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the
Great Hall, where he left me alone.
    I stood staring up at the magnificent hammerbeam roof. A black-robed clerk approached, soft footed. ‘The Archbishop will see you now,’ he said quietly. He led me into a warren of dim
corridors, his footsteps pattering lightly on the rush matting.
    I was taken to a small, low-ceilinged study. Thomas Cranmer sat behind a desk, reading papers by the light of a sconce of candles set beside him. A fire burned energetically in the grate. I
bowed deeply before the great Archbishop who had renounced the Pope’s authority, married the King to Anne Boleyn, and been Thomas Cromwell’s friend and confederate in every reforming
scheme. When Cromwell fell many had expected Cranmer to go to the block too, but he had survived, despite the halt to reform. Henry had placed him in charge in London while he was away. It was said
the King trusted him as no other.
    In a deep, quiet voice he bade me sit. I had only seen him at a distance before, preaching. He wore a white clerical robe with a fur stole but had cast off his cap, revealing a shock of greying
black hair. I noticed the pallor of his broad, oval face, the lines around the full mouth, but above all his eyes. They were large, dark blue. As he studied me I read anxiety there, and conflict
and passion.
    ‘So you are Matthew Shardlake,’ he said. He smiled pleasantly, seeking to put me at ease.
    ‘My lord Archbishop.’
    I took a hard chair facing him. A large pectoral cross, solid silver, glinted on his chest.
    ‘How goes trade at Lincoln’s Inn?’ he asked.
    I hesitated. ‘It has been better.’
    ‘Times are hard for those who worked for Earl Cromwell.’
    ‘Yes, my lord,’ I said cautiously.
    ‘I wish they would take his head from London Bridge. I see it each time I cross. What the gulls have left.’
    ‘It is a sad thing to see.’
    ‘I visited him, you know, in the Tower. I confessed him. He told me of that last matter he engaged you in.’
    My eyes widened and I felt a chill despite the heat from the fire. So Cranmer knew about that.
    ‘I told the King about the Dark Fire quest. Some months ago.’ I caught my breath, but Cranmer smiled and raised a beringed hand. ‘I waited until his anger against Lord Cromwell
over the Cleves marriage faded, and he’d begun to miss his counsel. Those responsible for what happened walk on eggshells now; though they denied they were behind it, they dissembled and
lied.’
    A chilling thought came to me. ‘My lord – does the King know of my involvement?’
    He shook his head reassuringly. ‘Lord Cromwell asked me not to tell the King; he knew you had served him as well as you could, and that you preferred to stay a private man.’
    So he had thought of me kindly at the end, that harsh great man facing a savage death. I felt sudden tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
    ‘He had many fine qualities, Master Shardlake, for all his hard measures. I told the King only that servants of Lord Cromwell’s had been involved. His Majesty left matters there,
though he was angry with those who had deceived him. He told the Duke of Norfolk not long ago he wished he had Lord Cromwell back, said he’d been tricked into executing the greatest servant
he ever had. As he was.’ Cranmer looked at me seriously. ‘Lord Cromwell said you were a man of rare discretion, good at keeping even the greatest matters secret.’
    ‘That is part of my trade.’
    He smiled. ‘In that hotbed of gossip, the Inns of Court? No, the Earl said your discretion was of rare quality.’
    Then I realized with a jolt that Cromwell, in the Tower, had been telling Cranmer about people who might be of use to him.
    ‘I was sorry to hear your father died,’ the Archbishop said.
    My eyes widened. How had he known that? He caught my look and smiled sadly. ‘I asked the Inn Treasurer if you were in London, and he told me. I wished to speak to you, you see. May God
rest your father’s soul.’
    ‘Amen, my