Lamentation (The Shardlake Series Book 6) by C. J. Sansom Read Free Book Online Page B

to pay for it.’
    ‘I know,’ Guy agreed. ‘But what of you? Do you ever get that feeling of the ground shifting beneath you, that you had after the ship went down?’
    I hesitated, remembering that moment at the burning. ‘Very seldom now.’ He looked at me sharply for a moment, then said, more cheerfully, ‘Young George is a merry little imp. Having a new brother or sister may put his nose out of joint.’
    I smiled wryly. ‘Brothers and sisters,’ I said. ‘Yes, they do not always get on.’ I told Guy, without naming names, something of the Slanning case. He listened intently, his dark eyes shining in the candlelight as the dusk deepened. I concluded, ‘I have thought this woman actually takes pleasure in her hatred of her brother, but after what she said this afternoon I think there may be more to it.’
    Guy looked sad. ‘It sounds as though this quarrel goes back a very long way.’
    ‘I think so. I have thought of talking quietly about it with my opponent – he is a reasonable man – see if we can work out some way to get them to settle. But that would be unprofessional.’
    ‘And may do no good. Some quarrels go so deep they cannot be mended.’ The sadness in Guy’s face intensified. Martin and Agnes brought in the next course, platters of chicken and bacon and a variety of vegetables in bowls.
    ‘You are not usually so pessimistic,’ I said to Guy when we were alone again. ‘Besides, only recently I was offered an olive branch by the last person I would expect to do such a thing.’ I told him the story of Bealknap’s note, and the money.
    He looked at me sharply. ‘Do you trust him? Think of all he has done in the past.’
    ‘It seems he is dying. But – ’ I shrugged my shoulders – ‘no, I cannot bring myself to trust Bealknap, even now.’
    ‘Even a dying animal may strike.’
    ‘You are in a dark humour tonight.’
    ‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘I am. I think of what happened at Smithfield this morning.’
    I put down my knife. I had avoided discussing religion with Guy during these recent months of persecution, for I knew he had remained a Catholic. But after a moment’s hesitation I said, ‘I was there. They made a vast spectacle of it, Bishop Gardiner and half the Privy Council watching from a great covered stage. Treasurer Rowland made me go; Secretary Paget wanted a representative from each of the Inns. So I sat and watched four people burn in agony because they would not believe as King Henry said they should. At least they hung gunpowder round their necks; their heads were eventually blown off. And yes, when I was there, I felt the ground shift beneath me again, like the deck of that foundering ship.’ I put a hand up to my brow, and found it was shaking slightly.
    ‘May God have mercy on their souls,’ Guy said quietly.
    I looked up sharply. ‘What does that mean, Guy? Do you think they need mercy, just for saying what they believed? That priests cannot make a piece of bread turn into the body of Christ?’
    ‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘I believe they are wrong. They deny the Mystery of the Mass – the truth that God and the church has taught us for centuries. And that is dangerous to all our souls. And they are everywhere in London, hiding in their dog-holes: sacramentarians and, worse, Anabaptists, who not only deny the Mass but believe all society should be overthrown and men hold all goods in common.’
    ‘There have only ever been a few Anabaptists in England, just some renegade Dutchmen. They have been raised up into a bogey.’ I heard the impatience in my voice.
    Guy answered sharply, ‘Well, the Askew woman boasted herself that she was a sacramentarian. Askew was not even her name; her married name was Kyme and she left her husband and two little children to come and harangue the people of London. Is that a right thing fora woman to do?’
    I stared at my old friend, whose greatest quality had always been his gentleness. He raised a hand. ‘Matthew, that