‘Is it?’
‘Yes, it is. I admired you, I liked you, yes. But my family’s place is what matters in the end. If you came from noble lineage, you would understand.’ She gave me a last, affectionate look. ‘But you don’t. Goodbye, Matthew, keep safe.’ And then, with a rustle of skirts, she was gone.
I RODE OUT OF Cripplegate an hour later. A throng of people was queuing to pass through, some looking fearful. A group of the king’s guard was posted there and I was afraid I might be stopped but I was allowed to pass through. I rode away through the dull afternoon, past Shoreditch and the windmills that turn endlessly on Finsbury Green, and did not pause till I reached Hampstead Heath. There I stopped. I rode off the track into the long grass and looked back at the City. I could make out the bulk of the Tower, where Thomas Cromwell lay now, the river flowing past. London looked strangely peaceful from up there, a tableau rather than a city on the edge of panic as old scores were settled among high-born and low. I felt utterly weary. I would have liked to lie down in the grass and sleep. But I could not. I took a deep breath and patted Genesis. ‘We’ve far to go, good horse,’ I said, then turned and rode away, fast, to the north.
Epilogue
30 JULY 1540
I walked down from Chancery Lane to the Temple Stairs, looking keenly about me to see what changes might have occurred, for I had been away nearly two months. In truth people were going about their business much as ever, though there were fewer than usual for there were rumours of plague in the eastern suburbs and many lawyers had left the City. And for those who remained there was a double spectacle today, at Tyburn and at Smithfield.
The letter from Barak had come a few days before. It was brief and to the point.
Master Shardlake,
I am back in London: I still have friends in the king’s service and have had word that you and I may safely return to the City. Lord Cromwell is to die, but none of his supporters are to suffer unless they misbehave. Wyatt and other friends of his are free; only the most obstinate reformers remain in prison. If you wish to return to London and meet me, I shall be pleased to tell you more. I hope you are recovered now from the assault upon your person you had in that enterprise.
JB
His words tied in with other news that had reached the Midlands. The expected persecution of reformers had been milder than feared, though there were ever stronger warnings against Lutheranism from the pulpit and three Protestant preachers, including Cromwell’s friend Barnes, were to be burned that day at Smithfield. But three papists were to be hanged, drawn and quartered at Tyburn at the same time: a message from the king that neither side had the upper hand now and there would, after all, be no return to Rome. Archbishop Cranmer, to everyone’s surprise, had kept his place. And though a speedy divorce from Anne of Cleves had been approved by the Church, and everyone awaited the announcement of the king’s betrothal to Catherine Howard, neither Norfolk nor anyone else had been appointed to Cromwell’s place; his offices were being shared out among the courtiers. The word was that for the first time in nearly thirty years Henry intended to govern himself, without a chief minister. What a disappointment that must be to the duke.
I had arrived that morning and, to my relief, found everything quiet and normal at home. Joan had not been happy at my prolonged absence and I could see that, after the alarms of the weeks before I left, the poor woman had been frightened to be left in the house alone. I promised her faithfully that my life would now resume its quiet course.
The previous evening, over dinner in the inn at Berkhamsted where I had stayed overnight, I heard the news of Cromwell’s execution. The man who brought it from London said the executioner had bungled the job and needed several blows to strike off his head. ‘But it’s off now, that’s the main thing,’ someone called out and people laughed. I rose and went quietly upstairs.
As I reached the river, I took off my cap and rubbed sweat from my brow. The blazing heat had returned in the days after Cromwell’s fall and given no respite since. I scanned the stairs. Barak was waiting at the spot where I had asked him to meet me in my reply. His hair had grown again and he looked well set up in his best green doublet. His sword swung at his belt as usual. He was standing a little apart from the people waiting for boats, leaning over the parapet and staring pensively at the busy river. I tapped his shoulder and he turned, his sober look replaced by a broad grin. He extended a hand.
‘You are well?’ he asked.
‘Quite recovered, Barak. I have been having a quiet time. You?’