‘Perhaps he had not told them. His parents might only have felt they must stand in their child’s corner in argument.’

Giles sighed. ‘Perhaps. And perhaps the old sourness at my childless state was part of my anger, especially when my wife began to argue Martin’s side too. She should not have, that was disloyal of her. Anyway, in the end I ordered Martin Dakin and his parents from my table.’

I looked at Giles in surprise. It was hard to imagine him full of such fierceness. But before his illness he must have been formidable.

‘I never spoke with Martin or his parents again. My wife was sore upset when I forbade her sister our table. She never really forgave me.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘My poor Sarah, her sister’s family forbidden the house. And then three years ago the plague came to York and they all died, my wife, and both Martin’s parents, a few weeks later. Martin came up and arranged his parents’ funerals, but I could not bring myself to contact him, or attend. I do not even know whether he is married now; he was single at the time we quarrelled.’ I saw shame on his lined face.

‘That is a story to pity a man’s heart, Giles. Yet one that has been all too common these last few years, families split apart over religious differences.’

‘Pride and obstinacy are great sins,’ he said. ‘I see that now. I would be reconciled with Martin if I can.’ He laughed mirthlessly. ‘In the end we both lost, and Cromwell and the reformers won.’

‘You should know, Giles,’ I said, ‘I may have become disillusioned with the reformers but I hold the old regime to be no better. No less ruthless, no less fanatical.’ I paused. ‘No less cruel.’

‘For all I may have grown sadder and mellower these last few years, at the end I cleave to my faith.’ He looked at me. ‘As all men must at the end. They say the King himself is disillusioned with reform,’ he added. ‘Yet I am not so sure. Cranmer is still in charge of the church.’

I shrugged. ‘The King plays one faction off against the other. He trusts neither now.’

‘So with him it is all politics?’

‘Perhaps he believes every twist and turn he makes inspired by God himself working in his mind.’

He grunted. ‘I think we are agreed at least that the notion God works the King’s mind for him is nonsense.’

‘We old reformers never sought to put the King in the Pope’s place.’ I looked at him. I was not surprised he was a religious conservative, I had gathered as much. Yet the obstinate bitterness he had shown towards his family had shown me a new side to his character. But we all have darker sides to our natures, I thought.

‘Well,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Let us leave these sad topics. We should go and see how young Barak is doing.’

I hesitated, then said, ‘Giles. Before we do, there is something I ought to tell you in my turn.’

He looked at me curiously. ‘What is that?’

‘Yesterday, when I was in your library, looking at your maps-’

‘Ah, yes. Did you find what you wanted? Madge said you stayed a long time.’

‘I did, and thank you. Your collection is truly remarkable.’

He smiled with pleasure. ‘It has been my pastime for fifty years.’

‘Did you know you have some lawbooks there that I think no one else has, that have been lost?’

He gave a childlike smile of pleasure. ‘Really?’

‘Lincoln’s Inn would pay well for copies. But I found something else.’ I took a deep breath. ‘An Act of Parliament, that I think has been excised from the records. Called the Titulus Regulus.’

He sat very still then, looked at me from narrowed eyes. ‘Ah,’ he said.

‘I wondered if you knew you had it.’

‘Yes, I did. You read it? What did you think?’

I shrugged. ‘It repeats the old rumours that King Edward IV’s marriage to Elizabeth Woodville was invalid because of a precontract. Impossible to prove one way or the other now. It seemed to me King Richard was cobbling together all the arguments he could to justify his seizure of power.’

He nodded judiciously. ‘Perhaps.’

‘Yet if it came to light now, it could cause trouble.’

To my surprise he smiled. ‘Matthew, for those of us past seventy, especially lawyers, the suppression of the Titulus is an old story. I was a student at Gray’s Inn when it was published for all the world to see, and also when next year the new King’s men came to the Inns to seize all copies. There is nothing new there.’

‘Forgive me speaking bluntly, Giles, but there will be few left alive now who remember. And that Act could cause embarrassment if it came to light.’

He continued to smile. ‘I found the Titulus ten years ago, when they were clearing old lawbooks from the Minster library. I kept it. But few have any interest in my collection. Martin used to go and look at the books, he was interested, and occasionally one of my fellow lawyers, but I think you are the first person other than me to have spent much time up there in years. And the Act is well hidden in its way, unmarked among the dusty shelves, for I keep the index in my head. And you would not tell Maleverer.’

‘Of course not. But you should know, there is a hunt on for subversive documents at King’s Manor -’

‘A hunt? What documents?’ He looked at me with interest.

‘I cannot say more. But believe me when I say you should get rid of the Titulus.’

He pondered a moment. ‘You speak true, Matthew?’

‘Yes. I care little for any embarrassment disclosure of the Titulus might cause the King. But I would not have you, or anyone, in danger because of that wretched Act. This is not a good time to have a copy in your possession.’

He looked into the fire, considering, then sighed. ‘Perhaps you are right. I have been too vain of my collection. Pride, again.’

‘I hope you have no other dangerous materials in those rooms.’

‘No. Only the Titulus. When I am gone, if the Titulus were found I suppose it could be a problem for my executors.’

‘Yes,’ I said uncomfortably. ‘It could. Madge could end up being questioned too.’

‘Danger to Madge. By Jesu, what has England come to, eh? Very well. Wait here, Matthew.’ He rose slowly from his chair, holding the arm a moment when he stood to get his balance.

‘Do you need help?’ I asked, getting up.

‘No, I am a little wembly after being in bed so long, that is all.’ He walked steadily enough to the door, and left the room. I stood looking into the fire. I wondered if he had made a will, who the library would go to. His nephew, perhaps. And then I thought, if Martin Dakin was a strong political conservative and a lawyer at Gray’s Inn, he was a prime candidate to have been involved with Robert Aske’s group of conservative lawyers there in 1536. And a man likely to be a suspect in the present rebellion; for all I knew Martin Dakin could be in the Tower, like Jennet Marlin’s fiancé, that other Gray’s Inn lawyer.

Giles reappeared. To my surprise he was carrying the book containing the Titulus, together with a sharp knife. He smiled at me sadly. ‘Here, Matthew,’ he said. ‘See how I trust you.’ He laid the book on the table and, taking the knife, carefully cut out the pages of the Titulus. He lifted them with a sigh. ‘There, I have never done such a thing with one of my books before.’ He walked over to the fire and, with a steady hand, laid the pages on the flames. We watched as the thick old parchment flared and blackened. The greyfalcon turned on its perch to watch, the dancing flames reflected in its eyes.

‘That must have been hard to do,’ I said.

‘Well, you are right, we live in dangerous times. Come, look out of the window.’ He beckoned me over and pointed at a small stout man who was walking confidently down the street towards the Minster, clerical robes flapping round him. ‘I saw him from the library. Do you know who he is?’

‘No.’

‘Dr Legh. The Minster Dean. Formerly Cromwell’s most feared commissioner. The hammer of the monasteries.’