‘I did that,’ Nicholas said. ‘’Tis but a flesh wound.’

Leeman’s pale face darkened suddenly. ‘Where am I?’ he asked. He sounded angry but I detected an undertone of fear there, too.

I stood up. ‘You are held, Master Leeman, if not by friends then not by the enemies you may think, either.’

Leeman looked round the room, gradually taking in the student messiness. ‘This is not a prison,’ he stuttered, confusion on his face.

‘No,’ I replied gently. ‘You are not under arrest, not yet. Though others will be coming here for you in a while. I am Matthew Shardlake, a lawyer. It would certainly be better for you to talk to me first. I may be able to do something to help you, if you help us.’

Leeman only glared at me. ‘You are the agents of Bertano, emissary of the Antichrist.’

‘That name again,’ Nicholas said.

I pulled a stool over to the bed and sat face to face with Leeman. ‘We have heard that name many times recently, Master Leeman,’ I said. ‘But I swear to you I do not know who Bertano is. Perhaps you could tell me.’ I considered a moment. ‘By the Antichrist I take it you mean the Pope.’

‘The Beast of Rome,’ Leeman confirmed, watching carefully for our reaction.

I smiled. ‘Nobody here is a friend of the Pope, I assure you.’

‘Then who do you work for?’

I took out the Queen’s seal which I had been given on the day of my appointment and held it up for him to see. ‘For her majesty. Privately. I am trying to find out what happened to a certain book.’

Leeman frowned, then said, ‘Lawyer or courtier, ’tis all the same. You all steal bread from the mouths of the poor.’

‘Actually I am an advocate at the Court of Requests, and most of my work is done on behalf of the poor.’ His look in response was contemptuous; no doubt he despised the charitable doings of the rich. But I persisted. ‘Tonight we were looking for a manuscript which we believe you and your friends were trying to smuggle abroad. I also seek, by the way, the murderers of Armistead Greening.’

‘Who is now safe in heaven,’ Leeman said, looking at me defiantly.

‘There is another manuscript, also missing, by the late Mistress Askew, who was cruelly burned at Smithfield.’

‘It is gone.’ There was a note of triumph in Leeman’s voice now. ‘Vandersteyn had it with him.’ He paused. His face paled. ‘Curdy – your people killed him. Good McKendrick, I saw him run. Did you catch and kill him, too?’