‘That was over thirty years ago.’

He studied my face. ‘You have a nasty bruise there, sir.’

‘Yes.’ I adjusted my cap. ‘I shall have to try and hide it tomorrow.’

He looked at me curiously. ‘And your enquiries about Master Oldroyd, how are they proceeding?’

‘Sir William Maleverer has taken it into his own hands.’

Someone hailed Tankerd, and he excused himself. I turned to Barak, who was craning his neck to look over the crowd.

‘Where is she?’ he muttered.

‘Mistress Reedbourne? Over there.’ I pointed to a group of courtiers some way off. I recognized Lady Rochford, her face alight as she retailed some story to a little group of ladies. As always there was something hectic, overexcited, in her expression. Jennet Marlin stood a few paces off, Tamasin beside her. Mistress Marlin was looking disapprovingly at the stage, but Tamasin was glancing around eagerly.

Then I drew in my breath, for I recognized a small, neat man with sharp, delicate features and a rich fur robe who stood near to Lady Rochford. He was talking to Dereham, the Queen’s young secretary. Sir Richard Rich, Chancellor of the Court of Augmentations, whom I had made an enemy of the year before, and who had backed my opponent Bealknap in my Chancery case. I had known I might encounter Rich here, but now I shrank away.

Barak had seen him too. ‘That arsehole,’ he murmured.

‘I don’t want to meet him unless I have to.’

‘Then I’ll leave you if I may, go over and see Tamasin. Rich won’t remember a common fellow like me.’

‘All right.’

‘Take care for cutpurses,’ he warned, then threaded his way through the crowd towards Tamasin. Alone, I felt suddenly vulnerable. Cutpurses, yes. And assassins.

Musicians had appeared in the hall doorway, carrying sackbuts and lutes. A man in a chorister’s robe shepherded a group of chattering boys on to the stage. They disappeared behind the curtain.

‘That’s my bairn Oswald!’ a woman behind me called out excitedly. I shifted my position, wishing I could sit down for my neck hurt again. I thought about what I had remembered earlier, the name Blaybourne and the place in Kent. Should I tell Maleverer? If there was a connection between this Blaybourne and Kent he should perhaps know, for York was already full of Kentish soldiers and hundreds more would be arriving tomorrow. Yet I sensed Maleverer would not be pleased to find that I had not put that name out of my mind.

‘Brother Shardlake.’ I started at a deep voice at my elbow, then smiled as I turned.

‘Brother Wrenne. How are you, sir?’

The old lawyer wore his cap and thick coat and, I saw, carried a cane that he seemed to lean on heavily.

‘A little stiff this evening. But what of you? Maleverer told me you were attacked after I left you yesterday, and that old casket you found at Oldroyd’s stolen.’

‘I am all right, I was only knocked out.’

‘Is that a bruise you have? It looks painful.’

‘It is nothing. I was sorry to learn Sir William questioned you.’

He smiled wryly. ‘Oh, Maleverer does not frighten me. I answered his questions and left.’

‘He did a cruel thing to Oldroyd’s young apprentice.’

‘Madge told me. That news is all over York. But the glazier’s guild are looking for another place for Master Green.’

‘I am glad.’

‘I remember Sir William when he was but another younger son of an old family, twisting and bullying his way towards power in the aftermath of the rebellion. He is a man of great ambition. As men often are when they have the taint of bastardy.’

‘He is illegitimate?’

‘So ’tis said. Not a true sprig of the old Maleverer family. His mother and father were part of the train that accompanied Margaret Tudor to Scotland when she married the Scotch King’s father forty years ago. His mother had a dalliance up there, they say.’

‘Really?’

‘William Maleverer is a man driven to prove himself. But he will overreach himself one day, for he lacks subtlety.’ Wrenne waved his free hand, dismissing Maleverer, his big emerald ring catching the torchlight. ‘I thought I would come out and see the performance. I asked Madge to accompany me, but she says it will be a heathen thing.’

‘ ’Tis but a musical entertainment.’

‘Ay, but they are using the musicians and some of the equipment from the Mystery Plays. She does not approve. She is another York traditionalist in religious matters.’ He smiled gently, the lights from the stage emphasizing the deep lines in his face.

The curtains began to move. The excited voices of the crowd faded to whispers as a beautifully decorated stage was revealed. Backcloth curtains had been painted to resemble a sylvan glade, with blue sky and a bright rainbow just visible behind painted mountains beyond. Paper clouds suspended by invisible wires from the canopy slid back and forth. The musicians had gathered in a semicircle round the choirboys. ‘Those are the city waits,’ Wrenne told me. He smiled sadly ‘I have loved the York Mystery Plays since I was a child. Yet there are reformers who would have them banned as yet another superstitious ceremony.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘It is sad.’

‘What better way to reveal the stories of the Bible, of their Saviour, to the unlettered?’ I realized that Wrenne was something I could hardly call myself these days, a man of faith.

The musicians tuned their instruments. The whispering ceased and in the sudden silence I heard Lady Rochford’s voice, on a high, excited note. ‘ ’Tis true! Anne of Cleves was so innocent she thought a mere kiss-’ I turned, as others did, and saw her redden and bite her lip. What a loud-mouthed foolish creature she was. I saw that Barak was in animated talk with Tamasin. Then I saw Sir Richard Rich’s eyes upon me, his expression speculative. I turned away as the music began.

The players were skilful, producing a selection of merry tunes. Then the boys began to sing:

Welcome to York, Great Sov’reign King,

Fair glades and dark mountains welcome you,

Justice and mercy do you bring,

Forgiveness for our grievous sins;

And light to banish dark and rain,

Prosperity to come again.

Moved by their wires, the paper clouds parted and a bright yellow sun was revealed as the rainbow lifted higher and higher.

‘Let’s hope they’re not playing this in another downpour tomorrow,’ Wrenne whispered.

Other songs followed, all extolling Yorkshire’s loyalty, its regret for its past sins and its delight the King had come to bring justice and prosperity. I glanced round the crowd. Many stood watching eagerly, enjoying the spectacle, but others, especially the big Dalesmen, stood with folded arms and cynical smiles. After half an hour there was an interval, the curtain descended and pie sellers appeared, carrying their wares on trays that made me think of Craike’s little desk. I turned to find Wrenne looking at me seriously.

‘Brother Shardlake, do you know how long the King is to be here? They have announced the Scotch King is coming to York, yet no one has heard of any party leaving Scotland.’

‘I do not know.’

He nodded. ‘Perhaps some days then. I wished to know because I have arrangements to make.’ He took a deep breath, then looked at me seriously. ‘May I confide in you, sir?’

‘Of course.’

‘You see, I plan to return to London with the Progress. To visit the Inns of Court, see if I can find my nephew, Martin Dakin.’

I looked at him in surprise. ‘Might it not be better to write first? If there was a family quarrel?’

He shook his head vigorously. ‘No. This may be my last opportunity. Already I am too old to travel to London alone. I have done many favours for people in York over the years. Including friend Maleverer, in his less exalted days. I think I may work a place for myself on the Progress.’

‘Even so. After a family quarrel…’

‘No! I must see him.’