James Forrester - Sacred Treason

Machyn opened his mouth to speak but uttered no sound. He wiped his eyes and face.

Clarenceux walked over to the elm table. He put the book down carefully and straightened it. He spoke in a low voice without turning around.

“You know how dangerous it is to possess seditious and heretical writings. You know there are spies. The laws of this kingdom apply to me as well as you.”

“Not in the same way, Mr. Clarenceux. No, not in this case. As for the gates…there is an old elm near Cripplegate. There is a door just behind it that opens onto the tenement of a blacksmith called Lowe. He left the door unlocked for me, against the mayor’s instructions, as a favor.”

Clarenceux turned and put his hands together, palms against each other. He thought for a moment. Then he let his hands fall to his sides.

“I do not know what to say. Will you not tell me the meaning of this…delivery?”

“If you ever need to know, you will find out.”

“ If I need to know? If I need ?” Clarenceux was aware of his suddenly raised voice. He breathed deeply, trying to regain his calm. “Henry, I believe I have the right to know what you have brought into my house.”

The old man nodded. “You have every right.”

Clarenceux glanced at Thomas. “Would it help if we were alone?”

“You have every right to know,” repeated Machyn, “but that does not mean it is right to tell you.” He held Clarenceux’s gaze for a long time. “No, I trust Thomas, whom I know to be a good man who has spent many years in your service.” He paused. “But let me ask you this. Why are you a Catholic?”

Clarenceux concentrated. “Because…because it is what I believe to be the whole truth. The way God wants us to pray, the honest understanding of the Almighty-not a matter of faith at one’s own will, or partial obedience to God.”

Machyn said nothing.

Clarenceux continued, feeling a little uneasy, “It is possible to be both a true believer and loyal to her majesty.”

“If you believe that then you deceive yourself,” said Machyn. His white-haired and white-bearded face had a sudden intensity, near to anger. “When I knocked on your door you must have wondered whether the guard had come for you. It took you a long time to answer.” He paused, searching Clarenceux’s expression. “One can only remain faithful to the queen and God if the queen herself is faithful to God. Our present queen is not. You know that. At some point you will have to decide whom to obey: the Creator or His creation. Tell me, are you prepared to live your whole life in fear of that moment?”

Clarenceux looked back at the book on the table. A golden glow touched its pale binding. He walked over to it and put his hand on the cover, feeling the embossed and polished skin.

“In Malory’s book, in the Tale of Sir Urry-isn’t that where King Clariance appears?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

Clarenceux turned. “Will you assure me, Henry, that I am not putting my family at risk by having this book in my house? Just tell me so, and I will promise you that all will be well.”

Machyn’s hand fidgeted with the head of his stick. “I cannot.”

“Then, have you considered what you will do if I refuse?”

“I believe you will accept, William. You are a good man.” He looked as if he was one of the saints commanding Clarenceux to answer. “You know God’s will. It is in your heart.”

In that instant, those sad eyes were the eyes of a saint.

Clarenceux considered. All the world he knew, all the sounds he could hear, and all the things he could see were in accord. He did not know what to do but he believed one thing: it was God’s will that he should help this man, his fellow believer.

“This is a test of faith.”

“It is for me, Mr. Clarenceux. It has been for a long time. Twice as many years as I have recorded in that book.”

Clarenceux ran his hand over his beard. The fear of having his house searched remained. As did his sense of injustice, and his loyalty to his friends and God. His God. The gentle power that directed him when he was in doubt. The all-seeing watchman without whom he would have no protection from his enemies.

“Very well,” he said quietly. “I will do what you want, as a favor. But you too must do me a favor. You must explain the real meaning of all this. I need to be prepared.”

“Thank you, Mr. Clarenceux.” Machyn smiled for the first time since he had arrived. He stepped forward and reached out with his right hand. He took Clarenceux’s and shook it, and continued to hold it. “Whom else do I know who would understand the significance of King Clariance? If you were to see a quotation from the book of Job, you would recognize it, I have no doubt. You are a man I can trust to fight for justice, for what is true and right. If you need to know the secret hidden in this book, you will find it out.” As he said these last words, Machyn let go of Clarenceux’s hand. He crossed himself again.

“The book of Job?”

But Machyn was animated. “It doesn’t matter. You are much younger than me. You will outlive these persecutions. One day you will know what I have learned, and when that day comes, you will be able to decide what to do…better than me.” He glanced at the sword on the table. “You will see justice and truth prevail. Believe me, I want to tell you everything. But there isn’t time. If you see Lancelot Heath, and if he gathers the Knights of the Round Table, the way to understand that book will become clear to you. To you, Mr. Clarenceux. No one else.”

“Henry, stop. This is confusion, not explanation,” Clarenceux protested. “The Knights of the Round Table? Who are they?”

Machyn put his hand to his forehead. “I am sorry. I cannot think clearly. I am a foolish old man. I tried to prepare myself on the way here, so I would know what to say, but…it has all disappeared.” He let his hand drop to his side. He frowned, clutching his stick tightly. Then his expression became solemn again.

“Listen. I will say this. The fate of two queens depends upon that book.” He nodded, reflecting on what he had just said. “And now I must go,” he added, turning around and walking toward the door.

“Two queens? You must tell me more, Henry.”

But Machyn kept moving. “It is very late.”

Clarenceux glanced at Thomas. The servant picked up a candle and followed Machyn.

“Tell me more,” Clarenceux repeated. “If you want me to look after that book, you must tell me what dangers it holds. I must think about my family.”

Machyn stopped. “Mr. Clarenceux, that book is only dangerous if you know it is dangerous. If nothing happens to me, then you will never know what it holds. Nor will anyone else.” He smiled weakly. “It is just a chronicle, Mr. Clarenceux, the ramblings of an old man in his twilight years, nothing more.” He turned.

“Wait,” Clarenceux said, watching him. “Stay here tonight, Henry. It is dreadful out there.”

Machyn was at the top of the stairs, silhouetted by the light of the cresset lamp. “No. Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Clarenceux. I fear I would tell you too much. Besides, darkness and foul weather are my protectors. There is a sergeant-at-arms called Richard Crackenthorpe who has men out looking for me. The worse the weather, the easier it is for me to pass along the alleyways unnoticed.” He started to descend.

Clarenceux walked forward. “Looking for you? Why?”

“You can guess,” Machyn replied. He continued down the stairs with Thomas following. “The same reason why I had to see you.”

He reached the bottom. Clarenceux remained at the top, by the lamp. He watched Thomas set down his candle and lift the large wet cloak onto Machyn’s shoulders. The candle shone on the side of Machyn’s face as he turned to address Clarenceux.