Then, before I could stop him, Godfrey rose in his place. All eyes turned to him as he took a deep breath, faced the duke, and said loudly, ‘God’s Word is for all to read. It is the bringer of the sweetest light there is, the light of truth.’
His words rang and echoed round the hall. All along the tables eyes widened. Norfolk leaned over, resting his chin on a beringed hand, and stared at Godfrey with cold amusement. I grabbed at the sleeve of his robe and tried to pull him down but he shook me off.
‘The Bible brings us from error to truth, to the presence of Jesus Christ,’ he continued. A couple of students clapped until furious glares from the Inn’s officers scared them into silence. Godfrey reddened, as though he suddenly realized what an unforgivably bold thing he had done, but he went on. ‘Were I to be killed for my beliefs, I would rise from the grave to proclaim the truth once more,’ he said and then, to my relief, sat down.
The duke rose in his place. ‘No, sir, you would not,’ he said evenly. ‘You would not, you would be screaming in hell with all the other Lutheran heretics. You should have a care, sir, that your tongue does not lose you your head and put you in the pit before your time.’ He sat down again. Leaning over to Marchamount, who was glaring at Godfrey as though he could have slain him, he began whispering in his ear.
‘Jesu, man, what were you thinking of?’ I asked Godfrey. ‘You’ll be disciplined for this.’
He looked at me. His normally soft features had taken on a steely expression. ‘I care not.’ He almost spat the words. ‘Jesus Christ is my Saviour, through grace, and I will not have His Word made mock of.’ His eyes gleamed with self-righteous anger. I turned away. When his emotions were roused by his faith Godfrey could sometimes change into a different person, a dangerous one.
AT LAST THE MEAL ended. The duke and his retinue filed out and at once a buzz of conversation erupted. Godfrey sat there, taking satisfaction, it seemed to me, from a myriad stares. Some barristers, the traditionalists mostly, got up and left. Old Brother Fox, looking much disturbed, rose from his bench. I stood up too. Godfrey gave me a reproachful look.
‘Will you stay a moment?’ he asked. ‘Or do you not wish to be associated with me any more?’
‘God’s wounds, Godfrey,’ I snapped, ‘I’ve work to do, a cartload of it. There are others in the world besides you. I have to see Bealknap before he disappears.’ And indeed he was even now heading for the door. I hurried after him, catching him as he stepped into the sunny quadrangle, blinking in the light.
‘Brother Bealknap,’ I said crisply, ‘I need to talk to you.’
‘About the case?’ He smiled. ‘Your friend made a monkey of himself in there, by the way. He’ll be disciplined—’
‘It is not about the case, Bealknap. I have a commission, from Lord Cromwell. To investigate the murder yesterday of Michael Gristwood.’
His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. If he was acting ignorance, it was a good performance. But lawyers can act better than any mummer in a mystery play.
‘Your chambers, I think.’
Bealknap nodded, stunned into silence, and led the way across Gatehouse Court. He had a room on the first floor of a corner building, up a narrow flight of creaking stairs. His chamber was plainly furnished, a poor-looking desk and a couple of battered tables heaped untidily with papers. The room was dominated by a huge iron-bound chest that stood in one corner, made of thick boards and secured by iron bands and padlocks. It was said about the Inns that all the gold Bealknap earned went in there and that he passed his evenings running it through his fingers and counting it. He hardly spent any, though; it was known that tailors and innkeepers had been chasing him through the courts for years for money he owed.
Bealknap looked at the chest and seemed momentarily to relax. Many lawyers would have been embarrassed to have such stories of miserliness spread about them, but Bealknap seemed not to mind. Keeping the chest in his office was safe enough for he lived in rooms next door, and with its guards and watchmen the Inn was as safe a place as anywhere in London. Yet I remembered what the Gristwoods’ killers had made of the chest in Sepultus’s workshop.
Bealknap took off his cap and ran a hand through his wiry blond hair. ‘Will you take a seat, Brother?’
‘Thank you.’ I sat by his desk, casting an eye over the papers. To my surprise I saw the crest of the Hanseatic League on one document, French writing on another.
‘You have business with French merchants?’ I asked.
‘They pay well. The French are having problems with the Custom House these days.’
‘Not surprising as they threaten war on us.’
‘That won’t happen. The king knows the dangers, as the duke was saying at lunch.’ He waved the subject away. ‘In God’s name, Brother, what is this about Michael Gristwood?’
‘He was found dead yesterday morning at his home. His brother was murdered too. The formula is gone. You know what I am talking about.’