Sacrilege (56 page)

"But Your Honour--murder is not a clergyable offence!" Langworth cried, stepping forward.

"I preside over this court, Canon Langworth, not you," Hale said, with steel in his voice. "Perhaps I could refer this case back to Westminster instead. Would that be better, do you think--that Doctor Savolino should make his defence in the Star Chamber, before the Privy Council?"

Langworth turned white; his Adam's apple bounced in his throat as he tried to swallow his rage and I knew then that Harry must have reached the justice and told him what he knew. But the crowd were not to be deprived of their prize. A low roar began to swell among them, like the rumble of a great wave, until it seemed their force could not be contained; as the outcry reached a crescendo, some among those standing surged forward, knocking the dignitaries on their benches, jostling the clerks
at their tables, and they were joined by others, swarming in from the entrance hall towards the pen where the prisoners were held. The guards did their best to hold the mob back, but they were outnumbered and they seemed reluctant to use their weapons for anything more than ineffectual buffeting. The bailiff climbed on a table and pounded with his staff, calling in vain for order, until he was pulled down by the spectators into the crush. More people seemed to be pressing in from outside the courtroom and a great cry went up from the street; I heard women screaming as I felt hands close over my arms, dragging me through the other prisoners into the tumult. Faces blurred in front of my eyes and I felt a fist strike me on the jaw as the mob bayed for the hangman; fear pulsed in my throat as I was pulled out into the courtroom, into the hands of the crowd. Did they mean to hang me themselves, to dispense the justice they felt Hale had denied them? I could not see the justice now, though I thought his was among the voices bellowing from above me.

The courtroom had all but collapsed into a riot. My head began to swim and I fought for breath in the crush as I was pulled down; for a moment I feared I would black out, but quite suddenly through the confusion and noise sounded one clear note of a herald's trumpet. The sound seemed to startle the mob; the press of bodies and hands clawing at me began to subside, and I was hauled to my feet by the collar to find myself staring into the face of a bearded young man wearing a soldier's helmet. The shouting died down to a simmering murmur and a strange calm descended on the hall. When I was able to focus I realised that one of the onlookers who had dragged me out was lying prone on the floor and the crowd were drawing back, staring at his unmoving body with fear; another soldier stood over him, sword held aloft, looking around with menace as if to ask who else dared try their luck. There were six or more of these armed men in the hall, and they were not wearing the livery of the guards who had fetched me that morning but different colours. The man who had helped me up nodded and stepped back and it was only then that I realised the badge on his coat was the arms of Queen Elizabeth.

There was a jostling among the crowd towards the door and as I watched they parted to admit a tall figure in a sweat-soaked shirt and riding breeches, hair sticking up in spikes, face haggard and dust-smeared from the road, holding out a piece of paper. The soldiers moved to keep the people away from him at sword point; most obediently shuffled back. I almost wept to see who it was; my legs buckled again and the young soldier caught me as I fell against his chest.

Justice Hale straightened his cap, regained his composure, and addressed the newcomer with an attempt at dignity.

"Sir Philip. You have a constituency of barbarians, it seems."

For once, Sidney did not smile.

"Justice Hale, I have seen tavern brawls conducted with more dignity than your courtroom." He turned to me, colour rising in his cheeks. "What in God's name is going on here? Get that man out of chains now. I have ridden through the night," he added, pointing at me, though he made it sound like an accusation. "I have ridden through the night," he said again, louder, in a voice that encompassed the whole courtroom, "with a warrant signed by Her Majesty for the arrest of Canon John Langworth on charges of high treason."

The gasp that echoed through the hall could not have been better performed if it had been played on a stage. People swivelled their heads around, looking for the object of this exciting new development.

"Where is Canon Langworth?" Hale demanded, still on his feet, his voice sonorous with authority once more. "Constable?"

Edmonton looked around, helpless. "I cannot see him here, Your Honour."

"He must have slipped out some back way in the tumult," I said to Sidney. My voice sounded hoarse. "You must get your men after him. If he is not in his own house, try the crypt."

"This court is adjourned," Hale announced, and the bailiff struck his staff three times. "I will pass sentence when we are again in session. Have the prisoners taken back to the gaol. Not the Italian or the monk,
Constable--I want them brought to my lodgings at the Cheker. You--blow your trumpet," he said irritably to the herald in an aside. "Clear the courtroom!" he shouted, when the note had sounded. "I will retire to my lodgings to speak with Sir Philip. Mayor Fitzwalter, you will accompany me. Have your men clear the way. Where is Dean Rogers?"

The dean rose from his seat, pale and shaken. Hale gave him a hard look.

"You had better get yourself back to your cathedral, Richard. Sir Philip Sidney may need your assistance there."

The trumpet sounded; Fitzwalter called his guards to make way for the justice. Perhaps emboldened by the example of the queen's soldiers, they shoved more brusquely with their pikestaffs this time and the spectators, chastened, moved back for Hale and his retinue to pass, following Sidney and his men. I watched them leave, hardly daring to believe that Sidney was here at all, let alone with a retinue of royal soldiers. Edmonton approached with a face like a bull mastiff, holding out a key.

"Sorry to disappoint you," I said, as he took the manacles from my wrists and then from Brother Anselm's. The old monk's hands were bleeding where the iron had torn his papery skin. He touched his wounds in wonder.

"Am I pardoned?" he asked, blinking up at me and then at Edmonton. "Am I not to hang after all?"

"Not today," the constable said, sucking in his cheeks.

"You are safe, brother," I said, taking Anselm's arm to steady him. His milky eyes filled with tears.

"I thought those people would tear us apart where we stood," he whispered. "But blessed Saint Thomas heard our prayers."

"Well. He has a lot to answer for," I said.

"Filippo?" A woman's voice at my shoulder; I turned, my pulse quickening, to find the Widow Gray twisting her hands together, her eyes anxious. I raised my eyebrows: yes? "I want to come with you to the justice. I think it is time I made my deposition."

"Y
OUR
H
ONOUR, COULD
I--before we--I must go back to Doctor Robinson's house in the cathedral precincts. He may have need of me."

"Don't worry about Harry," Hale said, his eyes still skimming his papers. Four o'clock in the afternoon; the light soft and golden where it fell in scattered shapes on the panelled walls. With his entourage he had taken over an entire floor of the Cheker, its grandest rooms; the one we now sat in was furnished with silk cushions and embroidered curtains. Brother Anselm had been led away by one of Hale's clerks to be fed, washed, and rested before he gave his deposition, in the hope that it might be more coherent. The Widow Gray was waiting outside the door for her turn. Mayor Fitzwalter had been arrested by the justice's men as he stepped through the door of the Cheker, to avoid further public unrest. Now Hale sat behind a desk, his back to the open window, radiating calm, a glass of wine in his hand. Beside him, another clerk scribbled a note of every word that was spoken. Whenever a serving boy came in with food, the room fell silent, recognising that these were matters not to be overheard.

"I sent two of my assistants to Harry's house after he came to me this morning," Hale continued. "Nearly killed himself trying to get here before I left for the hearing. He told me everything."

"Everything?" Did he mean Sophia?

"Langworth's plot. Becket. The dead boys. Monstrous! And the attempt on your own lives last night. The servant Samuel will be removed to more appropriate conditions until he is well enough to be questioned."

"Will he live?"

"Let us hope so. We will need his testimony." He paused to sip his wine. "It is a great blessing that Sir Philip is here with the queen's pursuivants--I understand that was your doing. You are a brave man, Giordano Bruno. Reckless, perhaps, but undoubtedly useful."

"Still--I must go back to see Harry Robinson, as a matter of urgency--"

Hale glanced up; his brow seemed to bristle at the presumption.

"I sent Harry home to rest. This will not wait, Doctor Bruno--my assize is only adjourned. I have at least twenty more criminal cases to hear today, not to mention all the minor petitions. We shall be sitting until midnight as it is. Take a drink and let us begin on your deposition." He paused at the sound of the door. "Ah, Sir Philip."

The door was closed behind Sidney, who strode over and squeezed my shoulder. He looked as exhausted as I felt.

"Langworth is taken," he said, throwing himself into a chair and clicking his fingers at one of the clerks for a glass of wine. "Found him in his house trying to light a bonfire of his letters. Thankfully he had not progressed very far--should be enough to make interesting reading. But the bad news is that Becket is gone."

"Under the floor," I said, "at the eastern end, between two marble columns. I can show you the place."

"No need." He twisted his mouth in distaste, though I could not tell if it was at the wine or the outcome. "We found the place. The coffin is empty. Not so much as a holy toenail to be seen."

"Langworth has moved him, then. He will tell you where."

Sidney gave a grim laugh.

"Let us hope. When he is in the Tower he will be encouraged to tell us all manner of things."

I winced. "Langworth must have told someone. There are no more guardians left--Kingsley and Sykes are dead, Fitzwalter is arrested."

"Unless Fitzwalter was not the fourth guardian," Hale said. "He swears he knows nothing of any relics. Admits to taking bribes from Langworth and Kingsley to smooth their financial interests, but nothing more. Of course, Fitzwalter is a coward," he added, pursing his lips in disapproval. "He will say anything to spare himself hard questioning. We may yet learn something of use."

"So there could be another guardian," I mused. "If Langworth will not talk, we may never know where Becket is buried."

"Oh, he will talk eventually," Sidney said, as if there could be no dispute.
He threw back the last of his wine and stood. "The pursuivants are all over Langworth's house--I should go and see what more they have found. Then, Bruno, you and I deserve the finest supper this town can provide. We have much to talk about." He gave me a meaningful look, stretched his arms above his head and cracked his neck from side to side, then swept out of the door again.

"I'll tell you another thing--it's a damned shame the physician Sykes was killed before he could be questioned," Hale remarked, reading over his notes. "Now
that
is a curious business. Was it Langworth's doing, do you think, Bruno? Stop him talking? Seems bizarre, if it was. You'd have thought Sykes was essential to the whole miracle plot."

I hesitated. No one had yet mentioned Sophia. That meant only one of two things; either she was still hidden at Harry's, or she had taken her chance to escape while the whole town was gathered at the assizes.

"Sykes's housekeeper kept his appointment book, apparently," Hale continued, in a tone of mild curiosity. "He made a note of all his patients so that he wouldn't miss a fee. He was supposed to see the Widow Gray the morning he died but he never got there. The housekeeper says someone came to the door crying that there was an emergency, begged him to go with her there and then. She says Sykes didn't even stop to write down the name of the patient or pick up his jacket, just went out like that in his shirtsleeves, with his bag of remedies."

"It was a woman? At the door?"

"The housekeeper didn't see, but she says it sounded like a woman's voice. Curious. Well," he put the paper aside and looked up, his jowls creasing into a weary smile. "I cannot worry about that now. Let us hear your story, Doctor Bruno, as quick as you can make it, so I can get back to my adulterers and coiners. Justice will not wait." He rolled his eyes. "You," he barked at the clerk to his right. "Sharpen your quill for this man's words."