C. Sansom - Lamentation

I sat back. So there was not one book, but two. Myldmore had brought Anne Askew’s Examinations to Greening, and later Leeman had brought the Queen’s Lamentation . Because they knew Greening could get them smuggled out to Bale. A mighty uproar indeed. Yes, both books would certainly cause that. Perhaps these people thought, in their noddle-headed way, that the Queen’s confession of faith, and Anne Askew’s exposure of what had been done to her, would anger the populace sufficiently to overthrow their rulers in a great riot. They did not fully understand the strength and ruthlessness of those in power. Anne Askew was beyond harm now, but the publication of the Lamentation would place the Queen in great danger, and her fall would only advance the reformers’ worst enemies.

‘So what do you think has happened to them, sir?’ Myldmore asked again. ‘Greening’s group? Why was he killed? Was it — was it because I brought them the book?’

‘I do not know,’ I answered honestly. ‘But I think there was more to it than that.’

‘What more? Sir, I have told you everything, I have trusted you. Yet I sense you know things that I do not.’

‘I do, and may not tell you, as yet. But be assured, I mean you no harm.’ I asked, ‘What would you do now, go back to the Tower?’

‘I am not on duty again until next Monday.’ He shook his head. ‘I tremble with fear every time I go to work. I feel them looking at me, waiting. I am terrified that sooner or later they will find out about the book — ’

I heard several pairs of footsteps outside. Myldmore started up, then glanced at me, his eyes wide. The door opened and Barak came in with young William Cecil, who wore a stern look. There were two sturdy fellows at his side, each with a hand on a sword hilt. I thought Myldmore might try to run but he just got up and stood meekly by his chair, shaking. He turned his eyes back to me and said, in tones of quiet horror, ‘You have betrayed me.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘To the contrary. You will be protected now.’ I looked at Cecil, but his severe expression did not soften.

Late that afternoon I stood again in Lord Parr’s office at Whitehall Palace. With us were William Cecil and Archbishop Cranmer, whose white surplice made a contrast to the dark lawyer’s robes Cecil and I wore. On the table was a large piece of paper covered with my writing, the fruit of much thinking that afternoon. We looked expectantly at the door, waiting.

We were to meet with Lord Parr at four o’clock, Cecil had informed me, when he and his men took Myldmore away from my chambers. He had told the terrified young gaoler only that he worked for people at court who were friends and would see him kept safe, housed somewhere quiet for now; a message would be sent to the Tower officials that he was ill, to buy some time.

Myldmore had been very frightened, pleading to be let go, but Cecil answered brusquely that Greening’s killers were still at large and I had encountered them very recently, which I could only confirm. As he was led out, Myldmore looked at me over his shoulder; a look of sorrow and anger, for he had bared his soul to me, while all the time I had been preparing to have him seized. As I stood in Lord Parr’s office I remembered that look. Yet Myldmore was safer hidden away somewhere — unless the Queen fell; in that case, he was just one more who would fall with the rest of us.

For two hours after they left I had remained in my office. I pulled the shutters closed, got out pen and paper, and sat thinking; about dates and individuals, and the disappearance, now, not of one but of two crucially sensitive books. I tried to fit Myldmore’s story into the rest of what I knew. It all came back to Greening and his group; who and what they were. I lost track of time; then the Inn clock sounded three, reminding me I should be on my way. I gathered up the paper on which I had written some crucial notes, and headed down to the river to catch a wherry to the Whitehall Stairs. Once again, I changed my robe in the boat; at the palace the guards were already beginning to recognize me; some nodded respectfully as they ticked my name off their lists. I was starting to become familiar with the layout of the palace, too; that tight-packed series of extraordinary buildings, all different, interspersed with little hidden courts that had seemed so hard to navigate at first. Even the brightness and beauty of the interiors was becoming almost commonplace to me now, and I could walk along the corridors without constantly wanting to stop and gaze in wonder at a statue, a painting, a tapestry.

I arrived at Lord Parr’s office just before four; he arrived soon afterwards. Also in the room when I arrived was William Cecil and, to my surprise, Archbishop Cranmer, looking withdrawn and worried. I bowed deeply to him. Lord Parr told me the Queen would be attending us shortly. ‘I have been trying to work out where this new development with Myldmore leaves us,’ I said as we waited.

‘And where is that, Matthew?’ Cranmer pressed quietly.

‘I think we are narrowing down the possible scenarios.’

There was a tap at Lord Parr’s door and it opened. Lady Anne Herbert, the Queen’s sister, whom I had seen at Baynard’s Castle a few days ago, stood on the threshold. She bowed as the Queen herself entered, wearing a magnificent dress of gold silk, the forepart and sleeves white with a design of tiny golden unicorns. Her expression was calm and composed. Behind her stood Mary Odell. We all bowed low.

The Queen said, ‘Mary, Anne, you may return to my chamber.’ The ladies nodded to us briefly and left. She looked between the four of us and took a long breath; for a moment her composure slipped and she appeared haggard as she turned to address her uncle. ‘Your message said there had been developments? Have you recovered my book?’

‘No, Kate, but Master Shardlake has some news.’ He nodded in my direction.

‘Good?’ she asked quickly, intently.

‘Not bad, your majesty. Complicated,’ he replied.

She sighed, then turned to Cranmer. ‘Thank you for attending us, my Lord. I know my uncle has been keeping you informed of developments.’

‘I was here for the meeting of the King’s Council.’

‘Now that Gardiner and his people are no longer on the offensive,’ Lord Parr said. There was a touch of contempt in his voice, no doubt aimed at Cranmer’s tendency to absent himself from the council when matters looked dangerous.

The Queen gave her uncle a severe look. ‘We five,’ she said, ‘we are the only ones who know the Lamentation is gone. But first, my Lord Archbishop, what news from the council?’

‘Most of the discussion was about the visit of the French admiral next month. The scale of the ceremonies will be huge. Wriothesley argued that with so many taxes falling due this year it may cause murmuring and grudging among the populace, but the King is determined on great celebrations, nevertheless.’ He smiled. ‘And you are to be at the forefront, your majesty.’

‘I know. The King has told me of the new gowns and jewellery my ladies and I are to have. And all the time I deceive him,’ she added, a tremble in her voice. I thought how if the Lamentation suddenly appeared in public all the new finery could vanish in an instant. I remembered Myldmore’s description of Anne Askew in the Tower and suppressed a shudder.

The Archbishop continued, encouragingly, ‘Your brother, as Earl of Essex, is to welcome the ambassador and ride with him through London. He will be at the forefront of the ceremonies, too. Gardiner and Norfolk remained quiet throughout the meeting. Their heretic hunt has ended in failure, madam, that is clearer every day.’