James Forrester - Sacred Treason

“Answer me, Mr. Walsingham. Where are they now?”

“In the Tower, in my house, and in the safe house in Bishopsgate.”

“You admit they are not here, then. So, Mr. Clarenceux is telling the truth. You had no intention of fulfilling your side of the bargain. You clearly did not expect Mr. Clarenceux to return safely and fulfill his.”

“Where is Rebecca Machyn?” demanded Clarenceux, his voice trembling. “You said five men are still alive. What about her?”

Walsingham looked terrified. “Sir William, I implore you, what I have done I did with a good conscience, in all faith and fidelity to-”

“Just answer the question.”

“No!” shouted Walsingham. “I will have no more of this! I will not be interrogated as if I were a criminal or a traitor. I have labored day and night to do what was asked of me, with knowledge only of a conspiracy in progress. And as you yourself have said, Sir William, if we succeed nineteen times out of twenty to keep her majesty safe and fail on the twentieth, what then? We have failed completely.”

“What about Rebecca Machyn?” insisted Clarenceux.

“She is still alive-I am innocent on that score at least,” shouted Walsingham. “But she is guilty-she is as guilty as Clarenceux himself!”

No one spoke. The words echoed in the minds of all the men present. Walsingham realized that everyone in that room had taken his words as proof of his prejudice. But for Clarenceux, it was as if a heavenly choir had started singing and releasing doves of peace. The grief he had known was gone. Tears welled in his eyes.

“Where is she?” he asked.

“Bishopsgate.”

Cecil turned to Clarenceux. “It would appear that you, Mr. Clarenceux, are indeed the injured party. But we still have to bring all this to a resolution. What should we do now?”

Clarenceux wiped his eyes and looked at Cecil. “The way forward is clear. I made a deal with this man: the lives and safety of all those he is keeping prisoner in return for the chronicle. The two conditions were that we make the transfer in this house and that you be present, Sir William. Here is the chronicle, on the table before us. We are in my house. You are present. We lack only the prisoners. As an officer of her majesty the queen, I am prepared to stand by my side of the bargain if Mr. Walsingham stands by his.”

“Good,” said Cecil with a sigh. “I was hoping you would say that. Mr. Walsingham, you have two hours to assemble everyone here, in this room, including the Machyn woman. Mr. Fawcett, outside in your cart I believe there is a head. Could you dispose of it, please? The gate on London Bridge is the traditional place. Now, I would like to have a private word with Mr. Clarenceux, so if you will all vacate this hall, I would be much obliged.”

Everyone waited as Walsingham marched out of the room. Then they filtered out, murmuring and talking among themselves. Thomas was the last to leave. He bowed to Cecil and Clarenceux, then closed the door to the stairs behind him.

Cecil looked at Clarenceux. “At my house earlier you said that there is no plot. But you also mentioned the marriage between Lord Percy and Anne Boleyn. I also was privy to the message from Scotland that sparked off this hunt for conspirators. So I do know that you are either lying to me on your own behalf or lying to me on behalf of others.”

“But I was-”

“No buts. You have heard me accept your side of the story publicly and without reservation. And I appreciate that you were not the architect of whatever plot was, or is, afoot. I often thought that Walsingham was too quick to regard you in that capacity. I know that you are not a rebellious man by nature. You like structure. You like order. You like family pedigrees and coats of arms described in arcane language. You have a family, and although you are a follower of the old religion, I know that that is because you are of a conservative nature. Walsingham could never understand these things because you too neatly fitted his conception of what a Catholic conspirator must be. Do you follow me?”

“Yes, entirely, Sir William.”

“Walsingham will learn from this experience. What I have in mind for him requires him to learn many hard lessons-and more innocents will drown, it is true. But we have a woman on the throne, a headstrong woman, and she is very vulnerable. She is also the most powerful of all the monarchs of a Protestant leaning, so she is doubly vulnerable-to the foreign assassin’s bullet as well as the English Catholic’s knife. And she refuses to name a successor. I am a good deal older than she is; but if, between us, Walsingham and I ensure she lives long enough to marry and pass on the Crown safely to another generation, then we will have done our duty.”

“I understand.”

“So…Am I right in thinking that you have discovered proof of the Percy-Boleyn marriage?

“Yes.”

“Where is it? Is it in the chronicle?”

“No.”

“Tell me where.”

Clarenceux considered his reply. Honesty, he decided, was the only possible course of action. “Sir William, it seems safest to me that I do not tell you. Your business is to protect her majesty above all else. I know the whereabouts of the most dangerous document you can imagine. Whom could I trust to keep it more than I trust myself?”

Cecil said nothing.

“And you have just declared in the hearing of a number of witnesses that there was indeed no plot. It would be better for me to destroy the document myself than allow it to be kept by someone else.”

Cecil sat forward and spoke in a low voice, looking deep into Clarenceux’s eyes. “No, do not destroy it. We may need it.”

“I am sorry, what did you say? We may need it?”

“Yes. Let me put it this way. Some of us are privy to the events of 1536. I have known for a long time of the existence of the marriage agreement. I presume you know the name Chapuys?”

“The ambassador to the Holy Roman Emperor. I’ve seen copies of his letters on the subject of the marriage and on the execution.”

“And you will be sensitive to the fact that we have not always had a Protestant monarch. And we may yet have another Catholic. I am sure that it does not matter greatly to God one way or the other-that is where you and I differ, perhaps-but I will use whatever means are necessary to ensure there is no revolution in the name of a Catholic God or a Protestant God. Do you understand me?”

Clarenceux looked carefully at Cecil’s face.

“It is no more than what I have just done for you, is it not?” Cecil got up from his chair. “I hope and pray that we have an understanding, Mr. Clarenceux. You will keep that document safely and very secretly. And if ever I need it, you will produce it for me.” Clarenceux made an attempt to get to his feet. “No, stay seated, Mr. Clarenceux. You word of honor is as good sitting down as it is standing up.” He offered his hand.

Clarenceux hesitated for just a second. Then he shook it.

“Good. I will see you in two hours.”

***

When Cecil had gone, Clarenceux sat for a long time in his chair by himself. He thought back to the moment when he had stood in this hall with Henry Machyn and accepted the chronicle. He remembered telling the boy William Terry not to reveal the whereabouts of the book. He remembered the interrogation at Walsingham’s house and the hellish night in the cellar, awaiting death, and then the heavenly sunshine on being released. With a flinch he recalled the two guards he had killed, one of whom had been Crackenthorpe’s brother. And killing Crackenthorpe himself in the cavern. He owed a great deal to some people. To the warden of the Skinners. To Tom Griffiths, the pelterer. He owed an immense amount to Julius. But most of all he was indebted to Rebecca. He owed her his life, for she had moved the chronicle at the critical moment, risking death to save it from falling into Crackenthorpe’s hands. She had been the one who had understood the meaning of the Knights’ names. But most of all she had been with him throughout. He would not have been able to keep going if it had not been for her support.