Heartstone

'The hearing is set for ten, the Court of Wards at Westminster. If you could come early.'

Broughton bowed and returned to the dim interior of the church. As we walked through the lych gate Barak turned to me. 'Justice? He won't see that in the Court of Wards.' He gave a bitter laugh. 'Only harsh judgement, like he says God gives.'

'If Michael Calfhill deserves to be in Hell, perhaps even the Court of Wards' judgement is better than God's. Come, let's change the subject. We are talking heresy in the street.'

* * *

MICHAEL CALFHILL'S lodgings lay at the other end of the city, in the warren of streets down by the river. The afternoon was well on as we turned into a narrow alley, where high old dwellings with overhanging eaves had been converted into lodging houses, old paint flaking onto the muddy ground. Chickens rooted in the dust. At a tavern on the corner a group of seven or eight apprentices in their late teens, many with swords at the belts of their blue robes, gave us hostile looks. The tallest, a fair-haired, heavy-set lad, fixed me with a hard stare. Perhaps he thought my lawyer's robe the uniform of a French spy. Barak put a hand to his own sword and the boy turned away.

Barak knocked on an unpainted wooden door. It was answered by a pretty young woman, an apron over her cheap wool dress. She smiled at him in recognition before giving me a deep curtsey. This must be Michael's downstairs neighbour; I guessed Barak had charmed her.

'I've brought Master Shardlake, Sally,' he said lightly. 'The lawyer that has an interest in poor Michael's affairs. Did Constable Harman give you the key?'

'Yes, sir. Come in.'

We followed her into a damp hallway, through an inner door into her lodging, a small room with dirty rushes on the floor, a table and a bed. An old iron key lay on the table. There was no glass in the windows, and the slats in the shutters were open. I saw the apprentices watching the house. Sally followed my gaze. 'They've been hanging around there for days,' she said. 'I wish they'd go away.'

'What guild are they from?' I asked. 'Their masters should keep them under better control.'

'I don't know. A lot of apprentices have lost their places with goods so dear. My husband worked as a messenger for the German traders at the Steelyard, but there's no trade now with ships being impounded everywhere. He's out looking for work.' Her face was weary.

Barak picked up the key. 'Can we have a look?'

'Yes. Poor Michael,' she added sadly.

I followed Barak up a flight of narrow stairs. He turned the key in the lock of a battered door at the back of the house. It creaked open. The shutters on the little window were closed, only dim shapes visible. Barak pulled them open. I saw the room was small, patches of damp on the walls. There was a narrow straw bed, a pillow with a torn sheet splayed across it. An old chest beside the bed was open, revealing an untidy heap of clothes. The only other furniture was a scarred table and a chair that lay overturned on the floor. A quill and a dusty, dried-up inkpot stood on the table. Looking up, I saw a strip of white sheet knotted to the roof beam, the end cut.

'Christ's wounds,' I said. 'It's been left as it was when he was cut down.'

'Maybe the coroner ordered it kept as it was for the jury's inspection.'

'Then forgot to tell the landlord he could clear it. That sounds like Coroner Grice.' I stared around the miserable room where Michael had spent his last days. Barak went to the chest and started searching the contents. 'There's only clothes here,' he said. 'Clothes and a few books. A plate and spoon wrapped up in a cloth.'

'Let me see.' I looked at the books—Latin and Greek classics, a tutor's books. There was also a copy of Roger Ascham's Toxophilus, his treatise on archery that the Queen told me the Lady Elizabeth was reading. I said, 'They should have taken all these things as exhibits.'

'The coroner was only here five minutes.' Sally was standing in the doorway. She looked around the room sadly. 'Isn't that why you're here, sir, to question the careless way the coroner handled matters?'

'Yes, that's right,' Barak said before I could reply. Sally looked round the room. 'It's just as I saw it that night. Constable Harman forced the door open, then he cried out. Samuel ran up to see what was happening and I followed.' She stared bleakly at the strip of linen hanging from the beam. 'Poor Master Calfhill. I've seen a hanging, sir, and I saw from his face he'd strangled slowly, not broken his neck.' She crossed herself.

'What was he wearing?'

She looked at me in surprise. 'Just a jerkin and hose.'

'Was he carrying anything at his belt? They would have exhibited it at the inquest.'

'Only a purse, sir, with a few coins, and a little gold cross his mother recognized as his at the inquest. Poor old woman.'

'No dagger?'

'No, sir. Samuel and I noticed he never wore one.' She smiled sadly. 'We thought him foolish. Master Calfhill didn't understand how rough it can be down here.'

I looked at Barak. 'So what did he use to cut up the sheet to hang himself?' Turning back to Sally, I asked, 'Did they say anything about that at the inquest?'

She smiled sadly. 'No, sir. The coroner just seemed to want to get through everything quickly.'

'I see.' I looked at the roof-beam again. 'What was Michael like, Sally?'

'Samuel and I used to jest that he lived in a world of his own. Walking about in fine clothes, which isn't really safe round here. I would have thought he could have afforded better lodgings. But he didn't seem to care about the dirt or the rats. He seemed lost in thought most of the time.' She paused, then added, 'Not happy thoughts. We used to wonder if he was one of those whose minds are perplexed about religion. Samuel and I just worship the way the King commands,' she added quickly.

'The constable told me he had some trouble with the corner boys,' Barak said. 'Was it the ones outside?'

She shook her head. 'I didn't hear that. It can't have been them. Those boys have only been there these last few days.'

'One question more,' I said. It was something no one had mentioned so far. 'What did Michael Calfhill look like?'

She thought. 'He was small, thin, with a comely face and brown hair. It was starting to recede though I doubt he was thirty.'

'Thank you. Here, for your trouble in helping us—'

She hesitated, but took the coin. She curtsied and left, closing the door behind her. Barak had gone over to the window. 'Come and look at this,' he said.

I went over. Directly underneath was the sloping roof of an outhouse, covered with mossy tiles, above a small yard. 'Someone could have climbed up there easily,' Barak said. 'I could get up, even now with all my easy living.' He patted his stomach.

I looked out. From here I could see the river, busy as ever with barges carrying equipment down to the sea. 'There are no tiles off the roof,' I said. 'They look old, someone climbing up would surely have dislodged a few.' I turned back to the room, looked up at the beam. 'If someone climbed up into the room and grabbed him in bed, there would have been a struggle.'

'Not if they knocked him out as he slept, then strung him up.'

'That would have left a mark on his head. The jury would have seen it at the viewing of the body.'

'Not if it was above the hairline, and they didn't look hard.'

I considered carefully. 'Remember what this case is about. The management of some lands down in Hampshire, maybe a fee for marrying off Hugh Curteys. In three years the boy will reach his majority and the lands will be his. Would Nicholas Hobbey order Michael killed just to protect that? When he could hang for it? A man with status and a family?'

'Maybe Michael discovered something Hobbey would hang for anyway.'