'God's death, it was only a horse. Well, I've been working while you've been sitting here. I've found a man Bealknap used as a compurgator, vouching for the good character of people he'd never heard of.'
I sat up. 'Where is he?'
Barak jerked his head towards the house. 'In there. He keeps a clothing stall in Cheapside, works for Bealknap on the side. I've put him in the kitchen. Want to talk to him?'
I followed Barak to the kitchen, trying to pull myself together. A middle-aged man sat at the table. He was plump and respectable looking, which no doubt was why Beak knap had chosen him. He rose to his feet and gave a deep bow. 'Master Shardlake, sir, a pleasure to meet you. Adam Leman, sir.'
I sat down opposite him, while Barak stood looking on.
'Well, Master Leman, I hear my brother in the law, Stephen Bealknap, has employed you as a compurgator.'
Leman nodded. 'I have assisted him.'
'To swear to the good character of men held in the bishop's gaol under benefit of clergy.'
He hesitated. I noticed his eyes were watery, and his nose a mess of broken red veins. A drunk, probably unable to run his stall properly and in need of extra cash for strong beer.
'Master Bealknap is kind enough to pay me a retainer,' he said cautiously. 'Perhaps I do not know all the gentlemen whose character I swear to as well as I might, but I feel I am doing a Christian service, sir. The conditions in the bishop's gaol-'
I cut through his nonsense. 'You pretend to know people you have never heard of and pervert the course of justice for money. We both know that. Now, have a beer.' I nodded at Barak, who fetched a jug from the cold cupboard. Leman coughed, then sat up in his chair.
'Bealknap hasn't paid me, sir. I said I'd do no more work for him till he did. He's the meanest man alive, he'd skin a flea for its hide and tallow. Makes a point of never paying anyone if he can get out of it.' He nodded self-righteously. 'Well, now it's caught up with the bastard. I've told your man I'll help you nail him and I shall. Thank you.' He took a cup from Barak and gulped noisily. 'That's good in this hot weather.' He looked at me sharply. 'You can give me immunity?'
I ever preferred a rogue who would come to the point. I nodded. 'In exchange for an affidavit to go before the disciplinary authorities of Lincoln's Inn. But once we've completed the affidavit I want you to come with me and tell Bealknap to his face what damage you can do him. Will you do that?'
He hesitated. 'How much?'
'A pound for the affidavit, another for coming to see Bealknap.'
'Then it'll be a job I'll be happy to do, sir.' His looked at me curiously. 'You got some grudge against him yourself?'
'You mind your business,' Barak said.
I rose. 'Come then, Master Leman, let us go to my study and prepare this affidavit.'
I spent an hour with the rogue. He signed the document with a scrawled flourish and I sent him on his way with five shillings on account for his fee. As I rubbed sand over the florid signature to dry it Barak laughed.
'I've never seen an affidavit taken before. The way you kept him to the point.'
'It's an art you learn. Now I am hungry. I'll get Joan to make us an early supper.'
'And then – the well?' Barak looked at me. 'We may not get another chance.'
For myself, now the business with Leman was done, the horror of the day's earlier events was crowding back into my mind and the expedition to Sir Edwin's house in the dark was the last thing I wished for. But it had to be done.
'Yes, the well. We'll have to wait till it's dark.' I glanced at the satchel, which I had retrieved from the cloister of St Michael's before returning home, and slung in a corner. 'I'll take the chance to look at those books.'
I RETURNED TO MY STUDY after a quick supper. I read for hours, lighting candles as the summer sun dropped to the horizon and the moon came up with the thick, hot darkness. As ever, reading soothed my mind and took me far away from my troubles. I read about Roman experiments with fire weaponry that seemed to come to naught. The name Medea came up again and again; the name of the ancient Greek sorceress who presented her enemy with a shirt that burst into all-consuming fire when it was put on. Placing 'the Shirt of Medea' on victims in the arena was a sport in Nero's time, mentioned in Plutarch and Lucullus. But what was it that made the shirt burn, and why had the Romans not developed this 'infernal fire' for military use?
