'This tide of paper will end by drowning us,' he said sorrowfully.

Lord Cromwell's house in Stepney was an imposing red-brick mansion he had had built a few years before. It housed not just his wife and son but a dozen young sons of clients, whom he had taken into his household for their education. I had visited it before; the house was like a miniature court with its servants and teachers, clerks and constant visitors. As I approached I saw a crowd of ragged people waiting outside. An old blind man, shoeless in the snow, stood with his hand out, calling, 'Alms, alms by your mercy.' I had heard that Cromwell got his servants to distribute doles from the side gate in an effort to gain popularity among the London poor. It was a scene uncomfortably reminiscent of the monastery dole day.

I stabled my horse and was led indoors by Blitheman the steward, an amiable fellow. Lord Cromwell would be a little late, he said, and offered me some wine.

'That would be welcome.'

'Tell me, sir, would you care to see Lord Cromwell's leopard? He likes it to be shown to visitors. It's in a cage at the back.'

'I heard he had recently acquired such a beast. Thank you.'

Blitheman led me through the busy house to a yard at the back. I had never seen a leopard, though I had heard of those fabulous spotted creatures, which could run faster than the wind. He led me out, smiling proprietorially. My nostrils were assailed with a great stink, and I found myself looking through the bars of a metal cage perhaps twenty feet square. The stone floor was dotted with gobbets of meat, and a great cat prowled up and down. Its fur was golden with black spots, and everything in its lean, muscled frame spoke of savage power. As we entered the yard it turned and snarled, showing huge yellow fangs.

'A fearsome beast,' I said.

'Fifteen pounds it cost my lord.'

The leopard sat down and stared at us, occasionally lifting its lips in a snarl.

'What is its name?' I asked.

'Oh, it has no name, it would not be godly to give a Christian's name to such a monster.'

'Poor creature, it must be cold.'

A boy in livery appeared at the door and muttered to Blitheman.

'Lord Cromwell is returned,' Blitheman said. 'Come, he is in his study.' With a last glance at the snarling leopard, I followed him inside. I reflected that my master, too, had a savage reputation and wondered whether he was sending a deliberate message by possessing such a creature.

Lord Cromwell's study was a smaller version of his Westminster office, packed with paper-strewn tables. Normally it was gloomy, but today the sunlight reflected from the snow in the garden sent a penetrating white light across the heavy creases and folds of his face as he sat behind his desk. His look at me when I was shown in was hostile, his mouth set tight and his chin projecting angrily. He did not bid me sit.

'I had expected to hear from you sooner,' he said coldly. 'Nine days. And the business isn't settled yet, I can tell by your look.' He noticed my sword. 'God's blood, do you wear a weapon in my presence?'

'No, my lord,' I said, hastily unbuckling it. 'It is a piece of evidence, I had to bring it.' I laid it on a table where an illustrated copy of the English Bible lay open at a picture of Sodom and Gomorrah consumed by flames. I told him all that had happened: the deaths of Simon and Gabriel and the discovery of Orphan Stonegarden's body, the abbot's offer of surrender, my suspicions about the land sales, and finally Jerome's letter, which I passed to him. Except when he was reading it he glared at me throughout with that unblinking gaze of his. When I had finished he let out a snort.

'God's holy wounds, it's a chaos worse than Bedlam. I hope when you get back that boy of yours is still alive,' he added brutally. 'I've spent time cozening Rich into taking him back; it'd better not be wasted.'

'I thought I should report to you, my lord. Especially when I found that letter.'

He grunted. 'They should have reminded me that the Carthusian was there, Grey will hear about that. Brother Jerome will be dealt with. But I'm not concerned with letters to Edward Seymour. All the Seymour family look to my favour now the queen's dead.' He leaned forward. 'But these deaths unsolved do worry me. They must not come out now, I don't want my other negotiations upset. Lewes Priory is about to surrender.'

'They are giving in?'

'I had word yesterday; the surrender will be signed this week. That's what I was seeing Norfolk about, we're going to divide their lands between us. The king's agreed in principle.'

'It must be a goodly parcel.'

'It is. Their Sussex estates will go to me and those in Norfolk to the duke. The prospect of lands soon brings old enemies to the negotiating table.' He gave a bark of laughter. 'I'm going to set my son Gregory up in the abbot's fine house, make a landowner of him.' He paused and the steely look returned. 'You seek to distract me, Matthew, put me in a better mood.'

'No, sir. I know this has gone slowly but it is the hardest and most dangerous puzzle I have known-'

'What's the importance of that sword?'

I told him of its discovery and my talk with Oldknoll earlier. He furrowed his brows. 'Mark Smeaton. I didn't think he was one to cause trouble from beyond the grave.' Lord Cromwell came round his desk and picked up the sword. 'It's a fine weapon all right, I wish I'd had it when I was soldiering in Italy in my youth.'

'There must be a connection between the killings and Smeaton.'

'I can see one,' he said. 'A connection to Singleton's death, anyway. Revenge.'

He thought a moment, then turned and gave me a hard look. 'This is not to be repeated to anyone.'

'On my honour.'

He put down the sword and began pacing up and down, hands folded behind him. His black robe billowed around his knees.

'When the king turned against Anne Boleyn last year, I had to act quickly. I'd been associated with her from the beginning, and the papist faction would have worked my fall with hers; the king was starting to listen to them. So it had to be me that rid the king of her. Do you see?'

'Yes. Yes, I see.'

'I persuaded him she was adulterous and that meant she could be executed for treason, without her religion coming into it. But there would have to be evidence and a public trial.'

I stood looking at him silently.

'I took some of my most trusted men and assigned to each a friend of hers whom I had chosen – Norris, Weston, Brereton, her brother Rochford – and Smeaton. Their task was to get either a confession, or something that could be made to look like evidence that they had lain with her. Singleton was the man I assigned to deal with Mark Smeaton.'

'He made up a case against him?'

'Smeaton looked to be the easiest one to force into a confession; he was just a boy. So it proved, he confessed to adultery after a session on the Tower rack. The same one I used on that Carthusian, who must indeed have met him because all he reported Smeaton saying was true.' His tone as he went on was reflective, matter of fact.

'And one of the visitors the Carthusian saw coming to the cell that night would have been Singleton himself. I sent him to make sure that in his speech from the scaffold – there's a tradition that should be done away with – the boy did not retract his confession. He was reminded that, if he said anything amiss, his father would suffer.'

I stared at my lord. 'So what people said was true? Queen Anne and those accused with her were innocent?'

He turned to me. The harsh light caught his face and seemed to leach his eyes of expression as he frowned at me.