and I am too tired for it. Come on.'
We said little on the journey. I felt a growing nervousness as the wherry drew in at Westminster Stairs. We disembarked and walked past Westminster Hall, heading for Whitehall Palace just beyond. As we approached the huge Holbein Gate, colourful with its coats of arms and terracotta roundels of Roman emperors, Barak turned to me.
'Perhaps we should have taken Leman to confront Bealknap this morning.'
'It was just as important to see Lady Honor.'
He gave me one of his keen looks. 'You'll threaten to expose Bealknap, won't you, unless he gives us full answers? No lawyers sticking together?'
'Yes. Though if Bealknap is hauled up before the secretary, my name will stink in Lincoln's Inn. Lawyers aren't supposed to report each other. But yes, I'll do it.' I gave him a steady look. 'What have you said about me, by the way, in your reports to the earl? Come, you must have said something?'
'That's private,' he said uneasily.
'I want to know what to expect.'
'I've done nothing but report what we've done,' Barak replied matter of factly. 'I've given no bad opinion of you, if you must know. But that will cut no ice – what he needs is progress.'
He walked ahead under the great gate, which gave us a few moments of welcome shadow. Building was going on everywhere, half-built tennis courts and accommodation blocks rising from the earth, scaffolding and dust everywhere. They said the king meant Whitehall Palace to be the finest in Europe. We turned into the new Privy Gallery building, where Lord Cromwell had offices; Barak exchanged a word with the guard and we passed inside.
A long hall stretched away from us, richly decorated with tapestries, large windows giving onto an enormous garden. I knew the king often received visitors here. I caught my breath as I saw, guarded by a halberdier, Holbein's great mural of the Tudor dynasty. The giant painting was as magnificent as I had heard. The king's dead parents, Henry VII, whom Lady Honor's family had fought against at Bosworth, and his wife, Elizabeth of York, stood on either side of a stone bier. Below them stood Jane Seymour, the only one of Henry's wives he cared to remember, unexpectedly plain. Opposite her, the king stood with his hands on his hips. He was painted wearing a richly decorated gown with enormous shoulders, a shirt encrusted with jewels and a prominent codpiece. He stared, it seemed, directly at me. His expression was one of cold authority mixed with something else. Weariness? Anger? I shuddered at the thought that behind Cromwell, if Greek Fire were not found, lay the fury of the king himself.
'The earl is waiting,' Barak whispered urgently at my elbow.
'Of course, I'm sorry.'
Barak seemed to know his way through the echoing corridors. Courtiers and black-robed officials walked past quietly and sedately lest the king might be in residence. I looked out at the magnificent garden, which was dominated by a fountain that, despite the drought, still pumped a good head of water. Barak stopped outside a door guarded by another halberdier, and we were admitted to an outer office where Grey, ubiquitous as ever, sat behind a desk. He rose and greeted us. As on the previous occasion there was a nervous look on his round scholarly face.
'Master Shardlake, is there any more news? I have seen Barak's messages. There is so little time left-'
'Our news is for the earl,' Barak told him sharply.
Grey looked at him and inclined his head. 'All right, Barak, but I just wanted to warn you he's in no good frame of mind. And he has the Duke of Norfolk with him – he's been there two hours.'
'Really?' I said. 'I saw the duke earlier, at Smithfield. He was with Richard Rich then.'
Grey shook his head sorrowfully. 'All the earl's old friends are plotting against him. It is cruel.' He shook his head, stared nervously at the inner door, then bent his head towards me. 'I heard shouting a little while ago.' He bit his lip anxiously, reminding me for a moment of Joseph.
'Should we wait?' Barak asked.
'Yes, yes. He wants to see you. '
Grey broke off as the inner door burst open. The duke strode out. He flung the door casually shut behind him, a breach of manners I could scarcely believe, then turned to us with a wolfish smile on his long face. I bowed deeply.
Norfolk laughed harshly. 'You again! You seem determined to impress yourself on my mind.' His penetrating eyes were full of malice, the politeness he had shown when I met him with Rich gone. He nodded. 'The friend of the heretic. Don't worry, Master Shardlake, I have you well marked.' He turned to Barak. 'You as well, my young friend with the Jewish name. Did you know that some Spanish traders have been exposed as secret Jews here in the City? The Spanish ambassador wants them back to burn. God's death, there are heretics everywhere.' He turned to Grey. 'You too, I have you all marked.' He gave us a triumphant nod then walked out, slamming the office door behind him.
Barak blew out his cheeks. 'Shit.'
Grey swallowed. 'He's crowing, crowing like he's cock of the roost already.' He stared at the closed inner door a moment, then got up, knocked nervously and went in. A few moments later he reappeared.
'Lord Cromwell will see you.' We walked to the door, my heart sinking with dread at the thought of the mood he would be in now.
Cromwell sat in a large office whose walls were lined with shelves and drawers, behind a desk covered with a clutter of papers. I saw he had a magnificent globe, showing the New World with its indented coastlines and empty interior where monsters roamed. He sat very still, his square heavy face strangely expressionless, eyes fixed thoughtfully on us as we bowed low.
'Well, Matthew,' he said quietly. 'Jack.'
'My lord.'
He wore a plain brown robe today, his gold chain of office the only colour in his costume. He fiddled with the chain a moment, then reached for a quill, a pretty green peacock's feather with swirling colours that made the shape of an eye. He toyed with it, looking at the eye, seemingly lost in thought. Then he smiled bleakly and nodded at the door.
'Grey says the duke made an exhibition of himself out there.'
I could not think how to reply. Cromwell went on in the same reasonable, quiet voice. 'He came to demand I release Bishop Sampson from the Tower. I shall have to, he couldn't be got to confess to any plots even when they showed him the rack.' He looked again at the eye in the feather, then began pulling it to pieces. 'The papists are craftier than the most cunning fox, they keep their conspiracies so close I've nothing for the king that would turn him against Norfolk's party. Not even murmurings.' He shook his head, then said mildly, 'Jack here tells me you have been busy on a case against the Bealknap man. You were visiting a property of his when you were attacked.'
'Yes, my lord.'
His tone stayed quiet, but when he spoke again his eyes were full of anger. 'You waste time on trifles while the one thing I have to keep me in the king's favour, Greek Fire, remains lost and the thieves slaughter all those who know of it under your very nose.'
'We managed to get to Goodwife Gristwood and her son, and the ex-monk-' I said.
'And little they had to tell.'
'We've been working hard, my lord,' Barak ventured.
Cromwell ignored him. He leaned forward, pointing the mutilated quill at me. 'One week only until that demonstration is due. The king's insisting on a divorce from Queen Anne now and I'm the one who must find the way. Then he'll marry that little whore Catherine Howard and Norfolk will never be out of his presence, telling him he should have my head for tying him to that German drab. Greek Fire's the only leverage I have now – if I can give him that he'll keep me in his service. Perhaps then I can turn the tide before the Howards have us back under Rome.' He laid down the remains of the quill and leaned back. 'Perhaps, then, I will be allowed to
'Well? Is there any more news? Have you achieved anything apart from landing me with that menagerie of scared fools?'
'I needed to discover what they knew, my lord.'
