‘Nearly there.’ Giles, riding beside me, spoke with relief.

‘Just the boat home now,’ I said. My own heart lifted at the thought. ‘That is the Humber, then? ’Tis wide.’

‘It is. We will sail down there, past Spurn Head, and into the German Ocean.’

‘Have you visited Hull before?’

‘Once or twice, on legal business. The last time near twenty years ago. See, there are the walls.’ I followed his pointing finger and saw, bounded by the grey estuary and a smaller river running into it at right angles, a walled town. It was smaller than I had expected, not half the size of York.

‘The walls are an odd colour,’ I said. ‘Reddish.’

‘They’re brick,’ Wrenne said. ‘All the bricks in Yorkshire come through Hull.’

As we approached the city I saw a large group of dignitaries standing outside the walls, waiting to greet the King on this his second visit. The Progress drew to a halt and we sat waiting for some time as the royal party was welcomed in. Because of the press of people ahead I could not see them. I was glad, for even the sight of the assembled dignitaries had brought Fulford back to me, the thought of which still made me hot with shame and anger. I glimpsed Dereham and Culpeper, sitting on horseback among the courtiers.

At length officials began moving to and fro among us, directing people where they were to spend the night. I saw Master Craike among them, checking queries against papers on his portable desk. It was as well they were held down with a clip, for the wind was ruffling them. He came over to where we sat.

‘Master Shardlake,’ he said. ‘You are to have accommodation at an inn. You and Master Wrenne and your man Barak. It seems someone has approved it.’ He gave us a suspicious look and I wondered if he smelt bribery. Some of the other lawyers nearby, who would be sleeping in tents in the fields again, looked on enviously.

‘I am to escort those with town lodgings into Hull now, if you would walk along. Your horses will be taken and stabled.’

So Giles and Barak and I walked into the city with Craike. We were among a fortunate group of officials, mostly far more senior than us, who had billets in Hull. As we approached the red-brick walls I saw another skeleton hanging in chains from the ramparts. Sir Robert Constable, I guessed, in whose mansion the King had stayed at Howlme. Wrenne averted his eyes, distaste clear on his face.

We walked under the gate and down a long main street Craike told me was named Lowgate. The buildings seemed in better repair than in York, the people a little more prosperous. They looked at us with a lack of interest as they stepped out of the way. This was the King’s second visit; they had seen it all before.

‘How long do we stay here?’ I asked Craike.

‘I do not know. The King wants to make plans for the new defences.’

‘Where is he staying?’

Craike pointed to our left, where a clutch of tall chimneys overtopped the red-roofed houses. ‘His manor house here. It used to belong to the de la Pole family.’

Yet another house he has taken, I thought. Craike seemed reluctant to converse, but I persisted. ‘We have to get back to London by boat. Will many return that way?’

‘No, after Hull the Progress will cross the river and ride to Lincoln. It breaks up there.’

‘We have to return to London as soon as possible.’

Craike flattened his papers with a plump hand as the wind lifted them again. He looked up at the sky where grey clouds were scudding along. ‘Then I hope the weather allows you to sail.’ He stopped before the door of an inn. ‘Well, here you are.’

Inside a number of gentlemen were already waiting. They looked down their noses at our lawyer’s robes. Craike bowed to us. ‘I must get back, my staff will doubtless have messed up the allocations. It is a nightmare.’ He turned and left.

‘Not the friendliest of men,’ Wrenne observed.

Barak, leaning on his crutch, grinned wickedly. ‘He has things on his mind.’

BARAK AND I HAD a pleasant room at the back of the inn, Wrenne the one next to us. There was a fire, and a view over red-roofed houses sloping down to the muddy banks of the smaller river. The rain had started again, large drops streaking the little diamond-paned window. Barak sat down on the bed with relief. I looked at my panniers, unsure how much to unpack. Then I heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. The door opened without a knock and Maleverer strode in. He looked around the room.

‘You’ve done well for yourself,’ he said sardonically. ‘I came to tell you Broderick is in Hull gaol. With Radwinter. One wing has been cleared of prisoners.’ He ran his hand along the edge of his coal-black beard in that habitual gesture of his. ‘I have new orders about him from the Privy Council. We don’t know when we’ll get back to London with this weather.’

‘There may be delay?’ I asked.

‘There may. So the King has ordered that Broderick is to be groped here in Hull. There’s a rack at Hull gaol. I’m supervising the racking myself.’

I had hoped, all this time, that somehow Broderick might escape what was coming to him. And now it would be done tomorrow.

‘He is weak,’ I said.

Maleverer shrugged. ‘It has to be done. We don’t think he knows exactly what was in that damned box of papers, but he may. And he may know the names of the London conspirators. We always knew there were London lawyers at the heart of the conspiracy, but we’ve not been able to lay them by the heels.’ Maleverer cracked his fingers noisily. ‘So, we’ll see what can be got out of him tomorrow. And meanwhile they’ll be getting information about Mistress Marlin’s mission from Bernard Locke, in the Tower.’

I looked into his heavy, heartless face. For him it was just a task, another job. He gave me another quick, harsh smile, then left. Barak looked at the closed door. ‘Jesu. He’s a hard one. Hard as Lord Cromwell.’

I SLEPT LITTLE that night. I lay awake thinking of what was coming to Broderick, remembering his mocking accusations that I was keeping him alive for the torturer. And for Bernard Locke it would have come already. Maleverer’s heartlessness made me shudder. In the small hours I got up, quietly so as not to wake Barak, who was snoring gently, and crossed to the window. The night was pitch dark, a high wind hammering raindrops against the panes. I wondered if Broderick was awake in his cell, perhaps trying to steel himself for the rack. A wet beech-leaf blew against the glass. Curled up on itself, it looked like an accusing finger.

MALEVERER CAME TO the inn again after lunch. Once again Barak and Giles and I were playing cards. We were all in gloomy mood, for it was raining and blowing hard as ever, a real autumn gale. The innkeeper had said it was unusual for the wind to blow strongly from the southeast in October; but as long as it did, we could not set sail.

‘Leave us,’ he said curtly to the others. ‘I would speak with Brother Shardlake alone.’

They went out. Maleverer threw himself into Barak’s chair. It creaked loudly. He gave me that cold smile.

‘You were right about Broderick,’ he said without preliminaries.

‘How?’

‘He was in a weak state. I could see that when they brought him in. I had a room set up in the gaol, the rack in a corner and irons heating in the fire, so he could see what was coming.’ He spoke as though he were describing preparations for a dinner. ‘Radwinter brought him eagerly. Yet Broderick hardly looked at the implements, and when I said he’d feel their bite and singe unless he talked he only urged me to get it over. He’s not short of courage.’ Maleverer compressed his lips. ‘So I did, I put him on the rack and because I couldn’t trust any of the gaolers to hear what he might spill I sent them out, and Radwinter and I turned the wheels ourselves. Broderick was silent for a good minute, then he screamed and passed out, fainted clean away.’ Maleverer shook his head. ‘It took us several minutes to rouse him. I was worried, and Radwinter suddenly turned nervous, he said we should stop.’