‘Master Craike!’ Lady Rochford snapped. ‘Your churl of a planmaster cannot answer the simplest question. I want to know, sir, is there a privy way out of this house on this side that the Queen might take? She is terrified of fire, when she was a girl in Horsham the house near burned down -’

‘I am sorry, my lady-’

‘Pox on sorry! Jennet, the plan! Hurry, woman!’

Her companion held it up. Craike laid it out on his desk, studied it a moment and then pointed out a door. ‘There. The privy kitchen is nearest.’

‘Is it guarded?’

‘No, madam.’

‘Then I will need a set of keys. Arrange it. Jennet, come on, do not stand there like a lost sheep!’ And with that, Lady Rochford snatched the plan and the two women left, holding their skirts up above the muddy ground.

Craike wiped his brow. ‘By heaven, that woman’s an ogre.’

‘Ay. I know her history. Who is her sour-faced companion?’

‘Mistress Jennet Marlin, a maid in waiting. She has cause to look sour. Her fiancé is in the Tower, accused of a part in the conspiracy.’

‘She’s local, then?’

‘Ay, she was picked to come to York for her local knowledge. There’s no taint of disloyalty against her, her family are reformers.’ Craike made a little moue of distaste, faint but enough to show me where he stood in matters of religion. ‘Come, I’ll take you to your accommodation. It’s not the best, I fear, but in a few days there will be thousands here. Thousands.’ He shook his head.

‘Four days now until they come, is it not?’

‘Ay. I have to send my officers to the inns today, to check all is ready. Something can always go wrong. By Our Lady, the trouble we had during the rains in July. The number of carts broken and stuck in the mud, they nearly called the whole thing off.’

‘I am sure all will be well,’ I said with a smile. I had a sudden memory of Craike as a student in the Lincoln’s Inn library, working late on his exercises – surrounded by papers, his hands stained with ink, determined everything should be exactly right.

‘I hope so,’ he answered with a sigh. ‘The itinerary has been constantly changed, it has driven me half mad. The King was supposed to be in Pontefract two days and stayed near two weeks, and now he’s diverted to Hull.’

‘Perhaps to allow time to finish all this work going on in the forecourt, those pavilions. What is it all for?’

Craike looked uncomfortable. ‘I am sorry, I may not say. It will be announced when the Progress arrives.’ He stepped away, leading us to the monastic church. ‘But the work – it is a nightmare, a nightmare!’

Barak grinned at his back. He seemed to be in a better mood since meeting the girl. ‘Was he always like this?’ he whispered.

‘He was the most conscientious student I ever met. Everything had to be done just right.’

‘That’s a recipe for a seizure.’

I laughed. ‘Come, or he’ll leave us behind.’

As we reached the church I saw that many of the stained-glass windows had been removed, while others were broken. A dark-haired, middle-aged man stood on a ladder some distance off, carefully removing a pane. At the foot of the ladder an enormous black horse stood grazing beside a high-sided wagon.

‘The glass is all going, then,’ I observed to Craike. ‘It’ll make the church look bleak when the King comes.’

‘That glazier is trying to get as many windows as possible out before the Progress arrives, for the King will want to see it has been put beyond use.’

At the sound of our voices, the glazier stopped working and looked down. He had a thin, careworn face and sharp, watchful eyes.

Craike called up to him. ‘How goes it, Master Oldroyd?’

‘Well enough, maister, thank you.’

‘Will you have all the windows out before the King comes?’

‘Ay, sir. I’ll be here at first light every day till ’tis done.’

Craike led us up the worn steps of the church. The great door stood half open, a trail of muddy footprints leading in; evidently the church had become a thoroughfare.

It had been a magnificent place once. Great decorated arches and pillars rose to dizzying heights, richly painted in green and ochre; the floor was of decorated tiles in many designs. Lit with candles, it would have been an awesome sight. Now, though, the many empty windows cast a cold dim light on side-chapels stripped of furniture and empty niches where statues had stood, some now lying in pieces on the floor. A trail of mud and broken tiles marked a shortcut leading to another half-open door at the south end of the nave. As we walked down the gutted church, our footsteps echoed eerily in a silence that contrasted strangely with the bustle outside. I shivered.

‘Ay, ’tis cold,’ Master Craike said. ‘We’re near the river here, ’tis a damp and foggy place.’

I saw that a considerable number of wooden stalls had been erected along the walls. Some horses already stood there though many were empty. Piles of straw spilled out on to the aisle.

Barak pointed at a stall. ‘There’s Sukey and Genesis.’

‘They’re using this place as a stable?’ I asked incredulously.

‘The horses of the courtiers and the senior servants will all be stabled here. ’Tis a sensible use of the space, though it seems sacrilegious, even if the church has been deconsecrated.’

We stepped out of the south door into a second large courtyard, just as bustling. More buildings were set along the walls, and there was an imposing gatehouse and another smaller church. This was still in one piece, the parish church perhaps. In the yard all manner of produce was being unloaded from carts: apples and pears by the sackful, heaps of charcoal and bundles of faggots, armfuls of candles of every size, and bale after bale of hay. Servants were carrying the goods to the buildings and to a series of temporary huts. Rows of stockades had been erected, accommodating a whole flock of sheep, numerous cows and even some deer. In one enclosure hundreds of fowls, jumbled together, were pecking the ground bare. I saw hens and ducks, turkeys and even a pair of great bustard, their giant wings docked. Nearby a gang of men was laying pipes in a trench that ran down to the south wall of the monastery. There, through an open gate, I glimpsed mudflats and a wide grey river. I shook my head. ‘I’ve never seen such labour.’

‘They’ll be feeding three thousand on Friday. But come, we go this way.’ Craike led us past the animal enclosures towards a large two-storey building. ‘This was the monks’ hospital,’ he said apologetically. ‘We have partitioned it into rooms. It is the best we can do. Most of the law officers are here. The servants have only poor tents.’

A little group of officials stood talking at the door, some holding the red staffs of office of the porters who watched the royal palaces for intruders. A big, burly man in a lawyer’s robe, who overtopped the others by a head, was questioning them. Craike lowered his voice. ‘That is Sir William Maleverer. He’s a lawyer, a member of the Council of the North. He has overall charge of legal matters and security.’

Craike approached the big man, coughing to attract his attention, and he turned irritably. He was in his forties, with hard, heavy features and a black beard cut in a straight line at the bottom, the fashionable ‘spade-beard’. Cold dark eyes studied us.

‘Well, Master Craike, whom have you and your little clerk’s desk brought me now?’ Maleverer’s voice was very deep, with a northern accent. I remembered the Council of the North was staffed by local loyalists.

‘Brother Matthew Shardlake, Sir William, from London, with his assistant.’

‘You’re dealing with the King’s pleas, aren’t you?’ Maleverer looked me over, his expression contemptuous, as though he had achieved his high stature and straight back by some great virtue. ‘You’re late.’

‘I am sorry. We had a hard ride.’

‘You’ll need to prepare for Friday. With Brother Wrenne.’