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 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 was 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.