‘She’s desperate,’ Nicholas added sadly. ‘Boleyn will go back to his cell now, I suppose?’
‘Yes, until the entertainment tomorrow.’
‘I have the application for the pardon. I thought it would be better given to Reynberd.’
Barak nodded. ‘He’s on civil cases now; you’ll have to wait till he breaks for lunch. Probably an hour or so.’
I looked at the other clerks, still giving us hostile looks. One in particular, a tall, thin fellow, stared at us fixedly. I bent closer to Barak. ‘Should I not have come in here?’
‘Can’t be helped,’ he answered with a shrug. ‘Come, I’ll show you where to wait.’
He led us into another, windowless corridor which ended at a large door. There was a bench outside. ‘That’s his chambers. Wait there.’
Nicholas said, ‘We were stopped earlier by Southwell and Flowerdew. Came at us like a couple of crows at a corpse.’ He smiled. ‘You should have seen their faces when Master Shardlake told them about the pardon application.’
‘Southwell works for the Lady Mary,’ I said. ‘She will not be pleased to hear this. The sooner we get the application in to the judge, the better.’
We sat there some time after Barak returned to the clerks’ office; the corridor was quiet after the courtroom bustle. We heard the occasional opening and closing of doors, and once a distant, anguished scream, probably from Gatchet’s courtroom as someone else was sentenced to death. Nicholas shook his head. ‘So these are criminal trials. It’s like the anteroom to hell.’
A door opened, some distance up the corridor, and two men came out. From their dress they looked like senior officials rather than courtroom staff. They stood talking in low voices. One said, ‘Our agent says today’s just a local ruffle, the main action’s coming elsewhere, and not yet.’
‘There’s been some familiar faces seen, one or two from Kent. But no firm word of anything.’
‘Keep the information coming. Southwell’s on my back.’
The other man glanced round and, seeing us, put an arm on the other’s shoulder. They walked away down the corridor.
‘What was that about?’ Nicholas asked.
‘I don’t know.’ But my mind went back to that evening at the Blue Boar: Edward Brown, Michael Vowell and the man called Miles, who seemed like a soldier, talking of something happening on the twentieth of June. Today.
Footsteps sounded from the opposite direction. Judge Reynberd appeared, robe billowing around his plump form, the tall, thin clerk who had glared at us in the office following with a pile of papers. We rose and bowed. Reynberd gave a half-smile. Unexpectedly, he did not look surprised to see us. ‘Serjeant Shardlake. The lawyer with all the hearsay.’ His tone was jocular, but his eyes were sharp and hard. He looked at Nicholas. ‘Who is this?’
‘My assistant, Master Overton.’
He turned to the clerk. ‘Unlock the door, Arden, put those papers on the table, then go and do what I told you.’
When he was gone, Reynberd ushered us in. He shrugged off his red fur-lined robe, revealing a silk doublet and ruffled collar, then sat behind the desk, kicking off his shoes. ‘God’s blood, I’m hot.’ He smiled, showing grey teeth with several gaps. ‘I thought you might be here,’ he said.
‘You did, my Lord?’ Nicholas and I exchanged a puzzled look.
‘Oh yes. More of that in a moment. Now, what have you to say to me?’
I took a deep breath. ‘The Lady Elizabeth wishes to request a pardon for Master Boleyn.’ I pulled the request from my pocket, and handed it over. Reynberd studied the document, raised his eyebrows in surprise, then laid it on his desk.
‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘I did not expect she would go that far. I guessed she was behind your presence – few have the resources to employ a serjeant-at-law and an assistant. You made the best of a poor case, I suppose. Apart from calling that half-witted boy, perhaps.’ He laughed throatily, then leaned forward and spoke, in a menacingly quiet voice. ‘I take it there will be no argument that this trial was not fairly and properly conducted. We went to great lengths to ensure it was, given the publicity that must follow.’
I hesitated. ‘I make no complaint, my Lord.’
Reynberd shrugged. ‘Boleyn was arrested over a month ago. If you only got here last week, that’s not my fault.’ He continued, ‘Any word, or hint that this trial was not properly conducted will go ill for you.’
‘That is not my intention, my Lord. The Lady Elizabeth asks her brother the King for a pardon under the Royal Prerogative; that is all.’
He gave me his unpleasant smile again. ‘Well, I do not know what the Protector will say about the Lady Elizabeth involving herself in scandal. Again. In Mary’s country, too. However,’ he picked up the request and tapped it on the desk, ‘as you will know, all requests for a pardon have to be approved by the judge. Some I do not allow to go forward but, where money and influence are concerned – what can I do?’ He smiled again. ‘The people will be disappointed when they do not see Boleyn hang tomorrow.’
