Lamentation

‘God give you good evening, Francis. Is Master Guy at home?’

‘In his study. Working with his books as usual of an evening.’ He led me down the narrow hall, knocking gently on the door of Guy’s study. Guy was sitting at his desk, reading his copy of Vesalius, with its gruesome anatomical diagrams, using the light of a candle to compare what was on the page with a human thigh bone he held up. He put it down carefully and stood. ‘Matthew. This is a surprise.’

‘I hope I am not interrupting you.’

‘No. My eyes are getting tired.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Francis says I should get spectacles, but I cannot face the thought somehow.’

‘I am sorry I had to leave you so suddenly on Friday. After we — ’ I hesitated — ‘disagreed.’

He smiled sadly. ‘That argument resounds all over England, does it not?’

‘I was not myself that day.’

‘I understand. You still look tired. A glass of hippocras?’

‘That would be welcome. I have been working hard.’

Guy called to Francis, who fetched two mugs of warm spiced wine. I sat looking into mine then said, ‘My old foe Stephen Bealknap is dead. A growth in his guts.’

Guy crossed himself. ‘God pardon him.’

I smiled sadly. ‘He did not want God’s pardon. I was with him near the end, he said he had no faith. He has left all his money to build a great memorial to himself in Lincoln’s Inn chapel.’

‘Had he no family?’

‘Nor friends. Nor God.’

‘That is sad.’

‘Yes.’ I looked into my wine again, then pulled myself together. ‘Guy, there is a piece of information I seek. About a foreign name. I have only my Latin and poor French, and with your experience of languages I hope you may be able to help me.’

‘If I can.’

‘In strict confidence.’

‘Of course.’

‘It has come up in the context of something I am working on. Reported second-hand. The name sounds foreign, and may be mispronounced, but I wondered if you could guess its origin.’

‘What is the name?’

‘Jurony Bertano. Could it be Spanish?’

He smiled. ‘No. That is an Italian name. The first name is Gurone, spelt G-U-R-O-N-E.’

‘Close enough then.’

‘One of the Italian merchant community in London, perhaps?’ ‘Possibly.’ I gave him a serious look. ‘But I cannot discuss the matter.’

‘I understand. The rules of confidentiality.’

I nodded unhappily. We were silent for a moment. Then I said, ‘You know, on the way here I was thinking how few Catholic or traditionalist friends I have now. These last years most people have withdrawn into one circle or the other, have they not? Often without even thinking about it?’

‘For safety, yes, sadly they have. I have few patients among the radicals or reformers. My practice began with people from — dare I say my side, and they refer their friends to me, and so it goes on. It is probably much the same with you.’

‘It is. Though, by the way, I have recommended you to someone else with back troubles. An embroiderer from the Queen’s court.’

He smiled. ‘A reformist sympathizer, then.’

‘I have no idea.’ I looked up at him. ‘Do you ever doubt, Guy, that your view of God is the right one?’

‘I have been prey to doubt all my life,’ he said seriously. ‘For a time, as once I told you, I doubted God’s very existence. But I believe that if faith and doubt battle together within a human soul, that soul becomes the stronger and more honest for it.’

‘Perhaps. Though I have far more doubt than faith these days.’ I hesitated. ‘You know, I have always considered that people who were unshakeable in their faith, on either side, to be the most dangerous sort of men. But just recently I wonder whether that is wrong, and rather it is those, like some of the highest at court — Wriothesley, or Rich — who shift from one side to the other to further their ambitions, who are truly the worst men.’

‘What are you involved in now, Matthew?’ Guy asked quietly.

I answered with sudden passion, ‘Something I must protect my friends from knowing about.’

He sat silent for a moment before saying, ‘If I can help, at any time — ’

‘You are a true friend.’ Yet one whose conscience placed him on the other side of the divide from Catherine Parr, I thought. To change the subject, I said, ‘Tell me what you are trying to learn from that old bone. Something far more useful to humanity than anything lawyers or Privy Councillors do, I’ll warrant.’

Next morning, I left home early to visit chambers before going on to Whitehall Palace. Everyone — Barak, Nicholas and Skelly — was already there and working. I felt grateful to them. John Skelly had always been a hard and loyal worker, and Nicholas, given a little trust, was responding well, while Barak was relishing being in charge. As I came in he was giving Nicholas a heap of case papers to be filed on the shelves. ‘And don’t lose any conveyances this time,’ he said cheerfully.