Lamentation

I did not answer. Rich sighed, then continued wearily. ‘It is only the Askews and Gardiners of this world who would risk their lives over such questions as the nature of the Mass.’ He pointed a finger at me. ‘Working to preserve himself before all else is what any man endowed with reason does. You are right, Master Shardlake, I want to ensure I am safe, just as the Queen does. I have reached a dead end trying to find these missing people. I think you have, too. I have a spy at the docks, and from what he tells me, others are also there, watching for someone trying to get books out. Those people I suspect are working for the Queen.’ Again I did not answer. ‘I have limited resources, as do you,’ he went on in an irritated tone. ‘My suggestion is that the Queen and I work together to recover Askew’s book.’ He gave a bitter little laugh. ‘There have been stranger alliances these last fifteen years.’

‘I cannot forget the outcome when last I made a bargain with you,’ I said finally. ‘You tried to kill me.’

He shrugged. ‘Oh, I would like you dead, have no doubt. But larger matters are involved. I offer you limited cooperation for a specific end. And you have the Queen’s direct protection, of course.’

I sat back. ‘I would need a little time to consider.’ My feelings about Rich were violent; a mixture of disgust, loathing, and complete distrust. And yet I confess I also felt a certain pleasure sitting there dealing with him on equal terms for the first time, and pleasure, too, at the fact that I knew more than he did. And, in terms of reason, Rich was right. His proposition made sense. Furthermore, working with him would give me the opportunity to try and prevent the worst from happening — that he might get hold of the Lamentation as a by-product of retrieving Anne Askew’s writings. For that was truly explosive material. This time, it would be me playing a double game with Rich.

He said, ‘You mean, you need time to consult the Queen’s people. Yes, I understand that.’

‘You realize Anne Askew’s book may already have been smuggled out of the country, to be printed abroad.’ And the Lamentation, I thought, but did not say.

‘I think not.’ Rich leaned back again, interlacing his fingers. ‘You know of John Bale? Currently residing in exile in Antwerp?’

‘By reputation.’

‘The main publisher of heretical books in English. A likely destination for this trash, you agree?’

‘Yes.’

‘John Bale has been watched, for some time, by agents of the King. Secretary Paget is in charge of that, but I am among the Privy Councillors who see the reports. We would have liked him arrested by the Emperor Charles’s authorities and burned, as William Tyndale was a decade ago. But the Emperor’s authority is weak in Antwerp now. We can only watch. And it is known that Bale is expecting a consignment. It is not there yet, or at least it was not two days ago, the date of the last report.’

‘I see.’ That tied in with what Hugh Curteys had told me, too. ‘Where does Lord Chancellor Wriothesley fit into this?’

‘He leaves the hard work to me. As people do.’

‘Who leads your men? Is it Stice?’

‘Yes. He has a distant family connection, one of those innumerable young gentlemen who seek a place at court. I watch for those with brains who do not mind getting their hands dirty, too. Gower is one of his lackeys.’

‘Gower seems a little — unstable.’

‘Stice assures me he is totally loyal to him, as he seems to be. And one must trust one’s subordinates to some extent, or one would go mad, would one not?’

‘True.’

‘If we find Anne Askew’s book, I want it agreed that it be destroyed unread.’ He spoke slowly and clearly, as if to prevent any misunderstandings.

I nodded. ‘I have no problem with that being agreed.’ And there I had the advantage over Rich, knowing that there was nothing in it that implicated the Queen. I did not care what happened to it one way or the other. I had already decided I would recommend the Queen to make this temporary agreement with Rich. But I would watch him like a hawk. I was certain that, had I not kept this appointment, Rich would have killed Nicholas. And I would never have known who had done it.

‘I will consider what you have said. With the Queen’s people.’

He nodded. ‘I thought you would.’

I smiled grimly. ‘You have not done well these last few years, have you, Sir Richard? Those allegations of corruption when you were in charge of finance during the war? And now months of working for Gardiner and Wriothesley to help bring down the Queen, only for it to end in your total failure. I thought you did not seem your usual confident self at the burning.’