Revelation

Harsnet frowned. 'We need reliable men,' he said after a pause.

Seymour laughed. 'Do not worry, coroner, my steward is reliable and sober. He even goes to church on Sundays when I do not need him to organize some hunting.'

Harsnet looked at me. I nodded. 'Very well,' he said reluctantly.

Seymour looked at the watchman, Padge. And I'll get someone to replace him and keep people away. You'd better keep him safe somewhere for a bit, ply him with drink. His big ears have been flapping all this time.' The watchman gave him a bitter look, but dared say nothing. 'Janley should go back to the tavern,' Seymour concluded. He grinned at us suddenly. 'The chase is on, gentlemen, the hunt is nearly over.'

WHEN HE HAD LEFT, Harsnet ordered Janley and the watchman to remain in the conduit-house and asked Barak and me to step outside. Mercifully the rain had ceased and a weak sun was trying to penetrate the clouds.

'You suggested there might be a trail, Barak?' Harsnet said. 'Shall we see? Then I must go and report to the Archbishop.'

Harsnet was silent, thoughtful, as the three of us went through the outer gate, following the wall that bounded the precinct. A gate led us into an orchard, reminding me again of the aftermath of Roger's death at Lincoln's Inn.

Barak led the way through the long grass around the trees. My shoes and netherhose were getting a further soaking from the grass. 'Can't see anything,' he said. 'Everything is sopping wet. No, wait, look there.' He pointed to the ground. A single long line ran through the grass. It had left a heavy impression.

'What is it?' I asked.

'A wheelbarrow,' Barak said. 'Wherever he was hiding Lockley, he must have had some distance to bring him. This is how he did it.'

'But a man carrying a body in a wheelbarrow would be noticed.'

'Not if he had a cover over it. I wonder where this leads.' He began following the thin line through the orchard. The trail led us back towards Aldersgate Street. It followed a gap in a hedge and disappeared in the short grass of a pathway round a field. Barak looked towards the distant road.

'The time and care he takes,' Harsnet said. 'He must have killed Lockley then come back for Mrs Bunce, and kept Lockley's body somewhere before putting him into the conduit yesterday.'

'And what he did to Mrs Bunce must have taken most of the night,' I said quietly.

'How could he overcome both of them?'

'Perhaps somehow he got them both to take dwale. Perhaps he came in late and persuaded them to take a glass of beer with him. He is clever enough for anything,' I added bitterly.

'And now he wants us to go to that village,' Barak said.

'Yes.' Harsnet looked at me. 'I think you are right. The seventh vial will be poured out somehow in that Hertfordshire village. I should have gone with them.'

I admired his courage, but could not agree. 'The chance to make some enquiries by stealth could make all the difference.'

Harsnet nodded reluctantly. 'What will he do?' he asked, his voice full of tension. 'Who will the seventh victim be? Is it to be one of us, a stranger, or someone else from the abbey? He is probably already dead, another body waiting to be found.'

'Or is Goddard himself the victim? Someone should check young Cantrell is safe,' I asked.

'Ay, not bludgeoned and carted off somewhere in a wheelbarrow.' Barak's tone was suddenly savage. The strain showed in his face again. He turned to me.

'What nightmarish bloody thing is he going to do this time? How will he make the earth quake?'

Chapter Thirty-seven

WE WALKED BACK to where Sukey and Genesis stood outside, cropping the long grass growing against the outer wall. I looked back at the gate where Prior Houghton's arm had been nailed; I almost fancied I could make out a red outline on the wood. 'So much violence these last ten years,' I said quietly. 'Perhaps the wonder is that more people have not become obsessed with killing.' My first sight of poor Lockley's naked, crucified form at the bottom of that hatch came back to mind. I seemed to see Roger's face less and less often now, as though the later horrors had crowded it out.

'Where now?' Barak asked. 'Go home and wait for further instructions?'

'No. Let us go and visit Master Piers now. See if he has been stealing. We may be called to Hertfordshire later.'

'What if the old Moor is there?

'Then we make some excuse. And I wish you would stop calling him that.'

'There's no ill meant. I'm sure he's been called worse. Want a hand into the saddle?'

WE RODE OFF. A little group of half a dozen beggars had gathered on the chapel steps. All had something wrong with them, two carried crutches and the others had pale, sickly-looking faces. The balding boy who had held the horses the day we first visited Lockley and Mrs Bunce was there. Perhaps they had been inside, drawn out by the activity round the Charterhouse gate. Now they began walking and limping towards us, crying for alms. 'Out of the way!' Barak called. 'We're on urgent business.'