Free Lamentation (The Shardlake Series Book 6) by C. J. Sansom

children; he had been an associate of the King in his young days and had helped advance the Parr family at court. He must be near seventy now.
    ‘Well,’ he said at length. ‘So you are the lawyer my niece praises so highly.’
    ‘Her majesty is kind.’
    ‘I know the great service you did her before she became Queen.’ He looked at me seriously. ‘Now she asks another,’ he added. ‘Has she your complete and unquestioning loyalty?’
    ‘Total and entire,’ I said.
    ‘I warn you now, this is a dirty, secret and dangerous matter.’ Lord Parr took a deep breath. ‘You will learn things it is potentially fatal to know. The Queen has told me you prefer life as a private man, so let us have that out in the open now.’ He looked at me for a long moment. ‘Knowing that, will you still help her?’
    My answer came immediately, without thought or hesitation. ‘I will.’
    ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘I know you are no man of religion, though you were once.’ His voice became stern. ‘You are, like so many in these days, a Laodicean, one who dissembles on matters of faith to keep quiet and safe.’
    I took a deep breath. ‘I will aid the Queen because she is the most good and honourable lady I have ever met, and has done naught but good to all.’
    ‘Has she?’ Lord Parr, unexpectedly, gave a sardonic smile. He looked at me for a long moment, then nodded decisively. ‘Then let us go on, to the Queen’s apartments.’
    He led me down a narrow corridor, past a magnificent Venetian vase on a table covered with a red turkey-cloth. ‘We must pass through the King’s Presence Chamber, then the Queen’s. There will be more young courtiers waiting to see the great ones of the realm,’ he added wearily. Then, suddenly, he paused and raised a hand. We were by a small, narrow mullioned window, open against the heat of the day. Lord Parr looked quickly round to see if anyone was in the offing, then laid a hand on my arm and spoke, quietly and urgently. ‘Now, quick, while we have the chance. You should see this, if you are to understand all that has happened. Look through the window from the side, he does not care to be seen thus. Quick now!’
    I looked out and saw a little courtyard covered with flagstones. Two of the sturdy, black-robed Gentlemen Pensioners were helping an immense figure, clad in a billowing yellow silk caftan with a collar of light fur, to walk along, supporting him under the arms. I saw with a shock that it was the King. I had seen him close to twice before – during his Great Progress to York in 1541, when he had been a magnificent-looking figure; and again on his entry to Portsmouth last year. I had been shocked then at his deterioration; he had become hugely fat, and had looked worn with pain. But the man I saw now was the very wreck of a human being. His huge legs, made larger still by swathes of bandages, were splayed out like a gigantic child’s as he took each slow and painful step. Every movement sent his immense body wobbling and juddering beneath the caftan. His face was a great mass of fat, the little mouth and tiny eyes almost hidden in its folds, the once beaky nose full and fleshy. He was bare-headed and, I saw, almost bald; his remaining hair, like his sparse beard, was quite grey. His face, though, was brick-red and sweating from the effort of walking round the little courtyard. As I watched, the King suddenly thrust up his arms in an impatient gesture, making me jump back instinctively. Lord Parr frowned and put a finger to his lips. I glanced out again as the King spoke, in that strangely squeaky voice I remembered from York: ‘Let me go! I can make my own way to the door, God rot you!’ The guards stepped aside and the King took a few clumsy steps. Then he stopped, exclaiming, ‘My leg! My ulcer! Hold me, you clods!’ His face had gone ashen with pain. He gasped with relief as the men once again took him under the arms, supporting him.
    Lord Parr stepped aside, gesturing me to