‘Those tents can’t stand there for ever,’ he said. ‘Damn the Scotch King.’
‘Still no word of his arrival, sir?’
‘That’s not your business.’ He changed the subject. ‘I’ll tell Radwinter he can go back to work. And you’re still to keep an eye on Broderick. Visit him at least once a day, without fail. He might try something else.’ He looked at me speculatively. ‘If Broderick’s poisoning was all his own doing, that means it’s only you someone is trying to kill.’
‘It seems so.’
‘Make sure you do as I ordered, keep your randy clerk with you. That’s all.’ He waved a quill dismissively, and I bowed and left. As I walked away I felt more determined than ever to say nothing to Maleverer about what had happened with the Queen and Culpeper; I could not trust him a single inch. He disliked me strongly; he would do me ill if he could.
OUTSIDE THE WIND WAS dropping, though still blowing hard. Barak was waiting for me. As we walked past the pavilions I saw a familiar plump figure going into the church: Master Craike, his robe billowing round his ankles.
‘Here’s the chance to resolve another mystery,’ I said.
The church was a hive of activity. Grooms went to and fro, straw and dung lay everywhere, and forges flared red in every side-chapel. In the daylight I saw the walls were smeared with dirt and graffiti, crude drawings of bare-breasted women and men with gigantic penises.
‘Where is he?’ Barak asked.
‘He’s probably gone to the belltower.’ I paused and looked at a charred heap of straw that had been piled against the wall; the bear’s body was long gone.
Craike had disappeared by the time I reached the door to the belltower, but the guard confirmed he had gone up. We found him sitting on a stool, a picnic meal on his knee, staring out of the window. He looked up at me in surprise. ‘Why, Master Shardlake, what brings you up here?’ His greeting was cheerful but his eyes, again, were watchful. He smiled at the bread and cold meat spread on a cloth on his lap. ‘I have had a busy day, I thought to escape up here and have some food. I never tire of looking out over the camp. It is a strange thing to watch it from up here, like a bird on the wing.’
I looked from the window, screwing my eyes up against the wind that whistled round the belltower. I saw again, in the fading light, the hundreds of men sitting before the tents, playing cards or watching cockfights. Campfires were lit, the wind blowing the smoke in all directions. A large group of workmen were digging fresh latrines near the ranks of carts. Craike came and joined me.
‘They are having problems with the sewage,’ he said. ‘You can imagine, with more than two thousand in the camp it becomes disgusting if they stay in one place more than a few days. There’s fields along the route so choked with filth they’ll not be able to use them for years. They’re worried about it all getting into the river, killing the fish. Filth will seep out, you see. It seeps out.’
I looked at his plump, bland face, then took a deep breath. ‘Master Craike, there is something I must discuss with you.’
‘Indeed. You sound serious, sir.’ He looked from me to Barak and laughed nervously.
‘It is serious.’
He went and sat back down on his stool.
‘You remember those papers?’ I asked. ‘That were stolen from me, in your old office?’
‘I am hardly likely to forget, sir.’
‘You know it was important.’
‘I know I was roughly searched by Maleverer’s men. He told me to say no more about the matter, and I have not.’
‘Barak saw you a few nights ago, going into an inn in York. To the White Hart.’
He looked at Barak and I caught a flicker of fear in his eyes.
‘What has that to do with the hunt for those wretched papers?’ There was a tremor in his voice.
‘We were there last night. And I learned the innkeeper there can arrange to provide – well, certain women…’
A shudder ran through Craike’s body then, and his face turned scarlet.
‘Is that why you went there?’
He did not reply, but buried his face in his hands.
‘Come,’ I said sharply. ‘Answer me.’
His voice was a shaky whisper. ‘I am ashamed. Ashamed to show you my face.’
‘I have no wish to shame you, Master Craike. Look at me.’
With a great sigh, he lifted his face to me. He looked suddenly old, his red face haggard, tears in the corners of his pale blue eyes.
‘That inn is a hateful place,’ he said. ‘But Jesu knows I have seen enough like it in London. Oh, I may seem like a fellow who has succeeded in life, I know.’ He laughed bitterly, then began talking rapidly, words tumbling over each other. ‘I have a wife, children, a good position, respect. But – but you do not know me, I am a bad unworthy man, a sinful man. The priests who taught me as a child knew that, they mocked me and – and hurt me. And I need to be hurt, ’tis only then I feel safe.’ He laughed then, with such hollow bitterness it made me shudder.
What he said should have disgusted me but I only felt sorry for him, caught as he was in some trap of the mind I could barely comprehend.
‘How did you find it?’ I asked. ‘Was it through the glazier Oldroyd?’
‘No. I sounded him out about the brothels in the town, said I was asking on behalf of the officials who would be coming, but he knew nothing. He was a respectable man. No, I asked others in the city and they led me to the White Hart.’
‘Well, if that is all,’ I said, ‘it is no business of mine.’
‘If that is all.’ He sighed again, as though he would wrench out his heart. His expression changed, seemed to shift from his private hell to the real world again. ‘It is not all. There is a house I frequent in Southwark. The madam there is a paid spy of Sir Richard Rich.’
‘Rich,’ I said slowly. ‘I know that Cromwell used such methods.’ I glanced again at Barak.
‘And when he was executed Rich took over his networks. Paid those in charge of certain houses to give him names. Oh, I was of no interest to Lord Cromwell, I was too lowly. But Rich is a different matter. You know my work, I allocate accommodation to courtiers in the King’s London palaces as I do here.’
‘Yes.’
‘And Sir Richard Rich hungers for property like no man in England. And if I certify to the Chamberlain that this or that London house that belonged to some monastery is unfit to accommodate courtiers, then it will be sold cheaply. And Richard Rich will be ready to snap it up.’
‘He is blackmailing you?’
‘If I do not cooperate with him he will tell my wife. She is a fierce woman, sir. She would leave me, tell the world of my sins and I would never see my children again.’ The tears began flowing down his cheeks. Then, suddenly, he brushed them aside and looked at me defiantly. ‘Well, that is the truth. Nothing to do with your stolen papers or the attack on you. If you tell, you will incur Sir Richard’s wrath, I warn you, and that is no light thing. And ruin me.’
‘Is he putting pressure on you now?’
‘Yes. Maleverer wants a London house. There is a property near Smithfield that is in royal ownership. He and Rich will share the difference between the price I set for the London house and its true value.’
‘I see,’ I said. ‘Maleverer is trying to get hold of land up here too, I think.’
‘I know nothing of that. I beg you, sir,’ Craike said. ‘Keep my secret.’
‘I will say nothing, Master Craike. None of this is any concern of mine.’
‘Truly?’ I saw hope rise in his face.
‘I swear. I would help you if I could. It seems to me Rich is the greater rogue in this.’
He sagged with relief. ‘Thank you. Thank you. And…’
‘Yes?’
‘You do not even mock me,’ he said wonderingly. ‘Most men would.’
I looked into Craike’s haggard face, and wondered at the strange darkness that lay behind it. But then darkness lies behind so many faces.
‘I know mockery too well,’ I answered.