‘I am looking forward to this,’ Tamasin said cheerfully.

‘It will get us out of St Mary’s for a while,’ Barak agreed.

We walked down Petergate to the Minster. I looked at the great east window of the cathedral that dominated the view as we approached, one of the largest stained-glass windows in Christendom. Strange how I had got used to seeing it, how it had become merely part of the view. Services were over, the streets quiet, but there were many soldiers about and more standing before the gates to the precinct. As we approached two of them crossed their pikes to bar our way.

‘The King is visiting the Minster. What business have you here?’

The three of us exchanged glances. I would have preferred to turn back there and then, but that would have been discourteous to Giles. I showed the guard my commission and explained we had an appointment to visit a lawyer who lived in the precinct. The guard allowed us to enter, but warned that if the King’s train approached, we must stand well out of the way and keep our heads bowed till he passed. I wondered if it was just my imagination or whether the guard cast a look at my back as he let us through, whether he had heard about Fulford.

The precinct was quiet, though many more soldiers were posted around, wearing half-armour over their red tunics and plumed helmets, and carrying pikes. I hurried Barak and Tamasin over to Wrenne’s house. Madge, who greeted me pleasantly these days, showed us into the solar where Master Wrenne stood before the fire, staring sadly at the falcon’s perch.

‘Ah, Matthew. And Master Barak, and Mistress Reed-bourne.’ He smiled at Tamasin. ‘It is a long time since I have welcomed a pretty maid as my guest.’

‘Where is your falcon, Giles?’ I asked.

‘Poor Octavia is dead. Madge came in this morning and found her lying on the floor. She was very old. Yes, I had promised myself we should go out hunting together again, to see her fly once more and feel the sun. How easy it is to leave things undone until they are too late.’ He gave me a sudden look of intense sorrow. He must be thinking of his nephew, I thought.

He forced a smile. ‘Come, have some wine. We will have to wait awhile before we can go into the Minster, the King is there. So common mortals must wait.’ Giles walked over to the table with his slow steady gait, poured us wine and bade us sit. He asked Tamasin about her time on the Progress, and she told stories of the Queen’s servants and attendants and their problems in keeping up cleanliness while camping in muddy fields in the rain. She avoided mention of Lady Rochford. Wrenne encouraged her stories, he clearly enjoyed having her there. At length we heard voices outside, and a guard shouting, ‘Fall to!’ Giles crossed to the window.

‘The soldiers seem to be going, the King’s visit must be over. I think we may make our way across to the Minster now.’

‘I would have liked to see the King,’ Tamasin said. ‘I only glimpsed him for a moment when he came to York.’

‘You do not see him in the course of your duties?’ Giles asked.

‘No. Only the Queen occasionally, and I have never spoken with her.’

‘Well, seeing His Majesty once can be enough, eh, Matthew?’

‘It can indeed,’ I replied feelingly.

WE MADE OUR WAY outside and walked up the little street to the Minster forecourt. But we had miscalculated; Henry had not gone. Soldiers still lined the walls and the King, who had just descended the Minster steps, was stumping heavily towards us on his stick. There was a retinue of courtiers behind him, and a white-haired old man in robes like Cranmer’s walked at his side, who I realized must be Archbishop Lee of York. The King, dressed today in a heavy fur-lined robe open to show his jewelled doublet and thick gold chain, was berating the old man; his face was red with anger, redder than his beard. We stood by the wall, bowing our heads – I bowed mine as low as it would go, praying the King would not recognize me and stop for another of his merry jests.

‘God’s blood!’ we heard Henry shout in his hoarse, squeaky voice. ‘That shrine is large and rich enough to hold the bones of a monarch, not a long-dead archbishop! Remove all those offerings and have the whole thing down! God’s death, Lee, I will have either it or you in pieces on a dunghill, do you hear? You would have kept me from seeing it!’ His voice rose. ‘I ordered the shrines closed and I will have every one in England down. I will have no authority in religion save mine!’

His voice faded as he passed by. I ventured to look up. The courtiers were following now and the King was walking on. I looked at the back of his fur-collared, rich velvet coat. Was he really the grandson of some commoner? I trembled a little, as though my thoughts could somehow reach him. I saw his limp was very bad; without his jewelled stick I doubted he could walk at all. The soldiers peeled away from the walls and followed behind their master as he went through the gates.

‘Well, Tammy,’ Barak said. ‘You got to see the King close to after all.’

‘I did not know he looked so old,’ she said quietly. ‘Pity the Queen.’

‘Pity all of us,’ Giles said. ‘Come, let us go in.’

THE INTERIOR OF THE Minster was a wonder, the nave larger than St Paul’s and more brightly lit. I stared around me through a light haze of incense. From the inside the magnificence of the stained glass was even more apparent, the great east window dominating all. In side-chapels and little niches, chantry priests stood quietly murmuring their masses. Again I thought of the strangeness of the pattern reform had taken in England: the great monastic church at St Mary’s had been turned into a stable and smithy, while the Minster stood intact.

Tamasin pointed to a strange object, the painted figure of a long-necked dragon that hung over the nave. ‘What is that, Master Wrenne?’

‘A lever for the lid of the great font. A touch of decorative humour. Out of fashion these days.’

I walked to where Barak stood a little way off, looking at a richly decorated side-chapel. A little group of clerics stood nearby. One of them was the man Wrenne had pointed out as the Dean. He was looking grimly pleased. ‘So do it,’ he said. ‘Commission the workmen.’ He stalked away, his footsteps echoing on the tiled floor.

‘He’s been ordering them to take down a great shrine in the quire,’ Barak told me. ‘The King was furious when he saw all the offerings laid before it.’

‘Earwigging, were you?’ I asked with a smile.

‘Might as well.’ He shrugged. ‘Can’t say these old churches interest me.’

‘Tamasin seems enthralled.’

‘That’s women for you.’

‘Any word from London? About who her father might be?’

‘None. She’s stopped talking about it. I lost my temper with her, in fact.’ He looked shamefaced. ‘Told her she should let it go, stop thinking about it all the time. Seems to have done the trick, she’s hardly mentioned it since.’

We went over and joined Tamasin before the quire screen. It was decorated with a series of life-size figures that I recognized as the kings of England, from William the Conqueror to Henry V. They were exquisitely done. I counted them. ‘Eleven,’ I said.

‘Are they not marvellous?’ Tamasin asked.

‘Yes.’

She pointed to the statues. ‘Why does the row stop with King Henry V?’

‘Good question. Master Wrenne may know.’ I looked around for the old man, but there was no sign of him.

‘He went off through there,’ Tamasin said, nodding to the door to the quire.

‘I will go and look. No, stay here,’ I added as they made to follow. I hoped he had not been taken ill again; if so, I did not want the others to see.

I walked into the quire, lined with rows of high, beautifully decorated wooden pews. To one side stood an enormous, ornate construction in dark wood, richly adorned with pillars and arches. A decorated sepulchre was set atop a bier ten feet high, with niches carved in the side where people could kneel and pray. Offerings were hung on the bier: rosaries and rings and necklaces. Giles knelt in a niche, praying intently, his lips moving silently. Hearing my footsteps, he turned. He stared blankly for a moment, his mind far away. Then he smiled and rose stiffly to his feet.