‘I saw a cart full of bones on my way.’
‘The labourers have no respect for the dead. Reminds me of my time fighting in France, corpses everywhere given no proper burial.’ He crossed himself.
I smiled sadly. ‘My stable boy wants to be a soldier.’
‘More fool him.’ The old man lowered his voice as we turned a corner. ‘It’s round here. Watch these men, sir. They’re a rough lot.’
The spectacle that met our eyes was like something from an old painting of the Last Judgement. A wide graveyard, sewn thickly with tombstones, was being dug up. The sun was starting to set behind the hospital, casting a fiery ochre light over the scene. The work was organized methodically: as each coffin was dug up two men carried it to a trestle table, where an Augmentations official in a long robe sat with a clerk. I watched as a coffin was opened under the clerk’s eye; he rose and delved inside, then nodded. The workmen began removing the bones and piling them onto a waiting cart; the clerk took a small object and laid it before the official.
A little way off a meal break was in progress; a group of labourers were playing football with a skull, kicking it to and fro. As we watched a long kick sent it crashing against a gravestone, where it shattered into a hundred pieces. The labourers laughed. The old man shook his head and led me across to the official, who looked me over with a cold glance. He was a small, plump fellow with a pursed mouth and small sharp eyes, the very embodiment of an Augmentations man.
‘Can I assist you, master lawyer?’ he asked.
‘I am on Lord Cromwell’s business, sir. Have you charge of these proceedings?’
He hesitated. ‘Yes, I am Paul Hoskyn of Augmentations.’ He nodded at the old man. ‘That will do, Hogge.’
‘Matthew Shardlake, of Lincoln’s Inn,’ I said as the old man hobbled away, leaving me feeling strangely exposed. ‘I am looking for a grave which I have reason to believe may contain something of interest to my master.’
Hoskyn’s eyes narrowed. ‘Everything of value is kept for Sir Richard to examine.’
‘Yes, I know.’ I bent to look at the items on the table. Gold rings and badges, little daggers and silver boxes, giving off that sickly whiff of death. ‘It is not an item of value. Of interest only.’
He eyed me shrewdly. ‘It must be important, for the earl to send you here. Does Sir Richard know?’
‘No. The earl has sent for him on another matter. He is probably there now. In truth, it is only of antiquarian interest.’
‘I never heard the earl had any interest in such things.’
‘He does. And I am an antiquarian,’ I added, adopting an earnest manner. I had thought this story up on the way. ‘I recently found some stones set in the Ludgate that had Hebrew markings. They came from an old synagogue, you know. All ancient things interest me.’
The official grunted, his face still full of suspicion.
‘We think this man buried here may have been a foreign Jew,’ I went on eagerly, ‘and had Jewish artefacts buried with him. Hebrew studies are of interest now the Old Testament is so widely read.’
‘Have you any authority from the earl you can show me?’
‘Only his name,’ I replied, looking the fellow in the eye. He pursed his little mouth, then rose and led me across the brown grass of the graveyard. I looked at the gravestones; they were small, of cheap sandstone, the older ones indecipherable.
‘I am looking for a gravestone from the middle of the last century. The name is St John.’
‘That would be over by the wall. I don’t want to go digging over there yet,’ he added pettishly. ‘It’ll throw my work plan out of joint.’
‘The earl wishes it.’
He looked among the gravestones, then stopped and pointed. ‘Is that it?’
My heart thumped with excitement as I read the simple inscription. ‘Alan St John, Soldier against the Turk, 1423—54.’ Only thirty-one when he died. I had not realized he had been so young.
‘This is it,’ I said quietly. ‘Can I have two of your men?’ Hoskyn frowned. ‘A Jew would not have been buried in consecrated ground. Nor have a Christian’s name.’
‘He would if he was a convert. There are records that this man was in the Domus.’
He shook his head, then crossed to the men who had been playing football. They gave me unfriendly looks. I knew those who laboured for Augmentations had an easy time of it, they would not like outsiders barging in with extra duties. Two of the men returned with Hoskyn, carrying shovels. He pointed at St John’s grave.
‘He wants that one opened up. Call me as soon as it’s uncovered.’ With that, Hoskyn went back to his table, where three more coffins were laid out.
The two labourers, large young fellows in stained smocks, began digging at the hard dry earth. ‘What’re we digging for?’ one asked. ‘A box of gold?’
‘Nothing of value.’