C. Sansom - Lamentation

‘Do you think they killed him before they heard you trying to enter?’

He shook his head. ‘When I first put my shoulder to the door Greening was still shouting. But then the noise stopped, save for a horrible crash — I think one of them clubbed him then, and he went down.’

‘And they grabbed the book from his hands,’ I mused, ‘but left behind part of the title page. Probably failed to notice it in their hurry to get out; they set the fire and ran.’

‘I think that might be how it was.’ Okedene shook his head sadly. ‘I wonder whether, had I not broken in just then, they might not have panicked and killed him.’

‘I think they would have killed him in any case, in order to wrest that book from him.’ He nodded sadly. ‘How well did you know Armistead Greening?’ I asked.

‘He came to Paternoster Row five years ago. He said he had come from the Chilterns — he spoke with the accent of those parts — and wanted to set up as a printer. He had been married, he told me, but his wife died in childbirth and the baby, too, so he came to London to seek his fortune. Poor young man, he often had a sad cast of face. He leased that piece of land his shed stands on from the Court of Augmentations — it belonged to a little monastic house whose remains stand on the land behind the shed.’ He smiled sardonically. ‘Ironic, given his religious views. He built the shed himself with a couple of friends. I remember thinking I was glad he had found some friends in London. I did not know him well, he kept to himself, but — I heard and saw things, especially recently.’ He hesitated.

‘Nothing you tell me about him can harm him now. Goodman Huffkyn dropped some hints.’

‘It might harm Elias. If it reached the ears of Gardiner and his wolves.’

‘I report to no one but Lord Parr and the Queen.’

His eyes widened. ‘The Queen herself?’

‘Yes. I knew her when she was Lady Latimer,’ I added, a note of pride in my voice.

‘I think Greening was very radical.’ Okedene looked at me seriously. ‘A known man.’

I drew a sharp breath. The code for the old Lollards and, now, the Anabaptists. Okedene continued, ‘Can you guarantee that nothing I tell you about Elias will get him into trouble?’ He spoke quietly, intently, reminding me again how dangerous it was to discuss radical religion.

I hesitated. I knew Lord Parr, at least, would be quite ruthless if he thought it necessary to protect the Queen. And any mention of Anabaptism would be to shake a stick in a wasps’ nest. ‘Anything that might harm the apprentice I will speak of only to the Queen,’ I answered. ‘Her mercy and loyalty are well known.’

Okedene stood. He looked from the window at Greening’s shed. ‘The walls of that rickety place are thin. Armistead Greening had friends and visitors with whom he would have loud religious discussions. This summer especially, with everyone’s windows open in the hot weather, I would sometimes hear them talking — arguing, rather — sometimes a little too loudly for safety. Mostly it was just a hubbub of voices I heard, the occasional phrase, though the phrases were enough to set my ears pricking. They were an odd mixture of people. Six or seven sometimes, but there were three constant regulars — a Scotsman, a Dutchman and an Englishman, all known as local radicals.’

‘McKendrick, Vandersteyn and Curdy.’

Okedene nodded. ‘I think Master Curdy is quite a wealthy man. Master Greening told me he sent one of his assistants to help build that shed. The Scotsman helped as well; I remember seeing him. A big, strong fellow.’

‘So Greening knew them almost from the time he came to London? Were you acquainted with them?’

‘Only to nod to in the street. They kept themselves to themselves. I only really knew Armistead Greening as a neighbour and fellow printer. Sometimes we would discuss the state of business; once or twice we lent each other paper if we had a job in, and our stocks were running low.’

‘What did you hear Master Greening and his friends arguing over?’ I asked. ‘The sacrament?’

He hesitated again. ‘That, and whether we are predestined to heaven or hell. It is just as well, Master Shardlake, that I am no Catholic and John Huffkyn takes care to mind his own business.’

‘They were careless.’

‘They seemed much agitated this summer.’ He set his lips. ‘One evening I heard them arguing over whether people should only be baptized when they were adults, and whether all baptized Christians had the right to equality, to take the goods of the rich and hold them in common.’

‘So Armistead Greening might have been an Anabaptist?’

Okedene shook his head, began walking to and fro. ‘From the way he and his friends argued I think they had differing views. You know how the radicals disagree among themselves as much as with their opponents.’

‘I do.’ The last decade had been a time of shifting faiths, men moving from Catholicism to Lutheranism to radicalism and back again. But it was obvious that Greening and his friends were at least exploring the radical fringes. I wondered where those other three men were now: McKendrick, Vandersteyn and Curdy. Had they gone to ground?

Okedene said, ‘I often used to wonder how Armistead made ends meet. I know some of the books he printed did not sell well, and sometimes he seemed to have no work at all. At other times he was busy. I wondered if he was involved in the trade in illegal books and pamphlets. I know a few years ago a large pile of books was delivered to him.’

‘Books already printed?’

‘Yes. Brought in from the Continent, illegally perhaps, for distribution. I saw them in his shed, in boxes, when I visited him to ask if he wanted to buy some surplus type I had. One box was open and he closed it quickly.’

‘I wonder what those books were.’

‘Who knows; works by Luther, perhaps, or this Calvin, who they say is making a new stir in Europe; or John Bale.’ He bit his lip. ‘He asked me not to tell anyone about these books, and I swore I would not. But he is dead now, it cannot hurt him.’

I said quietly, ‘Thank you for trusting me, Master Okedene.’

He looked at me seriously. ‘If I had reported what I heard to the wrong people, Armistead Greening and his friends could have ended up burning with Anne Askew yesterday.’ His mouth twisted with sudden revulsion. ‘That was a wicked, disgusting thing.’

‘It was. I was made to go and watch, to represent my Inn. It was a horrible, evil act.’

‘It is hard for me, Master Shardlake. My sympathies are with the reformers. I am no sacramentarian, still less an Anabaptist, but I would not throw my neighbours into Gardiner’s fires.’

‘Was Elias part of this radical group?’ I asked quietly.

‘Yes, I think he was. I heard his voice from Master Greening’s shed this summer, more than once.’

‘I must question him, but I will be careful.’

‘Loutish as he is, he was devoted to his master. He wants the killers caught.’

‘And he has one important piece of information for us. I understand he interrupted an earlier attack on the shop a few days before.’

‘Yes. He is the only one who saw it, but he certainly raised the alarm and brought other apprentices running.’ He paused. ‘One strange thing I will tell you, for I doubt Elias will. A few days before the first attack, Master Greening and his friends — Elias, too — were holding one of their evening meetings. They were having a particularly loud argument. His windows were open and so were mine, a passing watchman could have heard them from the street — though even the watchmen are reformers round here.’

I knew that in many of London’s parishes the people were increasingly grouping together into reformist and traditionalist districts. ‘Is everyone in this street of a reformist cast of mind? I know most printers are.’