‘Like most honest people I keep clear of the place.’
He followed me up the steps to the north door. The guard, seeing my lawyer’s robe, nodded and we passed inside. In winter the interior of the giant stone building is icy, everyone shivering except for the judges in their furs. Even today it felt chilly. Barak looked up at the giant carved ceiling and the statues of ancient kings by the high windows. He whistled, the sound echoing as every noise did there.
‘Bit different from the Old Bailey.’
‘Yes.’ I looked down the hall, beyond the empty shop counters to the courts behind their low partitions, King’s Bench and Common Pleas and Chancery, the benches and tables deserted and silent. Tomorrow the law term would begin and every inch of the place would be thronged. I remembered I was to argue against Bealknap here next week: somehow I would have to find time to prepare. I looked across to a door in a far corner, from behind which a murmur of voices was audible. ‘Come on,’ I said and led Barak to the Court of Augmentations’ office.
It was no surprise that Augmentations had obtained a dispensation to open on a Sunday. Responsible for the sale of hundreds of monastic buildings and for the pensions of the former monks, there was no busier place in the land. Inside there were counters on two sides of the room where clerks dealt with enquiries. A gaggle of anxious women in sober dresses stood arguing with a harassed-looking clerk.
‘Our abbess was promised the High Cross,’ one of the women was saying plaintively. ‘That she might have it to treasure, sir, a memory of our life.’
The clerk gestured impatiently at a paper. ‘It’s not mentioned in the surrender deed. Why d’you want it anyway? If you ex-nuns are still meeting together for papist services, that’s against the law.’
I led Barak on past a little group of well-dressed men poring over a ground plan which showed the familiar shape of a monastic church and cloisters. ‘It’s not worth a thousand if we’ve to bring the building down,’ one was saying.
We came to a counter marked ‘Pensions’. There was nobody there. I rang a little bell and an elderly clerk appeared from behind a door, looking cross to be disturbed. I told him we wished to trace the address of a former monk. The man began to say that he was busy, we should call back later, but Barak delved in his doublet and produced a seal with Cromwell’s coat of arms. He slapped it on the table. The clerk looked at it and at once became servile.
‘I’ll do anything I can, of course. To help the earl—’
‘I’m looking for one Bernard Kytchyn,’ I said. ‘Former librarian at St Bartholomew’s Priory, Smithfield.’
The clerk smiled. ‘Ah yes, Barty’s—that’ll be easy. He’ll collect his pension from here.’ He opened a drawer and, producing a massive ledger, began leafing through it. After a minute he stabbed at an entry with an inky finger.
‘There it is, sirs. Bernard Kytchyn, six pounds and two marks a year. He’s listed as chantry priest at St Andrew’s Church, Moorgate. It’s a wicked scandal, sir, the chantries being allowed to stay open, priests still mumming Latin prayers for the dead day after day. They should bring the chantries down too.’ He smiled at us brightly; as we were Cromwell’s men he would expect us to agree. I only grunted, however, and turned the ledger round to check the entry.
‘Barak,’ I said, ‘when I go back to Chancery Lane, I suggest you go and find Kytchyn, tell him-’
I broke off, as the door behind the clerk opened. To my astonishment Stephen Bealknap stepped out, a frown on his thin face. ‘Master clerk, we had not finished. Sir Richard Rich requires—’ He broke off in turn as he saw me. He looked surprised, his eyes meeting mine for a second before angling away.
‘Brother Shardtake—’
‘Bealknap, I did not know you had an interest in Augmentations pensions.’
He smiled. ‘I don’t usually. But there ... there is a corrodian, a pensioner with right of residence, attached to my property at Moorgate. It seems I have taken on responsibility for him too. An interesting legal problem, is it not?’
‘Yes.’ I turned to the clerk. ‘We are finished now. Well, Brother, I shall see you the day after tomorrow.’ I bowed to Bealknap. The clerk replaced his book and ushered Bealknap back to his room. The door closed behind them.
I frowned. ‘Corrodies are attached to monasteries, not friaries. What’s he really doing here?’
‘He mentioned Rich.’
‘Yes.’ I hesitated. ‘Could Cromwell have the clerk questioned?’
‘That would be difficult, it would mean Sir Richard Rich would get to hear of it.’ Barak ran a hand through his thatch of brown hair. ‘I’ve seen that pinch-faced old arsehole before somewhere.’
‘Bealknap? Where?’
‘I’ll have to think. It was a long time ago, but I swear I know him.’