C. Sansom - Lamentation

‘But we thought — ’ He checked himself and whispered, ‘Then Elias is in heaven, by God’s mercy.’

I pressed on. ‘We also know, through Myldmore, how Anne Askew’s Examinations came into the hands of your group. And my enquiries at court led me to you as the man who stole the Queen’s book.’

Leeman slumped back on the bed. ‘Myldmore,’ he said despairingly. ‘We knew he could not be trusted. That man had been seduced by Mammon.’

‘And had residual doubts about the Royal Supremacy.’

Leeman said, ‘Yes. We could not let him into our secrets. Master Greening was firm on that.’ He shook his head. ‘Greening brought me to the truth, he and the others. God rest him.’

I said, ‘We would like to find his killers. Please help us.’

Leeman lay quietly, thinking. I burned to know all, but I was sure that, as with Myldmore, gentle persuasion was the best tactic, though Leeman seemed a much tougher and more intelligent man. Finally he spoke again, in more subdued tones. ‘You know so much, it will do no harm to tell you the rest. As for me, yes, I was born and raised a gentleman. In Tetbury, in the Cotswolds. It is sheep country, and my father owned many flocks. He had grown fat on the cloth trade, and by his connections he was able to get me a position at court as one of the Queen’s guard.’ He smiled sadly. ‘My father, landowner though he is, at least embraced the new faith, as did I as I grew up. Though the King himself has moved steadily back to the old ways. And would now go further.’

‘Back to Rome, you think?’ Barak fingered his beard thoughtfully.

‘Yes. My father warned me that when I came to London I would see things I would not like, but in order to advance myself I must hold my tongue and wait for better times. Concentrate on advancement, always advancement.’ He clenched a hand into a fist. ‘Towards riches and power, not towards God. That is all that fills the hollow hearts at court. My father could not see that,’ he added sadly. ‘He saw only part of what Christ demands of us. As through a glass, darkly.’ He turned to me. ‘You have seen Whitehall, Master Shardlake?’

‘I have.’

‘It is magnificent, is it not? And still a-building. Getting grander by the day.’

‘Some say the King wishes it to be the greatest palace in Europe.’

Leeman gave a hollow laugh. ‘It is designed to reduce those who come to a state of awe. Every stone speaks of the King’s power and wealth, every stone cries out: “Look, and fear and wonder.” While within,’ he added bitterly, ‘the dirty game is played called kingly craft, wherein no man is safe.’

‘I agree with you,’ I said. ‘Certainly about kingly craft.’

Leeman looked at me hard, surprised by my reaction — I think he had intended to provoke me into defending the King and his court. He went on: ‘I hate it. The great palace, every stone built with the sweat of poor men, the stench and poverty and misery just beyond its walls. My vicar in Tetbury was a man who had come to see the emptiness of the Mass, and he put me in touch with friends in London, men of faith.’ Leeman paused, his eyes seeming to look inward for a moment. ‘It is as well that he did, for royal service offers many temptations — debauchery of the flesh, vanity in dress and manner, fine clothes and jewels — oh, they are tempting, as the Queen herself says in her book.’

‘You have read it?’

‘Yes, when it was in Master Greening’s possession.’

The thought of him reading the stolen manuscript made me suddenly angry, but I forced myself to keep my expression open and amiable as he continued. ‘Through friends outside I progressed further towards God, and the right understanding of our wicked society.’ He looked me in the eye again. ‘One discussion group led me to others as my faith deepened, and last year I was introduced to Master Greening.’

I could see how it had happened: a sensitive young man, with a conscience and radical inclinations, tempted by the magnificence of the court but aware of the evil within. His beliefs had deepened as he moved into more radical circles, eventually coming into Greening’s orbit. I ventured, ‘So, you were accepted into Greening’s little group, unlike Master Myldmore. Who also had access to secrets,’ I added meaningfully.

Leeman laughed. ‘I guessed you had made that connection. Master Vandersteyn had connections, too; not here, but in the courts of France and Flanders, with men who would tell him things. It was his idea to build a similar group here, of true believers who were in a position to find out secrets that might harm both papists and princes, help stir the population to rebel against both.’

‘I see.’ So Vandersteyn, now heading out into the North Sea, had been the key.

‘He met Master Greening on a business trip to London two years ago, and so our little group was born. McKendrick had already come to see the truth. Then the papists came sniffing at his heels and he had to flee Scotland. He had held a junior position at the Scotch court of the child Mary and knew all the schemings and bitings among the rival lords there.’

‘And Master Curdy? He does not seem to have been a man of connections.’

‘No. But he was a man of faith, with an instinct for truly sniffing out who might be trusted and who might not.’

‘So,’ Barak said flatly. ‘A little cell of Anabaptist spies, rooting for secrets to disclose.’

Leeman looked at him defiantly. ‘And we found them. Even Myldmore, whom we had rejected because he had not reached true faith, came back to us when Anne Askew entrusted him with her writings. We knew that if her story of illegal torture by two councillors of state were published abroad and smuggled back into England it would rouse the populace. English printers are too closely watched for it to be done safely here. And it will be published,’ he said defiantly. ‘The government has agents in Flanders, but Master Vandersteyn’s people are adept at avoiding them.’

‘I see.’ I took a long breath. ‘Well, I told you, I do not care about Anne Askew’s book. Others did, and it was necessary for me to work with them for a while.’

‘Richard Rich?’ Leeman asked. ‘There is a villain.’

I inclined my head. ‘As for you, you overheard the Queen and Archbishop Cranmer disputing loudly one night when you were on duty, and learned of the existence of the Lamentation .’

He groaned, wincing at a spasm of pain. ‘By my faith, sir, you are a clever man.’

I took another deep breath. ‘And I guess you told your group about the Queen’s book, and it was decided you would steal the Lamentation , even though publication could seal the Queen’s fate. Because you believed her fate was already sealed and publication would at least show that she held radical beliefs before she was toppled. And you knew her fate was sealed because of Bertano?’

‘Yes. I argued within the group that it was better to expose Bertano publicly, that knowledge of his coming would truly rouse the populace. But others argued against, saying we would not be believed and it was too late to prevent his coming.’

‘Who argued that position?’

‘Master Curdy and Captain McKendrick both.’

‘And how did you find out about Bertano?’

‘I told you, Vandersteyn has informants on the Continent. Including a junior official at the French court. Suffice to say that his responsibilities involved accommodation for foreign visitors, which gave him the opportunity, like me, to overhear conversations. Such as the arrival in France of Gurone Bertano, a papal ambassador who once lived in England and was being sent to seek an agreement between the Pope and King Henry. At the King’s invitation.’