Day of Wrath (12 page)

‘Indeed I do, your Grace; and I hope to God that those times never happen again.'

‘Then live up to your family's motto and I'll not forget you. I'm not ungrateful, you know. I look after my friends.'

‘I shall never be disloyal, but I don't like the idea of spying on my friends.'

‘Oh, but you must, Peverell,' said the King, coming over and putting his face very close to Nicholas's so that he could feel his soft, red-gold beard brushing his own. ‘To have friends is a luxury we can't afford in these times. Don't trust anyone, Peverell. You're naive, but you will change. Everyone does who works for me. Otherwise they don't last long. I want you as one of my spies. And I won't forget you. I might even consider that Priory of yours. Have a word with Thomas Cromwell before you go. He'll sort it out for you. I know you'll be loyal, but I also know how much you value that chantry chapel of yours. With luck you may still be buried in it. Now get back to your manor. Oh yes, it's my fancy at the moment, now that the weather's warm and pleasant, to come and visit you in your rural solitude. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Peverell? How do you feel about entertaining me and my Queen? I'll not stay long. Only a night or two. I might even stay with Fitzroy on my way back to London. No ceremony, now. I'm a simple man. Just light meals, some exercise. Do the Queen good. Oh yes, you're short of a steward aren't you? I'll send one of my own and a few servants to help prepare the meals,' he said, grinning enthusiastically at Nicholas. ‘See how thoughtful I am. I never want to inconvenience my friends. You see, I think it's time I went to see my fleet at Portsmouth – sometime in early June. It's my wish to build the fleet up into a fine fighting force. Got to keep invaders at bay, Peverell. Enemies at home and abroad – that's my lot. Fix it up with Cromwell; he knows my timetable. Now be off with you, and remember, you are my eyes and ears in Sussex. See that you live up to your family's motto.'

Nicholas bowed, and left the King. He was appalled at what he'd been told. Mortimer arrested; and Rodney Catchpole. Giles Yelman caught and interrogated, and the King coming to pay him a visit. And now for Thomas Cromwell.

Chapter Eight

Thomas Cromwell, Secretary of State, Chancellor of the Exchequer and Privy Councillor, was never far away from his royal master. He was sitting behind his desk in the anteroom to the King's private sanctuary, a plain, stocky figure dressed in a sombre grey robe over his doublet and hose, and, despite the warmth of the spring weather, a log crackled in the fireplace and two chairs were drawn up cosily on either side to catch the heat. Cromwell got up when Nicholas came in and went across to the fire. He stood there warming his back and rubbing his hands together in the nervous gesture of someone who was not quite at ease in his surroundings. However, he hid his lack of social graces with a bluff, slightly ingratiating manner which Nicholas found intensely irritating. But he was not blind to Cromwell's undoubted talents, which had been finely honed in the service of the great cardinal, and which King Henry had so promptly recognised and rewarded with high office. Nicholas knew it was fatal to underestimate him. Already people called him ‘malleus monachorum', the hammer of the monks, and the fate of his Priory and his chantry was in this man's hands. He was the King's man through and through. Whatever King Henry wanted, Thomas Cromwell made it his business to provide him with it.

That morning, his plain, pale face creased into a genial smile. He looked what he was, a man of the marketplace, a manipulator of parliaments, a cynical manipulator of men.

‘Welcome back to Court, Lord Nicholas. What can I do for you?'

‘The King wants to visit my house in Sussex, Master Cromwell, and you, so I've been told, look after his engagement diary.'

‘That is my privilege, my Lord. Now, let me see, he goes to Portsmouth on 7th June to review his fleet…'

‘Then I can expect to see him on the 6th?'

‘Yes, I can see no obstacle. An interview with the new legate from Constantinople on the 5th, but after that he's free. I must say, my Lord, I am most envious of you. Fancy owning a house so near the sea and yet so close to the Downs when the weather becomes intolerably hot.'

‘Do you propose to come with him?'

‘I might, my Lord, I might. It would be a good opportunity to meet my two Commissioners, who will be at your Priory by then. They'll be making their report and I can see for myself the Priory and that chantry chapel of yours which you seem so fond of.'

‘My family have always been the Priory's patrons. The first Peverell was its founder.'

‘Quite so, quite so. Somewhat diminished in size now, I understand. Only eighteen monks?'

‘Seventeen. One is still a novice.'

‘Still, quite small. Now about this chantry chapel – it's very beautiful, I suppose.'

‘I hope so. I built it for my wife to rest there and I hope to join her when my time comes. I shall die in peace knowing that the monks will sing masses for my family in perpetuity.'

‘In perpetuity, my Lord? Come now, that's a bit ambitious. Perhaps you haven't quite realised that the King has decided to put an end to such superstitious practices?'

‘I think it's for me to judge whether they're superstitious or not, Master Cromwell.'

‘Of course, everyone is entitled to his own private opinions, my Lord, but we should not let them come between us and the King's policy. He wants the monks dismissed. He regards them as a bunch of useless parasites. They toil not, neither do they spin…'

‘They pray for us, have you forgotten that,' Nicholas shouted, annoyed at Cromwell's cynicism.

‘Oh prayers! Anyone can say those. You don't need a lot of idle fellows chanting prayers for your soul. We pray for the King and his ministers every Sunday, surely that's enough. Archbishop Cranmer is drawing up a new prayer book that will cover every aspect of our lives. We don't need the monks. They're out of date. The monks will have to go, my Lord, you can be sure of that. I am preparing the legislation. By this time next year the Act will be through parliament and will be law. Don't try to turn the clock back, my Lord. It's not worth the effort.'

‘You call it progress to evict hundreds of innocent men and women to beg on the street?'

‘Come, come, my Lord, don't be so melodramatic. We're not that heartless. All your monks will be given pensions, generous ones at that. The Court of Augmentations is talking about six pounds a year and they can take their beds and habits with them when they leave. Some will probably become local parish priests. Your Prior, if he's co-operative, as I'm sure he will be, could be offered the job of Precentor to Marchester Cathedral. You see, we think of everything.'

‘And the Priory? What have you in mind for that?'

‘Nothing as yet, my Lord. We haven't had the valuation. Of course the King will be entitled to the church furnishings, the bells will be melted down in the royal arsenal at Woolwich to make guns. Much more practical. The gold and silver plate will be sold, of course, to pay for the refurbishing of the King's fleet.'

Nicholas was appalled. This man had thought of everything: pensions, jobs, the church plate …

‘Do you realise that these things you take so lightly were given by my ancestors to the Priory to be used in the worship of God, not to be sold off to pay for guns and explosives and fund the navy?'

‘Oh, we'll be reasonable, my Lord; we're not insensitive. We'll let you keep some of the church furnishings for future use. Of course,' Cromwell said, rubbing his hands together and looking keenly at Nicholas, ‘there is one way you could still enjoy your church and retain your chantry chapel for future generations…'

So this was what it was all coming to, thought Nicholas bitterly. The marketplace haggle had started.

‘Please state your terms, Master Cromwell.'

‘Now, now, this is no time for cynicism, my Lord. We talk of serious matters and you talk like a jobbing lawyer. When the monks leave…'

‘And are you so sure of that?' shouted Nicholas, angry that this man, who had started off as a jobbing lawyer in Putney, should adopt this patronising tone.

Cromwell looked pained. ‘We administrators have to look ahead. There's no doubt that the monks will leave. As I said, I am in the process of drafting the legislation. I, personally, shall steer it through parliament. This time next year, these small monasteries will be closed down. Then we shall turn our attention to the great ones, like Glastonbury and Malmesbury. Now, let's be clear, what I am saying is this: all these buildings will become vacant, including your Priory. The King will no doubt put in stewards to look after the properties until they are sold. Yours, I think, will be offered to Fitzroy for safe keeping. But there's nothing to stop him from putting it up for sale. You could buy it, my Lord.'

‘Buy it?' roared Nicholas. ‘Sold like any common house or mill or farm?'

‘My Lord, your attitude amazes me. Without the monks, the priories and abbeys are just buildings; some, admittedly, very fine. But they are buildings none the less. Take your Priory as an example. It could be sold for some pious purpose, an extension of the parish church, or a theological college, or some other type of teaching establishment. Or it could simply be turned into a fine country house. Don't you understand what I'm saying, my Lord? Make the King an offer. I'll see that you get a good deal. Don't look so angry. Your Priory isn't one of the wealthy ones. I've been told it's only worth a couple of hundred pounds a year. I'm only saying that if you offered us a sum that was acceptable you could safeguard your chantry and that fine painted ceiling which your father commissioned. It should remain in your family. Think about it. You'll see the sense of it, I'm sure. If you don't buy it, others will. Fitzroy has already expressed an interest in it. As soon as the legislation is passed the monastic buildings will be sold off like hot cakes. And I'm trying to tell you that you'll be head of the queue, and still you look furious.'

‘Yes, I am furious, Master Cromwell. And dumbfounded that all this has been planned without any consultation with the monks.'

‘Consultation? Of course we're in consultation. My Commissioners are on their way to your Priory at this very moment.'

‘You call that a consultation? It sounds like a
fait accompli
to me. They'll enjoy the Prior's hospitality, and leave with a list of trumped-up accusations of vice and corruption, all of which are untrue. Don't try to fool me, Master Cromwell. What you are doing is a disgrace. You are turning England upside down. We shall become a country where God has been pushed out and our churches turned into ruins.'

‘We must move with the times, my Lord. The King wants the Pope brought to heel and the monks evicted. Their great estates will be the country houses of the future. I am only suggesting that you make the most of this opportunity.'

‘I wouldn't dream of stealing what does not belong to me.'

‘Not stealing, buying. What's wrong with that?'

‘Because these buildings were built by people like my ancestors over four hundred years ago to be power-houses of prayer. You are going to strike a blow at God himself.'

‘I see you are a man of principle, my Lord, and that's not a wise person to be at the moment – just look at Sir Thomas More; now there's a man of principle if ever there was one. Some would call him a fool. I just think he's an anachronism. But I respect a man who cares for his family and has high ideals, like you; as long as he's loyal. And I think you are such a person, Lord Nicholas. Your family have always been loyal, and you know where disloyalty can lead.'

‘It can lead to civil war and the downfall of the lawful ruler. I hope I never have to go through the troubles that England went through fifty years ago like my father did.'

‘Quite so, my Lord. May King Henry protect us against those times ever being repeated. Now sir, don't look so gloomy. I can see you have a high regard for your friends in the Priory. There's no need to despair. The King likes you and respects your integrity, and has told me to sort everything out so that we're all happy. It's my job as an administrator to minimise the inconveniences. I'll see to it that the monks get their pensions and I shall keep the job of Precentor open for your Prior until the time comes when he'll be looking for a job. For a small sum you can keep your Priory, the services will go on under the Vicar…'

‘Master Cromwell, I'll listen to no more of this. I can't haggle over a building dedicated to God like a horse-dealer at a fair. I have a long journey ahead of me, and I must prepare for the King's visit. Good day to you.'

‘Very well, Lord Nicholas. Everyone is entitled to his opinion. We shall meet again very soon. Oh by the way, we might have to ask you to come and speak to Mortimer soon.'

‘Sir Roger?' said Nicholas aghast. ‘What, in God's name can I say to him? He'll be more in need of a priest by the time I get to him.'

‘We want Mortimer to name names. I don't share the King's optimism that the conspiracy codenamed the Day of Wrath is over. Mortimer hasn't the leadership qualities to turn honest men into rebels. He's just one of the pawns. There are others. And whilst they remain free, the King cannot sleep easily at night. Now you, Lord Nicholas, could be very persuasive.'

‘I'll have nothing to do with your inhuman activities.'

‘Inhuman? Surely you agree that Mortimer should be interrogated? It's the necessary fate of all traitors.'

‘And may I point out that he hasn't been tried yet. Thank God no one in this country can be declared guilty before he's even been tried. This is England, not France.'

‘Quite so. But there's no doubt he's guilty. We have letters to prove it. A trial will only be a mere formality. But he must tell us who the other conspirators are, and that's where you come in. You and his wife. Between you you'll make him talk.'