D. Wilson - The Traitor’s Mark

‘To be sure, he is a fine craftsman.’

‘Beyond doubt,’ I agreed. ‘In my opinion there is none better.’

There was another long silence.

‘Would you go so far as to call Johannes Holbein a friend?’

My reply was carefully considered. ‘I think I would, Your Grace.’

‘Then you will know that he is in some danger,’ Cranmer said, watching closely for my reaction.

My hopes rose. Perhaps from this unexpected source I might be able to learn who the painter’s enemies were or gain some other information that would help Bart. ‘I thought as much,’ I said. ‘I haven’t been able to make contact with him recently and, a few days ago-’

‘You are about to tell me about the unpleasant incident at Holbein’s house.’

‘Do you know who was responsible for it, Your Grace? Is that why you have summoned me here? I shall be most grateful for any information-’

He held up a hand to interrupt me. ‘What I am about to tell you must not go beyond these walls. Will you swear to keep silence?’

I nodded. Cranmer went to his desk and returned with a large, heavily bound book. It was easily recognisable as the English Bible, the one commonly known as ‘Cromwell’s Bible’. He set it on the table between us. ‘Place your hand on it and make your solemn oath.’

It was with a feeling of rising apprehension that I did as the archbishop insisted.

‘Good. God keep you true to your word.’ Cranmer resumed his seat. ‘You do not need me to remind you what happened, three years ago, to Lord Cromwell. There was a plot against him and he was brought down by men opposed to what they sneeringly called the “New Learning”. A foolish expression. What he … what we … stood for was a new commonwealth, a godly commonwealth. And we had begun to see the realisation of our dream. We had got rid of the pope and replaced his authority with that of the word of God.’ He tapped a finger on the Bible. ‘Old learning, Master Treviot. We closed down the abbeys, those bastions of papal error, and began the assault on superstition. Para kurion egeneto aute : “This was the Lord’s doing and it was marvellous in our eyes”.’

Cranmer’s caution had fallen away from him; he was speaking with a preacher’s fervour. ‘Of course, there were those who could not or would not share our vision. They spun a web of lies. They produced paid informers. They managed to persuade his majesty to abandon the most faithful minister he had ever had, or was ever likely to have. They had him shut up in the Tower and, once there …’ Cranmer shrugged. ‘Perhaps I should have stood by him; urged the king to clemency.’ He sighed. ‘But I fear to say that l am not the stuff of which martyrs are made. Of course, I visited my friend in prison. He urged me to continue the work and he gave me this – in strict secrecy.’ The archbishop indicated a folded sheet of paper.

‘What is it, Your Grace?’

‘A list of men Lord Cromwell knew to be faithful to our cause; men who, in various ways, had served him and served the Gospel. One name on that list is “Johannes Holbein”.’

‘Even so, Your Grace? Holbein? I know he has Lutheran friends and tends in that direction but he is a mere painter. How could he have been of service to Lord Cromwell?’

Cranmer smiled wistfully. ‘A mere painter? Yes, that is the point. Think for a moment. Everyone wants to be portrayed by him. He is in fashion … though, perhaps, not as much as he was. Anyway, the point is that he was welcomed into the houses of the greatest in the land. He made some charcoal sketches or set up his easel in a corner and worked away silently. All the time his keen eyes took in every detail of his surroundings. He went to the kitchen and had meals with the servants. They talked in friendly style of this and that. No man guarded his tongue strictly. After all, this gruff little German was only a painter.’

‘I see. And he passed any useful information on to Lord Cromwell. He was, in a word, a spy.’

‘Let us say, rather, that he was a trained observer. He certainly gathered much useful information. He discovered what Lord Cromwell’s enemies were planning. Unfortunately, he was too late in conveying this intelligence to his lordship.’

‘Even so? Then I begin to see why Your Grace is concerned for his safety. You fear that this “spy”, or whatever you wish to call him, has been unmasked by people intent on taking their revenge.’

‘No, we are not dealing with petty-minded men whose eyes are fixed on the past. Those who wish to silence our mutual friend are very much concerned with the future. You see, Master Treviot, the struggle – or, rather, let us call it the war, for in very truth that is what it is – the war continues. Many men – powerful in the Church and in the royal court – will stop at nothing to extinguish the light of the Gospel and return us all to popish darkness.’

‘Surely, Your Grace,’ I protested, ‘things are quieting down now. For the last couple of years there have been fewer public protests by partisans of different religious camps, fewer angry sermons denouncing “papists” and “heretics”. Most people want nothing but to be allowed to get on with their lives in peace.’

‘What most people want, Master Treviot, is of little consequence. Decisions are made by King Henry. Therefore, the only people who matter are those who influence the king. Now, his majesty – whom God long preserve – is a sick man. For those of us who knew him in his prime it is sad to see him as he is now. Just to move from one room to another he needs to be supported by two strong servants. As to stairs … well, I need not go into details. The important point is that he sees fewer people now and relies increasingly on the members of his Privy Chamber and a handful of others – like myself – whom he trusts. That is where the war is being fought now – in the king’s inner circle. Those who wish to suppress the truth know they must remove us – just as they removed Lord Cromwell.’

‘Who are these men and how are they working against Your Grace?’

‘That is precisely what I, aided by such as Master Holbein, intend to discover. Our friend continues to work for me. That is why his life is in danger.’

I was at a loss to know where this conversation was headed. I said, ‘Thank you for explaining this, Your Grace. You may be sure I will redouble my prayers for his majesty and for yourself. I wish it was in my power to do more.’

‘It is, Master Treviot. It is.’ Cranmer unfolded the sheet of paper. ‘Lord Cromwell’s list has been very helpful to me. His assessment of potential agents is incisive. He was a fine judge of character. This is how he describes one young man: “He is tenacious, intelligent but not quick-witted, transparently honest and, above all, fiercely loyal”.’ The archbishop stared at me intently. ‘That is the kind of man I need now. The kind his majesty needs. The kind England needs.’

I was without words. Almost without breath, as though I had been punched in the stomach. When I did find my voice I could only mutter and mumble. What I tried to impress upon the archbishop was that, while I had briefly been employed on confidential business for Lord Cromwell, that had been several years before. I protested that I had no training as a spy. ‘And to be honest, Your Grace, I have no taste for it,’ I said.

‘Then we are alike in that, you and I,’ Cranmer replied. ‘I am a simple scholar at heart and frequently wish I had remained so. It was his majesty who summoned me out of the university and set me to the game of intrigue. I had no option but to learn its devious rules and follow them as best I could. It is easier to be a Spectator but the game must be played and sometimes reluctant participants have to give up the luxury of merely looking on. Believe me, Master Treviot, there are things that need doing and only you can do them.’