Lamentation

I recognized the man within at once: McKendrick, whom I had last seen running from the wharfside. He had been a physically powerful man, and had proved himself to be a fierce fighter. He looked utterly different now. His square face was covered with sweat, white as paper, and his cheeks were sunken. He tossed uneasily on the bed, making it creak, his lips moving in delirious muttering. Guy closed the door and spoke quietly. ‘He was fetched in the day before yesterday. It is a strange story: a group of apprentices were hanging about outside one of the taverns near Cripplegate, around curfew, when all of a sudden a man rushed out of an alley into their midst. He was covered in blood and they caught a glimpse of two men pursuing him. Whoever they were, they turned tail when they saw the crowd of apprentices. They brought him here. It is a miracle he lived at all: he had been stabbed, thrice. He must have fought his pursuers and managed to run away. But the wounds have gone bad. He cannot live long; I think he will die tonight.’ Guy gently lifted the blanket and under the man’s shift I saw three wide wounds on his chest and abdomen. They had been stitched, but around two of the wounds the skin was swollen and red, and the third had a yellowish hue.

‘Dear God,’ I said.

Guy replaced the blanket gently, but the movement disturbed McKendrick, who began muttering aloud. ‘Bertano. . Antichrist. . Pope’s incubus. .’

Guy looked at me sternly. ‘When I heard some of the things he was saying, I put him in here. Safest for him, and perhaps for others.’

‘And he has mentioned my name?’

‘Yes. And others. Including, as you just heard, that name Bertano which you asked me about. Generally what he says in his delirium is nonsense, but I have heard him mention Queen Catherine herself. Disconnected talk, about spies and traitors at the English court. Mostly it makes no sense, and his Scotch accent is unfamiliar to me. But I have understood enough to realize he knows dangerous things, and is a religious radical. Once he cursed the Mass, saying it was no more than the bleating of a cow. Another time he spoke of overthrowing all princes.’ Guy hesitated, then added, ‘I see you know him.’

‘I saw him only once, though I have been seeking him for weeks.’

‘Who is he?’

I looked him in the eye. ‘I cannot say, Guy, for your safety. I beg you, continue to keep him apart from the other patients; he knows dangerous things. Did he have anything on him when he was brought in?’ I asked urgently. ‘Perhaps — a book?’

‘He had a copy of Tyndale’s forbidden New Testament with his name inside, and a purse with a few coins.’

‘Nothing else?’

‘Nothing.’

I looked at McKendrick, quiet now, his breathing shallow. ‘I would have prevented this, Guy, I hope you believe me.’

‘Yes,’ Guy answered, ‘I believe that. But you are still involved in something deeply dangerous, are you not?’

‘Yes.’ I looked again at McKendrick. ‘May I question him?’

‘His mind is in a fever most of the time.’

‘Would you leave me to try? The only reason I ask you not to stay is in case you hear something that might imperil your safety. I would not drag you into this bog as well.’

Guy hesitated, then nodded. ‘I will leave you for a little. But do not tax him.’ He went out, closing the door gently. There was a stool in the room, and I dragged it across to McKendrick’s bed. It was getting dark, the sound of voices quieter as Smithfield emptied. I shook him gently. His eyes opened; they were unfocused, feverish.

‘Master McKendrick?’ I asked.

‘Dominie McKendrick,’ he whispered. ‘I am Dominie. Teacher, preacher.’

‘Dominie, who did this to you?’

I was not sure he had heard my question, but then he said wearily, closing his eyes tight, ‘There were two o’ them, two. They took me by surprise, though I’m careful. Jumped out of the doorway an’ stabbed me. Two o’ them. I got one o’ them in the shoulder, managed to run.’ He smiled sadly. ‘Escaped in the alleys. Got to know the London alleys these last years. Same as the ones in Stirling, always running, running from the lackeys of popes and princes. But I weakened, loss o’ blood.’ He sighed. ‘Running, always running.’

I bent my head close. ‘Did you know your attackers, Dominie?’

He shook his head wearily.

‘Were they two tall young men, one fair, with a wart on his face, the other almost bald?’

‘Ay, that was them.’ He looked at me, his eyes focusing properly for the first time. ‘Who are you?’

‘One who would punish those who attacked you.’ Daniels and Cardmaker had underestimated the ex-soldier’s strength and speed, and he had managed to run into the crowd of apprentices. But too late, it seemed, to save his life.

He reached a hand out from under the blankets, grasping mine. His was hard and callused, the hand of a man who had worked and soldiered, but hot and clammy. ‘Did they kill Master Greening?’ he asked.

‘Yes, and his apprentice, Elias.’

His grip tightened and his eyes opened wider, blue and clear. He stared at me. ‘Elias? We thought he was the traitor.’