‘Put them in the river,’ Stice answered, standing up. ‘There’s nothing to identify them, and with luck they’ll be carried far downstream before they surface. When the crew return they’ll find the ship gone and they’ll learn about the fight from the one we let go, who’ll be running to them now. But they’ll say nothing, their business was illegal and there’s nothing to lead anyone to us. Get them in the water, now.’

‘Not my man,’ Cecil answered firmly. ‘You heard, he had a wife. My other man and I will have him taken back to Whitehall in a wherry. We owe him that. We can say he was robbed.’

Stice took a deep breath. ‘We’ve got to get Gower to a doctor. He’ll take some carrying to the cart.’

On the next ship the sailor was calling to us in Spanish again – asking questions, by the tone of his voice. Stice turned and shouted, ‘Fuck off!’

‘All right, Stice,’ Barak said briskly. ‘We’ll dispose of these other two; you’re right, if they’re left lying here there’ll be questions.’

Stice nodded agreement. He turned to me, braced his shoulders and said, ‘We have failed, Master Shardlake. Sir Richard Rich will want an accounting for this.’

‘He is not the only one,’ Cecil said.

Stice left his two remaining men carrying the wounded Gower between them. Barak shook his head. ‘Stomach wound like that, doubt he’ll make it.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Well done, Nicholas, for battling with Leeman. He was a powerful fighter.’

Barak smiled. ‘Not was. Is. Come and look. Bring the lamp.’

Puzzled, Cecil and Nicholas and I followed him over to where Leeman lay prone. Nicholas turned him over. The wound on his arm had stopped bleeding. Barak put a hand to the man’s nostrils. ‘There, he’s breathing. I only knocked him out.’ He looked between me and Cecil and smiled.

Nicholas said, ‘You told me he was dead!’

‘There’s an art to where you hit a man on the head. I thought it a good idea to pretend he was dead. Now that Stice has gone we can take him in to question him alone.’ He allowed himself a smile. ‘I was scared he might come to and moan, but he’s still out cold.’

Nicholas looked at Barak with a new respect. Cecil bent over Leeman dubiously. ‘Are you sure he’s all right?’

‘Pretty sure. He’ll come round soon.’

I looked at the young guard’s still face. ‘It seems Anne Askew’s writings have gone, but as for the Lamentation, if anyone knows what’s happened to it, it’s him.’

Cecil smiled with relief. ‘Yes. You did well, Barak.’

‘He may not want to talk,’ Nicholas muttered.