Free Sovereign by C. J. Sansom Page A

dinner-time.’
    ‘Ay.’ He shook his head. ‘What a scurry. I’ve never seen so many goods and animals in one place. And whatever secret pageantry they are planning out there to be catered
for.’
    I clicked my fingers. ‘Those pavilions reminded me of something,’ I said. ‘I’ve just realized it. The Field of the Cloth of Gold.’
    ‘When the King went to Calais to meet the French King?’
    ‘Ay. Twenty years since. There’s a painting of the pageant in the Guildhall. They built huge pavilions of just those designs, and giant tents all gilded with cloth of gold, which
gave the occasion its name. Of course, Lucas Hourenbout is using those designs as a precedent.’
    ‘For what?’
    ‘I don’t know. Some very great celebration. But perhaps we should restrain our curiosity, just get on with our business.’
    ‘Dun’s the mouse.’
    ‘Exactly.’
    ‘And Lady Rochford’s here. God’s death, she’s one to avoid.’
    I looked at him seriously. ‘Ay. She was part of your old master’s darkest scheme.’
    Barak shifted uncomfortably. Jane Rochford had been one of those used by Thomas Cromwell to discredit Queen Anne Boleyn through accusations of sexual misconduct five years before. Lady
Rochford’s evidence had been the most terrible: that George Boleyn, her own husband and Queen Anne’s brother, had had incestuous relations with the Queen. I had reason to know for
certain what most people believed, that the charges against Queen Anne had been fabricated for political reasons.
    ‘She has made herself a byword for the worst treachery,’ I continued. ‘And was well rewarded for it. Made Lady of the Privy Chamber to Jane Seymour, then Anne of Cleves and now
Catherine Howard.’
    ‘Didn’t look very happy on it, though, did she?’
    ‘No, she didn’t. There was something underneath her angry bluster. Well, it cannot be much fun knowing the whole world hates you. Let’s hope we don’t have to see her
again.’
    ‘But you’ve to meet the King.’
    ‘So it seems.’ I shook my head. ‘Somehow I cannot quite take that in.’
    ‘And you have to be involved with the prisoner at the castle. No choice there.’
    ‘No. But again, I’m going to ask as few questions as I can.’ I told Barak the details of what had passed at York Castle, Radwinter’s cruelty and Broderick’s sudden
lunge at him, though I left out what the gaoler had said about my having sympathy for the prisoner. At the end he looked thoughtful.
    ‘Those skilled in dealing with dangerous prisoners, guarding and watching them, are rare. Earl Cromwell prized such men greatly.’ He looked at me seriously. ‘I think
you’re right. Don’t get involved with either of them any more than you have to.’
    He left me, saying he would call me in time for dinner. I heard a creak and a sigh as he lay down on the bed next door. I closed my eyes and was soon asleep. I dreamed I heard my father calling
to me from outside the room, his voice clear and vivid, but that when I rose from the little bed to join him the cubicle door had been replaced by one as thick and heavy as the one in
Broderick’s cell, and it was locked.

    B ARAK HAD THE ENVIABLE gift of being able to tell himself, before he went to sleep, when he wanted to wake, and he seldom failed to do so at his allotted
time. His knock at my cubicle brought me from my troubled dreams. The room was gloomy, and glancing from the window I saw the sun was low in the sky. I joined him in the hall. There were other
people there now, clerks and two lawyers in black robes, young fellows. One of them, a small thin man who stood warming his hands by the fire, caught my eye and bowed.
    ‘You have newly joined us, sir?’ he asked, studying us with large curious eyes.
    ‘Yes. Brother Shardlake of Lincoln’s Inn and my assistant Barak. We are here to assist with the petitions to the King.’
    ‘Ah.’ He looked impressed, and smiled ingratiatingly. ‘Paul Kimber, sir. I am also from