C. Sansom - Lamentation

Nicholas said, ‘A strange group to meet together. A Dutch merchant trading with the Low Countries would be of gentleman status, a candlemaker would be the middling sort, but a poor printer and a dockworker are from quite a different class.’

‘Some radicals believe social divisions between men are wrong,’ I replied. ‘But meeting together is not an offence.’

‘Nor being Dutch, nor a Scotch exile,’ Fletcher said. ‘More’s the pity, for both groups are often radicals.’ He sighed, shook his head at the restrictions that bound his work, then added, ‘Nonetheless, the Bishop’s men raided Greening’s place back in April — ’

‘I did not know that,’ I said, leaning forward.

‘They raided several print-shops in search of some pamphlets by John Bale that had appeared in London. Printed somewhere in the city. Nothing was found anywhere.’

Yet somehow the most dangerous book in the kingdom had found its way into that shop. ‘What do you think happened, Master Fletcher?’ I asked.

‘Greening obviously had enemies who were out to kill him. But no one seems to know of any. Perhaps there was a falling-out with another radical group; these people will turn from love of each other to hatred over the tiniest point of doctrine. The descriptions of the two sets of people who tried to break in tally with nobody known locally, and this is a close-knit district. You can see why the investigation is at a standstill.’

I nodded sympathetically. ‘If you would not object, I would like to question Master Okedene and his assistant. And the apprentice. Perhaps these friends of Greening’s. And I would like to look at Master Greening’s shop, too. Is there a key?’

Fletcher produced a small key from his desk. ‘I put a new padlock on. You may as well keep this for now. The shop is at the sign of the White Lion. I wish you well.’ He waved his hands at the papers littered around. ‘As you see, I am burdened with duties. This year I have had to hunt for heretics as well as criminals, though the hunt for the former seems to have died down now.’ He looked me in the eye. ‘I saw you at the burning yesterday, on your horse; your friend looked set to faint.’

‘I saw you, too.’

‘I have to carry out the duties the mayor gives me,’ he said defensively, though for a moment his eyes looked haunted.

‘I understand.’

He gave me a hard look. ‘You will report anything you find in this case back to me, remember. I have jurisdiction under the coroner.’

‘All and anything I discover,’ I lied. ‘By the way, what happened to the body?’

‘It couldn’t be kept lying around till his parents were able to get here from the Chilterns; not in summer. He was buried in the common pit.’

We walked up Ave Maria Lane into Paternoster Row; a longer, wider street, which was the centre of England’s small but growing printing trade. There were several more booksellers, some with printer’s shops above, and a few smaller print-shops; as Fletcher had said, some were mere sheds fixed to the side of buildings, or erected on small plots of land leased from the owner. I thought of Greening’s possible involvement with the printing of forbidden books by John Bale. Once a favourite of Lord Cromwell’s, but now the most detested of radicals, Bale was hidden in exile somewhere in Flanders.

‘What did you think of Fletcher?’ I asked Nicholas.

‘He was at the burning?’

‘Yes. Doing his duty,’ I added heavily.

‘I would rather die than carry out such a duty.’

It was an easy thing for a young man of means to say. ‘I do not think he liked it,’ I observed.

‘Perhaps. I noticed his fingernails were bitten to the quick.’

‘Well spotted. I did not see that. Noticing things, that is the key in this business. We will make a lawyer of you yet. And what did you make of the murder?’

Nicholas shook his head. ‘Two attacks, as Fletcher said; that sounds like Greening had enemies. Or perhaps he had something precious in his shop — something more than paper and ink.’ I looked at the boy sharply; he had come a little too close to the mark for my comfort with that observation. ‘Gold, perhaps,’ Nicholas went on, ‘that the thieves managed to take before they were interrupted.’

‘If people have gold they spend it, or deposit it somewhere safe; only misers hoard it at home.’

‘Like your friend Bealknap? I have heard he is such a one.’

‘He is not my friend,’ I answered shortly. Nicholas reddened, and I continued more civilly, ‘Greening does not sound like such a man.’

‘No, indeed.’ Nicholas added, ‘The constable looked overworked.’

‘Yes. In some ways London is a well-policed city. The constables and watchmen look out for violence, and violations of the curfew. If a few taverns open after hours they wink at it, so long as the inn keepers do not let customers get violent.’ I looked at Nicholas and raised my eyebrows. His own tavern sword fight had become an item of gossip round Lincoln’s Inn, to my discomfort. He reddened further.

I went on, ‘The constables check that people obey the sumptuary laws regarding the clothes that may be worn by men of each station, though again they wink at minor infringements. And they run informers to report on crime and religious misdemeanours. But when it comes to investigating a murder requiring a long-term, detailed investigation, they have not the resources, as Fletcher said.’

‘I confess I do not fully understand about the different types of radical,’ Nicholas said. ‘Sacramentarians and Lollards and Anabaptists, what are the differences?’

‘That is something it is as well to know in London. But lower your voice,’ I said quietly. ‘Open discussion of these matters is dangerous. Sacramentarians believe the bread and wine are not transformed into the body and blood of Christ during the Mass, which properly should be regarded only as a remembrance of Christ’s sacrifice. By law, to express that belief is heresy. In most of Europe such opinion is new, but in England a man called John Wycliffe propounded similar doctrines more than a century ago. Those who followed him, the Lollards, were persecuted, but Lollardy has lived on here and there, in small secret groups. The Lollards were delighted, of course, by the King’s break with Rome.’

‘And the Anabaptists?’

They were one of the religious sects that sprang up in Germany twenty years ago. They believe in going back to the practices of the earliest Christians; they are sacramentarians, but they also believe that the baptism of children is invalid, that only adults who have come to knowledge of Christ can be baptized. Hence “Anabaptists”. But also, and most dangerously, they share the belief of the earliest Christians that social distinctions between men should be abolished and all goods held in common.’

Nicholas looked astonished. ‘Surely the early Christians did not believe that?’

I inclined my head. ‘Looking at the Scriptures, there is a good argument they did.’

He frowned. ‘I heard the Anabaptists took over a city in Germany and ran it according to their beliefs, and by the end blood was running in the streets.’ He shook his head. ‘Man cannot do without authority, which is why God has ordained princes to rule over him.’

‘In fact, the Anabaptists were besieged in Münster, the Protestant Prince allying with Catholic forces to take the city. That was the real cause of the bloodshed. Though I have heard that yes, the Anabaptists’ rule inside the city had become violent. But afterwards most of them renounced violence. They were run out of Germany and Flanders, too; a few from Flanders came here across the North Sea. The King burned those he could find.’

‘But there could still be others?’