Revelation

  A great sucking sensation nearly dislodged me once more. It was the water ebbing. My head was suddenly in the open. I took a huge gasp of air. The water swirled down below my chest, then rushed away and was gone with a last rushing boom. Only a trickling sound remained, and loud drips falling from the ceiling.

  I let myself tumble to the ground, shouting in agony as I landed on my shoulder, jarring it. I was a mass of pain, shivering with cold, wet through and stinking. And my hands and feet were still bound. I rolled out of the alcove, into the passage. And I thought, if I have survived, Cantrell might have too.

  A FAINT HALF-LIGHT coming through the dripping grille lightened the gloom. It was dawn, we had been here all night. I stared round frantically. Where was he? And then my heart leaped into my mouth as I saw him. He was sitting up against the grille, facing me.

  I groaned. I was too weak to fight any more, even to think. But Cantrell stayed unmoving. I stared and stared through the gloom, trying to see if he was breathing. Once or twice in the seemingly endless time that followed he appeared to move. Then I heard shouting from beyond the grille and saw lights moving there, then several men jumped into the ditch in front of the grille, tramping through stream-water. They held their torches up, exclaiming when they saw Cantrell sitting there with his back to them. But by the light of their torches I saw now that he was impaled, one of the broken metal rods sticking right through his head, brains and blood smearing his face. He must have been thrown against it by the full force of the flood. His eyes were open and he looked astonished, angry. In his last seconds he must have realized that he had failed. I found it strange that during the night I had felt no sense of evil passing.

  A guard bent to the grille, a key in his hand. It was hard to get it open.

  ‘The lawyer’s here!’ he called. ‘Alive!’

  A new figure bent and entered the tunnel. Harsnet came up to me and held a torch to my face. I met his gaze.

  ‘Is Barak alive?’ I croaked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You would have drowned me.’

  He looked sad, but not ashamed, his face stayed set. ‘We guessed you were down here.’ Harsnet spoke slowly, his west country accent strong. ‘There were marks on the bolt on the hatch, we wondered if he had somehow closed it from below. I feared that with the powers he has he might have got away in these tunnels, even if I sent a dozen men after him. It was the only way to be sure he died, the only way. I’m sorry, Matthew.’

  Chapter Forty-six

  THREE DAYS LATER an unexpected visitor arrived at my house. I was still in bed, recovering from my ordeal, when a flustered Joan appeared to say that Lord Hertford himself had called. I told her to show him up. I knew I should have made the effort to rise and receive him in the parlour, but I was too weary.

  Lord Hertford wore a plain, fur-lined coat, a grey doublet beneath. I thought again how different he was from his brash, gaudily dressed brother. He had struck me before as a man of deadly seriousness, but today he was relaxed, giving me a friendly smile before sitting in the chair by my bed. I thought, today he is the politician.

  ‘I am sorry I must receive you here,’ I said.

  He raised a hand. ‘I was sorry to hear of what you suffered in that sewer. And at Goddard’s house before. We would never have got Cantrell had you not realized Goddard’s killing was intended to mislead us. Catherine Parr would be dead by now.’

  I sighed. ‘I am sorry we could not get him sooner. Nine victims killed, including the solicitor and the innocent coalman that we found dead.’

  ‘Lady Catherine knows you saved her,’ Lord Hertford said quietly. ‘She knows, and is grateful.’

  ‘You told her about Cantrell?’

  ‘Not the whole story. But that there was a killer on the loose, and he wanted her for a victim. Harsnet had to tell her that to keep her in her chambers. She saw you that night, you know, for a moment. She thought you were the killer.’

  ‘I wondered whether she did.’

  ‘I told her you had saved her. She would like to receive you to thank you. She is a lady to remember favours a long time.’

  ‘I am honoured.’ Indeed I was, but at the same time apprehensive that someone else near the summit of the court had taken notice of me now. I looked again at Lord Hertford. He was smiling, he was happy.

  ‘I do not know when she will send for you. She will have many calls on her time these next few months, for she has consented to marry the King.’

  ‘She has?’

  ‘She has accepted that it is God’s will.’

  ‘When will it be?’ I asked.

  ‘Not till full summer. The King plans to have Bishop Gardiner marry them.’ He laughed. ‘How he will hate that, marrying the King to a reformer.’

  ‘But why is the King marrying her?’ I had to ask. ‘When his own sympathies grow ever more strongly against reform?’

  ‘She has attracted him for some time. Since before her husband died. And he is old, and ill, and lonely.’

  ‘His sixth marriage. Will she survive, do you think?’ I could not help the question.

  ‘It will be as God ordains. The Parr family can look forward to high places at court now. They are all reformers. And Archbishop Cranmer is out of danger.’

  ‘He is?’ I was glad to hear that at least.

  ‘Yes. The King realized Gardiner’s accusations about his staff amounted to nothing. He has set a commission to investigate the matter - and put Archbishop Cranmer himself at the head of it. Gardiner’s plot is unravelled. And Bishop Bonner’s campaign against the godly men of London has likewise uncovered little that even he could call heresy. People are being released. They will have to be careful for a while. But the tide is starting to turn again in our favour.’

  ‘What of Dean Benson?’

  ‘Back at his post, told by the Archbishop to keep his mouth tight shut.’

  ‘If he had stopped Goddard and Lockley using the dwale to get those beggars’ teeth, lives might have been saved.’

  ‘We could not afford to make a scandal about that now. Think of what might come out if we did.’ He looked at me steadily for a moment, fingering his long beard. ‘You have proved your worth, Master Shardlake. Would you work for me as once you did for Lord Cromwell?’

  ‘Thank you, my lord, but all I want is a peaceful life. My work at the Court of Requests. Trying to organize a hospital for the poor subscribed by the Lincoln’s Inn lawyers.’

  ‘My brother Thomas is shortly to leave England, to take up his position as ambassador to the Spanish Netherlands. I know he was cruel to you. I am sorry. You would not have to see him again.’

  ‘I can take jibes. I have taken enough in my life. That does not matter.’

  He inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘I too am keenly interested in bettering the lot of the poor. It has been harsh indeed in these last years. I may be able to help you with your plans. My patronage could be useful to you in many ways, as your skills could be to me.’

  ‘I am sorry, my lord, but I’m not fitted for a public life, for the harsh decisions people feel they must make.’

  He gave me a long, hard look, then nodded.

  ‘Well,’ he said quietly. ‘You been through much of late. You need time to recuperate. But think of what I have said.’

  ‘Coroner Harsnet would have drowned me,’ I said. ‘I thought he might visit me, but he has not.’

  ‘I am sure he did not decide lightly to open those gates.’

  ‘I am sure he decided it was God’s will. Were the houses in the square flooded?’

  ‘Some were, yes.’

  ‘How was Harsnet so sure we were down there?’ I asked curiously.

  ‘The bolt in the hatch leading to the sewer had not been closed properly, though Cantrell thought it had. We could see someone had gone down there. But Master Shardlake, if Harsnet and his men had come down there after you, Cantrell would surely have killed you before they reached him.’

  ‘There was a chance of that, ye
s. But Harsnet must have known that letting that great flood go would kill both of us. It was sheer chance I managed to press myself into an alcove, and that the water level fell before I drowned.’

  ‘The coroner felt it was necessary.’

  ‘My lord, it is these necessary things which those who work at Whitehall do, that mean I will remain a lawyer.’

  He got up, defeated for now. I wondered if he would be back. He was an ambitious man; he was building up a network of people under his patronage. A principled man, too, as Cromwell had been. But Lord Hertford, capable as he was, would never be another Cromwell, for he indulged weaknesses, like his affection for his brother.

  ‘How is your man Barak?’

  ‘He is all right. He was struck a nasty blow, but his head is thick.’

  ‘I would like to see him before I go. To thank him, from the Archbishop too.’

  I called Joan to fetch Barak. He arrived looking pale, hollow-eyed. He bowed deeply to Lord Hertford, who thanked him for all his efforts. ‘I have been trying to persuade your master to work for me,’ he said. ‘There would be a place for you, too, as his assistant. I could promise you an exciting life. See if you can persuade him.’ Lord Hertford rose, bowed deeply to both of us and left the room. As his footsteps faded down the stairs, Barak turned to me. ‘Persuade you my arse,’ he said. ‘I’ve lost enough myself this time.’

  ‘I know,’ I said sympathetically.

  We had returned from the Charterhouse to find Tamasin’s things gone, a note for Barak. The old friend she had gone to when she left had been employed in the late Queen Catherine Howard’s privy kitchen. Tamasin had been working with her, helping to prepare the sweetmeats Queen Catherine loved, when Barak and I met her in York two years before. Barak had refused to show me her note, but had told me Tamasin had been offered her old job; now the King was to marry Catherine Parr a new Queen’s Household was to be established and the chamberlain was looking for experienced servants. Tamasin had taken the post, and the accommodation at Whitehall that went with it. She said she felt she and Barak needed time apart, and asked him not to contact her. He had been struck to the heart, and it had taken much persuasion to prevent him from going down to Whitehall. He had agreed to wait a little before contacting her, though now she was gone he realized he wanted her with him more than anything.

  ‘Can we get back to work soon? he asked. ‘I need something to occupy my mind.’

  ‘In a few days, Jack. First there are two people I must go and see.’

  BY THE END OF the week I was up and about again, albeit still stiff and sore. I sent Barak to inform the Court of Requests that I could return to work the following Monday, and he returned with a sheaf of new cases. It was a pleasure to read them, to feel my old life returning. But on the Sunday before I went back to work I saddled up Genesis and rode into town.

  It was to Guy’s that I went first. It was the twenty-second of April, four weeks to the day since Roger died and the horrors began. I rode through London on a quiet, peaceful spring Sunday. Even the grimy city felt clean and bright, the greys and browns of the streets relieved by patches of green from the trees in the churchyards, for the mixture of warm weather and rain we had had recently had brought fast growth everywhere.

  I had guessed Guy would be home on Sunday afternoon, after going to church in the morning, perhaps studying. I had heard nothing from him in ten days, though I had sent him a note from my bed saying the killer had been discovered and was dead.

  As I tied Genesis to the rail outside Guy’s shop, my heart was full of trepidation. What if he rejected me, told me our long friendship was over? I stepped to the door of the shop, and was surprised to find it was ajar. I heard voices coming from the back room, voices I recognized. I entered the shop quietly, treading carefully towards the half-open inner door. I saw Guy’s copy of Vesalius lying shut on the table.

  Piers’ voice from the inner room was low, but sharp as a file. ‘You old black bastard, if that lawyer reports me for theft I could fucking hang—’

  ‘He won’t—’

  ‘How do you know? And now I’m reduced to being a beggar, living among the lowest dregs, running at the sight of a constable—’

  ‘No one is hunting you, Piers.’ Guy’s voice sounded unutterably weary. Then he added, ‘Why did you steal from me?’

  ‘Why not? Apprentices get paid a pittance and I worked my balls off for you.’

  ‘You could have asked for more.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to stay with you, anyway. I was going to find another position and the money would come in useful.’ He laughed, cruelly. ‘I was sick of your pathetic whining about how I should have more sympathy for people.’

  I stepped silently to the inner door, wishing Barak was with me.

  ‘I tried to teach you some moral sense,’ I heard Guy say, his voice near breaking. ‘To be a good man.’

  ‘While I did your dirty work, cleaning up the mess left when you opened up stinking bodies. And I knew you would like to open up my body, my arse anyway—’

  ‘Never . . .’ There was distress in Guy’s voice now.

  ‘I want money. I want all you have. Then you will write me a reference, I am going north to find a new place.’

  ‘I will give you money, Piers. But a reference, never.’ Guy’s answer was firm.

  ‘Then I’ll cut your heart open, see if your blood is brown like your face—’

  I drew my dagger from its sheath and pushed the door wide open. ‘No, Piers,’ I said quietly. ‘That you will not do.’

  I saw that Guy was sitting on a stool, his back against the wall. Piers held a long knife to his chest. The boy’s face, so often mild and expressionless, was red and twisted with anger. It was also smeared with the dirt of the streets; the handsome well-dressed apprentice looked very different now. His eyes widened with fear as I entered, then narrowed again as he saw I was alone.

  ‘Not got your bodyguard with you today, hunchback?’ he asked. ‘I’ll do for you as well, and it will be a pleasure.’

  ‘No. If you strike at Guy, I swear to God you will not leave here alive. Guy is right, you are under no threat. He took back the silver you stole and which I found; there is no evidence against you. Go now, get out of here and never come back. I promise you that is the best offer you will get this side of the grave.’

  I felt utterly focused, full of cold anger. Having faced Cantrell, this nasty little creature seemed like nothing. My tone and the way I stared firmly into his stony, lifeless eyes must have made an impression, for Piers lowered his knife.

  ‘Step away from the door, then,’ he said.

  ‘Throw the knife down first.’

  He hesitated, then laid it on Guy’s workbench. I stood away from the door and he walked past me, into the shop. There he bent quickly, lifted the copy of Vesalius and ran out of the door. His footsteps disappeared up the street. Guy took a long, shuddering breath.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I am not sure that he would have killed me, I do not think he had the courage for that. But I am glad it was not put to the test. Thank you.’

  ‘He has your Vesalius.’

  ‘Yes, he will get a good price for it. Well, I shall put the money he stole and you returned towards buying another.’

  ‘I was not sure if it was wise to come,’ I said. ‘I am very glad I did.’

  He nodded. I saw his brown hands, lying in his lap, were shaking. ‘Piers knocked at the door an hour ago,’ he said slowly. ‘When I answered he pushed his way in, then drew his knife and brought me in here. Always when he worked for me he would smile, be quiet and deferential. But his face and voice today - the coldness, the anger.’ He shook his head. ‘I am sorry I did not contact you, Matthew, but I was still angry. You should have come to me first. I would have agreed to his being questioned, you know.’

  ‘I am sorry.’

  Guy smiled faintly. ‘Well, I think today you have more than made up for it.’ He lifted a hand. ‘Take that stool there,’ he s
aid. ‘I do not feel quite able to get up yet.’

  When I had seated myself he looked at me silently for a long moment. Then he asked, ‘Cantrell is dead?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tell me what happened, how it ended. If you feel able to.’

  He sat listening as I told him about the siege of Goddard’s house, my realization that Cantrell was the killer; the desperate hours in the sewers underneath Catherine Parr’s house.

  ‘I had not realized you had been tested so terribly,’ he said quietly when I had finished. ‘And you must let me look at your back before you leave.’

  ‘I would be grateful. It still pains me. What was Cantrell, Guy? He killed seven people to fulfil the prophecy of the vials of wrath, two more along the way and, perhaps, his own father too. I think of him at Roger and Dorothy’s lodgings, repairing that frieze, perhaps alone with her. Managing to seem like a normal human being. It chills my blood. I have been lying in bed, thinking and thinking, and I cannot fathom why he did those things. At the end he seemed confused, deranged, wild - not the calculating creature I expected. But he was not possessed, he genuinely believed he was doing God’s work.’

  ‘I do not know what he was,’ Guy said quietly. ‘I wish I did. No more than I know who Gilles de Rais truly was, or Strodyr. Some wild disturbance happened in their minds, made them less like humans than ravening beasts. Perhaps one day study will enable us to understand those darkest corners of the human mind which they inhabited. Perhaps not.’

  ‘Yet I feel that Cantrell was connected to the blast of wild, brutal fanaticism that is sweeping through the land; so that England devours its own children. It gave him, at least, an excuse for what he wanted to do.’