the way, then another barged between us, as though we were dogs in his path.
‘Arseholes,’ Barak muttered.
‘Come, let us get out of their way.’
We walked to the corner of the manor house, near to where two women were arguing with an official who held a floorplan of some sort. He was bowing and scraping almost to the ground, risking his
plan falling in the mud, as the more richly dressed of the two ladies berated him loudly. She was in her thirties, with brown hair under a French hood set with pearls, and a high-collared robe of
red silk. A woman of status. Her square plain face was red with ill-temper.
‘Is it too much for the Queen to know how she may leave her lodgings in the event of a fire?’ I heard her say in a deep, sharp voice. ‘I ask again, which is the nearest door
and who has the key?’
‘I am not sure, my lady.’ The official turned his plan round. ‘The privy kitchen may be nearest —’
‘I’m not interested in may be.’
The other woman saw us looking and raised her eyebrows in an affronted stare. She was slim, with a face that might have been attractive but for its cold, haughty expression. The brown curly hair
beneath her plain hood was unbound, signalling unmarried status, though she too was in her thirties. She wore an expensive-looking engagement ring, however: a diamond set in gold. She frowned again
and I nudged Barak out of hearing. Then I smiled at the sight of a man in a brown robe who had come out of the manor house and stood on the steps, staring round him. A little portable writing desk
was tied round his neck with blue cord. An inkpot and a quill were set there, and a thick sheaf of papers was pinned to it.
I remembered Simon Craike by his anxious, harried air. But for that I might not have recognized him, for the years had changed my old fellow student greatly. The good fare of court had given him
a plump face and wide girth, while the shock of fair hair I remembered was mostly gone, leaving only a yellow fringe. As he turned at my call, though, his careworn features lit up. Barak and I
doffed our caps as he crossed to us, one hand on the little desk to keep it steady. He shook my hand with the other.
‘Master Shardlake! I recognized you at once. The years have dealt kindly with you, sir. Why, you still have your hair. Not even grey.’
I laughed. ‘’Tis a wonder, given some of the affairs I have had to deal with.’
‘By Our Lady, it must be near twenty years.’ Craike smiled sadly. ‘The world has seen many changes since then.’
‘Truly it has.’ I thought: a revolution in religion, the end of the monasteries and a great rebellion. And my father now dead, I remembered with a sudden stab. ‘So,’ I
said. ‘I hear you are in charge of accommodating the gentlemen in York.’
‘Ay. I have never had such a task as this Progress. Everywhere I have been going ahead to work with the harbingers to ensure everyone has accommodation at each stop. The problems with the
rains, the King ever changing his plans.’
‘You have been with the Great Progress from the start?’
‘Ay. There has never been one anything like so large.’ He shook his head. ‘The problems, you cannot imagine. Dealing with the waste has been the worst thing. Everywhere we stop
vast pits have to be dug. With three thousand people, five thousand great horses, you may imagine?’
‘Cannot the local people use the dung for manure?’
‘There was far more than they need. And the stink, you can imagine . . .’
‘I can.’
‘Even with the pits, all the road from London to Hull is littered with rubbish. It has been a nightmare, sir, a nightmare.’ He shook his head. ‘And my poor wife left behind in
London.’
‘You are married?’
‘Ay. Seven children we have.’ He smiled with pride. ‘And you, sir?’
‘No, I have never married. This, by the way, is my assistant. Master Barak.’
Craike studied Barak solemnly with his pale-blue eyes. ‘You will need him, all
‘Arseholes,’ Barak muttered.
‘Come, let us get out of their way.’
We walked to the corner of the manor house, near to where two women were arguing with an official who held a floorplan of some sort. He was bowing and scraping almost to the ground, risking his
plan falling in the mud, as the more richly dressed of the two ladies berated him loudly. She was in her thirties, with brown hair under a French hood set with pearls, and a high-collared robe of
red silk. A woman of status. Her square plain face was red with ill-temper.
‘Is it too much for the Queen to know how she may leave her lodgings in the event of a fire?’ I heard her say in a deep, sharp voice. ‘I ask again, which is the nearest door
and who has the key?’
‘I am not sure, my lady.’ The official turned his plan round. ‘The privy kitchen may be nearest —’
‘I’m not interested in may be.’
The other woman saw us looking and raised her eyebrows in an affronted stare. She was slim, with a face that might have been attractive but for its cold, haughty expression. The brown curly hair
beneath her plain hood was unbound, signalling unmarried status, though she too was in her thirties. She wore an expensive-looking engagement ring, however: a diamond set in gold. She frowned again
and I nudged Barak out of hearing. Then I smiled at the sight of a man in a brown robe who had come out of the manor house and stood on the steps, staring round him. A little portable writing desk
was tied round his neck with blue cord. An inkpot and a quill were set there, and a thick sheaf of papers was pinned to it.
I remembered Simon Craike by his anxious, harried air. But for that I might not have recognized him, for the years had changed my old fellow student greatly. The good fare of court had given him
a plump face and wide girth, while the shock of fair hair I remembered was mostly gone, leaving only a yellow fringe. As he turned at my call, though, his careworn features lit up. Barak and I
doffed our caps as he crossed to us, one hand on the little desk to keep it steady. He shook my hand with the other.
‘Master Shardlake! I recognized you at once. The years have dealt kindly with you, sir. Why, you still have your hair. Not even grey.’
I laughed. ‘’Tis a wonder, given some of the affairs I have had to deal with.’
‘By Our Lady, it must be near twenty years.’ Craike smiled sadly. ‘The world has seen many changes since then.’
‘Truly it has.’ I thought: a revolution in religion, the end of the monasteries and a great rebellion. And my father now dead, I remembered with a sudden stab. ‘So,’ I
said. ‘I hear you are in charge of accommodating the gentlemen in York.’
‘Ay. I have never had such a task as this Progress. Everywhere I have been going ahead to work with the harbingers to ensure everyone has accommodation at each stop. The problems with the
rains, the King ever changing his plans.’
‘You have been with the Great Progress from the start?’
‘Ay. There has never been one anything like so large.’ He shook his head. ‘The problems, you cannot imagine. Dealing with the waste has been the worst thing. Everywhere we stop
vast pits have to be dug. With three thousand people, five thousand great horses, you may imagine?’
‘Cannot the local people use the dung for manure?’
‘There was far more than they need. And the stink, you can imagine . . .’
‘I can.’
‘Even with the pits, all the road from London to Hull is littered with rubbish. It has been a nightmare, sir, a nightmare.’ He shook his head. ‘And my poor wife left behind in
London.’
‘You are married?’
‘Ay. Seven children we have.’ He smiled with pride. ‘And you, sir?’
‘No, I have never married. This, by the way, is my assistant. Master Barak.’
Craike studied Barak solemnly with his pale-blue eyes. ‘You will need him, all
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