'I would like to get back to my house, though,' she said. 'It has been decided David is to live with me there. He earns enough at the foundry to keep us both. Then when the market improves we shall sell the place. We shall have money then, eh, David?'

'Yes, Mother,' he said obediently. I wondered how long it would be before, like Michael, he kicked against the traces.

'Where is Master Kytchyn?' I asked. 'I need to see him.'

Goodwife Gristwood snorted. 'That creeping old monk? In his room, I should think. Upstairs.'

I bowed to her. 'Then I shall go up. I am glad you and your son are safe.'

'Yes.' Her face softened again for a moment. 'Thank you, sir. You have kept faith with us.'

I mounted the stairs, oddly touched by Goodwife Gristwood's unexpected thanks. She had not asked about Bathsheba Green, perhaps she did not care any more now she had her son. I saw that only one door on the upper floor was closed and knocked quietly. There was silence for a moment, then Kytchyn's voice called hesitantly, 'Come in.'

He had been praying, I saw, for he was still rising slowly to his knees. I saw the bulge of a bandage on one arm through the thin stuff of his white cassock. His thin face was pale, drawn with pain.

'Master Shardlake,' he said anxiously.

'Master Kytchyn. How is your arm?'

He shook his head sadly. 'I do not have the use of my fingers as I did. But at least the arm has not gone bad, I must be thankful for that.' He sat on the bed with a sigh.

'How do you find it here?'

He frowned. 'I do not like that woman. She tries to rule the place. Women should not do that,' he said definitely. I realized he had probably had few dealings with women over the years, so Goodwife Gristwood must terrify him. How at sea in the world he was.

'It should not be for much longer, sir.' I smiled encouragingly. 'There is something I would ask you.'

The scared look returned to his face. 'About Greek Fire, sir?'

'Yes. A question only.'

His shoulders slumped and he sighed heavily. 'Very well.'

'They are clearing out the graves at Barty's now.'

'I know. I saw that the day we met there. It is a desecration.'

'I am told there was an old custom there that people buried in the precincts would have something personal buried with them, something that related to their lives on earth. The friars, and the patients in the hospital too.'

'That is true. Many times I have been at vigil for a dead brother. Before they laid him in his coffin they laid a symbol of his life on the body, carefully, reverently.' Tears appeared in the corners of his eyes.

'I wondered if the old soldier, St John, might have had some of the Greek Fire buried with him.'

Kytchyn stood up, looking interested now. 'It is possible. Yes, I suppose if the monks knew of anything that defined his life it would be that. And they would not know Richard Rich would come and desecrate the graves,' he added bitterly.

I nodded. 'Then I think I should find it before Rich goes digging there. I hope there is time. He has ordered the things they find in the graves be brought to him.'

Kytchyn looked at me. 'Ah yes. Some will be gold or silver.'

'Yes.' I returned his gaze. 'Master Kytchyn, something has troubled me. The monks hid that barrel, and the formula. They knew what Greek Fire could do.'

Kytchyn nodded seriously. 'Ay, they did. That motto.'

'"Lupus est homo homini" Man is wolf to man. But, if they knew that, why did they keep the damned stuff? Why not destroy it? If they had, none of this trouble would have come on any of us.'

A sad flicker of a smile crossed Kytchyn's face. 'Struggles between Church and State did not begin with the king's lust for the Bullen whore, sir. There have often been – differences.'

'That is true.'

'St John was at Barty's in the days of the wars between York and Lancaster. Unstable, warlike times. I imagine the monks kept Greek Fire in case they should find themselves under threat and could use it as a bargaining tool. We had to be politicians, sir. Monks always were. Then, when the Tudors restored stability to the land, Greek Fire was forgotten. Perhaps deliberately.'

'Because the Tudors made England safe.' I smiled sadly. 'There's an irony.'

I FELT ENCOURAGED as I rode down to the river bank to meet Lady Honor. Here was some possible progress at last: I would go to Barty's again tomorrow. I would have to invent some story for being there. I turned possibilities over in my mind as I left Genesis at an inn stables and walked down a crowded lane to Three Cranes Wharf. The big cranes which gave the place its name came into view over the rooftops, outlined against a sky where white clouds were scudding along. They gave no promise of rain, but provided welcome moments of shade as they passed beneath the sun. Flower sellers were doing a brisk trade at the bottom of Three Cranes Lane, where Marchamount's party was to meet. I had left off my robe for the occasion, donning a bright green doublet that I seldom wore and my best hose.

The Thames was alive with wherries and barges. Innumerable tilt boats passed up and down, some of the passengers playing lutes and pipes under the canopies, a merry sound across the water. All London seemed to have come to the river to savour the breeze. A raucous crowd was waiting at the wharf for boats to take them across to the bear-baiting, and I saw Lady Honor standing with Marchamount at the centre of a group by the river steps. Today she wore a black hood and a wide yellow farthingale. She smiled at some remark of Marchamount's, making those engaging dimples round her mouth. How well she can disguise her feelings when she needs to, I thought: one would think him her best friend.

I recognized some of the other guests as mercers who had attended the banquet; a couple had brought their wives. Lady Honor's two attendant ladies and a pair of servants stood beside her, together with young Henry, who was looking nervously around at the crowds. Armed men kept the throng waiting to cross to the bear ring at a distance, watchful for cutpurses.

Lady Honor saw me and called out, 'Master Shardlake! Quick! The boat is here!'

I hurried across and bowed. 'I am sorry, I hope I have not kept you waiting.'

'Only a few minutes.' Her smile was warm.

Marchamount bowed briefly to me, then began ushering people officiously towards the river steps. 'Come along, everyone, before the tide turns.'

A large tilt boat with four oarsmen was waiting, its bright blue sail flapping gently in the breeze. The party was in good spirits, all chattering merrily as they stepped aboard. 'Tired of your robe, Shardlake?' Marchamount asked as I settled myself opposite him. He was wearing his serjeant's robe, and sweating mightily.

'A concession to the heat.'

'I've never seen you dressed so brightly.' He smiled. 'It looks quite extraordinary.'

I turned to Lady Honor's cousin, who was sitting beside me. 'Are you enjoying London better, Master Henry?'

The boy reddened. 'It is hard to get used to after Lincolnshire. So many people crowded together, they give me a headache.' His face brightened. 'But I have been to dine with the. Duke of Norfolk. His house is very splendid. I hear Mistress Howard is often there, that they say may be queen soon.'

I coughed. 'I'd be careful what you say about that in public.'

Marchamount laughed. 'Come, Shardlake, it's as certain as can be. Cromwell's days are numbered.'

'I hear Lord Cromwell is a great rogue, of no breeding,' Henry said.

'You really should be careful where you say that,' I warned him.

He gave me an uncertain look. Lady Honor was right, this boy had not the wit to make a path for his family at court. I glanced at the head of the boat, where Lady Honor sat looking out over the river, her face thoughtful. Ahead, on the Southwark side, the high circular arena of the bear-baiting ring loomed up. I sighed inwardly, for I had ever disliked watching the huge, terrified animals torn apart to the roars of the crowd.