He sighed. ‘Go then. Only – I thought you had seen the truth about the King.’

I got up painfully. It gave me some satisfaction to see Radwinter looking frowningly through the bars. He opened the door for me.

‘What did he say?’ he asked sharply. ‘What were you whispering about?’

‘Nothing important,’ I answered. I looked at my cap. It was crumpled, the feather broken, the little garnets hanging loose. I turned my back on him and walked away. I felt the soldiers’ eyes following me. They would tell Leacon about my assault on the gaoler.

I reached the lodging house, and in my cubicle I threw my cap on the floor and kicked at the damned thing until it was a shapeless wreck. Then I sat down heavily upon the bed.

I sat in silence. I thought how, for years, as Thomas Cromwell rose steadily in the service of the state, I had had a tiny share of reflected glory as my one-time friend rose nearer and nearer to the ultimate source of that light, the throne. The King, Head of the Church, fount of law and justice; to meet with him was the greatest glory an Englishman could dream of. Now I had met him. I felt for a second that he had shown me what I was, an unworthy creature, a beetle crawling on the earth. Then anger came again. I had not deserved that dreadful humiliation. I thought, perhaps Broderick is right, perhaps Henry VIII is indeed the Mould-warp, whose rule of terror – for such I had seen it grow into these last few years – would be overthrown. And perhaps should be, I thought.

Chapter Eighteen

I LAY THERE FOR HOURS in a half-stupor of misery, until I heard footsteps and voices as the clerks and lawyers bustled in, their business with the Progress over. They were in a state of high excitement, jabbering excitedly round the fire.

‘D’ye see that fat old merchant dressed in sackcloth, crawling across the cobbles? I thought his eyes would pop from his head!’ Evidently they had witnessed the former rebels abasing themselves before the King at the Minster.

‘Ay. He had to lift his stomach up lest it scrape the cobbles.’

‘D’you know what it all reminded me of? The old creeping to the Cross ceremony, at Easter!’

‘Hey, Rafe, be careful where you say that, creeping to the Cross ain’t allowed now-’

‘I was only saying -’

I lay, half listening as they prattled on. I did not want to go out and face them. Then I heard a familiar voice: it was Cowfold.

‘Hear about what the King said to the hunchback lawyer at Fulford?’

‘Ay, one of the city clerks told me.’ I recognized the voice of Kimber, the young lawyer who had greeted me that first evening. ‘Said he was a bent bottled spider beside the old Yorker lawyer he was with. The clerk said Shardlake’s face went like chalk. He looked at the Queen with a sort of desperate appeal, then staggered away.’

‘T’was cruel,’ someone observed.

‘Cruel nothing!’ Cowfold said. ‘Fealty and the court should have known better, putting someone who shames the south up before the King, a hunchback. My mother was touched by a hunchback beggar once, nothing went right with her after that -’

I could take no more. I got up, opened the cubicle door and went out. Silence instantly fell among the group standing round the fire. I stared at Cowfold. ‘When was your mother touched by the hunchback?’ I asked in a loud clear voice. ‘Before she conceived you, I’ll warrant, if nothing went right with her after. By the look of you it set her to copulating with pigs.’

Some of the men laughed nervously; Cowfold glowered and I knew that but for my rank he would have launched himself at me. I turned to go, leaving a dead silence behind me. Outside I felt pain in my hands and realized I had clenched my fists together so hard my fingernails had almost broken the skin of my palms.

I cursed myself for my crude outburst; it would only make things worse. Cowfold would be furious and would mock me behind my back at every opportunity now. First I had lost control with Radwinter, now this. I must pull myself together. I stood under a tree, taking deep breaths, watching as a fresh batch of the local black-faced sheep were led into an empty pen. No doubt the previous occupants had all been taken for slaughter, to feed the thousands that had now arrived.

A big, rough-looking fellow in a smock appeared, carrying a heavy stick and a bag from which blood dripped, and approached the bears’ cages. The great shaggy creatures, which had been lying curled up, rose and sniffed the air as the man laid his package on the ground, pulled out chunks of meat and began throwing them through the iron bars, taking care to keep a safe distance. The bears seized the meat in their long muzzles, displaying yellow fangs. One piece of meat fell short and the bear reached an arm through the bars and scrabbled for it with long greyish claws. The man shouted and hit the arm with the stick; the creature roared and drew its arm back between the bars as the keeper used the stick to flick the meat inside. ‘You stay back there, Master Bruin!’ the man called, as the creature stared at him with its tiny red eyes.

I walked down the side of the church to the main courtyard. It was late in the afternoon but fortunately the day was still warm, for in my haste I had come out without robe or coat. It had turned into one of those golden autumn afternoons when everything is still and full of colour, a slight misty quality in the air. The pleasantness of the day seemed only to point up my black mood.

The courtyard was a hive of activity. There were many soldiers outside King’s Manor and I wondered if the King and Queen were in there now. Servants were rushing to and fro and I almost collided with a fellow carrying a huge carved chair to the pavilions. I went to lean against the wall, out of the way, watching the scurrying figures as they weaved to and fro.

I heard a bray of cultivated laughter. A little group of courtiers appeared. I recognized Lady Rochford, who had changed now into a yellow silk dress. Beside her Jennet Marlin clutched a little flop-eared dog to her chest. Some other ladies I did not recognize were with them, all richly dressed, with painted faces and necks, waxy in the sunlight. Their wide skirts swished on the paving stones as they walked towards me.

The women were jesting with a group of young men, among whom I recognized the Queen’s secretary, Francis Dereham. He wore a discontented scowl, perhaps because the ladies seemed to be giving most of their attention to an athletic-looking young man with a pretty, sculpted face and curled brown hair, resplendent in a purple doublet with slashed yellow sleeves and a curved golden codpiece. He turned his head, a jewel in his ear flashing in the sun. His features had a weakness to them, a lubricious smoothness.

‘You should take your dog, Lady Rochford,’ the young popinjay said. ‘I think it heats up Mistress Marlin’s bosom too much, she is quite flushed.’ He gave a teasing smile at Jennet, who was indeed pink. She gave him a vicious look in return.

‘Perhaps I should, Master Culpeper,’ Lady Rochford replied. ‘Here, Jennet, let me have him.’

Mistress Marlin handed over the dog, which struggled as Lady Rochford clasped it to her chest. ‘There, to hold a dog thus is wholesome for a weak stomach. Is it not, my Rex?’

‘I know better things to comfort a woman’s stomach,’ Culpeper said, bringing a titter from the group. Lady Rochford, to my surprise, gave him a look of girlish coquettishness. ‘Come, sir, fie,’ she said with a laugh.

‘No shame in bringing comfort to a fine lady,’ he answered, touching the dog. It growled and struggled again, its tan coat marked with flecks of whitelead from Lady Rochford’s neck. The group was level with me now and I turned away, but not before Jennet Marlin caught my eye; she frowned at me. They passed on and I followed them with my eyes. Lady Rochford, Mistress Marlin and that glowering young secretary, Dereham. Three who had seen me enter King’s Manor with the box the day I was struck down.