practising.'

'That seems to be true of many,' I answered mildly.

'It is no excuse. I'm told by the constable this Barak is of Jewish stock; perhaps that's why he shows no loyalty to England when we're about to be invaded.'

I thought, so that story's got round. I forced a smile. 'Barak can be—a little disrespectful. But he is a loyal Englishman; he worked for years for Lord Cromwell.'