I expected him to snap at me for being a mumping weakling, but to my surprise he spoke quietly. ‘The Queen told me you were on the Mary Rose when she went down last year. That was a great tragedy. Though it is not permitted to speak of it at court, the King felt much humiliated by the foundering of his favourite ship.’

‘I lost good friends, and nearly died myself. At times of strain – forgive me, my Lord.’

He grunted. ‘I, too, am sometimes unwell. I have long suffered from fevers, and they grow more frequent. Sometimes I am so tired – ’ He shrugged, then gave a tight smile. ‘But we must go on. You know the Queen’s motto?’

‘To be useful in all I do.’

‘And so must we be. I know this is a hard load, Serjeant Shardlake.’

‘Thank you, my Lord, but is it really the best course for me to try to find and question these men? The radicals are suspicious of everybody. They will surely see me, as the apprentice did, as an inquisitive lawyer who may serve some master who would hurt them.’

Lord Parr smiled wryly. ‘Yes, people are suspicious of your trade, they think all lawyers will serve any master for a fee.’

‘Perhaps if someone else could approach these men initially, someone known as a sympathizer, who could reassure them that the lawyer who will be coming is not an enemy. No more than that need be said.’

The old man nodded. ‘You are right. You met young William Cecil last night?’

‘Yes.’

‘He is known to have certain – contacts, shall we say. He is a very junior employee of the Queen’s Learned Council, but I have already marked his cleverness, and his commitment to reform. As well as his ambition for himself, which is considerable.’ He gave his sardonic smile again. ‘Very well, I will send him to try and find these people, and reassure them that you merely wish to question them about the murder of Greening, but that you mean them no harm. That is all Master Cecil needs to be told. He does not know about the Lamentation, of course.’

‘That may help our quest.’

Lord Parr stroked his beard. ‘You say Greening was only printing some French primer when he was killed?’

‘Yes. I checked the print-shop thoroughly.’

‘The Queen, you may imagine, has no connection with such small-scale printers. Her Prayers and Meditations went to the King’s Printer, John Berthelet.’ He shook his head, then grasped the arms of his chair resolutely. ‘And now,’ he said, ‘I would like you to question some servants of the household.’

‘Yes, my Lord.’

‘But first, look at this.’

He reached into his robe, and held up a little key on a gold chain. ‘I have persuaded my niece to entrust this to me. It is the one she kept around her neck, that opens her private chest.’