Revelation (12 page)

'I
will.'

Her face crumpled suddenly. 'Oh, Roger!' And then the tears came again, great racking sobs. Margaret put an arm round her mistress, while
I
held her hand. We were still there, like some pitiful tableau, when Elias came in to say the coroner was below, and must see me at once.

Archibald Browne
, the Middlesex coroner, was an old man and a sour one. He was one of the old corrupt breed, who would leave a body lying stinking in the street for days till someone paid them to hold an inquest, not one of the more competent paid officials the Tudors had brought in. Small, bald and squat, his round face was pitted with smallpox scars. When
I
came out he was standing beside the Treasurer, arms in the pockets of his thick coat, looking down at Roger's body. Passers-by stopping to stare were being moved on with curt gestures from Treasurer Rowland. I saw the sun had melted most of the snow now.
I
wondered wearily where Barak was.

Rowland gestured to me. 'This is Brother Matthew Shardlake,' he told Browne. 'He had the constable roused.'

'I hope
I
'll get more sense out of him than those two lads.' Coroner Browne grunted. He turned bleary eyes on me. 'You've spoken with the widow?'

'Yes, sir.'

'How is she?'

'Weeping,' I said shortly.

'I'll have to question her. You can come with me if you know her. Now, tell me what in Jesu's name has happened.'

I
told him about finding Roger's body, about Barak following the footprints and what Dorothy had told me about the strange client.

'Nantwich?' Treasurer Rowland frowned.
'I
've never heard of him. I thought
I
knew most of the solicitors.'

Browne's eyes narrowed as he studied me. 'Shardlake,
I
know that name.' He grinned. 'You're the Lincoln's Inn man the King made mock of at York a couple of years ago, aren't you? I recognize the description.'

Of a hunchback, I thought. That story would haunt me, I knew, till I died. 'We need to find out who Roger was meeting,' I said coldly.

Browne looked down at Roger's face, then he stirred the awful head with his toe. I clenched my hands with anger. 'This is a dreadful business,' he went on. 'Putting him in the fountain. He looks very calm. Couldn't have cut his own throat, could he?'

'No. He was a happy man.'

'Then it's a strange one.' He shook his head. 'A fountain turned to blood.' He addressed the Treasurer. 'You should get that drained.'

I frowned. That phrase, a fountain turned to blood. I had heard it before somewhere, I was sure.

'Where's this man of yours who went to follow the prints?' Browne asked.

'I don't know. He set off half an hour ago.'

'Well, have him report to me when he comes back. I shall have to visit the King's coroner before impanelling a jury.' I recalled that the King was at Whitehall now, and cursed the fact. Any murder within twelve miles of the royal residence and outside the City of London boundary — even just outside, like Lincoln's Inn — came under the authority of the King's coroner. He would have to be involved along with Browne.

'That will cause delay,' I said.

Browne shrugged. 'Can't be helped.'

'How long will it take to impanel a jury?'

'Depends if the King's coroner agrees to impanel a jury of lawyers. And it's Easter Sunday. Doubt we'll get an inquest before the middle of the week.'

I set my lips. It was vital in any murder to investigate at once, before the trail went cold. As Barak had said, most murders were solved quickly or not at all.

'I think the lawyers of the Inn will want the inquest to be held as soon as possible,' I said. 'As one of their own is involved.'

Treasurer Rowland nodded in agreement. 'Yes, we shall want an inquest soon.'

'We need to hunt this solicitor Nantwich. Could you do that, sir — just a general query under the Treasurer's authority?'

Rowland nodded. 'Yes. That must be done.'

And if I may suggest something else,' I said to the coroner, pressing home my advantage. 'The manner of his death is so strange, apparently knocked unconscious and kept that way till he was put in the fountain, it might be good to have the body opened.' It was a grim thought, but Guy might find something that would help us. 'I know Dr Malton, who does that duty for the London coroner. His fees are low. I could send him to you.'

'Oh, that old Moor.' Browne grunted. 'And who's to pay?'

'I will, if need be. Roger Elliard was my friend. And could I please ask' — my voice rising — 'to have him covered up?'

All right.' The coroner casually pulled my coat back over Roger's face, then turned to me, rubbing his pudgy hands together.

'What was the deceased's name again?'

'Roger Elliard.'

'Right. I'll see the widow. That body can be taken away now. Master treasurer, have a cart take it to my shed.'

Dorothy had
somewhat recovered her composure when old Elias, dressed now but stricken
-
faced, led us to her parlour. She sat by the fire, staring into it as she held the maid Margaret's hand.

'Dorothy,' I said gently. 'This is Coroner Browne. He would ask you some questions, if you feel able.'

The coroner looked at the frieze above the fireplace, the carved animals peering through the branches. 'My, that is a fine thing,' he said.

Dorothy stared at it. 'A piece got broken off when we moved back here,' she said dully. 'Roger got it replaced but it was badly done.' I noticed a corner of the frieze was rather poorly executed, a slightly different colour.

'It is still fine,' Browne said, clumsily trying to put Dorothy at her ease. 'May I sit?'

Dorothy waved him to the chair where I had sat. He repeated the questions about the
pro bono
client, and asked about Roger's recent movements, in which nothing else unusual was revealed. I saw the coroner was not taking notes, which worried me. He did not look like a man with great powers of memory.

'Had your husband any enemies?' Browne asked.

'None. He had barristers he did not like particularly, whom he had won or lost against in court. But that is true of every barrister in London, and they do not murder their fellows in' - her voice faltered — 'this ghastly, wicked way.'

'And no question he could have done it himself?'

The bluntness of the question appalled me, but it brought out the best in Dorothy. 'No, master coroner, none at all. Anyone would tell you the idea he did this to himself is nonsensical. I wish you had had the grace to talk to others before baldly asking me if my husband might have cut his own throat.' I felt admiration for her; her spirit was returning.

Browne reddened. He rose from his chair. 'Very well,' he said stiffly. 'That will do for now. I must go to the palace, see the King's coroner.'

He bowed to us stiffly, then left. His heavy footsteps clumped slowly down the stairs.

'Old fat fustilugs!' Margaret said warmly.

Dorothy looked up at me. Her red
-
rimmed eyes were despairing. 'He does not seem to care,' she said. 'My poor Roger.'

'This is just one more job to him,' I said. 'But I promise you, I will be at his heels.'

'Thank you.' She laid a hand on my arm.

'And now I will go down to Roger's chambers. I will take on what work of his I can. If you wish.'

'Yes, please. Oh, and someone must write to our son. Tell Samuel.' Her eyes filled with tears again.

'Would you like me to?' I asked gently.

'I should not ask. I—'

'No. I will do all I can, Dorothy. For you. For Roger.'

Outside, to my relief
, I saw Barak watching as Roger's body was loaded on to a cart, my coat wrapped round it. He looked downcast. I saw he was carrying a dark coat that I recognized. 'You found Roger's coat;'

'Yes. In the orchard. I thought it must be his, from the size.' I shivered, missing my own coat. 'Did you follow the prints;' 'As far as I could. They led through the orchard into Lincoln's Inn Fields, but the snow there was pretty well gone.' 'Was there anything in the pockets;'

'A set of house keys. The killer must have kept the key to the orchard. And his purse, he left his purse, with near two pounds in it.'

'Were there any papers; Any notes;' 'Nothing.'

'He went to meet a new client at an inn in Wych Lane last night.'

Barak looked over at the wall. 'Taken somewhere in Lincoln's Inn Fields, then. That's a hell of a way to haul a body.' He looked at me, frowning. 'What on earth is going on;'

Chapter Seven

T
wo
days later
, on the Tuesday after Easter, Barak and I walked down to the river to catch a boat to Westminster. I had on a new coat; I had left my old coat with the coroner; stained as it was with Roger's blood, I could never wear it again. I had a busy day ahead, five poor men's pleas to be heard before the Master of Requests. I hoped I would also get a date for hearing Adam Kite's application.

The morning had a real touch of spring at last, the breeze gentle and moist. Normally that would have lifted my spirits; but not with what lay on my heart now. As we crossed Fleet Street on our way down to Temple Bar, we saw a penitent heretic being led along to St Paul's. He was dressed in a grey smock and carried a faggot of birch twigs in trembling hands. Ashes had been tipped over his head and shoulders, turning his hair and face grey. A rope was round his neck, and he was led along by one of Bishop Bonner's men. Three halberdiers followed, wearing swords, the little procession led by a man beating a drum. Passers-by stopped, some jeering and others looking serious. Someone called, 'Courage, brother!' and the soldiers looked round angrily. I was taken aback to see that the tethered man was the wild preacher from Newgate market; he must have been taken for unlicensed preaching. He would be brought to St Paul's Cross where Bonner would preach to him of the evils of heresy. If he were caught again he could burn.

The ice had quite gone from the river now, which was high, the grey water flowing rapidly. The wherrymen had had a hard winter, as always when the river froze, and the man at the oars of the boat we took at Temple Stairs had a pinched, hungry look. I told him to make for Westminster.

'The stairs there are broken, sir. The ice has crushed the supports, they'll have to be replaced.'

'Whitehall Stairs, then,' I said with a sigh, not relishing a walk through the Westminster crowds. The man pulled out. I sat staring over the river. I had spent much of the previous day looking through Roger's cases and giving instructions to his clerk. Then I had written a letter to young Stephen Elliard in Bristol. When I went up to see his mother again in the evening, I found she had retreated into herself and sat staring into the fire, her maid holding her hand. At length she was persuaded away to bed.

"Eard about those great fish?' the wherryman asked, interrupting my sad thoughts.

'What? Oh, yes.'

'Just bobbed up from under the ice. Almost as big as houses they are.' He nodded and smiled. 'I've seen 'em.'

'What are they like?' Barak asked curiously

'Grey, with huge heads full of the strangest teeth you ever saw. They're starting to stink now. They're cutting them open to get the fish oil, though some say they're cursed. My vicar claims they are the Leviathan, the great monster from the deep whose appearance portends the Second Coming.'

'Maybe they're whales,' I said. 'A kind of giant fish that lives in the deep sea. Fishermen speak of them.'

'This ain't the deep sea, sir. And they're bigger than any fish could be. Giant heads they've got. I've seen them, like half London.'

The boat pulled up at Whitehall Stairs. We walked under the Holbein Gate and down into King Street. I kept a hand on my purse, for Westminster was as disorderly a place as could be found in England. Ahead of us loomed the vast bulk of Westminster Abbey, dwarfing even its neighbour, Westminster Hall, where most of the courts sat. Behind Westminster Hall lay a warren of buildings, those which had survived the fire a generation ago that destroyed much of the old Westminster Palace. The House of Commons met in the Painted Chamber there, and the Court of Requests was near by.

Around Westminster Hall and the abbey was a chaos of buildings, shops, inns and taverns, serving the lawyers and churchmen and MPs who came to Westminster. Pedlars, hucksters and prostitutes always thronged the streets, and the presence of the Sanctuary at Westminster had long drawn rogues to the area. Westminster's government was chaotic, for the requests of rich citizens to have it incorporated as a city had always been rejected, and now that the abbey had been dissolved, the old secular powers of the abbot had gone.