The Traitor’s Mark (10 page)

‘You'd think Sir Thomas would know we have better things to do,' Thwaites grumbled. ‘I've never known the country so unstable, not even at the time the monasteries were being pulled down. The more troublemakers I hang, the more are lining up to take their places.'

‘I believe the archbishop is hoping our commission will ensure that preachers stick to official doctrine. That ought to make our job easier.'

‘Hypocrite!' Thwaites exploded in cynical laughter. ‘Cranmer's the biggest heretic in England!'

‘That is foolish talk,' James protested. ‘I've heard slackbrained ploughmen say that sort of thing after four jars of ale, but Cranmer speaks for the king and has the backing of parliament.' .

‘For the moment,' Thwaites muttered.

‘What do you mean by that?' I asked.

‘No matter.' Thwaites waved a hand. ‘All I know is that
most of the pulpit pounders and Bible bashers round here claim to have Cranmer's support. Let me tell you about the worst of the brood. He's a snivelling little rabble rouser called Richard Turner, Vicar of Chartham, and he's been rampaging around these parts for the last couple of years. He preaches inside the churches and out. He stirs young men to all sorts of vandalism. My grandfather left money – a lot of money – in his will for a statue of the Virgin for Chilham Church. Three months ago, one of Turner's mobs hauled it down – sacrilegious, degenerate traitors! Don't tell me his majesty sanctions that sort of behaviour!' Thwaites's face was red with fury.

‘You have the power to arrest such villains,' James observed mildly.

‘Aye, and there's the point of it. Twice I've had Turner clapped in jail and sent him up to the archbishop's court. What happened? His grace says he “finds no fault” in the man. So Turner goes on his way, bolder than before. Well, this time I have him. He's in irons waiting to go before the assize judges at Michaelmas. Cranmer won't rescue him from the gallows this time.'

‘That was well done, Edward,' I said. ‘I trust you are as hard on gangs who are paid by papistical bishops to go around maiming and killing folk not of their faith.'

‘What do you mean by that?' the old man asked.

‘No matter,' I replied, with a wave of my hand.

Eastwell Court was as impressive as popular rumour had
led me to expect. The original courtyard had been extended westwards and a large workforce was occupied in erecting a balancing range of buildings to the east. Sir Thomas received us in his great hall where several guests were already assembled and were talking in small groups. Everything about Moyle impressed and was meant to impress. He wore a doublet of grey silk with a gold chain stretched across his ample stomach. He shook hands and shared a few words with each newcomer in turn. He clearly enjoyed holding court and was well practised at it. Having received his words of greeting, I moved towards the fire-place, before which a small group were engaged in debates.

‘Bishop Gardiner says he would give six thousand pounds to pluck down the archbishop. I have that on good authority from a friend on the Privy Council.' The speaker was an austere man with lank black hair. I immediately recognised Sir Anthony St Leger of Ulcombe, a man high in the king's confidence and but recently returned from acting as viceroy in Ireland. I joined his group.

‘How does Gardiner intend to achieve that, do you think?' I asked.

‘Oh, I keep clear of religious infighting,' St Leger replied. ‘I leave that sort of thing to my brother, Arthur. He's a prebendary at Canterbury.'

Someone else said, ‘I gather all the prebendaries and senior clergy at Canterbury heartily wish to be rid of Cranmer.'

‘But again I ask, how are they going to do it?' I persisted. ‘Brave talk is easy but I understand that Cranmer stands very high in his majesty's affections.'

‘I agree with Thomas.' Peter Flett, from Hadstead, near Tonbridge, like me, was one of the younger members of the gathering. ‘When there was all that trouble at Windsor, a few weeks back, everyone was saying that the archbishop would be caught up in it, but nothing has happened.'

‘As far as you know,' St Leger suggested. ‘It matters not what “everyone” is saying; 'tis what is being said and plotted in secret that is important. When Cromwell was brought down who could have foretold it? For all the world knew, he stood high in his majesty's affections. Yet, within a few hours, the upstart's reign was over. My guess is that it will be the same with Cranmer. He is much unloved by people who matter. They will not suffer him to remain at the king's right hand much longer. Anyone who is wise will be careful not to get too close to our dear archbishop. When ships sink, little boats can get caught in their wake and founder also.'

At that moment, a bell sounded and we were called to dinner. This had been laid out on a long table in the upper part of the hall. As the company took their seats, I had the distinct impression that they were dividing into two sections. St Leger, Thwaites and others of a similar disposition seemed to be settling around the right end of the table. Those who might be considered to be well disposed to
Cranmer occupied the other end. Moyle, of course, took his place in the centre, facing down the hall. He was backed by a huge tapestry of some allegorical scene. On his right was a man wearing a clerk's gown. I was careful to fill one of the gaps almost opposite our host. If he wanted to gauge my allegiance I would not make it easy for him.

The dinner was impressive – at least seven messes – and Moyle seemed in no hurry to conclude it and bring us to our business. When at length he did so, he spoke in the confident tones of a man well versed in chairing meetings.

‘Gentlemen, I thank you for coming. As you know, we are gathered to consider the best ways we can assist the archbishop in putting an end to religious discord. I have asked his grace's secretary, Ralph Morice' – he indicated his neighbour – ‘to be present in order to report on our deliberations to the archbishop in person.'

‘This is a religious matter,' someone to my right said. ‘Surely the clergy should be dealing with it.'

‘By your leave, Sir Thomas, I'll answer that.' Morice, a fair-complexioned man of middle years, directed his gaze up and down the table. ‘This body carries his majesty's commission as head of the Church. Doctrine, as defined by the king in council with his bishops and parliament, is now enshrined in statute law. The king – and the archbishop – simply require that you enforce the law.'

There were murmurings to my right and left but no one spoke. Moyle resumed control. ‘His majesty has set forth
true Christian doctrine in the manual published last May and commonly called the
King's Book.'

‘Are we supposed to commit it all to memory and examine our parish priests on every detail?' another man wanted to know.

‘Certainly not,' Moyle assured him. ‘We simply have to make sure the clergy swear to teach from it and from nothing else. If we hear that anyone is preaching something unauthorised, we are to take testimonies and send them with the offenders to the quarter sessions. Once example has been made of a few disobedient clergy, I'll warrant we shall have little more trouble.'

I don't think anyone was convinced by Moyle's assurances but, in the presence of the archbishop's representative, no one was prepared to give voice to criticism. We spent another half-hour or so exchanging information on possible troublemakers and dividing the county into smaller regional units for more effective united action. In mid-afternoon the meeting was formally closed and members drifted away. Through the windows high in the old walls we could all see the grey-black clouds crawling across the sky and we were anxious to start for home. However, I wanted to have a word in private with our host and lingered by the outer doorway, waiting for an opportunity. It was then that Ralph Morice came across and, taking me by the arm, steered me outside.

As we stood on the broad steps leading up to the entrance, watching members of the party mount their horses, assemble
their servants and ride off towards the gateway, Morice said, ‘So, Thomas, which of these men can be trusted?'

‘I'd be loath to speak ill of any of them,' I replied evasively.

‘A charitable answer, but not a wise one. We both know that some of our neighbours are set in their old-fashioned ways. Some are protecting clergy who long to refill their churches with popish paraphernalia. Some have friends in high places and will be hastening to report to them on today's meeting. Some are ready to distribute arms to their tenants and lead them in what they would call a war against heresy. So, I ask again, who can the king and the archbishop rely on and who must we watch carefully?'

‘Well, I have no evidence of rebellious intent but, if you press me for my suspicions ...' I mentioned half a dozen names, including those of Thwaites and St Leger. Then I saw Moyle come out of the house. ‘Excuse me,' I said, ‘I need to have a quick word with our host.'

‘Very well,' Morice replied quietly, ‘but don't forget your oath to report anything suspicious.'

As I approached the elegant figure standing proprietorially before the massive oak door of his splendid house I heard a murmur of distant thunder.

‘I fear you may be in for a wet ride, young Treviot,' Sir Thomas said as he shook my hand.

‘Indeed, Sir Thomas. I must not delay my departure, but I wanted to have a quick word in confidence.'

He nodded gravely. ‘Then let us go back inside.'

When we were standing in the hall once more, close by the outer door, he said, ‘Please, speak freely.'

‘I have heard of a group of men – desperate men – who are in the pay of the archbishop's enemies and are intent on his ruin. They will stop at nothing – including murder.'

Moyle frowned. ‘That is a very serious thing to say. Is it any more than country rumour?'

‘Two weeks ago a young man was stabbed to death in Aldgate.'

‘At Master Holbein's house? Yes, I heard something about it, but what has that to do with the archbishop?'

‘I discussed it with his grace and we are both convinced the assassins were trying to prevent him receiving from Master Holbein information of a plot against him.'

‘If that is true, these men must be found.'

‘Exactly, Sir Thomas, that is why I thought you might be able to help. You have wide interests in and around London. I beg you to tell me if you have heard anything about this gang.'

‘Can you describe them?'

‘We believe their leader is a savage hellhound by the name of Henry Walden, though he prefers to be called Black Harry. I've been obliged to offer protection to Holbein's children. They are safe in one of my cottages at Hemmings.'

‘I'll certainly make enquiries. Be sure to let me know if you hear any more. We must rid the realm ...'

‘Good even, Sir Thomas. I'm taking my leave now.' The speaker, emerging from the shadows beside the door, was Edward Thwaites. ‘Will you ride with us?' He smiled at me. ‘I think your friend and neighbour, James Dewey, is already fetching your horses from the stable yard.'

Within minutes we had collected our party together and were on our way northwards. The sky was growing steadily darker and, before we had travelled more than five miles, the storm crashed violently all around us. Lightning jagged the sky. The rain was more like a waterfall.

Thwaites pointed to a cluster of buildings close to the roadside and we spurred our horses towards the only visible shelter. Our refuge was three cottages and a tiled barn. Thwaites took instant command. He sent the servants into the barn for shelter with the horses, then ran towards the nearest cottage, with James and I following, our cloaks held tight around us. Thwaites kicked the door open and we tumbled into the dim interior. A young woman sat spinning by the light of a small lamp. Two small children sat close to her on the rushes and looked up frightened as we burst in.

Thwaites removed his cloak and shook it vigorously, showering water all over the floor. ‘Good day, Mistress. Seats for me and my friends and set our clothes by the fire to dry.'

Wordlessly, the woman vacated her stool and indicated a bench close to the wall. She took our sodden garments and
busied herself arranging them on hooks by the hearth. The infants retreated to a corner where they sat huddled together, staring at us with wide eyes.

‘When you've done that, fetch us some ale.' Thwaites lowered himself on to the stool and stretched his legs before him.‘Dear God, what weather!'

We gazed out through the still open doorway into what appeared to be an opaque wall of water. I turned to watch the woman impassively obeying her instructions. It brought back memories. One was very recent: my arrival, well-soaked, at Lizzie's house and the cheerful willingness with which she made me comfortable. The other – a painful childhood recollection but just as salutary – was of a sound thrashing I had received from my father when he caught me insolently giving orders to one of our servants.

‘What do you think, Thomas?' I was aware that James was speaking.

‘Sorry, I was daydreaming.'

‘Edward is offering us his hospitality.'

‘We're not far from my house. You must spend the night there,' Thwaites said.

‘That's good of you, Edward,' I replied, ‘but I must get home today.'

‘What! Through this? You must do no such thing. I won't hear of it. If you try to travel on, you won't reach home by nightfall and like as not you'll be stopped by another savage tempest and lucky to find even a hovel like this for shelter.
No, when this rain eases you'll come to Chilham. We'll see you well supped and rested and set you back on the road tomorrow as soon as the weather is fit for Christians.'

‘I'm concerned for my people at Hemmings,' I protested. ‘I ought—'

‘If they've any wits, your people at Hemmings will be well bolted in,' Thwaites persisted. ‘They won't need you to show them how to keep the weather out.'