Revelation

Barak looked red-eyed, a little bilious. Had he had yet another night in the taverns? He leaned close; his breath was sour.

'A spectacular death like this,' he said, 'you'd think there'd be a crowd here to fill the public gallery. But those constables are turning folk away.'

'Really?' That would be good for Dorothy, but it was unheard of; the coroner's court, like all jury courts, was supposed to be public.

'Brother Shardlake, a word.' Treasurer Rowland appeared at my elbow. I followed him away from the group.

'My clerk tells me no spectators have been allowed in,' I said.

'The usher says the coroners have decided the hearing is to be private, to prevent idle babble. I have never heard of such a thing.'

We were interrupted by a black-robed usher calling from a doorway. I went back to Dorothy. She rose to her feet; lips set, a spot of red in each cheek. 'Take my hand, Margaret,' she said quietly. The jurors parted to let her enter the courtroom.

WE HAD BEEN GIVEN one of the meeting rooms. Rows of benches faced the table where the two coroners already sat. The usher guided me, along with the other witnesses, to the front row and the jurors took the two rows behind. The rows where the public would have sat were empty. I studied the two coroners sitting at the table facing us. Browne slouched with his plump hands folded across his ample stomach. Next to him sat a very different man: in his early forties, short but strongly made, with a square face. Thick brown hair curled beneath his black cap and he had a short, neat beard just starting to go grey. He met my look; the gaze from his bright blue eyes was sharp, appraising.

'That's Sir Gregory Harsnet,' Barak whispered. 'The King's assistant coroner. He used to be in Lord Cromwell's camp, he's one of the few reformers who's kept his place.'

Browne let out a little belch; Harsnet frowned at him and he turned another belch into a cough and sat up straight. No doubt who was master here. The doors were closed.

'We will come to order, please.' Harsnet spoke in a clear, quiet voice with a west country accent, his eyes roving round the room. 'We are here today to adjudicate on the sudden and dreadful death of Roger Elliard, barrister of Lincoln's Inn. As the jurors are all lawyers, I do not need to tell you that today we shall view the body, hear the evidence and decide whether we can come to a verdict.'

The jury was sworn in, the young barristers stepping up to take the Testament from the usher. Then Harsnet addressed us again.

'Before we view the body I would call Dr Guy Malton, who has been charged with examining it, to tell us what he found.'

Guy stood and recited his impressive medical qualifications, the jurors staring curiously at his brown skin. He spoke of how he believed Roger had been rendered unconscious using the drug called dwale, then carried to the fountain where his throat had been cut.

'He was alive when he went in,' he said. 'He died from a massive loss of blood, not drowning. That means' — he hesitated — 'that means his throat was cut, then he was held over the fountain until he died, and then was thrown in.'

There was silence in the courtroom for a moment, as the full horror of the scene Guy described sank in. Then Harsnet asked, 'How long was he dead before he was found?'

'Some hours. Rigor mortis would be delayed by the cold.' He looked at me. 'And I believe a skin of ice had had time to re-form on the fountain.'

'It had,' I said.

I glanced across Barak to Dorothy, who sat with Margaret on Guy's other side. She was quite still, her face expressionless. She seemed smaller somehow, as though shrinking into those heavy black clothes.

Harsnet frowned at Guy. 'What object could anyone have in creating such a terrible spectacle? A man dead in a fountain of blood.'

Guy spread his hands. 'I cannot say.' Again I thought, that phrase is familiar. A fountain of blood. But from where?

'A ghastly thing.' Harsnet shook his head; he looked troubled. He then rose slowly. 'Jurors,' he said quietly, 'you will now accompany me to view the body. Dr Malton, please come too in case there are questions. I see a Brother Shardlake is to identify the body.' He looked at me. 'That is you?'

'Yes, master coroner.'

He gave me a long, considering stare. 'How long did you know the deceased?'

'Twenty years. I wished to spare his widow.'

Harsnet looked at Dorothy. 'Very well,' he said quietly, and rose to lead us out.