D. Wilson - The Traitor’s Mark

‘I know someone who is a party to his plans; I’m sure of it.’ I told Ned about Jan van der Goes. ‘I’ll seek him out tomorrow.’

‘And you think you can persuade this man to betray his friend and then persuade Master Holbein to surrender himself to the assassins?’

‘Perhaps. Once he knows that his children are in mortal danger, he might do the right thing.’

‘Is it the right thing? What of his importance to Cranmer … and your own solemn oath? Heaven knows, I’m no lover of our archbishop but you are sworn before God to serve him. Will you so lightly put your immortal soul in danger?’

‘Don’t preach at me, monk!’ I glared across the room. ‘I need no one to draw the cords of conscience tighter than they already are. If you’ve nothing more useful to say, you’d better be away back to Southwark.’

*

The party that set out for London the next morning was in a sombre mood. Lizzie, as was her wont, rode astride and she had baby Jack well swaddled and strapped to her chest. I had chosen fresh horses for her and Ned. Several of those in my stable were tired, having been ridden hard along treacherous muddy tracks the previous day in search of the abducted children. We were accompanied by six of my strongest men. After the events of the weekend I was taking no chances for the safety of myself and my friends. I set as brisk a pace as the conditions would allow. Although the weather had brightened, the highway was still badly rutted and pitted. Some of the parishes along the way had taken their statutory responsibilities seriously. Groups of workers were out with spades, picks and carts of stone, filling holes and smoothing the surface. There was less wheeled traffic than usual, presumably because carters were wary of wasting long hours freeing their vehicles from the mud. That, at least, made travelling easier for horsemen. I had hopes that we might reach the City by day’s end and could set about our quest for the painter early on the morrow. Keeping up a good speed while, at the same time, watching for hazards ahead, left us little time for conversation. We were only able to discuss our plans in spaced-out, disjointed episodes.

‘I should come with you when you go to Bart,’ I suggested to Lizzie.

‘Why?’

‘’Tis my fault his daughter is in jeopardy.’

‘Like as not he’ll blame himself for starting all this trouble.’

‘That’s another reason for me to see him. I want him to know that I don’t reproach him. He stumbled quite innocently into matters of high state. He couldn’t have known of the dangers involved. Probably he still doesn’t.’

‘Well, I certainly don’t.’ Lizzie scowled. ‘What’s it all about, Thomas? If I’m on the point of losing my husband and my child, I’d rather like to know what cause they’re being sacrificed for.’

‘Lizzie, as long as there’s blood in my body, I’ll do all I can to save them – both.’

‘We know that’s not possible.’

‘You mustn’t think that.’

‘Mustn’t?’ she snapped. ‘I’ve been thinking of nothing else all night. If we save the children by giving this Black Harry you talk about what he wants, he’ll remain at liberty and Bart will still be an outlaw wanted for murder. But if we track down the gang in order to clear Bart’s name they’ll kill their hostages. So, don’t give me empty promises. Just explain what higher purpose this is all supposed to be serving.’

‘Oh, Lizzie, I wish I could. I don’t fully understand it myself. It’s all about …’

‘Politics?’

‘Yes – politics and religion.’

‘Dear God, the games these kings and great men play, using us for their cards and counters.’ Her angry bluster was an outlet for her anxiety, just as mine had been the previous day when I snapped at Ned.

We were coming into a small village. A little family group stood at the roadside – a mother and three young children, barefoot and ragged. They held out their hands to the passing travellers.

Lizzie found her purse and threw down some coins. ‘Do you think they care about kings and popes and archbishops?’

‘Probably no more than kings and popes and archbishops care about them,’ I said.

‘Then, in the name of all the saints in heaven – or wherever they are – why should we put everything at risk to keep one single nobleman or bishop in power or bring down another nobleman or bishop? Can you honestly tell me that this wretched business matters – 1 mean, really matters?’

In simplified terms I tried to explain that Cranmer and his enemies could not agree about the kind of church life England should have, that each was passionately attached to his understanding of truth and that for them, and many others, it was a matter of life and death. I don’t think I convinced her.

Sometime afterwards I brought my gelding alongside Ned’s horse. We had scarcely spoken since the previous afternoon.

‘I spoke rashly yesterday,’ I said. ‘Please put my foolish words down to worry.’

The old man smiled his usual calm smile. ‘We read in the Book of Proverbs, “A man of discretion controls his anger; it is his glory to overlook wrongs”. You were under great strain. You had to shout at someone. I’m glad it was me.’

‘I wish I had your placid nature. You never lose your temper.’

He chuckled. ‘Oh, don’t you believe it. There are times when I swear more colourfully than a London drayman.’

‘Who do you swear at?’

‘Oh, God, usually.’

‘Doesn’t he mind?’

‘I comfort myself with the thought that he’s heard it all before. Now, what about our problem? Have you had time to lock away your fears and start thinking clearly?’

‘There’s not much to think really. The man we have to see is a close friend of Master Holbein by the name of Jan van der Goes. When we last met he said he did not know where the painter is hiding but I’m sure he was lying.’

‘His friend is obviously in great danger. He would hardly reveal his whereabouts to a stranger. And what you’re asking him to do now is much more serious.’

‘Yes, to deliver his friend up to certain death. All I can do is tell van der Goes, or John of Antwerp as most people know him, that Holbein’s children are in mortal danger. If he explains that to the artist, perhaps he will come out of hiding. It is asking much but I think few fathers would sacrifice their sons for a cause, however important. I know I wouldn’t.’

Ned smiled grimly. ‘It has been known,’ he said. ‘Have you given any thought to your commitment to the archbishop?’

‘Yes, you were right to remind me of that obligation. If Holbein will trust me with the information he has gathered I will pass it on to Cranmer. With any luck Black Harry won’t suspect anything.’

‘That could be dangerous but I’m sure it is the right thing to do. Now, to more immediate matters. Where do you plan to stay while you are in London?’

‘I’ll go to Goldsmith’s Row.’

‘But the house is shut up and the servants gone.’

‘I can manage for a couple of days.’

‘More sense for you to stay with me. If you are to keep your wits about you, you will need good food and a well-turned bed.’

It was agreed that we would make the Southwark house our headquarters and I passed this on to Lizzie a little later.

‘Could you, please, bring Bart to meet us there,’ I urged.

She looked doubtful. ‘He made me swear not to take anyone into my confidence, not even you.’

‘Things have changed a lot since you made that promise. I need to speak with him. If he’s been trying to identify the murderers, he may have discovered something useful.’

‘I don’t know. I don’t see him often and when I do he tells me nothing. He says it’s safer for me to remain ignorant.’