‘Do they plan to work into the night then?’ Barak asked.

‘Looks like it. Let’s hope for their sakes it doesn’t rain.’

I turned at a clinking sound. The glazier Oldroyd whom we had seen earlier walked slowly by, leading his enormous horse. It was one of those black Midland giants, the largest and strongest in the land, and it pulled a high-sided cart, full of glass.

‘A good day’s labour, fellow?’ I asked.

‘A busy day, maister, ay,’ he said in a quiet voice. He touched his cap and I saw his hand was criss-crossed with tiny scars; from a lifetime’s cuts, no doubt. ‘They let me keep the glass and lead as payment for my services.’

‘What do you do with it?’

‘It goes to gentlemen’s houses. A mythical beast or a ploughman at his toil makes a pretty centre-pane for a window, and cheaper than staining new glass.’ He paused. ‘But I am commanded to melt down the figures of monks and saints. It is sad, they are often beautiful.’ He stopped suddenly and gave me an anxious look; such comments could be construed as criticism of the King’s policy. I smiled to show I took no exception to his words. For a moment I thought he might say something more, but he lowered his head again and led his mighty horse off towards the gate.

I looked round the tents, wondering if I might spot Lucas Hourenbout. Barak asked a couple of officials if they knew where the Office of the Great Hall might be as they scurried past, but they only shook their heads; everyone was still in a great hurry. He sighed, and nodded in the direction of the little sentry box by the gate where the soldier who checked the papers of those coming in and out was posted.

‘Let’s ask him.’

We walked over to the gate. A young sergeant in the scarlet livery of the King’s yeomen was checking a carter’s papers. He was in his twenties, tall and flaxen-haired, with a handsome, open face. Glancing into his booth, I saw a Testament open upon a shelf under the window, one of those with notes to explain the words for those with little reading.

‘All in order,’ he said, handing the carter’s papers back, and the man led his horse in.

‘Know where the Office of the Great Hall is?’ Barak asked. ‘We’ve just arrived, we’re hungry.’

‘Sorry, sirs,’ he said. ‘I don’t know. I heard it’s moved.’

‘So everyone says.’

‘His pies aren’t bad.’ The young soldier nodded to where a pieman was touting his wares among the carpenters. He was doing a good trade.

‘Fancy another pie?’ Barak asked me.

‘Better than wandering among all these folk all evening.’

Barak went over to the pieman. The fellow gave him a deferential little bow; he was on royal territory now.

‘Thank you,’ I said to the soldier.

‘No trouble, sir. Everything is bustle and confusion tonight.’

‘Where are you from, sergeant?’ I asked, noting he had a southern accent.

‘Kent, sir.’

‘Ah, yes, I thought I recognized those tones. I had a job of work down there a few years ago.’

‘Most of us recruited for the Progress are from Kent. There’s six hundred Kentish archers arriving with the King on Friday. He knows we’re the best in the country, and the most loyal.’

I nodded at his book. ‘You are improving your knowledge?’

He blushed. ‘Our chaplain says all should learn to read well.’

‘That is true. Well, good evening, sergeant.’ I went out and joined Barak. We stood eating our pies, watching the craftsmen. It was an extraordinary scene, men calling, hundreds of lamps shining, while, above, the guards patrolled the high walls with their pikes and guns. I looked at the huge silent bulk of the church outlined against the darkening sky.

‘I could do with going back to bed,’ Barak said.

‘Ay, me too. We had no sleep last night.’

We returned to the lodging house. Our quarters were full of lawyers and officials now. We were too tired to do more than nod greetings to them as we headed for our stalls. I fell asleep at once.

I WOKE VERY EARLY, surfeited at last with sleep. It was barely dawn, and all around came the snores and grunts of slumber. It was rare for me to wake before Barak. I rose and dressed silently, rubbing my hand over stubbly cheeks; I must get a shave.

I stepped quietly outside into a misty half-light, white and still. I realized that for the first time since our arrival there was silence at St Mary’s, no calling or sawing, no tramping feet. The animals stood quietly in their byres, their breath steaming. I crossed the courtyard towards the church, my feet silent on the grass. It was very wet; it must have rained in the night. The roof was hidden in the mist. I reflected that only two or three years ago the monks would have been at service now, their chants rising and falling.

I decided to walk through the church and see what was happening in the main courtyard. A dim light came through the windows, but all round the side-chapels, where once candles would have been lit before saints’ images, stood empty and dim. I went over to the horses and spoke a few words to Genesis and Sukey, then walked on. Halfway down I was puzzled to hear a scraping, chinking noise, repeated over and over. Turning, I saw above me the shape of Master Oldroyd, already at work hacking at the lead round a stained-glass window.

I came out into the main courtyard. All was silent here too, the huge pavilions ghostly shapes in the mist. The gate on to Bootham was closed, a guard leaning on his pike and yawning sleepily. Lights flickered, however, at the window of the abbot’s house, and a few officials were already standing around the doorway, stamping their feet and coughing.

‘Master Shardlake. Sir!’ I turned at the sound of a woman’s voice. The girl Tamasin, wearing a fine hooded coat of demi-worsted, was walking towards me. I halted.

‘Mistress Reedbourne.’

‘Good morning, sir,’ she said with a curtsy. ‘I am glad we are met. I would like to thank you properly for your help yesterday.’ She looked around through the fog. ‘Is Master Barak with you?’

‘He is abed yet,’ I said. ‘And you, Mistress Reedbourne, is it not early for you to be abroad?’ I thought again of yesterday’s adventure. It was convenient for her the assault should have happened just as we rode past.

She smiled at me. ‘I am to meet my mistress, Jennet Marlin, and go over to the cooks. Lady Rochford is unhappy with the arrangements for the Queen’s privy kitchen. My mistress has a busy day ahead and wished to start early.’

I eyed her narrowly. So she worked for Jennet Marlin, the sour-looking woman who had been with Lady Rochford yesterday.

‘I fear Mistress Marlin is still abed too,’ the girl said, drawing her coat round her. ‘But I have to wait for her here.’

I nodded. ‘Well, I must be on my way,’ I said.

‘Perhaps I may see Master Barak again,’ she continued, unabashed by my cool manner. ‘And thank him.’

‘We shall be very busy. I doubt our paths will cross.’

‘They may, if we are all lodged here -’

She broke off suddenly, and we both jerked round as a great scream sounded through the fog from the direction of the church: it was a terrible, animal sound, inhumanly loud, and it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. An official in a red robe walking towards the works stopped dead, his mouth falling open.

‘What in Jesu’s name…’ the girl breathed.

The dreadful sound came again, closer, and suddenly a huge blurry shape appeared, charging through the mist. It hit the red-robed official, knocking him aside like a skittle, then charged on, straight to where Tamasin and I stood.