Lincoln’s Inn Hall looked its very best. Beneath the vaulting hammerbeam roof the richly coloured tapestries glowed in the light of many candles. The dark oak floorboards gleamed with polish. A throne-like chair had been set for the duke in the centre of the High Table at the north end of the hall. Other long tables, set with the Inn’s best silver, had been placed at right angles to High Table. People were finding their places; a few students selected for their good backgrounds, short black robes over their gaudy doublets, took the places furthest from High Table. The serjeants, sweating under the white coifs tied around their faces, sat nearest and the benchers and barristers in between.
As benchers Godfrey and I were entitled to places next to the serjeants, and to my surprise Godfrey shouldered his way to a place as near as possible to where the duke would sit. I sat next to him. On my other side was an aged bencher called Fox. As he never tired of telling people, he had been a student at Lincoln’s Inn during the reign of King Richard III and had watched the hall being built. As we took our places, I saw Bealknap arguing with a bencher over a place nearly opposite me. Although he had fifteen years at the Bar, Bealknap’s unsavoury reputation meant he had never been called to read, yet he was disputing crossly for the place. Perhaps thinking such an argument beneath him, the bencher allowed Bealknap to take the place. He sat down with a smile of satisfaction on his thin features.
A servant banged his staff. Everyone rose as the officers of the Inn marched up the hall. Among the black robes was one man in the rich scarlet of a peer, his wide collar trimmed with black fur; Thomas Howard, third Duke of Norfolk. I was surprised to see how small he was. How old, too, for his long face was deeply lined and the hair beneath the wide jewelled cap was thin and grey. He looked, I thought, insignificant; in ordinary clothes one would not have glanced at him twice. A dozen retainers in the red and gold quarters of the Howard livery spread out and stood against the walls.
The Inn’s officers bowed and smiled as they bade the duke take his seat. I saw Marchamount take a place at High Table. He was not an officer, but from what he said had been instrumental in organizing the lunch. He beamed at the crowd, in his element. I wondered how well he knew Cromwell‘s, and reform’s, greatest enemy. Curious, I studied the duke’s lined face. It was as hard as any man’s I had seen, the thin mouth under the prominent nose pursed with severity. Small black eyes surveyed the crowd with lively calculation. The duke’s gaze met mine for a second and I dropped my eyes.
The first course was brought in, steaming dishes of vegetables carved into the shapes of stars and half-moons, richly sauced with sugar and vinegar and accompanied by cold meat. As this was a lunch there would be none of the spectacular fare of an evening supper, but much effort had been put into the preparation of the food. I turned appreciatively to Godfrey.
‘This fare is almost worth the company,’ I whispered.
‘Nothing is worth this company.’ Godfrey was staring at the duke, a bitter look on his normally amiable features.
‘Don’t let him catch you giving him foul looks,’ I whispered, but he shrugged and went on staring. The duke was talking to the treasurer, Serjeant Cuffleigh.
‘Our defences couldn’t stand a combined assault by the French and Spaniards,’ I heard the duke tell CufHeigh in a deep voice.
Cuffleigh smiled. ‘Few have as much military experience as you, your grace. You hammered the Scots for us at Flodden.’
‘I’m afraid of fighting nobody, but the balance of forces needs to be right. When I faced the northern rebels three years ago I hadn’t enough men to meet them, so the king and I got them to disband their forces with sweet words. Then we hammered the churls.’ He smiled coldly.
Marchamount leaned across. ‘And we can’t do that with the French and Spaniards.’
‘I dare say not,’ Cuffleigh agreed hesitantly.
‘That’s why we need peace. A half-baked alliance with a bunch of squabbling Germans is no use.’
Old Brother Fox leaned across to me. ‘I see his grace is talking to the treasurer,’ he said. ‘You know, Thomas More refused the treasurer-ship and was fined a pound. Ah, the king exacted a higher penalty when More refused to recognize Nan Bullen as queen.’
‘Brother Cuffleigh looks a trifle anxious,’ I said, to divert Brother Fox before he began his reminiscences of More’s time at the Inn.
‘Cuffleigh is a reformer and the duke loves baiting evangelicals.’ Fox, a traditionalist, spoke with satisfaction. The duke was smiling coldly at the treasurer now. ‘Not just apprentices,’ I heard him say loudly. ‘Even silly little women fancy they can read the Bible now and understand God’s Word.’ He laughed.
‘It is permitted, your grace,’ CufHeigh replied weakly.
‘It won’t be for long. The king plans to restrict Bible-reading to heads of households. I’d restrict it further - I’d only permit it for the clergy. I’ve never read it and never will.’
All along the upper part of the tables, where the duke’s words could be heard, men were looking at him, some approvingly and others with set faces. He glanced over the assembly with those bright, hard eyes and smiled cynically.