household have remained at Portchester,' I said.
'They're here.'
'I have been engaged on a piece of legal business for the Queen at Portsmouth. There has been a development and I need to speak with Master Warner.'
The captain stared. 'I'd have thought they'd be too busy there to bother with lawyer's quibbles.'
'This matter started before the present crisis. I think Master Warner will want to see me.'
He grunted disapproval, but beckoned a young soldier across, gave him the letter, and told him to find Warner. The soldier ran off to the drawbridge.
'Did you see his majesty enter Portsmouth?' the petty-captain asked.
'He arrived just before I left. He had a fine welcome.'
He jerked his head back at the castle behind him. 'We may have to defend this place from the French. They say there's thirty thousand of them.' He laughed bitterly, muttered 'Lawyer's quibbles,' again. We waited in silence, the hot sun beating down on us, till the young soldier ran back. 'He'll see the lawyer, sir,' he told the officer.
ONE OF THE soldiers took the horse, and the officer, with ill grace, led me across the drawbridge. We passed through the big gatehouse, guarded by more soldiers, which gave entrance to the castle and came out into a huge open space where there were yet more soldiers' tents. Men were drilling and practising with their bows on the cropped grass. Ahead of me was an enormous storehouse. The door was open and I saw it was near empty; most of the stores would have been taken to Portsmouth. A path ran straight across the enclosure to another gate on the opposite side, giving on to the harbour. Soldiers patrolled the walls and I saw the dark shapes of cannon; if the French managed to enter the harbour they might try to land here.
We turned left towards the tall inner keep; it was surrounded by a complex of smaller buildings, closed off by internal walls and protected by a continuation of the moat. The petty-captain had to explain his mission to the guards stationed there before he was allowed to lead me across the inner moat into a central yard. With the King away few people remained there. We passed through a high ornate door, then climbed a flight of steps to a great hall with a splendid hammerbeam roof. I was handed on to an official who led me down a narrow corridor into a small antechamber, telling me to wait. There were some cushioned chairs; I sat down wearily. It was quiet; a clock on the buffet ticked steadily. The sun streamed in through an arched window.
The door opened and Warner entered, my letter in his hand. He looked agitated. 'Matthew, what is this?' he asked. 'I hope it is urgent.'
I stood and bowed. 'It is. I need to speak with you, Robert.'
'Why are you still here?' he asked sharply. 'The Queen recommended you to leave. You know the King is here?'
'I saw him enter Portsmouth two hours ago.'
'Please tell me nothing more has happened at Hoyland Priory. The Queen was most concerned to learn of that woman's death.'
'A man has been arrested for Abigail Hobbey's murder, a local yeoman. I believe he is innocent.'
He waved a hand impatiently. 'The Queen cannot deal with that now.'
'And I have been warned to drop the Curteys case. By none other than Sir Richard Rich.'
I watched carefully for Warner's reaction, but he only looked surprised. 'What on earth has Rich to do with Hoyland?'
'I do not know. But I remember the day I came to Hampton Court to see the Queen, Rich was standing in a doorway in Clock Court when I left her. With Sir Thomas Seymour. They took the opportunity to bait me a little, but I thought the meeting was ill chance. Now I am not so sure.'
He shook his head. 'I can make nothing of this.'
I continued, 'I believe I mentioned I wished to take the opportunity to look into another matter down here.'
'You did.' He frowned. 'If there is a connection to the Hugh Curteys case, you should have told the Queen.'
'I have only recently discovered there may be a link. A man called Sir Quintin Priddis.'
'Matthew, the Queen cannot be troubled with this now,' he said sharply. 'The King needs her full support. You were told to leave—'
I said quickly, 'I have been investigating how a woman called Ellen Fettiplace came to be placed in the Bedlam nineteen years ago, despite there being no certificate of lunacy. Sir Quintin Priddis was involved. My trail led me to a town near the Sussex border, Rolfswood, where the body of her late father was recently discovered. It looks like murder. I have been talking to the man who was to marry her. He is now assistant purser on the
I watched Warner's face as I recited those names, but he still only looked puzzled and annoyed. 'Master West told me an extraordinary tale,' I continued. 'When he was young he was at court. He was favoured by the King and chosen to take a letter from Petworth to Hever Castle, the same summer of 1526 that Ellen's father disappeared and she went to the Bedlam. The letter was stolen by the man West was travelling with, a young lawyer in Catherine of Aragon's service.'
'What is all this to do—'
I continued relentlessly. 'He believes the lawyer was a spy for Catherine of Aragon and took the letter to her. It may have given her early warning of the King's intention to divorce her. West told the King the letter was lost, not stolen. He told me the man who stole it was named Gregory Jackson, and that he is dead, but I have wondered whether West might have been lying.'
Warner stared at me; then he reddened and his face grew hard. 'What are you saying?' I did not answer. 'You know I was a young lawyer in Catherine of Aragon's household then.' He said quietly, 'You think it might have been me.' He took a deep breath. 'Very well.'
He turned round and walked to the door. 'Wait here,' he said. Before I could move he had gone, closing the door. I heard him call out to a guard to watch it.
FOR HALF AN HOUR I waited and sweated. And I thought, Barak was right, I have become obsessed; if he had come here with me, I would have led us both into danger. When the door opened I jumped involuntarily, my heart in my mouth. Warner was there, two guards with halberds behind him. 'Come with me,' he said abruptly. I went out, the guards taking positions behind me.
Warner led me downstairs, our feet clattering on stone flags, and I thought with horror, this is a castle, it will have dungeons. But he stopped on the ground floor, took me along a corridor and then opened a door that led, to my surprise, into a small, secluded garden surrounded by trees. Vines hung from trellises and flowers grew in little banks by the walls. There, shaded by a trellis, the Queen sat, the spaniel Rig on her knee, two maids-in- waiting standing behind her. She wore a dress in her favourite crimson and a hood patterned with flowers, tiny diamonds sewn into the petals. She looked up at me and I saw her face was tight with strain, dark circles under the eyes. Her body was tense, rigid, her face angry. I bowed deeply.
'Matthew!' The Queen's tone was low, hurt. 'Master Warner tells me you have accused him of being in the pay of that scoundrel Richard Rich.'
I turned to Warner, who gazed back at me steadily. 'I made no accusation, your majesty. But I feared —'
'He has told me. It sounds scant reason to come here and accuse him. Now, of all times.'
'Your majesty, my concern was for the integrity of your household.'
The Queen closed her eyes. 'Oh, Matthew, Matthew,' she said. She looked at me again, steadily. 'Have you told anyone else this story?'
'Only Barak.'
'Well, it is true at least that this man West lied to you.' The Queen gestured wearily to her lawyer. 'Tell him, Robert.'
Warner said coldly, 'There was indeed a young lawyer in Catherine of Aragon's household named Gregory Jackson. He worked for me, in fact. But he died in 1525, the year before West lost this letter. From the sweating sickness. I remember, I went to his funeral. So the man West and his mother spoke of could not have been Jackson. But nor was it me. Queen Catherine of Aragon had her spies, certainly, who would try to ferret out whatever they
