The Traitor’s Mark (17 page)

Minutes later Ralph Morice and I were standing in front of the archbishop as he sat at his desk. Briskly, he gave his instructions.

‘I want summonses made out for Sir Andrew Rookwood and Gervase Honey, his chaplain. Bring them to me for signing and have a troop ready to deliver them straight away. Thank you, Thomas. This may be an important turning point. If we can catch ...'

But I was not listening. My attention had been caught by one of the letters on Cranmer's desk, or rather by the large seal with which it had been fixed. The sender had impressed an image of his own shield in the red wax.

‘Excuse me, Your Grace, might I ask whose heraldic device is on that letter?'

Cranmer picked it up. ‘This – a chevron between three moles? Terrible heraldic pun, isn't it?'

‘But whose is it' I demanded with rising excitement.

‘Why, 'tis Sir Thomas Moyle's,' the archbishop said.

‘But, Your Grace,' I gasped, ‘that is the shield on the gate post at Fletcham.'

Chapter 12

‘No, Thomas, you are clearly mistaken. One heraldic shield can look much like another. You must have been deceived by the poor light.' The archbishop sighed. ‘The times are treacherous and uncertain but we must not allow insidious suspicion to turn us against our friends.'

I rummaged in my purse and took out the cup and cover design in the artist's exquisitely precise hand. ‘Your Grace, Master Holbein sent this to me from his hiding place. I had no idea why but some impulse made me keep it.' I placed the crumpled sheet of paper beside Moyle's letter.

Cranmer looked from one to the other. He handed them to Ralph Morice, who also scrutinised them closely. ‘They certainly seem to be the same,' the secretary said, ‘but 'tis not possible ...'

‘Are you really sure you saw the identical shield carved on the gate at Fletcham?' Cranmer asked.

‘The truth is easily proved,' Morice said. ‘Sir Thomas has properties in Essex. It will be easy enough to discover whether he owns Fletcham.'

My mind was working fast. ‘It all becomes clear to me now. It must have been Moyle, not Thwaites who informed Black Harry that Adie and the boys were at Hemmings. Then, when he knew I had been to Fletcham, he could not come fast enough to see what I had discovered. Small wonder he was so keen to question Adie.'

The archbishop sat back in his chair with a hand to his brow. ‘No, no, this is ridiculous. I have known Sir Thomas for years. He has no reason to wish me ill. I cannot believe he is a covert papist. He worked closely with Lord Cromwell to bring down those little Roman nests, the abbeys.'

‘So did Dr London,' Morice observed softly, ‘and now who is the chief hunter of so-called heretics?'

Cranmer was still struggling to be convinced. ‘What does this signify?' He pointed to the drawing. ‘Why did Master Holbein send it to you, Thomas?'

‘If he guessed he was being watched, he would not have been able to communicate directly with Your Grace. He knew of my interest in tracking down the Aldgate murderers; though, at that time, I had not identified Black Harry. He wanted me to know there is a connection between the gang and one of the most important men in
Kent. Perhaps he hoped that somehow, at some time, I might show this to you.'

‘No, no, Thomas, this is slender reasoning. He must know the chances of your seeing this as some sort of clue are remote.'

‘He is probably desperate enough to take any chance,' Morice said. ‘He is like a cony trapped in its own burrow, with the hounds waiting outside. He can never be free until Black Harry is caught.'

‘I also know him to be a great lover of cyphers, codes and hidden meanings,' I said. ‘It amuses him to put puzzles in his paintings and we have sometimes discussed secret messages for jewels that will please our patrons. I know the way his mind works. Looking back, I suppose that is why I kept the sketch.'

Cranmer shook his head wearily and I have seldom seen a man look more miserable. ‘Who can I trust? Among all the swirling treacheries and deceits of Kentish society Sir Thomas is one of the few rocks I have clung to. Am I to believe now that he is a supporter of felons who slaughter women and children?'

Morice said, ‘Perhaps, Your Grace, the time has come to take Master Treviot more fully into our confidence.'

‘Yes, yes.' Cranmer waved a hand. ‘Take him to your office, I need to think.'

Morice's ‘office' was a tiny room adjacent to the archbishop's, which was almost filled by a standing desk, two stools and a large coffer.

‘His grace seems much distressed,' I said.

‘More than he shows. He carries a heavy burden.'Tis my job to lighten it as much as possible. That means that I must do things he cannot or will not do.' He stood at his desk. ‘I think better on my feet and we've a knotty problem to unravel, but please do take a seat.'

‘What is it his grace chooses not to do?' I perched on one of the stools, resting my back against the wall.

‘He lacks ruthlessness. He always thinks the best of people. Sometimes I fear it may prove his undoing.'

‘I know he has powerful enemies but as long as he enjoys the king's favour ...'

‘You have put your finger on the problem. There are three points you need to understand.' Morice enumerated them clearly, like a grammar teacher rehearsing the rules of Latin declensions. Indeed, I felt as though I had returned to the schoolroom, with this austere figure looking down at me and explaining everything, as though to a sluggardly pupil.

‘Point one: God's truth is enshrined in his written word. It is to this that his grace is committed above all things. Point two: there are those who seek truth elsewhere; in Rome, in the doctors of the Church, in the traditions of men. Point three: his majesty's truth is something of a chameleon. Its hue varies according to political or diplomatic necessity. Do you understand what I am saying?'

‘I think so.'

‘For example,' Morice went on, like a long-suffering
pedagogue, ‘when his majesty needs to be on good terms with the Emperor, he is almost as Catholic as the pope. When he needs the support of the Lutheran princes, he is a vigorous reformer.'

‘And which camp is he in at the moment?'

‘His ambassadors have been instructed to back the Emperor in his conflict with France.'

‘Then that is not good for the archbishop.'

Morice frowned. ‘If only it were that simple. The partisans at court jostle for power ceaselessly. They watch the political situation and try to take advantage of every twist and turn but the king is not easily manipulated. He seems to be like a slumbering lion and they tiptoe around him, carefully laying their plans. But he knows what they are doing and he may suddenly fling out a paw with vicious talons. He understands well who he can trust, who he can use – and who he can destroy.'

‘As he destroyed Lord Cromwell?'

Morice scowled. ‘That was a bad business. For a while it seemed that all was lost. The likes of Bishop Gardiner and the Duke of Norfolk had the upper hand. They would have had the king launch an English version of the Spanish Inquisition. Several of our friends were arrested but we knew well enough who the real target was.'

‘The archbishop?'

‘Of course.'

‘But they failed.'

‘They failed three years ago. That doesn't mean they have given up. You have heard what happened at Windsor – three good Christian men burned to death for confessing Christ. But that was only meant to be the first chapter in their cruel book. Dr London, Gardiner's personal inquisitor, was aiming to catch in his net men of the Privy Chamber, close to the king. That was why the good bishop had poor Marbeck imprisoned and mercilessly interrogated.'

‘But again they failed.'

‘And again I say that they failed
then
but have not abandoned their crusade.'

‘Well, I am glad I do not move in court circles,' I said.

‘Don't be naive, Thomas,' Morice snapped, the verbal equivalent of a teacher lashing out with the birch. ‘You are involved in this business now, whether you will or not.'

‘How say you so?'

‘Because the battleground has moved from the court to the country. Some weeks ago the reactionaries went ahead with a plan they had long been brewing against the archbishop. “Your Majesty,” they said, “look at your county of Kent; it is a very vipers' nest of Lutherans and fanatics of all kinds. We really should have a commission charged with examining all the clergy and rooting out all who are not dutiful preachers of the religion set out in Your Majesty's book.” And the king agreed.'

‘But I thought this new commission was his grace's idea.'

Morice allowed himself a slight smile. ‘Oh, no, what
really happened is this. A couple of weeks ago he summoned the archbishop to join him for a trip along the Thames in the royal barge. “Aha,” says the king, as soon as they were alone and no one to hear them, “I have discovered who is the biggest heretic in Kent.” “Name him,” says his grace, “and I'll have him straightly arrested.” Why,” says his majesty, “it is you, My Lord Archbishop, or so I am informed.'”

I gasped. ‘Yet Cranmer was not straightly arrested?'

‘Fortunately, it was his majesty's idea of a joke.' Morice smiled grimly. ‘The lion growled but kept his claws sheathed. He said, “My Lord Archbishop, we must do something about the spread of false teaching in your diocese. I have agreed to set up a commission to examine all your clergy. I have here a list of suspects diligently drawn up by the Bishop of Winchester and his associates. I hereby appoint you, My Lord Archbishop, to head this commission. You may choose whoever you wish to assist you in this task but see that it is done swiftly and thoroughly.”'

‘So now his grace can use his powers to remove all those tainted with Catholicism.'

‘Yes, but the commission is meant to be even-handed, rooting out Bible men, as well. Therefore, we do have to tread very carefully. We thought we had made a wise move when we appointed Sir Thomas Moyle as deputy commissioner. It seems we made a grave mistake.'

‘What's to be done now?'

‘Thanks to you,' Morice said, ‘we have discovered Sir Thomas's true colours. Once we have apprehended this Black Harry, I doubt whether it will be difficult to persuade him or one of his mercenary crew to give evidence against Moyle. Then it should be only a matter of unravelling the string of treachery until it leads us to the
fons et origo
. It will be very satisfactory to see Gardiner, Norfolk and London caught in the snare they had set for the archbishop.'

By now I felt very uncomfortable – hemmed in as much by events as I was by the walls of the closet-like office. Like a press-ganged soldier I was involved against my will in this war Morice was describing – and I was not acquitting myself well.

‘Would that I had known all this ere today,' I muttered, avoiding Morice's eye.

‘Why say you so?'

‘This morning, before I suspected anything of Sir Thomas's link to Black Harry, I gave him a-full account of my own activities and discoveries.'

‘Devil take it!' Morice thumped the desk with his fist.

‘I'm sorry, I ...'

‘'Tis not your fault. As you say, you did not know then. Unfortunately, this has given Moyle a head start. No doubt his messengers are already on the road to warn Black Harry. The best we can do is circulate a description of the gang as widely as possible. I'll attend to that straight away. At least we can now neutralise Sir Thomas. I'll have him taken off
the commission – along with anyone else we have reason to suspect. Now, then, what else can be done?' Morice closed his eyes in concentration and tapped his forehead.

‘Is there anything I can do?' I offered tamely.

He made no reply, wrapped in his own thoughts. ‘We need some big artillery. I'll send to our friends in the Privy Chamber and have them obtain a warrant to send Thomas Legh to us.'

‘“Lank” Legh?'

‘Yes, you know him?'

‘Who doesn't? He's one of the most notorious men in England. Folk say he bullied the abbots into resigning their houses and those he couldn't bully he tricked.' I conjured up an image of the fat lawyer whose mocking nickname referred to his enormous bulk.

‘Indeed. Not the handsomest or most likeable man his majesty has ever employed. The archbishop certainly has no love for him. But he is the man for a crisis. He's an advocate in Chancery and one of the finest legal brains in the realm. I've watched him question strong men in court and reduce them to whimpering mice. We will have him replace Moyle. That will give us proper control of the commission.'

‘Might it not make the archbishop unpopular?'

Morice stared at me, once more the stern schoolmaster. ‘Shall I tell you some of the things our enemies have done in their efforts to undermine his grace? Twice I have caught cathedral clergy in his study, going through his papers. I
have collected up and destroyed a libellous pamphlet accusing the archbishop's sister of bigamy. Two months ago I had a man and his wife stood in the pillory for spreading a rumour that his grace committed acts of buggery with one of his kitchen boys. The hatred of our foes knows no bounds. In May we laid to rest the body of Dr Champion, one of the archbishop's most long-standing friends. As the coffin was being lowered one of the cathedral staff jumped down and scattered hot coals over it from his incense thurifer, screaming, “Bum in hell, heretic!” Now, Master Treviot, what say you? Should we not use whatever weapons we have against such people and those who set them on?'

‘His grace told me he was involved in a war but I did not think ...'

‘A war indeed, and on several fronts. Did you know that the Duke of Norfolk gives a sumptuous banquet every 28 July to celebrate the execution of Lord Cromwell? That is to remind all his important guests of the supposed heresies the country has been delivered from. And, of course, he and Bishop Gardiner have set up their own commission, under Dr London, to seek out Bible men in the capital and elsewhere. Our satanic foe is like the Hydra, many-headed and deadly. We have to be constantly on the watch to see where he will strike next – and there is so much at stake. Only the archbishop stands between the devil's henchmen and the collapse of all we have gained since his majesty
expelled the pope. He does, indeed, carry a erushingly heavy burden.'