‘Very well.’ I passed inside. He turned the key behind me. I climbed the stone steps again. All was silent apart from the drip of water somewhere, and I guessed Radwinter and Broderick were the only people in the tower. Broderick was secure indeed, I thought; between him and the outside world stood the guards at the castle drawbridge, those in the guardroom, then the locked door to the tower and another to his cell.

I paused on the landing outside Radwinter’s door to catch my breath, so that he should not see me out of wind again. But he had the hearing of a cat, for I had only stopped a few moments when the heavy door jerked open. Radwinter stood in the doorway, his face set hard and holding a sharp-looking sword. When he saw it was me, he laughed.

‘Master Shardlake!’

I reddened, expecting some sardonic remark, but he beckoned me in. ‘I fear you startled me, I heard someone outside.’ He put down his sword. ‘You are wet, sir, come and stand by the fire.’

I was glad to go and stand by a charcoal brazier in the centre of the room. ‘The year tumbles to its end, does it not?’ Radwinter said in the same friendly tone, smoothing down his already tidy hair. ‘We must hope for dry weather on Friday when the Progress arrives. Though in this damp demesne of York nothing is guaranteed.’

‘No indeed.’ Why was he being friendly now, I wondered.

‘You will have a glass of wine today?’ he asked. I hesitated, then nodded. He passed me a goblet. ‘There, sir. The doctor has been and dressed Sir Edward’s burns. He gave him a poultice for the one that was weeping fluid. He will come again tomorrow.’

‘Good.’

‘I fear we made a bad start yesterday. You must forgive me, I am alone in this tower with only my prisoner and those churls of guards for company. Such isolation causes the black humours to rise.’ He smiled at me, yet his eyes still held that icy glitter.

‘Consider it forgotten,’ I said mildly. I hoped this might mean I had won, that there would be no more challenges to my authority. Radwinter nodded, then stepped to one of the windows and beckoned me over. Through the rain-spattered pane I saw a view of the broad river, some houses and, beyond the city wall, a bleak flat countryside of woods and heath. Radwinter pointed to a road leading out of the city.

‘That is the Walmgate. The Progress will enter there on Friday.’

‘I wonder how those thousands will get across the city to St Mary’s.’

‘The royal household has been organizing progresses time out of mind. Though never one like this.’ He pointed to the horizon. ‘Over there is Fulford Cross, which marks the boundary of the city. The city fathers will make their submission there.’

‘I am to be there,’ I said.

He turned to me. ‘Indeed?’

‘I am involved with the preparation of the petitions to the King. I will be at the presentation to him.’

‘You do not sound as though it is a task you relish.’

I hesitated. ‘It is a little daunting.’

‘I have seen the King, you know.’

‘Have you?’

Radwinter nodded proudly. ‘Do you remember the trial of John Lambert three years ago?’

I did. The King, as Supreme Head of the Church, had presided over the heresy trial of Lambert, a radical reformer. It was the first sign he felt reform had gone far enough.

‘Ay,’ I answered slowly. ‘He was burned.’

‘As he deserved. Lambert was under my care while he was held in the Lollards’ Tower; I accompanied him to the trial. The King was -’ a smile played round the corners of his mouth – ‘splendid. Magnificent. Dressed all in white, the colour of purity. When Lambert tried to air his heretical interpretations of the scriptures, he shouted him down, reduced him to a cringing dog. I saw Lambert burned too, he made a great shouting.’ Radwinter looked at me; I sensed that he guessed how distasteful I would find this. He was playing with me again after all. I did not reply.

‘And he will be magnificent again, with the Yorkers. He has been clever, forcing the gentry to take personal oaths to him. He forgives their trespasses and at the same time makes it clear that if those oaths are broken they can expect no mercy. Carrot and stick, that is how one deals with donkeys like these. So,’ he added, ‘your journey to York is concerned with more than Broderick.’

‘The Archbishop offered me the legal position first. I was only given this second mission once I had agreed.’

Radwinter laughed softly. ‘Yes, he can be a fox. But it will pay well.’

‘Well enough,’ I said stiffly.

‘Enough to buy a new robe, I hope, especially if you are to see the King. The one you wear is torn. I only mention it in case you had not seen.’

‘I have another. This one was torn this morning. On a glazier’s cart.’

‘Really? A strange mishap.’

‘Yes.’ I told him the story of finding Oldroyd’s body, though only the parts that were public knowledge. The gaoler smiled again. ‘It seems a lawyer’s work is never done,’ he said. He put down his goblet. ‘Well, I expect you would like to see Sir Edward.’

‘Please.’

Once again I followed as he ascended with his quick, light steps. I thought about what he had said about Lambert’s trial and burning, and remembered Cranmer’s description of Radwinter as a man of true and honest faith. That meant following the orthodoxy that the last word on religious matters belonged to the King, as Supreme Head. Such a man might well approve of burning a heretic, but his light and jesting tone had repelled me. Were his professions of faith merely a cover for enjoyment of cruelty? I stared at his back as he turned the key in the door to Broderick’s cell.

Sir Edward was lying on his dirty pallet. Fresh rushes had been laid on the floor as I had ordered, though, and the cell stank less. I saw his shirt was open, a poultice strapped to his chest. He was emaciated, all his ribs visible under dead white skin. He stared at me coldly again.

‘Well, Sir Edward,’ I asked, ‘how are you today?’

‘They’ve poulticed my burn. It stings.’

‘That can be a sign it is having effect.’ I turned to the gaoler. ‘He is very thin, Master Radwinter. What does he have to eat?’

‘Pottage from the castle kitchens, the same the guards get. Not too much, certainly. A weakened man is less likely to make trouble. You saw yesterday how he can spring at one.’

‘And how well he is chained. And he has been ill; a sick man may waste away without food.’

Radwinter’s eye glinted. ‘Would you like me to order thrushes in a pie from the King’s kitchen, then, perhaps a plate of marchpanes?’

‘No,’ I answered, ‘but I would like him put on the same rations as the guards.’ Radwinter set his lips. ‘See to it, please,’ I said quietly.

Broderick laughed hoarsely. ‘Does it not occur to you, sir, I would rather be weak when I get to London? So weak the torturers’ first attentions kill me.’

‘They would take care not to do that, Master Broderick,’ Radwinter said softly. ‘When you are brought to them they will study you carefully. They know how to bring each man to a degree of pain that will make him talk, yet keep him conscious and alive. But certainly a weaker man is likely to be able to endure less, to talk more quickly.’ He smiled at me. ‘So you see, the better you treat him, the more pain he will endure.’

‘No,’ I said sharply. ‘He is to be fed properly.’

‘And I will eat, for I am hungry. Even though I know what awaits me.’ Broderick gave me a look full of pain as well as anger. ‘How we hold on to life, eh, lawyer? We struggle to survive, even when there is no sense in it.’ He looked towards the window. ‘I came to see poor Robert every day while he hung out there, so he might see a friendly face. Each day I hoped to find him dead, yet each day he moved still, trying to ease his pains as he dangled, making weak groans. Yes, how we hold on to life.’

‘Only the innocent deserve a quick death,’ Radwinter said. ‘Well, Master Shardlake, I will arrange for the extra rations for Sir Edward. Is there anything else?’