I looked round dubiously. ‘Will this room be secure enough?’

‘The door is solid,’ Barak said, ‘and we are two floors up.’

Craike ran his hands through his hair again, then gave me a sudden apologetic smile. ‘Oh, Master Shardlake, you must think me an unhelpful churl. Only, with so much to do…’ He delved in his pocket, and handed me a key. ‘Here, take this. When you are done perhaps you could find me and return it.’

‘I will, sir. And thank you for your help at this busy time.’

‘Then I will see you later.’ Craike picked up his little desk, slung it round his shoulders and hurried from the room. Barak placed the box on the table.

‘It is light.’ He shook it. ‘There’s something inside. Cloth, perhaps?’ He gave the lid another experimental tug but it stayed fast.

‘Empty or no, it is safe now. Come, we must get changed.’ We left the room, but I cast a last anxious look at the casket before I locked the door behind us.

BARAK AND I SOON found Sir James Fealty’s office, a large room on the ground floor of the manor. We were in our best clothes, I in my best robe and my new cap, which I had bought in London. It was expensive, black velvet decorated with tiny garnets and a blue feather on the side. I disliked the gaudy thing. The feather had come a little loose in its clasp and the tip drifted in and out of my vision like a circling insect.

Sir James was a thin old fellow in a brown doublet, an embroidered collar to his shirt and a long wispy white beard that came to a point halfway down his chest. He was sitting at a large desk, reading the petitions and frowning. The clerk Cowfold who had insulted me behind my back the night before was standing at his shoulder, his face expressionless. His demeanour did not change as I gave him a hard look. Wrenne stood a little way off.

After a minute Sir James deigned to look up. ‘So you’re the lawyer,’ he said in a reedy voice. ‘Well, I suppose your clothes will do, though that feather in your cap needs straightening.’ He pointed his quill at Barak. ‘Who is that?’

‘My assistant, sir.’

He made a flicking motion with the quill. ‘You won’t be there. Outside.’

Barak gave him a nasty look, but left the room. Sir James turned back to the petitions and our summary. He studied them for another ten minutes, ignoring Wrenne and me completely. I had met self-important officials in my time, but Fealty was something new. I glanced at Wrenne, who winked at me.

After a while my back started to hurt, and I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. ‘You’d better not bob around like that on Friday,’ Sir James said without looking up. ‘You stand stock-still when you’re in the presence of the King.’ He tossed the summary aside. ‘Well, those will do I suppose.’ He heaved himself up from his desk. ‘Now listen carefully. This is what will happen on Friday.’

He took us through the planned event step by step. Early in the morning we would journey to Fulford Cross with the deputation from York sent to abase themselves before the King and present him with gifts from the city. We would all wait until the Progress arrived. All would kneel, as Henry had decreed everyone must do at his approach. There would be various ceremonies, during which Recorder Tankerd and I would wait, kneeling, at the front of the York delegation. Then the King and Queen would step forward and Tankerd would make his speech from his knees. Afterwards, Wrenne and I could rise to our feet, to present the petitions.

‘You will hand the petitions to the King’s pages, who will be standing by; they in turn will hand them to the King. Having thus formally accepted the documents, the King will pass them to another official. Later they will be given back to you to deal with from then on.’

‘Round in a circle like the maypole,’ Wrenne said with a smile. He seemed not at all intimidated by Sir James, who gave him an offended stare.

‘His Majesty will have graciously consented to deal with them,’ he rasped. ‘That is the point.’

‘Of course, Sir James,’ Wrenne answered mildly.

‘One thing more. The King may choose to address some words to you, some pleasantries. If he does you may look him in the face and reply, briefly, and thank him for addressing you. And you address him as Your Majesty, not Your Grace – he prefers that term now. Is that understood?’

‘It would be a great honour,’ Wrenne murmured.

Sir James grunted. ‘But unless he addresses you – ’ Sir James leaned forward threateningly – ‘do not look the King in the eye. Keep your heads bowed. It is a fact that many of the common sort who are brought into His Majesty’s presence never actually see his countenance. People will try to risk an upward glance, from vulgar curiosity. If the King sees that – well, he has a harsh tongue, and if he is in ill-humour, from the pain he suffers in his leg or some other cause, he is good at thinking up nasty punishments for those who offend him.’ He smiled tightly at us.

A picture of Aske’s skeleton, hanging in its chains, came into my head. ‘We will be careful on Friday, Sir James,’ I said.

‘You had better be. This is not a game. It is to show these barbarian papists the power and glory of their king.’ He motioned to Cowfold, who replaced the petitions in the panniers and handed them to me.

‘That is all. Present yourselves in the hall of King’s Manor at eight on Friday. And you, master lawyer, make sure you get a shave before then. Barbers are being laid on.’ He motioned us away with his pen.

We left and rejoined Barak, who was waiting outside. I blew out my cheeks.

‘He was a pompous old arsehole,’ Barak said.

‘I am glad that’s over, though I confess I am looking forward to Friday even less now.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Let us see whether Maleverer is back yet. Brother Wrenne, I shall see you on Friday morning. Can I give you the petitions to keep?’

‘Ay. I will take them back to my house.’

I shook his hand. ‘Thank you again for what you did this morning. You saved us a nasty beating, or worse.’

‘I am glad to have helped. Well, good luck with Sir William.’

‘Thank you. Until Friday then.’

‘Until Friday. The great day.’ He raised his eyebrows, then turned and left us.

MALEVERER, THOUGH, was not yet back. We waited for a while in the hall of the manor, where quite a little group had gathered with matters requiring his attention on his return. Lady Rochford and Jennet Marlin were still there, and the bearded young man, talking intently to Lady Rochford.

‘Is he going to be all day?’ Barak asked.

‘I am reluctant to leave that box all this time.’

‘Then let’s wait with it,’ Barak said. ‘We might as well be there as here.’

I considered. ‘Yes, why not. We can see from the window when he returns.’ I looked at him. ‘You don’t think I’m being too anxious.’

‘Not where Maleverer’s concerned, no.’

‘All right.’

He leaned close. ‘And perhaps we could take a look inside.’

I looked at him irritably. ‘It’s locked. I am not going to break it open.’

‘Don’t need to.’ Barak gave a sly smile. ‘You forget my skills at picking locks. A box like that would be child’s play.’ He glanced at my cap, which I had removed and was holding carefully. ‘Give me the pin keeping that feather in your cap and I could easily unlock it, see what is inside. Then we can lock it up again. No one need know if we didn’t want them to.’

I hesitated. Barak had that eager light in his eyes again. ‘We’ll see,’ I said.

We walked up to Craike’s office. My heart was beating fast, for I had an irrational fear the wretched casket might be gone. The corridor was silent and empty, the work of moving the officials out evidently complete. I unlocked Craike’s door and sighed with relief at the sight of the box sitting where we had left it on the table.