Revelation

'Fire,' he said quietly. 'It is a terrible way to die. The heretics I have pleaded with, begged with to recant, I frightened them by telling them of the skin shrivelling, the fat melting, the hissing and crackling.' He closed his eyes and sighed. 'I would have saved them if I could, but the King is always adamant for the harshest punishments. Once it was Catholics he thought to persecute, but he is returning more and more to the old ideas in religion. A Catholicism without the Pope. And he gets harder to persuade each year.' He shook his head, closed his eyes for a moment, then gave me a sudden piercing look. 'Can you bear this?' he asked.

'Yes, my lord. I have sworn to avenge my poor friend. I will hold to that. I will find courage.'

He smiled wryly. 'Then so must I. Catherine Parr still holds out, you know, she will not give the King an answer. She is frightened, poor woman, hardly surprising given it is scarce a year since Catherine Howard went to the block. Yet I must urge her friends to persuade her to yield, for the influence she could have on the King.'

'She will be in danger.'

'Yes.' He nodded firmly. 'That is what we must all face, for the sake of Jesus' truth. He endured the worst horror of all, for us.' The Archbishop sat silent a moment longer; frightened, sad, compassionate, yet implacable. Then he bade me go. 'Solve this. Find him.'

BARAK AND HARSNET were waiting for me in the corridor. Harsnet was pacing up and down, frowning. Barak sat on a chair, one leg jigging nervously. He looked impatient, angry, frightened. Harsnet looked at me curiously. 'He wanted a few words about the murders,' I said. 'They disturb him.'

'Does he too feel the devil is in this?'

'He does not know, nor do I. It is not a speculation that can profit us,' I added sharply. I turned to Barak. 'Come, we are going to Yarington's house.'

We went outside, where a couple of the palace guards joined us: big men in helmets with swords at their waists, for the Archbishop's palace needed guarding as much as that of any other great man of state. We went down to the pier and took the Archbishop's barge back to town, then walked up to Yarington's church through the city; dark and silent now, for it was past curfew, the constables raising their lanterns in the faces of late travellers. They bowed when they saw our fine clothes and the uniformed guards.

'I was scared shitless when I saw that man burning,' Barak said. 'That poor bastard burning like a candle, for a minute I really thought he'd been set alight by some supernatural power.'

'It was fish oil,' I said brusquely. 'This stuff about devilry does not help us.'

We reached the church, silent and empty now, the windows blank and dark. We walked a little way until we found a fine rectory, set in a well-kept little garden. Harsnet banged loudly on the door. Flickers of light appeared at a window as someone lit a candle, and a man's voice called 'Who is it?' through the door in a scared voice.

'We come on Archbishop Cranmer's business,' Harsnet answered. There was the sound of bolts being drawn back, and the door opened to reveal a small, elderly fellow, his scant grey hair disordered and his nightshirt tucked hastily into his breeches. His eyes widened with fear at the sight of the guards.

'Is it the master?' he asked. 'Oh, God, he hasn't been arrested?'

'It's not that. You men, stay outside,' Harsnet told the guards, then walked past the old man into a little hallway, doors and a staircase leading off. I followed. 'Are you his servant?'

'His steward, sir. Toby White. What has—'

'Why should he be arrested?' Harsnet asked sharply.

'They say Bonner will arrest all godly men,' he answered, a little too quickly I thought. I did not like the steward; he had a mean look.

'Who else lives here?'

The servant hesitated then, eyes darting rapidly between me and Harsnet. 'Only the boy, and he's abed in the stable.'

'I am afraid I have bad news, Goodman White,' Harsnet said. 'Your master died this evening.'

The old man's eyes widened. 'Died? I didn't know where he was, I was starting to worry, but — dead?' He stared at us incredulously.

'He was murdered,' Harsnet said. The steward's eyes widened. 'When did you last see him?'

'He had a message late yesterday afternoon. A letter. He said he had to go and see a fellow cleric. He didn't say where. I thought he must have stayed overnight.'

'What happened to the letter?'

'Master took it with him.'

Harsnet looked at me. 'Like Dr Gurney and your friend.' He turned back to the trembling servant. 'You knew he was going to the reopening of the church tonight?'

'Yes, sir. I thought perhaps he'd gone straight there.'

Harsnet stood silent a moment, thinking. I saw the servant glance quickly at the staircase, then away again.

'Perhaps we should look over the house,' I said.

'There's nobody here,' the servant said, too quickly. 'Just me.'

'If your master had forbidden books,' I said, 'we do not care about that.'

'No, but—'