‘Amen, my lord.’

‘He lived in Lichfield, I believe?’

‘Yes. I must leave for there in two days, for the funeral.’

‘The King is well north of there now. At Hatfield. The Great Progress has had a hard time of it, with all the rains in July. The post-riders were delayed; often ascertaining the King’s wishes was not easy.’ He shook his head, a strained expression crossing his features. They said Cranmer was no skilful politician.

‘It has been a poor summer,’ I observed. ‘As wet as last year’s was dry.’

‘Thank God it has lately improved. It made the Queen ill.’

‘People say she is pregnant,’ I ventured.

The Archbishop frowned. ‘Rumours,’ he said. He paused a moment as though gathering his thoughts, then continued. ‘As you may know, there are several lawyers with the royal train. This is the greatest Progress ever seen in England, and lawyers are needed so that disputes that arise within the royal court, and with suppliers along the way, may be resolved.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Also, the King has promised the northmen his justice. At every town he invites petitioners with complaints against the local officialdom, and lawyers are needed to sort through them, weed out the petty and the foolish, arbitrate where they can and send the rest to the Council of the North. One of the King’s lawyers has died, poor fellow, he took pneumonia. The Chamberlain’s office sent a message asking the Council to send a replacement to meet the Progress at York, for there will be much business there. I remembered you.’

‘Oh.’ This was not what I had expected; this was a favour.

‘And if you are going halfway there already, so much the better. You’d return with the Progress next month, and bring back fifty pounds for your work. You’d only be allowed one servant; best to take your assistant rather than a bodyservant.’

That was generous, even for the high rewards royal service brought. Yet I hesitated, for I had no wish to go anywhere near the King’s court again. I took a deep breath.

‘My lord, I hear Sir Richard Rich is with the Progress.’

‘Ah, yes. You made an enemy of Rich over the Dark Fire matter.’

‘And I am still involved in a case in which he has an interest. Rich would do me any ill turn he could.’

The Archbishop shook his head. ‘You need have no dealings with Rich or any royal councillor. He is there in his role as Chancellor of the Court of Augmentations, to advise the King on the disposition of lands seized in Yorkshire from the rebels. Neither the councillors nor the King have any real involvement with the petitions – the lawyers deal with everything.’

I hesitated. This would solve my financial worries, ensure I could discharge my responsibility to my father. Moreover, something stirred in me at the prospect of seeing this great spectacle; it would be the journey of a lifetime. And it might distract me from my sorrow.

The Archbishop inclined his head. ‘Be quick, Master Shardlake. I have little time.’

‘I will go, my lord,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

The Archbishop nodded. ‘Good.’ Then he leaned forward, the heavy sleeves of his tunic rustling as they brushed the papers on his desk. ‘I also have a small private mission,’ he said. ‘Something I would like you to do for me in York.’

I caught my breath. I had let him spring a trap. He was a good politician after all.

The Archbishop saw my expression and shook his head. ‘Do not worry, sir. There is no scurrying after danger in this, and the mission itself is a virtuous one. It requires only a certain authority of manner, and above all -’ he looked at me sharply – ‘discretion.’

I set my lips. Cranmer made a steeple of his fingers and looked at me.

‘You know the purpose of the Great Progress to the North?’ he asked.

‘To show the King’s power in those rebellious parts, establish his authority.’

‘They say the north is the last place God made,’ Cranmer said with sudden anger. ‘They are a barbarous people there, still mired in papist heresy.’

I nodded but said nothing, waiting for him to show his hand.

‘Lord Cromwell established forceful government in the north after the rebellion five years ago. The new Council of the North employs many spies, and it is as well they do, for the new conspiracy they discovered last spring was serious.’ He stared at me with those passionate eyes. ‘Last time they called only for the King to rid himself of reformist advisers.’

Like you, I thought; they would have had Cranmer in the fire.

‘This time they called him tyrant, they wanted to overthrow him. And they planned an alliance with the Scotch, though the northmen have always hated them as even worse barbarians than themselves. But the Scotch, like them, are papists. Had their plan not been exposed, Jesu knows what might have followed.’

I took a deep breath. He was telling me secrets I did not wish to hear. Secrets that would bind me to him.

‘Not all the conspirators were caught. Many escaped to the wild mountains up there. There is still much we have to learn about their plans. There is a certain conspirator of York, recently taken prisoner there, who is to be brought back to London by boat. Sir Edward Broderick.’ Cranmer set his lips tight, and for a moment I saw fear in his face.

‘There is an aspect of the conspirators’ plans that is not generally known. Only a few of the conspirators knew, and we believe Broderick was one. It is better you do not know about it. No one does except the King, and a few trusted councillors in London and York. Broderick will not talk. The King sent questioners to York but they got nowhere, he is obstinate as Satan. He is to be brought from York to Hull in a sealed wagon when the Progress moves on there, then sent back to London by boat, guarded by the most loyal and trusted men. The King wants to be in London when he is questioned, and it is safe to question him only in the Tower, where we can trust the interrogators and be sure their skill will extract the truth from him.’

I knew what that meant. Torture. I took a deep breath. ‘How does this involve me, my lord?’

His reply surprised me. ‘I want you to ensure he is alive and in good health when he arrives.’

‘But – will he not be in the King’s care?’

‘The Duke of Suffolk is in charge of arrangements for the Progress, and he chose Broderick’s gaoler. A man who can be trusted, although even he has not been told what we suspect of Broderick. He is in charge of Broderick in the prison at York Castle. His name is Fulke Radwinter.’

‘I do not know that name, my lord.’

‘The appointment was made hurriedly, and I have been – concerned.’ The Archbishop pursed his lips, fiddling with a brass seal on his desk. ‘Radwinter has experience of guarding and of – questioning – heretics. He is a man of true and honest faith, and can be trusted to keep Broderick under close guard.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Yet Radwinter can be too severe. A prisoner once – died.’ He frowned. ‘I want someone else present, to keep an eye on Broderick’s welfare till he can be brought to the Tower.’

‘I see.’

‘I have already written to the Duke of Suffolk, obtained his agreement. He understands my point, I think.’ He picked up the seal and laid it flat on the desk before me. A big oval lozenge, Cranmer’s name and office traced in Latin round the edge, a portrayal of the scourging of Christ in the centre. ‘I want you to take this, as your authority. You will have overall charge of Broderick’s welfare, in York and then on to London. You will not talk to him beyond asking after his welfare, ensuring he comes to no harm. Radwinter knows I am sending someone, he will respect my authority.’ The Archbishop smiled again, that sad smile of his. ‘He is my own employee; he guards the prisoners under my jurisdiction, in the Lollards’ Tower.’

‘I understand,’ I said neutrally.

‘If the prisoner be bound uncomfortably, make the fetters looser though no less certain. If he is hungry, give him food. If he is ill, ensure he has medical care.’ Cranmer smiled. ‘There, that is a charitable commission, is it not?’