Lamentation

Nicholas and Barak nodded, Nicholas looking Stice in the eye. I said, ‘And I will send a note to Cecil, to see if he can provide anybody, too.’

Stice thought a moment. I wondered if he was considering, if Cecil brought some more men, whether his own party would be outnumbered if it came to trouble between us. Then he smiled again. ‘Wear dark clothes. We can look forward to an exciting evening.’

‘My instructions are to see these people are taken alive,’ I said. It had occurred to me that Rich might prefer that anyone with knowledge of Anne Askew’s writings be put permanently out of the way.

‘Of course. Sir Richard and your friend Cecil will doubtless want to question them all. Unless they decide to act the hero and fight back. They’re fanatics, remember.’ Stice looked serious now.

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘Unless they fight back.’

‘Nine o’clock then, at Somers Key Wharf. I’ve been down there and paid the wharfmaster to ensure a big stack of empty barrels is moved to a place opposite the Dutch ship. We wait behind them; it’s an ideal arrangement to take them by surprise. We’ll meet first at Needlepoint Lane at eight, get to the wharf by nine and hide ourselves. There’s no moon tonight, it’ll be dark. When they come they won’t know what’s hit them.’

‘You have organized everything very well,’ I said grudgingly.

Stice gave an exaggerated bow and looked round at the three of us again. Barak met his gaze stonily, Nicholas angrily. ‘Come, sir,’ Stice said chidingly to him. ‘No ill feelings, as I said to Master Shardlake earlier. You gave a good account of yourself, for all you’re a lad just up from the country.’

‘In an even fight, Master Stice, one on one, I may do even better.’

‘Who knows? But we’re on the same side now.’

‘For the moment,’ Nicholas said quietly.

That evening Barak and I met Nicholas at his lodgings, and the three of us walked into town. It was a beautiful evening, the sun setting slowly, light white clouds in a sky of darkening blue. A cooling breeze had risen from the west. I looked at my companions. Barak’s expression was keen and alert, Nicholas’s coldly determined. I spoke quietly to him. ‘No bravado tonight. Do not let yourself be roused by Stice, and do not put yourself at risk unnecessarily.’

‘I will not let you down, sir.’ He paused, then added, ‘I know how dangerous this is. And that we must watch our allies as carefully as our enemies.’

‘If enemies they are. We are not even sure they have the Lamentation. But we must find out.’

‘Tonight we will.’

I nodded. I was more glad of his and Barak’s company than I could say; I did not fancy my prospects were I to be caught on my own between a group of religious fanatics and a clutch of Rich’s men. I had received a reply from Cecil to say he would be joining us at Stice’s house, with two strong men from Lord Parr’s household. I guessed Cecil would be as little use in a fight as myself, so Stice’s party and ours would have four fighting men each.

We turned into Needlepoint Lane, past the tavern where once again patrons were gathered outside, and knocked on the door of Stice’s house. He let us in. The big man Gower was sitting at the table. Two other men sat with him, large young fellows with swords. They looked, as Barak would have said, useful.

Stice was cheerful and animated. He introduced us to his two new men with a mock bow. ‘Here is Serjeant Shardlake, representing the interest of a certain personage who also has an interest in seeing the scribbles of Mistress Askew destroyed. And his men Barak and Master Overton. Overton and Gower had a row a few days ago, as you can see from the state of young Overton’s face.’

Nicholas gave him a blank look. ‘I get bored with your baiting, sir. This is no time for silly games.’

‘Quite right,’ I agreed.

Stice shrugged. ‘Just a little sport.’

There was another knock at the door. Stice opened it again and William Cecil entered, with two heavyset men, a little older than the two Stice had brought. Like all of us they were dressed in dark clothes. Cecil took a deep breath, looking round the gathering with the sort of cool stare he might have given to an assembly of fellow lawyers. Stice grinned at him. ‘Young Master Cecil! I had you pointed out to me a little while ago as a rising man in the service of a certain person.’

Cecil’s reply was cold and clear. ‘You are Stice, I take it, Sir Richard’s man. I was told your appearance was — distinctive.’

Stice scowled but nodded, then Cecil asked, ‘We are all to go down to Somers Key Wharf?’

‘Yes.’ Stice looked out of the window. ‘It’s pretty dark already. We get there by nine, hide behind the barrels, and wait. When they come, we rush them and bring them, and any baggage they have, back here. It’s likely the writing we’re looking for will be on their persons rather than in their luggage. I’ve another man waiting near the wharf with a horse and a big cart with a tarpaulin; we’ll bind and gag them to keep them quiet on the way back here, knock them out if we have to.’