‘It is.’ She looked at me seriously. ‘Tomorrow, Master Shardlake, we shall talk. I promise.’
I should have pressed her, but only got up and bowed as she rose and walked gracefully to the gate, her wide dress brushing the cobbles. I turned and made for my chambers, where I saw a light burned in Godfrey’s window.
My friend sat at his desk, frowning over the papers in one of my cases. Moths fluttered around the candle on his desk, burning their wings as the poor silly creatures always do. Godfrey’s fair hair was sticking up where he had run his hands through it and he wore little round reading glasses that gave him an aged, scholarly look.
I smiled. ‘Godfrey, are you labouring this late on my account?’
‘Ay, but of my own will. I welcome the distraction.’ He sighed. ‘I learned today I am to go before the treasurer himself to account for my conduct. I expect a heavy fine.’ He smiled sadly. ‘So this extra work of yours will be useful. I do wish Skelly could put papers in proper order, though. He tries, poor fellow, but somehow he can get nothing right.’
‘It was dangerous to bait the Duke of Norfolk,’ I told him seriously.
His glasses flashed in the candlelight as he shook his head. ‘I did not bait him. I spoke up for God’s Word. Is that a crime?’
‘It depends on how you do it. Some who do it wrongly have ended in the fire.’
His face set. ‘What is half an hour of agony against eternal bliss?’
‘Easy to say.’
He sighed, his shoulders slumping. ‘I know. Another evangelical preacher was arrested yesterday. I wonder if I would have the stomach for the fire. I went to John Lambert’s burning, do you remember?’
‘Ay.’ I remembered Barak talking of Lambert’s proud martyr’s demeanour.
‘I went to fortify myself by watching his courage. And he was as brave as a man could be. Yet it was an awful thing.’
‘It is always awful.’
‘I remember a breeze got up, blew terrible greasy smuts at the crowd. Lambert was dead by then. Yet some deserve it,’ he said with a sudden flash of anger. ‘I watched Friar Forest burn too, the papist renegade.’ He clenched his fists. ‘The blood sweated from his body till his soul fell down to hell. Sometimes it is necessary. The papists will not triumph.’ His face took on that steely fanatical look again and I shivered that a man could turn thus from gentleness to brutality in a moment.
‘I must go, Godfrey,’ I said quietly. ‘I have to prepare the Common Council’s case against Bealknap.’ I looked at his set face. ‘But if the fine is heavy and places you in difficulty, you can always come to me.’
His face softened again. ‘Thank you, Matthew.’ He shook his head. ‘It is a sad thing the profits of the dissolution go to base men of spoil like Bealknap. They should be used to fund hospitals and true Christian schools for the commonwealth.’
‘Yes, they should.’ But I recalled Lady Honor’s words about the making of fortunes being all men cared for now.
I WORKED ON THE case for two hours, revising case notes and sketching out my arguments. Then I gathered my papers into my satchel, slung it over my shoulder and went across to the library. I wanted to follow up what one of the papers Gristwood had gathered from St Bartholomew’s had said about something like Greek Fire being known to the Romans hundreds of years before the Byzantines. What was the substance the Romans had used, yet been unable to develop in the way the Byzantines had? That was strange, given the legendary efficiency of Rome’s armed forces.
Most windows were dark now but there was a yellow glow from the library window. I went in. The huge bookshelves loomed over me in the semi-darkness. The only light came from the librarian’s desk, where Master Rowley was working surrounded by a little ring of candles. The librarian was a scholarly old fellow who loved nothing better than to pore over legal works, and he was deep in a volume of Bracton. He had never been near a court, yet had an encyclopaedic knowledge of case law and was often discreetly consulted by the serjeants. He got up and bowed as I approached.
‘May I take a candle, Rowley? I have some books to find.’
He smiled eagerly. ‘Anything I can help you find? Property law, aren’t you, Master Shardlake?’
‘Not tonight, thank you.’ I lifted a candle from the rack and lit it from one of those on Rowley’s desk. Then I crossed to the shelf where works on Roman law and history were kept. I had a list of works the papers had referred to: Livy, Plutarch, Lucullus, the great chroniclers.