I bent and retrieved my cap and the feather. For a second I stood rooted to the spot, my mind blank with shock and pain, then I felt my bowels lurch again, painfully. I glanced round for Giles, but he had gone; I saw his tall form walking away into the Yorker crowd. Many of them were staring at me, grinning or laughing. Recorder Tankerd still stood hard by, looking embarrassed. I grabbed his arm.

‘Brother Tankerd!’ I whispered. ‘I need the jakes, now. Where can I go?’

For answer he pointed across the meadow to where the large board stood. ‘Behind there.’ Now I understood the significance of those planks with holes in them. ‘But you must hurry,’ he said. ‘Half the council is ahead of you.’ And indeed men were peeling off from the Yorker crowd, brown-robed figures limping and stumbling across the meadow. I followed them at a run, pursued by a fresh burst of laughter; my ears burned. Ahead of me an agonized moan from a staggering councillor told me that for one, at least, it was too late.

I RODE BACK TO TOWN with the Yorkers, behind the royal party and the soldiers and ahead of the vast rumbling procession that I felt looming at my back like the great behemoth in the Book of Job. The King’s words had left me crushed; it was hard to ignore the sidelong looks of amusement people gave me.

We passed under Fulford Gate and so back into York. The streets were lined with people now, held back by soldiers; I heard cheers ahead as the King rode by, but they sounded ragged. I looked out for Barak and Tamasin but could not see them. I knew the next ceremony would be for the King to receive those who had been actively involved in the 1536 rebellion but had escaped execution because they were needed politically. I had heard they were to crawl to the King on their bellies in front of the Minster; then he would take Mass and the formal ceremonies would be over.

I wanted only to get away, and took the opportunity of a gap in the soldiery to slip down a side-street and make for St Mary’s. I thought, the story of the King’s mockery will get back to Lincoln’s Inn; lawyers’ gossip could reach as far as the moon. This day would haunt me for the rest of my life. As for any danger I might be in, wandering around alone, I was past caring.

I LEFT GENESIS WITH a groom at the church, without even a farewell pat, and marched away. I frowned at the thought that Giles had deserted me; he might have stayed, said something supportive to dull my shame a little. I halted, irresolute, for I did not want to take my bitter thoughts back to my lodgings; I felt they might overcome me. I decided to go and see how Broderick fared; the prison would suit my mood.

I acknowledged the guard’s salute with a curt nod. Radwinter was sitting on a chair outside the cell door, reading his The Obedience of a Christian Man, which lauded the King’s role as God’s anointed. The gaoler looked as neat and self-contained as ever, his hair and little beard trimmed by the barber.

‘How went the reception for the King?’ he asked. I shivered. His eyes and the King’s were so alike in their cruel glitter. He was looking at me keenly, the wretch could see I was upset.

‘Well enough,’ I said brusquely.

‘Your cap feather is askew.’

I took my cap off, crushing it in my hand. Radwinter looked at me with interest. ‘Did it go badly?’

‘All went according to plan.’

‘Was the King merry, or sombre?’

‘He was in most merry mood. How is Broderick?’

‘He sleeps. He ate a little earlier. Food I watched the King’s privy cook prepare himself in His Majesty’s privy kitchen. I brought it to Broderick, watched him eat.’

‘I had better see him.’

‘Very well.’ Radwinter rose and took the keys from his belt. He looked at me speculatively again.

‘Did the King speak to you?’

‘A word only.’

‘ ’Tis a great honour.’

‘Ay.’

He smiled. ‘Did he comment on your bruise?’

‘No. He did not.’ I felt anger starting to boil within me.

‘What then?’ Radwinter smiled. ‘I see I have hit a mark. Ah, did he remark your bent back? I know he dislikes those with deformities, for all his fool Will Somers is a crookback. He is said to be superstitious. Perhaps the sight of you -’

I threw myself at Radwinter, as I had done at no man since my student days. I grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the stone wall. But he was stronger than I, he reached up, twisted my arm away and sent me flying back against the wall. The soldiers rushed forward, but Radwinter raised a hand.

‘It is all right,’ he said smoothly. ‘Master Shardlake is in quarrelsome mood, but I have him. No need to report this for now.’ The soldiers looked at me doubtfully. I leaned against the stone wall, breathing heavily. Radwinter was smiling, gloating.

‘Do you not know the penalty for fighting in the precincts of the King’s court? The loss of your right hand. By the King’s special order. And for a man responsible for an important prisoner to assault his guard?’ He shook his head, then gave me a triumphant look. ‘I have you now if I want you, sir,’ he said quietly. ‘Mark that. The soldiers saw.’ He laughed. ‘I knew the way to break you was your hatred of what you are, a scrabbling bitter hunchback.’

‘And you are Death,’ I answered savagely. ‘You are the Bane, the antithesis of everything good and alive under the sun.’

Radwinter laughed again, merrily. Suddenly my anger left me. It was no use against this man; one might as well rage against a rabid dog. ‘Let me in the cell,’ I said.

He opened the door, bowing me in with a mocking flourish. I actually entered the dank hole with relief. Broderick lay on a pallet, looking up at me. He was filthy, smelling still of vomit. I decided I would order him washed. His eyes were full of speculative interest. He would have heard every word of what had passed outside.

‘I have come to see how you fare,’ I said tonelessly.

He looked at me, then beckoned with a thin arm. ‘Come, kneel by me,’ he said, ‘and I will talk. He will not be able to hear, that man outside who as you say is Death. It will anger him.’

I hesitated, then knelt down carefully, my knees cracking protestingly. He looked at my crushed cap that I still held.

‘So the King was cruel to you?’ he said quietly.

I did not reply.

‘Yes, he is a cruel man, he strikes as harshly as he can for pleasure, like Radwinter. Poor Robert Aske’s fate testifies to that.’

‘I say nothing against the King.’

‘He is the Mouldwarp.’

‘Not that old legend,’ I answered wearily.

‘No legend,’ Broderick said firmly. ‘A prophecy. They all knew it at the Pilgrimage of Grace. Merlin prophesied the Mouldwarp, the tyrant who would be driven from his realm with all his line. No child of his should succeed.’ I looked at him keenly. Oldroyd had said something very similar as he was dying.

Broderick reached out and gripped my arm with sudden strength, then whispered softly but fiercely: ‘Forth shall come a worm, an Aske with one eye; He shall gather of chivalry a full fair flock, The chicken shall the capon slay.’ His eyes burned into me. ‘You have seen him. The creature that claims to represent Christ’s will on earth, to be our just ruler. Can you deny he is the Mouldwarp?’

‘Let go my arm, Sir Edward.’

‘Aske’s coming was prophesied. Robert had only one eye, he lost the other in an accident.’

‘But it was Aske who was overthrown, not the King.’

‘He sowed the seed that will flourish. The Mouldwarp will be thrown down yet.’

I shook my arm free. ‘This is nonsense.’

‘The prophecy is true,’ Broderick said. He spoke calmly now, with certainty. ‘The King will fall. Soon, though probably not before I am dead.’

I met his gaze. ‘What you say is treason, for all that it is silly nonsense.’