Sacred Treason by James Forrester Read Free Book Online Page B

daughter’s christening, he urged me to look out for abuses of royal authority. Do you want to keep your position? Or do you want to end up running a tavern in some run-down tenement, with shit and vomit in the sewer outside the front door and a stinking tanyard out back? That seems to be the only other line of occupation open to old soldiers in this city.”
    Crackenthorpe put his face close to Clarenceux’s. “I too have friends in power, friends who will persuade her majesty to grant me a pardon for your death. And I know you did not come here to inquire after that man’s health.”
    â€œThen I presume you have some evidence, and some reason for this harassment. If so, the magistrates will listen to you. But you do not.”
    â€œI know about Sir Dagonet,” hissed Crackenthorpe, trying to keep his voice down. “He talked.”
    â€œAnd who, I pray your accursed soul, is Sir Dagonet?”
    Clarenceux sensed a shifting among the men. No one spoke. He bent down and felt around on the ground for his hat and lantern. The ring of his hat was cold when he put it on. “Now, as I said, I am going to return to my own house.”
    â€œAnd how will you get past the gate? Perhaps the same way you came in?” There was a sneer in Crackenthorpe’s voice.
    Clarenceux paused. To mention the Cripplegate entrance would be to betray Machyn. “I was going to ask the watch on Ludgate if they would kindly allow me through.”
    â€œI know all the ways in and out of this city by night. Perhaps it was along the ditch on the back of the Ludgate tenements you came in? Or over the top of one of them, onto the walls? Maybe you took a small boat to the wharf at Dowgate, or somewhere else along that stretch of the river. Yes?”
    â€œSergeant Crackenthorpe, you are not speaking to some petty thief. I would be grateful if you would accompany me to Ludgate. I need hardly remind you that my lantern has gone out.”
    â€œMr. Clarenceux, I will accompany you back to your house. I would like to know exactly where it is.”
    ***
    Clarenceux leaned against his front door. “Here.”
    â€œGood,” growled Crackenthorpe, holding up his lantern to see as much of the house as he could. “We will know where to come. Good-bye, Mr. Clarenceux. I have no doubt that we will meet again.”
    Clarenceux said nothing but turned and walked down the alley beside his house. He felt for the handle on the back door and went in. He took off his hat, hearing the splatter of drips on the floor, and walked along the passage past the kitchen. He fumbled for the latch on the door to the buttery, smelling the sweet scent of ale and wine. He was shivering. He cursed the night under his breath, throwing down his hat and untying his cope, letting it fall. He undid the laces to his sopping ruff and unfastened his soaked doublet: these too he left where they fell, together with his hose. In darkness he undressed down to his shirt and braies, and in these wet underclothes he stepped out of the buttery and walked up the stairs.
    His legs ached. He paused on the landing, with the door into the hall on his left. Directly opposite were the doors to the parlor and the guest chamber. He considered sleeping in the empty guest bed. But no, he wanted to find his own room. And see his wife.
    A faint light reached him as he neared the second floor. He could see the door to his elder daughter’s chamber. It was shut; there was no light around the edges. He nodded quietly in the darkness. God bless you, Annie. Stay safe, my sweet. Then he turned around, and looked at the door to his own chamber. It was ajar, candlelight coming from within.
    He pushed the door. It creaked as it swung.
    The candle was burning in the alcove above the bed. His wife Awdrey was asleep, half propped up on a bolster. She had obviously been waiting for him. She stirred at the sound of the door but did not wake. Their younger daughter