Honor might make of my bent form if she saw it. Well, she knew what to expect and did not seem to find me so bad. As I transferred my belt and purse to my borrowed hose, wincing at another stifled cry from Barak in the other room, I felt a spurt of irritation at my long preoccupation over how I looked. It was a sort of dark vanity, almost, I thought, a sort of martyrdom. Well, my path was free to make friends with Lady Honor now and I would not miss my chance. My heart had plummeted when, in the warehouse, it had seemed for a while that she could be the one behind the Greek Fire plot after all. Plummeted far enough to make me realize the depth of my feeling for her.
I went across to the window and looked out; the rain seemed to be lessening. The window had steamed up and I leaned my head on the cool glass, shutting my eyes for a moment. The door opened behind me and Guy entered, flecks of blood on his robe.
'There,' he said quietly, 'that's done. I've told him to rest an hour. He's a brave young fellow.'
'Ay, he's hard as nails.' I smiled tiredly. 'We've won, Guy. There will be no Greek Fire. It's all burned up.'
He sat down on a stool. 'Praise God.'
'Did you destroy what was in that pot?'
'It's in the Thames.'
I told him what had happened at the warehouse. 'All that's left is to get that message to Cromwell.'
'Well, you have won, Matthew, fulfilled your mission and destroyed Greek Fire as well.'
'Ay, though that last was by strange chance. If Marchamount hadn't lunged at Barak-'
Guy smiled. 'Perhaps that was the hand of God, answering your prayers and mine.'
'God's hand struck Marchamount hard, then.' I looked at him seriously. 'I have hardly prayed at all these last days. What they did, Marchamount and Norfolk, all those people killed – they did it with the aim of restoring the pope, you do realize that?'
'As Cromwell too has done many evil things.'
I shook my head sadly. 'Once I did believe the world could be perfected. I don't think that any more. But I believe I've defended the bad side against the worse.' I frowned. 'Yet-'
'What?'
'Why does faith bring out the worst in so many, Guy?' I blurted out. 'How is it that it can turn men, papist and reformer both, into brutes?'
'Man is an angry, savage being. Sometimes faith becomes an excuse for battle. It is no real faith then. In justifying their positions in the name of God, men silence God.'
'But have the comfortable belief that, having read the Bible and prayed, they cannot be wrong.'
'I fear so.'
From within, I heard Barak call out for water. Guy rose. 'There, your friend is thirsty. I thought he would not lie quiet for long.' He smiled. 'I think he is no man of faith, but he has an earthy honesty.'
THERE HAD BEEN NO message from Cromwell by the time we left Guy's an hour later. Nor was there any news at home. I sent Simon to retrieve the horses from the inn near St Paul's. Then Barak and I ate lunch and waited in my parlour as afternoon turned slowly to evening. We were too exhausted to do more than sit half-dozing.
'I must go to bed,' Barak said at length.
'Ay, I need rest too.' I frowned. 'Why hasn't Cromwell contacted us?'
'He's probably waiting for a chance to see the king,' Barak said. 'Likely he will do that first, then fetch us later if we're needed. We'll hear something in the morning.'
I heaved myself upright. 'Barak, do you think you are fit enough to come to the Wentworths tomorrow? It will be our last chance.'
He nodded, getting to his feet. 'Ay. It takes more than a sword thrust to lay me low. And what's to fear from a greasy steward, a fat old merchant and a brood of women? I'll come. The business started there after all, didn't it?'
'Ay, and it must end there, before Elizabeth comes back before Forbizer.'
NORMALLY JOAN WOULD have woken us for breakfast, but after seeing the state in which Barak and I had returned home the good woman must have decided to let us sleep. Neither of us woke until nearly midday. I felt much better, though my wrist still hurt, and Barak seemed almost restored to his usual self, though still a trifle pale. It had stopped raining, but the sky was dark and heavy. To my surprise there was no word from Cromwell, only a plaintive note from Joseph begging for news.
'He must have seen the king by now,' I said. 'Surely he'd at least let us know.'
Barak shrugged. 'We're small fry, you and me.'
'Maybe we should send another message?'
'Demanding news! That would be a mighty insolence.'
'At least we can send a message saying if we're not here we'll be at the Wentworths, and ask him if he needs us.' I looked at him. 'Are you fit to go to Walbrook?'
'Fit as a fly. You look better too.' He laughed. 'You're not as weakly as you pretend.'
'It's all right for you to say that at your age. I'm going to write a note, then we ought to go. I'll send Simon, get him to put it into Master Grey's hands himself. That'll be an adventure for him, going to Whitehall. I'll borrow your seal, if I may, so I can stamp it in the wax.' I hesitated. 'I ought to go myself, but there's no time. We should not have slept so long, it is less than twenty-four hours before Elizabeth returns to court.'
WE TOOK A BOAT into the City, then walked up to Walbrook. I had dressed in my robe and my best doublet and urged Barak to borrow my second-best robe to conceal his bandaged arm.
A maid answered the door. 'Is Sir Edwin in?' I asked. 'I am Master Shardlake.'
Her eyes widened a little; she recognized my name. I wondered how much the servants knew of what had happened here.
'He's at the Mercers' Hall, sir.'
'Goodwife Wentworth, then?' The girl hesitated. 'Come,' I said briskly, 'we have business with Lord Cromwell at Whitehall today. Is your mistress in?'
Her eyes widened further at Cromwell's name. 'I'll see, sir. Please wait.' She left us at the door and scurried off into the house. Minutes passed.
'What's keeping her?' Barak asked irritably. 'Let's go in.'
I held him back. 'She's coming.'
The girl reappeared, looking flustered. She took us upstairs, and once again we were led into the parlour with its tapestries and cushioned chairs, its view of the garden and the well. The room was cold today. This time the old woman was the only member of the family present. She was still dressed in black, her dark hood highlighting the paleness of her lined face. The young steward Needler stood behind her, his broad features impassive but his eyes watchful. The old woman had evidently just eaten, for a tray stood on a table at her elbow, with the remains of a dish of spring vegetables and a hunk of cold beef. I saw that the empty plate, the mustard pot and the little salt cellar were all of silver.
Goodwife Wentworth did not get up. 'You will forgive me if my steward stays, Master Shardlake. There are no other members of the family at home just now.' She smiled. 'He can be my eyes. Tell me, David, who is it that accompanies him? He has the steps of a young man.'
'A bald young fellow,' Needler said insolently. 'Though he dresses well enough.'
Barak gave him a steely look.
'He is my assistant,' I told her.
'Then we each have a chaperon,' Goodwife Wentworth said with another smile, showing her horrible false teeth and wooden gums. 'Now, what may I do for you? I understand the business is urgent. Elizabeth returns to court tomorrow, does she not?'
