The Traitor’s Mark

by D. K. Wilson

  ‘His enemies seem extremely persistent. Perhaps, they hope by bringing repeated charges they may convince his majesty that the man really is a heretic,’ I suggested.

  A smile lit up the doctor’s dark, intelligent eyes. ‘If they believe their steady drip, drip will wear down the stone, they do not know our Harry.’

  ‘How is Turner’s preaching received in Kent?’ Denny asked.

  ‘I gather he has a large following in Chartham and the surrounding area.’

  ‘How do you judge the mood of the shire as a whole?’

  ‘It seems there are pockets where reformed teaching prevails and others where the preference is for a stubborn traditionalism.’

  ‘Do you have a list of the more active papists among the gentry?’ Butts asked mildly.

  ‘No. Doubtless his grace’s commissioners will reveal who the most difficult landowners are.’

  ‘Then let us hope they make haste,’ Denny said acerbically.

  ‘I’m sure Morice understands the urgency of the situation. He impressed upon me that if the opposition is not silenced within days or weeks his grace’s enemies may prevail,’ I said.

  ‘He is right, though not entirely for the reasons he thinks. The problem is wider and deeper.’

  Several moments of silence followed. I was aware of unspoken communication between the other men. Then Denny dismissed the servants. ‘Master Treviot, we believe you have been brought here by Providence and we have decided to share with you things that no one outside our very tight circle knows.’

  The words were ominous. I had grown very wary of being made party to dangerous confidences. ‘Master Denny, I doubt—’

  ‘We are at the political centre,’ Denny continued, ignoring my protest. ‘We can see much of what is happening. But not all. You have the advantage of being able to move freely about the country.’ He moved aside several of the dishes. ‘As you will see, there are aggravating gaps in our knowledge. We want those gaps filled by whatever you can discover. The first thing you should know is that our king intends to go to war – possibly in person.’

  ‘War?’ I gasped. ‘But I thought he was a sick man. I had heard he was offering friendship to the Emperor – but war!’

  Butts said, ‘Would you like to tell his majesty he is too old and too ill for charging around on battlefields? He has decided to send troops to France and to lead them in person. It might kill him. It will certainly bankrupt England. But he will do it.’

  Denny took up the tale again. ‘Now the man who has talked him into this folly is the imperial ambassador, Eustace Chapuys.’ Taking a silver table salt, he spooned a small mound of the contents on to the bare boards. ‘This policy has the support of some members of the Council, principally Bishop Gardiner.’

  ‘Because he sees it as one step in reuniting England with Catholic Europe?’

  ‘Precisely, Master Treviot. His ultimate objective is to restore our bondage to the pope. So, here we have Gardiner, working closely with Chapuys.’ He put another pile of salt on the table and with the spoon made a white line between the two. ‘Gardiner is hard at work to put a stop to the reformation of the English Church. His biggest obstacle is Cranmer. So, as you have seen, he is working hard to undermine the archbishop. As he rid the realm of Cromwell, so he plans to dispose of Cranmer and have himself appointed in his place. That explains the trouble he is stirring in Canterbury. Let’s put another pile of salt for the prebendaries and a line linking them to the bishop.’

  ‘He uses his nephew to maintain close contact,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, Germain; as double-dyed a papist as you would never want to see. Of course, from the cathedral at Canterbury, lines run throughout Kent and the South-east.’ He laid some more thin traces of salt. ‘We have to find ways to block this activity. I’ll come back to that in a moment. Now, at least Gardiner’s opposition is in the open. We can trace his network and, by God’s good grace, close it down. But there is another network – secret, insidious, unscrupulous and violent.’

  ‘Presumably, that is the organisation Black Harry is part of?’ I suggested.

  Denny held up a warning finger. ‘Don’t jump ahead. It is vital to see things as clearly as we can.’ He pointed to his first pile of salt. ‘Like everything else, this starts with the tireless schemer, Eustace Chapuys. He has connections with the papistically inclined all over the country. However, his most powerful ally is the Duke of Norfolk. So let’s put another salty marker for him. His lordship has ample resources for the Catholic campaign – money, estates where his authority rivals the king’s, an army of servants ready to do his bidding. But even Norfolk has to tread warily.’

  ‘I’m amazed he has survived so long,’ Butts added. ‘Twice he’s inveigled the king into marriage with his nieces. Both have ended up under the headsman’s axe. His majesty watches Norfolk closely now.’

  ‘And that leads us to the big question,’ Denny said. He picked up the salt cellar and placed it between the mounds of salt representing Chapuys and Norfolk. ‘Who is this?’

  We all stared at the pattern marked out on the table as Denny continued. ‘In Leicestershire a godly preacher is found drowned in his own fishpond. In Bristol a rich merchant is “persuaded” by a gang of ruffians to stop supporting a congregation where the Gospel is truly preached. In Hampshire a minister, his wife and four children perish in a mysterious fire. There is one mind behind these and other incidents; one monster as well endowed with cunning as he is devoid of morality and human feeling.’

  Butts nodded. ‘A fanatic bent on opposing the Gospel by all and every means.’

  ‘You mean Sir Thomas Moyle,’I suggested.

  The others looked at me in surprise.

  ‘Moyle?’Butts queried.‘The Kentish MP?’

  Denny said, ‘Whatever makes you suggest his name?’

  I told them about Black Harry’s activities and how I had discovered that the gang was supported by Sir Thomas.

  ‘You must be mistaken,’ Denny said. ‘Our mysterious limb of Satan operates from the centre. He is closely connected with the duke; someone familiar with the court. But he also has influence and interests over a wide area.’

  I persisted. ‘If we assume that Holbein the painter, working for the archbishop, discovered the identity of your salt cellar, he had to be silenced before he could pass on the information. So Black Harry was sent to kill him. When Harry failed he took refuge in one of his patron’s houses. We know that house belonged to Moyle.’

  The courtiers were still not convinced.

  Butts said, ‘You are certainly right about Holbein’s connection with Norfolk. He has made several likenesses of the duke and other members of his family.’

  Denny added, ‘We know he used his access to the duke’s household to gather information and I’m inclined to agree with you that this placed him in grave danger, but Sir Thomas Moyle ... I cannot see him as the paymaster of assassins.’

  ‘If only we could make contact with Holbein we would soon know the truth,’ Butts added.

  ‘Yes, this is of prime importance,’ Denny agreed. ‘Do you think you can find him, Master Treviot?’

  ‘The problem is finding him before Black Harry does.’

  ‘Is there anything we can do to help? Do you need more men for the search?’

  ‘Thank you, Master Denny, but if we have too many people asking questions around London that will alarm our enemy. Better we should wait for Master Holbein to get a message to us.’

  ‘Pray God he does so quickly.’

  ‘I’m sure he will as soon as he safely can. He will want to be reunited with his sons. Meanwhile, what can we do to help the archbishop?’

  ‘Make sure his commission works properly is the short answer. Unfortunately, his grace is a stranger to ruthlessness but ruthlessness is what we need.’

  Butts said, ‘It is his lack of guile that the king finds so attractive. I doubt he would ever be manoeuvred into sacrificing his grace.’

  ‘And there, as you
know, William, we disagree. His majesty trusted Cromwell ...’

  ‘Ah, yes, Anthony, but he did not like him. There’s the difference.’

  ‘I grant that Cranmer is the last man the king would throw to the wolves – if he was in his right mind.’ Denny stopped abruptly.

  ‘Then is the rumour true that the king is sometimes not in his right mind?’ I asked.

  Denny was clearly discomfited. ‘You must not take me too literally.’

  Butts came to his aid. ‘No one can appreciate .the pressures kings are under. Every day his majesty has to make a hundred decisions: a courtier seeks promotion; a bill must be drafted for parliament, a letter from the Emperor needs to be answered. Age and infirmity make it more difficult to shoulder his responsibilities. They may cloud judgement; affect decisions ...’

  ‘Such as whether to launch the country into war,’ I suggested.

  Butts nodded. ‘That among other things.’

  ‘We are getting off the point,’ Denny said hurriedly. ‘We were discussing your commission in Kent. His majesty has agreed to send for Thomas Legh to join you. He is the most formidable lawyer in the country; as a member of the commission for dissolving the monasteries he was invaluable. I think you’ll find him more than an equal of the Canterbury clergy and their friends.’

  There was a knock at the door and a royal page entered. ‘An’t please you, Master Denny, his majesty wishes to retire.’

  ‘Then I must go and prepare him for bed.’ Denny stood quickly.

  ‘Perhaps I should attend also,’ Butts said. ‘He might require a sleeping draught.’

  I said my farewells and went to the stable yard, where a yawning Dick was waiting. As we rode away from Woodstock towards the inn where we were staying I pondered a question that had often occurred to me before: why would any man in his right mind covet the position of a courtier? Money, power, status? If these things were gained they certainly came at a price – one beyond any I was ready to pay.

  Chapter 17

  Having crossed the Thames at Kingston and followed the south bank, we reached Southwark after two days’ steady riding. I sent two men back to Goldsmith’s Row and kept Walt and Dick with me. We sat around Ned’s fire, drinking one of his heart-warming concoctions. He and Bart listened intently as I recounted my visits to Croydon and Woodstock but I noticed that Ned looked somewhat perplexed when I finished my account.

  ‘Unfortunate that you upset Sir Thomas,’ he said. ‘I imagine he could make life very difficult for you in the county.’

  ‘Not as difficult as I plan to make his life when I expose his connection with Black Harry.’

  ‘You are sure about that?’

  ‘That’s the one thing in this whole complicated business that I am sure about. There’s proof, heraldic proof.’

  ‘Well, if you’re convinced.’ He shrugged.

  ‘Tell me why you’re not.’

  ‘I’m just an old ex-monk who’s spent most of his life cut off from the real world. I know nothing about intrigues and plots. But it does seem to me slightly odd that Sir Thomas Moyle is, on the one hand, a secret manipulator, hiding in the shadows, and, on the other, a partisan, vigorously and openly demonstrating his opposition to the archbishop’s friends.’

  ‘Well, odd or not, that’s the sort of man he is,’ I said. ‘Now, tell me what’s been happening here.’

  Bart said, with an air of triumph, ‘I’ve found him.’

  ‘Master Holbein? Well done! That’s wonderful!’

  Ned sounded a note of caution. ‘Come now, Bart, be honest. What you really mean is that you have seen Master Holbein.’

  Bart grimaced. ‘Don’t be so dainty-minded, Ned. I know where he is. That’s to say, I know where he might be. Two or three places, anyway.’

  ‘Perhaps it would be good if you started at the beginning,’ I suggested.

  At that moment there was a knock at the door. Ned opened it to admit Lizzie. Dick gave her his stool and squatted beside her on the floor. As I looked round the circle I could not help reflecting that we had become a group of conspirators, perhaps no better than the men we were pitted against.

  Lizzie’s first question was ‘How is Adie?’

  ‘I’ve been away from Hemmings a week or more and I saw little of her when I was there.’

  ‘She will need much time to recover,’ Lizzie replied. ‘Perhaps I should go to her.’

  ‘Better for you to stay where you can look after your own,’ I suggested.

  She gave me one of her intense – and quite indecipherable – stares.

  ‘Your husband was about to tell us of his finding – or not finding – Master Johannes,’ I said.

  Bart began his story: ‘I couldn’t stay cooped up here all the time, getting in Ned’s way. In any case, I want to put an end to all this hiding in corners. I want to get back to normal; the life I had with Lizzie and the children, and with my work, before this Black Harry turned it upside down. So I went out looking for Master Johannes. Ned helped me with disguises. We’ve become quite good at it. I can become a begging leper, a bushy-bearded German, a pedlar of potions. With walnut juice to darken my face I can even—’

  ‘Spare us the secrets of your art,’ I said. ‘Tell us what you discovered.’

  ‘Well, the Steelyard seemed the obvious place to start. I thought Master Johannes was sure to call on his friends there. So I went with my beggar’s scrip and found a corner in Thames Street where I could watch the foreigners’ comings and goings. First day – nothing. Second day – nothing till noon. Then I realised I was looking for the wrong person. Master Johannes, like me, is in hiding. Therefore, he would also use disguise. From that moment I looked more closely at the faces of the men coming out of the Steelyard. I tried to spot false hair, painted cheeks, large, concealing hoods. After about an hour a man with just such a large hood, stepped into the street, paused, looked each way, then turned eastwards. I followed. He led me to Mark Lane, then Hart Street and so to Aldgate. I was sure I had my man and this was confirmed when he produced a key and let himself into Master Johannes’ house. I settled myself opposite, meaning to approach him when he came out. Then, guess who came along? Constable Pett. He stopped and yanked me to my feet.’

  ‘Did he recognise you?’ I gasped.

  Bart laughed. ‘Not he, the blunderhead! He had me worried for a moment, though. Looked at me long and hard, he did. Then he says, “You’re new. Well, just you listen to the rules for beggars in my ward. It’s half for you and half for me. If you don’t like that you get taken to the magistrate for a thrashing.” He grabbed my scrip and emptied all the coins into his purse. “I’ll take this for an earnest”, he says. “I see you a-trembling,” he says. “You do well to be afraid. All your sort tremble before Constable Pett.” Empty-headed churl! If I was shaking, it was with laughter. Trouble was, while this villainous braggart was shouting in my face, Master Johannes came out of the house and hurried along the road. I got away from Pett and set off in pursuit. Master Johannes went down an alley by the Saracen’s Head but when I reached it there was no sign. It was another two days before I found out anything else. I thought he might go back sometime to the place you’d spoken of in Bridewell Lane. So I hung about the quay there for a couple of days. I asked the dock men if they’d seen anyone answering Master Johannes’ description. This time I was a lawyer trying to find a witness in a fraud case. No luck there – not when they realised I wasn’t paying for information. But I did learn that I wasn’t the only one asking questions about a foreigner who sometimes came to the quay. Someone else is looking for him. Must be Black Harry. The rest of the week was a waste of time. It wasn’t till yesterday that I saw him again. I decided to take horse and spend the whole day visiting the locations where I’d seen him. Just before dark I spied him coming out of Bridewell Lane. He turned left, went as far as the Conduit, then turned down Shoe Lane. I was just in time to see him enter a house on the right but the light by then was too poor for me to be sure of which house i
t was.’

  ‘Then your conclusion is that Master Johannes has a number of refuges in and around the City,’ I suggested.

  ‘Yes, and is constantly on the move.’

  I voiced my frustration. ‘Why doesn’t he make contact? If he’s seen Pastor Meyer, he will know the boys are safe and he can trust us to help him.’

  ‘Now that you and the others are back, Master Thomas, we can watch his hiding places,’ Bart urged. ‘I can show them to you and one of us is sure to see him.’

  ‘That’s true,’ I agreed. ‘Tomorrow you can take us round and show us.’

  During this conversation Lizzie had been gazing thoughtfully into the fire. Now she said, ‘So you won’t be going straight back to Hemmings.’

  ‘No, this business with Master Johannes is too urgent,’ I replied.

  ‘Well, you won’t need all your men to find him. I’d like to borrow some.’

  ‘What for?’I asked.

  ‘For an escort down to Hemmings. You all seem to be forgetting Adie and the children. Someone has to look after them.’

  ‘They seemed to be recovering when I last saw them,’ I said.

  ‘Recovering! By all the saints, Thomas! A few weeks back you called me slack-brained for helping Bart hide from the law. Now you sit there calmly saying Adie and the boys are happily “recovering” from their ordeal. Now who’s being empty-headed? Carl and Henry have lost their mother; their father has disappeared; they have been captured; dragged around the country; tied up and left to die. As for Adie, she’s had to support the boys and try to give them courage, while being ravished by Black Harry’s men. And you blithely say, “They’ll recover”. Well, let me tell you about our Annie. Every night she wakes up dreaming about being chased by black demons on horseback. I don’t know if she’ll ever get those frightening pictures out of her head. You say it’s very important to find this painter. Well, I say it’s every bit as important to show some compassion to those whose lives have been shattered in the quest. So I’m going to find me a wagon to take me and the children down to Kent and I’d greatly appreciate it if you could provide me with an escort.’