by D. K. Wilson
‘When she’s with the children,’ I said.
‘Right! And she knows that children grow up. One day they will no longer need her. And then what can she live for? Who can she live for? What you may not have noticed,’ Lizzie went on, ‘is that we women live for others. We give ourselves to people who need us. Take away that sense of being needed and what remains?’
After a long silence, I said diffidently, ‘So what we should do is find what she is good at and provide opportunities for her to ... do it.’
‘That would make a start,’ Lizzie agreed, ‘until she discovers the person for whom she would be willing to do anything.’
‘As you do for Bart,’ I said hurriedly, diverting the conversation from the channel Lizzie was digging for it. ‘And that brings me to the other problem I have on my mind. The strain of all this business on Bart is, I think, beginning to tell.’
Lizzie said, ‘He feels he has suffered long enough. He managed to keep his spirits up until your raid on Fleteham, by persuading himself that, once you’d caught Black Harry, his troubles would be over. Now it seems he still has to wait to clear his name.’
‘Perhaps that’s my fault,’ I said.
‘Why do you say that?’
I told her about Black Harry’s offer and my rejection of it. ‘The thought of helping that bestial, blood-soaked monster to go free ... Well, it just seemed utterly wrong. Now I’m not so sure. If I’d agreed to do a deal, Bart would probably, by now, have gone to the magistrates with Black Harry’s confession and would no longer be a wanted man.’
Lizzie received the news in shocked silence. She sat at the table, head in hands. At last she muttered, ‘Bart will get free of this burden sometime, won’t he?’
‘Oh, yes, certainly,’ I replied, with all the conviction I could muster, ‘as soon as Black Harry is brought to trial.’
‘That could be quite a while yet, couldn’t it?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Then I wish you hadn’t told me,’ she said miserably.
‘You think I was wrong?’
At that she flared up. ‘God in heaven, yes! Of course I think you were wrong. I don’t know how you could deliberately prolong Bart’s agony. Don’t you think he’s suffered enough? But that’s between you and your conscience. All you’ve done by telling me is make me a partner in your stupid cruelty. Do you expect me to say, “That’s all right, Thomas, you did the right thing”? Now I’ve got to share your problem. What am I supposed to do? Tell Bart you’ve let him down? You know how much he respects you. He would be shattered. Or do you want me to keep the truth from him, to deceive him in order to keep your guilty secret?’
Ned tried to calm the atmosphere. ‘Lizzie, Thomas didn’t have a simple choice between right and wrong. He had to choose, on the spur of the moment, which course of action was less wrong than the other.’
‘I might have known you’d take his side,’ she snapped.
‘’Tis no question of taking sides. I know not what I would have done in his position. What I do know is that we all have a responsibility to support Bart until this terrible charge against him is dropped and the real villain is brought to justice.’
Lizzie showed no sign of being mollified. Neither of my problems had been resolved by this discussion. It was as well that I was not left for long to brood on them. Next morning a troop of the archbishop’s guards arrived to escort me to Groydon for another meeting with Cranmer.
I decided to take Bart with me. I am not sure why. It may be that I half-intended, as we travelled, to explain my rejection of Black Harry’s deal. Or, perhaps, I hoped he might learn something about the larger issues at stake and see his own problem in their light. In the event, my motivation was of little consequence. As we rode, I did not raise the Aldgate affair and events in Croydon would push it into the background.
As soon as we arrived at the palace we went in to dinner. The great hall was very full and the reason soon became apparent. Cranmer’s high table was filled with distinguished guests, all of whom had obviously brought attendants with them. From my vantage point at the bottom end of one of the lower tables I saw the archbishop surrounded by several senior clerics, as well as gentlemen whose costly court clothes indicated their importance. At a distance I recognised only one of these notables but that one was highly significant. If Anthony Denny had left the touring royal court for talks with the archbishop, those talks must be of the utmost importance. Some of England’s grandees of church and state had come together to discuss matters of high politics. Like it or not, I was to be caught up in their deliberations.
Chapter 28
During the course of that day and the next morning Bart and I made conversation with several of our fellow guests. Among the more obvious common concerns was the situation in the capital. The plague was apparently showing no sign of abating. Opinion differed as to whether the death toll was rising or falling, though all agreed that this visitation was the longest in living memory. The king and court were still keeping their distance. The Westminster law courts remained closed, and the jails overcrowded as a result of the backlog of cases waiting to be heard. The beginning of the legal term, already transferred from Michaelmas to All Saints Day had once again been postponed to 12 November and it had been decided to hold sittings in St Albans. Those obliged to remain in the stricken City were running short of food because farmers and wagoners were unwilling to risk contagion. Preachers, of course, were unrestrained in identifying the cause of the visitation. Some declared it God’s curse on a nation that had cut itself adrift from Catholic Christendom, while others were equally certain that divine wrath was being vented on a disobedient land still clinging to the vestiges of popery.
Political news was largely taken up with rumours of imminent war with France – the first military adventure in a quarter of a century. King Henry, it was confidently asserted, would be following his friend, the Emperor, in lighting more human bonfires of heretics. Those who claimed to have knowledge of the inner workings of the royal court spoke of the emergence of bitterly opposed factions – ‘Catholic’ and ‘Protestant’ – the latter being a new word imported from Germany. There was much debate about who would be the next powerful minister to follow Wolsey, More and Cromwell to disgrace and death. Some said it would be Bishop Gardiner. Others prophesied the imminent fall of Cranmer. Most observers seemed to be agreed that the present meeting at Croydon was a gathering of Protestant leaders to plan their political strategy.
The next day I was told to wait with others in an anteroom for my summons before the archbishop and his colleagues. That summons came in mid-morning. I entered the library to see eight men sitting around a long table. A vacant space was pointed out to me and I obediently took my place. Ralph Morice sat at Cranmer’s left hand, and was taking notes. He addressed me very formally.
‘Master Thomas Treviot, goldsmith of London, you are here to provide information to this committee and to answer any questions we may put to you. You will regard everything said within these walls as spoken in confidence and you will now take an oath to that effect.’
An attendant handed me a Bible and, with one hand upon it, I swore myself to secrecy.
Cranmer spoke. ‘My Lord (he inclined his head to the thin-lipped, thin-faced man on his right, who, as I later discovered, was the Earl of Hertford – brother-in-law to the king and uncle to the young heir to the throne), gentlemen, I have already intimated to you the ways in which we are indebted to Master Treviot. It would be no exaggeration to say that without his tenacious pursuit of a dangerous gang of subversive seditionists we would not now be in a position to tear up by the roots the papist plot we have been considering. I have commanded his presence because he has had close contact with the seditionists and is in an excellent position to answer any questions we may wish to ask about them. But first I have a pleasant duty to perform.’
He nodded to Morice, who silently slid a sheet of paper across the table. I read the few lines written in a scrawling hand:
I, Henry Walden, sometimes known as ‘Black Harry’, do solemnly confess that on 1 September in this year, 1543, I did feloniously enter the house of Johannes Holbein, King’s Painter, in the Aldgate ward of London, and did there assault and kill a servant of the said Johannes Holbein, to the disturbance of the king’s peace. I now repent me of this deed and affirm – that I alone deserve such punishment as the king’s justice may impose. And further I acknowledge that the attribution of this felonious deed to any other than myself has no foundation in fact. Signed by me of my own free will, this 23 day of October in the year 1543.
Henry Walden
‘I thank Your Grace,’ I said. ‘This will relieve an innocent man of a great burden.’
I was, indeed, delighted for Bart and Lizzie. This was what they – and I – had wanted all along. If I did not feel overwhelmed with joy and relief it was because a question nagged at me: what price had been paid?
Hertford began the questioning. ‘Master Treviot, this Walden fellow has given his word to help us apprehend his superiors in the plot. How reliable do you think he is?’
‘My Lord, I think him very unreliable.’
There was a murmur round the table and I was aware of many pairs of eyes fastened upon me.
‘Let me explain,’ I continued. ‘The Black Harry I first encountered seemed to me nothing more nor less than a violent, unprincipled hellhound, ready to commit any abomination in return for money. More than that, he was a man so devoid of humanity that he actually enjoyed inflicting pain and suffering, quite apart from any financial advantage it might bring him. Later, when I spoke to him, I slightly revised my opinion. Now he seemed to be a fanatic, driven by loyalty to papal religion and obsessed by hatred of heretics. I knew he had been a servant of the Inquisition in Spain, so I readily believed him when he told me he would willingly die for his faith. Yet, within hours, I was obliged to change my opinion yet again, when he offered to betray his colleagues in order to save his own skin.’
Hertford leaned forward with a stare that was disconcertingly intense. ‘Would you say that his latest change of tactics is motivated solely by self-preservation or by something more subtle?’
‘I’m not quite sure I understand Your Lordship.’
Hertford explained. ‘Walden claims he can help us to apprehend Ferdinand Brooke, who, as you already know, is the vital link between English conspirators and foreign papists. Do you think he’s simply playing for time? He knows that there are other plots afoot against those of us who favour the Gospel. He might hope to defer his own execution until such plots come to fruition and his friends can engineer his release.’
‘Surely, My Lord, he is merely showing himself to be a menial of the Devil, who, as Scripture assures us, is the father of lies.’ The speaker was a cleric sitting at the extreme right of the table.
Cranmer said, ‘What Prebendary Ridley reminds us is undeniably true, but it helps us little in the present instance. We know our enemies are working with frantic haste to make a case against us to his majesty. It behoves us to act with equal despatch.’
‘We have letters from Bishop Gardiner to his nephew urging him to undermine the archbishop’s authority in Canterbury,’ someone said. ‘Surely that’s all we need without having to trust in rakehells and assassins.’
‘And Dr London is under investigation in the Fleet for perjuring himself in court with false accusations against his grace,’ another voice added.
Ridley said, ‘All this is true but we must not be complaisant. I say we should use every weapon God places in our hands.’
At this point Anthony Denny introduced another thought. ‘There’s more at stake here than foiling the intrigues of our own enemies. England is about to be dragged into a disastrous war with the Empire against France. His majesty is enthusiastic for it. He will hear nothing said against his friend, the Emperor. If we could apprehend Brooke and expose his nefarious dealings with the imperial ambassador, we could open the king’s eyes to what is really going on. I believe any risk is worth taking if it can draw us back from the brink of war.’
Cranmer smiled wistfully across the table. ‘You see, Master Treviot, how divided we are. Is there any guidance you can give us?’
I almost had to pinch myself to make sure I was not dreaming. Was I really sitting here with some of the greatest men in the land, discussing issues of war and peace? Choosing my words with extreme care, I said, ‘May I know what you have promised Black Harry in return for his cooperation?’
Cranmer replied. ‘That he will be placed on the first available ship leaving England and no further action will be taken against him as long as he remains abroad. If, however, he should at any time return, he would be fully accountable in the king’s court for all his crimes.’
‘In that case I would suggest that you keep him in very close custody until you have Brooke safely under lock and key. And then honour your promise. Broadly, I am in agreement with Prebendary Ridley. Use this wretch for your own ends if you can but, if he fails you, show no mercy.’
‘I’m afraid he’s already thought of that,’ Morice explained. ‘I have had three long sessions with him and he is not prepared to trust us. He says, “When you’ve got your man, what is to stop you going back on your word and delivering me to the hangman?” What he is asking is that he accompanies us when we go to arrest Brooke and that, as soon as he has pointed Brooke out to us, we let him go.’
‘In that case,’ I said, ‘you should wash your hands of him. I’ve been close enough to this rogue to recognise the smell of trickery.’
In the silence that followed there was much exchanging of glances round the table. Eventually, Cranmer said, ‘Master Treviot, thank you for your help. We are much indebted to you.’ I was dismissed.
I had no chance for a private word with Bart before dinner, which we again took in the hall. Then, as soon as we rose from the table, I saw Morice leave his place at the archbishop’s side and stride down the hall towards us. Outside in the courtyard he shook my hand.
‘Thank you, Thomas. Your contribution was invaluable.’
‘Did you manage to reach a decision?’ I asked. ‘There seemed to be a marked difference of opinion among you.’
‘Yes. It wasn’t easy, but I think we got there in the end. I need to explain it to you.’ He glanced meaningfully at Bart and only continued after I had sent him to fetch the horses. ‘There are two things I must tell you. The first is that, after much debate, and not without some reluctance, we have resolved to accept Walden’s offer to lead us to Brooke.’
‘You know my opinion on that.’
‘Indeed, but the court party has a different perspective. Hertford and Denny were adamant that we must grasp every opportunity to lay our hands on Brooke.’
‘Then I wish you every success. What was the other thing you had to tell me?’
‘That is more difficult, and I hope you will not take it amiss. Believe me, I did stress – very strongly – that you had already done much more than we had a right to expect of you.’
I stared at his care-furrowed face. ‘I imagine I’m not going to like this.’
He nodded. ‘I fear not. It was just that you have had such close dealings with Black Harry.’
‘Go on.’
‘They’re asking you to come with us when we go to apprehend Brooke in case he tries any more trickery.’
‘Asking?’ I said.
Morice avoided my gaze. ‘You know what I mean.’
‘And when will this take place?’
‘That is yet to be determined. Now the decision has been made I must go back for more talks with the prisoner.’
‘God’s blood! What have we come to when high policy is made by one of the foulest villains ever to be lodged in an English jail?’
‘Nevertheless ...’ Morice shrugged. ‘I am told to request you to remain at Hemmings while we complete our plans. When the time comes we will despatch a fast courier to summon you.’
‘Well, I will not be at
Hemmings for a couple of days,’ I said brusquely. ‘I have a vital engagement elsewhere.’
As soon as Bart reappeared with the horses I bade Morice a brief farewell, mounted and led the way down the long drive.
When we turned on to the highway, Bart said, ‘Master Thomas, we are going the wrong way. This is the London road.’
I unfastened my purse and took from it Black Harry’s confession. Without a word, I handed it to him to read.
Chapter 29
Bart must have read the brief confession three or four times. So intent was he that he was almost unseated when his horse stumbled in a pothole. At last he held the paper to his lips and kissed it.
‘Where did this come from?’ he asked.
‘Friends in high places.’
‘Thank you, Master Thomas, thank you. I don’t know how you did it, but thank you.’
‘You’d better give it to me for safe keeping,’ I said. ‘Did Lizzie not say anything about how I might come by it?’
He returned the confession, with a last, lingering look. ‘Lizzie? No. What does she know of it?’
‘Nothing,’ I lied, as I carefully folded it and replaced it in my purse. ‘I simply mentioned that I was going to try to get Black Harry to write this without any more delay. I told her not to raise your hopes, just in case.’
‘Is that why we’re heading for London?’ he asked.
‘I thought you’d want to deliver this to the magistrate without delay.’
‘Most certainly.’ Bart uttered a long sigh. ‘No more hiding!’
‘It’s been a long time. I’m delighted it’s all over.’
‘Not quite all over, is it, Master Thomas?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, that meeting back there at the palace. All those important people. There’s something big in the air, isn’t there?’
‘I’m not in a position to say. I’ve been sworn to secrecy.’
‘Ah, then it is something big. Everyone I spoke to was guessing about it; Some reckoned they knew what was afoot.’
