Leach said to me, ‘I will conduct the search while you dress.’ His tone remained level, official, disapproving, though I sensed he was enjoying the opportunity to humble someone of my status. He did not meet my eye.

I let him in. On that score at least I had nothing to fear; I had burned all my newly forbidden books and there was nothing concerning the hunt for the Lamentation in the house. He sent one of his men upstairs with me to watch me as I dressed; my fingers trembled as I secured buttons and aiglets. I tried to calm myself and think. Who had done this, and why? Was this part of some new plot against Queen Catherine? When I had been imprisoned in the Tower of London five years before, on treason charges manufactured by Richard Rich, Archbishop Cranmer had rescued me; could the Queen save me now? I put on my summer robe, laid out as usual last night by Martin, and stepped to the door.

My servants were still standing in the hall, Josephine with her arm round a weeping Timothy. It was to her, not my steward, that I instinctively turned. I grasped her hand and said urgently, ‘Go at once to Jack Barak’s house and tell him what has happened. You remember where it is? You have taken messages there.’

Though her own hands were shaking she composed herself. ‘I will, sir, at once.’

‘Thank you.’ I turned to the constable, trying to muster a shred of dignity. ‘Then let us start, fellow. I take it we are to walk.’

‘Yes.’ Leach spoke severely, as though I were already convicted.

Martin Brocket spoke up then, in reproving tones. ‘Master Shardlake should be allowed to ride. A gentleman should not be led through the streets of London like a common fellow. It is not fitting.’ He seemed far more concerned by the breach of etiquette than the arrest itself.

‘Our instructions are to bring him on foot.’

‘There is no help for it, Martin,’ I said mildly. I turned to Leach. ‘Let us go.’

We walked through the streets; thankfully few people were out and about yet, though a few stared fearfully at us as we passed, Leach in his constable’s uniform in front, a bulky armed fellow each side of me. The arrest of a gentleman, a senior lawyer, was a rare thing; it did no harm for it to be seen in public, a reminder that everyone, regardless of rank and status, was subservient to the King.