‘That is possible.’

‘I shall have to report this to the Privy Council.’

I hesitated. ‘I wondered whether it might be better for me to leave the Progress now, go back to London?’

He smiled coldly. ‘No. No, Master Shardlake. You can be our stalking horse. Perhaps you will lead our killer into the open.’

‘Perhaps he will kill me,’ I said.

Maleverer shrugged. ‘Then you must take care. This can be your penance for losing the papers in the first place. No, I forbid you to leave the Progress.’ And he smiled at me for a long moment, running a thick hairy finger along the edge of his beard, the yellow nail standing out against the black hairs.

‘As you command, Sir William.’ I kept my voice neutral, professional. ‘I plan to go to see Master Wrenne now. I gather he has been taken ill. Other arrangements may need to be made if he cannot attend the hearings on the petitions.’

Maleverer grunted. ‘I said he was too old for this. Send a message to me if he is unable to do it. We’ll have to find someone else. You can’t do it, we need someone with presence and a reputation up here.’ He smiled at me again.

I bowed and left. As I descended the staircase I thought, so, it is up to me to save myself. From now on I would wear a dagger at my belt, for all it was forbidden to carry weapons at King’s Manor.

AS I WALKED DOWN a misty Petergate towards the Minster I saw men in city livery raking the sand and ashes back into place on the roads; no doubt the King would be returning to the city for more ceremonies and entertainments. I looked at the little houses along Petergate and thought again of the rule preventing citizens from casting sewage in the streets or in the river while the Progress was here. It would be piling up in their backyards. It was symbolic of the King’s visit: all glitter and show in front, a pile of turds behind.

I gained entry to the Minster precinct and knocked at Master Wrenne’s door. The old housekeeper answered. Her face was drawn with anxiety. ‘Good morning, Madge,’ I said. ‘How is Master Wrenne? I heard he was ill.’

She sighed. ‘Maister can attend to no work today. He’s happed up in bed. His physician is with him.’

‘I came only to see how he was.’

She hesitated. ‘Come in then, maister. I will see if he can receive thee.’

She left me in the solar. The fire was unlit; the greyfalcon asleep on its perch, head tucked under its wing. It made me think of Barak, out hunting with Tamasin at his side. I had not wanted to stay at St Mary’s alone, I knew I would feel safe at Wrenne’s.

I looked around the stacked piles of books. It had occurred to me that if I could find a map of Kent somewhere I could confirm where Blaybourne village was. I did not know where that would get me but it was something and my determination to discover what was happening had grown. It was a counterweight to the shame and anger I felt over what had passed at Fulford Cross.

Madge returned and said Master Wrenne would see me. I followed her up to a small but well-appointed bedroom. Giles lay on a good feather bed. I was shocked at the change in him: his strong square face was white and it seemed to me some of the flesh had fallen away from it since yesterday. To my surprise, Dr Jibson was there talking to him. He smiled at my entrance.

‘Master Shardlake, good morning.’

Giles reached out a hand. ‘Dr Jibson tells me you are acquainted. He will not say how, professional discretion. But I hope you are not ill too?’

I took his hand, glad the old man’s voice at least seemed strong and clear as ever. His grip, too, remained firm. ‘No,’ I said. ‘But you…’

‘Oh, I had a bad moment, but I am recovering. I shall be ready for work on Monday. We have to hear the first petitions then, down at the castle.’

‘I will leave you now, sir,’ Dr Jibson said. ‘I will instruct your housekeeper how to make up that powder.’

The physician left. ‘Draw up a chair, Matthew,’ Giles said. I brought a stool to the bed. He looked at me seriously, then sighed. ‘What the King said yesterday must have caused you grievous hurt. And for me to have been made part of his evil jest gives me sorrow.’

‘ ’Tis not the first such jest I have had to endure, though never from a King nor in front of such a concourse. But what of you, sir, I heard you were taken ill just after?’

‘Ay. That was the worst attack I have had so far. I was quite composed until the King looked into my eyes and spoke to me. Then-’ He broke off with a visible shudder.

‘What?’

‘You will think me an old fool.’

‘No.’

‘I felt a sudden horror, that is all I can call it. For a second I did not know where or who I was. When the King turned away I stumbled away into the crowd and almost fell. Fortunately I know the townsmen and they helped me back to York without anyone seeing my piteous state.’ He reached for a mug by his bed and took a draught. I caught the spicy smell of an ale posset. He shook his head. ‘When I looked at the King’s eyes it was as though all the power drained out of me.’

‘His eyes are cruel.’

Giles gave a sudden bark of laughter, yet I caught fear in the sound. ‘It made me think of that old legend of the commotion time.’

‘That the King is the Mouldwarp?’

‘Ay.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘You know of it?’

‘I have heard.’

He shook his head. ‘It is dangerous to speak of such things, such foolish superstitions. I had been working too hard, the strain was too much. But still – well, I have often wondered what the King was really like. Now I know.’ He shook his head. ‘And the Queen, she is so young.’

‘I feel sorry for her.’

‘A buxom little thing. Yet not regal.’

‘She has Howard blood.’

‘The Howards. Their lineage is not as old as they make out.’ He sighed. ‘Perhaps all those trappings of power, all we are told of the ordained power of royalty, perhaps they addle the mind so that when we see the reality it is a shock.’

‘The reality. Ugly and sordid.’

Giles looked at me. ‘Yet we must have royalty, it is the peak of the social order, without it everything would collapse into chaos.’

‘It has already done that in York, has it not? Five years ago, and nearly this spring too?’

‘Ay, there is a great grudge here. Tell me, how did the city receive the King?’

‘Barak said the cheers were ragged.’

‘How different it was for Richard III.’

‘Richard Crouchback,’ I said softly. ‘I remember…’

‘Yes?’

‘Once when I was small, I was playing in the parlour. My father and some of his friends were talking round the table. Someone mentioned something that had happened in Richard’s time. Richard Crouchback’s time was what they said, forgetting I was there. My father looked at me. I can still see the look on his face. Pity. Disappointment.’

‘You had a hard time of it,’ Giles said gently.

I shrugged. ‘Mayhap.’

He sighed. ‘That was propaganda, anyway. You forget I saw King Richard. His back was straight. He had a hard face, serious. But not cruel.’ He leaned back on his pillows. ‘I was a boy then, so long ago.’ He looked up at me. ‘Matthew, I had hoped to keep my strength a little longer. But this attack of pain and weakness has been bad. If it goes with me as with my father, there will be spells of better health but more of these attacks. I may not be an easy companion on the road back to London.’

‘Do not fear. You will have any aid that Barak and I can give.’

‘You are kind.’ He looked at me, and I saw his eyes were wet with tears in the second before he turned away, that I might not see them.

I thought, all my life I never saw tears in my father’s eyes, even when my mother died. There was silence in the room for a moment. Then I said, lightly, ‘I came to ask a small favour as well as to see you.’

‘Of course. Anything.’