D. Wilson - The First Horseman

Time, I felt, to change the subject. Turning to Donne, I said, ‘It was kind of you to visit Margaret Packington. She was a devoted wife. I fear it will take long for the wounds to heal.’

‘A shocking business,’ the abbot stated gravely. ‘Such a good man. Uncomplicated. I knew him only a few weeks — we travelled together from Antwerp — and yet I felt that we became quite close. Being on narrow shipboard together sometimes turns acquaintances into friends.’

‘People tell me that he was in a state of some distress over the fate of William Tyndale.’

Donne shook his head wistfully. ‘Poor Tyndale. Such a scholar. He is a great loss.’

‘Yet,’ I persisted, ‘Robert surely had no need to blame himself for Tyndale’s incarceration, and certainly not his death.’

‘He confided in me that he was devastated that he could not persuade Tyndale to change his mind but, as I tried to impress upon him, no arguments would ever have moved Tyndale.’

I was puzzled. ‘Change his mind about what?’ I asked.

‘Why, about the divorce.’ The abbot spoke as though what he was stating was obvious.

Ned clearly shared my surprise. ‘Do you mean that Master Packington was sent over to induce Tyndale to accept the king’s rejection of Queen Catherine in favour of the Frenchified whore?’

A faint smile hovered over Donne’s lips. ‘I would not put it quite like that, Brother. Tyndale based his rejection of His Majesty’s proceedings on his interpretation of Scripture. His Majesty was gracious enough to pardon his presumption and welcome him back on condition that he would admit that his exegesis had been wrong. Now, in my opinion, Tyndale was wrong, both on his reading of the Bible and his defiance of the king. He should have accepted the olive branch His Majesty was graciously offering. Sadly, he was too stubborn, too proud to admit his error. Nothing I or Robert or any of his other friends could say would sway him.’

By this point I was really confused. ‘My Lord Abbot, are you saying that you were in Louvain acting on Tyndale’s behalf? I thought — ’

‘That I was in alliance with that repulsive Phillips scoundrel?’ Donne’s smile was superior, indulgent. ‘That is what Phillips and his backers and any other observers were meant to think. In fact, I was acting on confidential instructions from Lord Cromwell to learn all I could about the opposition to Tyndale.’

‘So, you and Robert were employed on the same mission,’ I suggested.

‘Similar,’ Donne agreed, ‘though we did not realise it until we sailed together.’

I struggled to rearrange my thoughts. ‘Then, Cromwell was eager to bring Tyndale back to England?’

Donne sat back in his chair. ‘Lord Cromwell was — and is — eager to have an English Bible. This can now be stated quite openly. He said as much only yesterday to the Grand Council. He has persuaded His Majesty that a new translation will put an end to dissension. Tyndale would have been useful, not only as a translator, but as a skilled writer, producing books and pamphlets to confound the enemies of vernacular Scripture. Such a pity that he refused to be reconciled to the king. Accepting the royal divorce would have been a small price to pay for seeing his Bible placed in every English church.’

Ned had sat scowling and silent during Donne’s explanation. Now he spoke, obviously choosing his words carefully. ‘My Lord Abbot, are we to understand that you are in favour of all this New Learning?’

‘Not at all, Brother, but I have yet to be convinced that the Church is best defended by burning books and people who read books. I am not afraid of the Bible. Devoutly read and properly taught, it can only do good.’

‘Even if it tells people to pull down abbeys?’ Ned persisted.

‘In point of fact, Brother, it says nothing of the sort, as any who read it will discover.’

Once again it was time to divert the conversation into a smoother path, not beset with rocks and ruts. I asked the abbot about his journey up from Devon and from this we moved to other non-contentious matters until it was time for my guests to leave. I accompanied them out to the stables and saw Donne mounted upon his horse. When he and his companions had left, Ned also climbed into his saddle. As I stood close by his stirrup he leaned forward. ‘Mary and all the saints preserve us from men who don’t know whether they are monks or politicians,’ he muttered.

By this time my plan was well formed. It was bizarre, even grotesque, but I was determined to pursue it. I knew it would be risky but by now my anger was so great that I waved aside such considerations. In truth, the only thing that might have blunted my resolve was failure to recruit the accomplices I needed. I was still calculating how best to approach the men I had in mind when fate played into my hand.

On Sunday morning I was returning from mass at the Goldsmiths’ Chapel with the rest of the household when I felt a tug at my sleeve. Bart was walking beside me and looking miserable. He had become almost a fixture in my house of late and my first thought was that he looked disconsolate because he had fallen out with Lizzie. I could not have been more wrong.

‘Master Thomas, may I speak with you’ — he looked around at the group of servants following us — ‘in private?’

‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘Let us take a turn around Paul’s Yard.’

It was a bright, frosty morning and many people were enjoying the open space around the cathedral away from the dark, narrow streets. ‘Well,’ I prompted, as we strolled past the open-air pulpit.

‘It’s about Lizzie,’ he began hesitantly.

‘I rather guessed it might be,’ I said.

‘Then you know how I feel about her and she has feelings for me. We want to be together and I want to look after her. She’s had a hard life but she’s a wonderful woman and she deserves better.’

‘I agree.’

‘Well… the thing is…’ He stared wistfully at a couple standing in the angle between transept and nave and throwing a ball for their infant son to catch. ‘How can that ever be for us?’

‘Why not?’

‘Why not!’ Bart’s anger flared out. ‘Lizzie lives on your charity and what am I good for?’ He waggled his left stump.

I stopped and faced him. ‘Lizzie does not live on my charity. She does an excellent job looking after my mother and my son. I depend on her enormously. As for you, if you could get rid of your self-pity, you could find yourself a useful occupation.’

He nodded glumly. ‘That’s what Lizzie says.’

‘Was it she who told you to talk to me?’ I demanded.

His downcast gaze was my answer. ‘She has an idea… Oh. I can’t ask it.’

‘Then you will never learn my answer,’ I prompted.

‘Well, since John Fink… died… Well, your present senior apprentice is very good at his craft but, according to Lizzie, he can’t keep the books properly.’

‘That’s true. I’ve often had to correct his figures.’

‘Well, Lizzie’s idea was that I might look after that part of the business for you. I have a good head for numbers. I wouldn’t need much training. I could learn about the business quite quickly.’ He looked at me appealingly. ‘If I could earn enough, we might be able to get married in a few years.’

We walked on in silence for several moments. I deliberately gave the impression of thinking very carefully, although I knew what I wanted to say. When I spoke it was in a tone of great solemnity that was not entirely feigned. ‘If you were to become a party to my business secrets, I would need to be sure of your complete loyalty. I would have to know that you would not go chasing off on some new crusade every few months.’