D. Wilson - The Traitor’s Mark

I tried to weigh my response very carefully. ‘I think we live in troubled times and probably sermons like the one we’ve just heard don’t help.’

Dick frowned and I guessed my answer was not what he wanted to hear. To console him I added, ‘But change – reform – there must be, partly because there are parish priests like yours around. If God gave us priests, he also gave us the Bible, and I don’t see how the two can be in conflict.’

We all remounted and as we rode on I mused about the clashing authorities of magistrate, priest and Bible. I realised more clearly than before that these things which were the concerns of kings, councillors and archbishops also troubled the minds of ordinary people. Now, they were beginning to trouble me.

It was almost possible to calculate how close we were to Woodstock from the prices charged for food, drink and lodging at the inns. The increased demand created by the large royal household and travellers having business with the king enabled local suppliers to double or even treble their normal charges. It was obvious we would have difficulty finding somewhere to stay, so I despatched two of my men to scour the countryside in search of accommodation while Dick and I rode to the imposing ancient palace set on rising ground above the town.

‘Shall we see the king?’ Dick asked eagerly as we approached the gatehouse.

‘I shouldn’t set your hopes on it,’ I said. ‘I understand his majesty seldom ventures outside the Privy apartments.’

So it proved. The central bastion housing the royal quarters was like a fortress within a fortress. Guards denied access to all except chamber staff and visitors who could present permits. Everyone else was obliged to wait in the main courtyard or adjacent chambers designated for hopeful suitors, I did manage to waylay a royal page and give him a quarter sovereign to carry a message to Anthony Denny but I did not know whether he faithfully carried out my commission.

But luck was with me. A little before noon on Monday I saw Denny emerge from the royal quarters, deep in conversation with an older, white-haired man. When I approached Denny regarded me uncertainly. Then came recognition. ‘Master goldsmith, is it not? What brings you to court?’

I fell into step beside him as he and his companion walked briskly across the courtyard. ‘I come with messages from My Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.’

The two men stopped and exchanged brief glances. ‘From Cranmer? How fares his grace?’ Denny asked. His tone conveyed more than casual politeness.

‘In good health, ‘I responded, ‘though much careworn.’ I produced letters that had been entrusted to me by the archbishop and his secretary.

Denny introduced his companion. ‘This is Dr William Butts, his majesty’s senior physician. We would gladly hear more of the archbishop but cannot stay now. Perhaps you would care to join us later. His majesty will be spending the evening with the queen in her apartments. Come and sup with us in my quarters. I will inform the guard captain. Until later, Master Treviot.’ He nodded and he and Butts hurried on their way.

The chamber I entered that evening was narrow and high-ceilinged, like many in ancient buildings. Much of the bare stonework was covered by tapestries and other hangings. Torches set in sconces lit the space well and a good fire blazed on the hearth. Two servants were engaged in setting silver dishes close to the burning logs to keep warm. Other utensils and platters were set on a small buffet and reflected the flames. Denny and Butts were already seated at the table looking over the letters I had brought.

From my earlier commercial dealings with the courtier it did not surprise me that Denny insisted on getting straight down to business.

‘Ralph Morice has given a remarkable account of your recent activities, Master Treviot. He assures us you are a man to be trusted. As for us, you may speak freely here. My servants are well chosen for their discretion.’ He spoke in rapid sentences, his forked beard fluttering as his chin rose and fell. ‘Now, first of all, this business of Richard Turner. The man is somewhat troublesome. I have already obtained a pardon for him once.’

‘His enemies seem extremely persistent. Perhaps, they hope by bringing repeated charges they may convince his majesty that the man really is a heretic,’ I suggested.

A smile lit up the doctor’s dark, intelligent eyes. ‘If they believe their steady drip, drip will wear down the stone, they do not know our Harry.’

‘How is Turner’s preaching received in Kent?’ Denny asked.

‘I gather he has a large following in Chartham and the surrounding area.’

‘How do you judge the mood of the shire as a whole?’

‘It seems there are pockets where reformed teaching prevails and others where the preference is for a stubborn traditionalism.’

‘Do you have a list of the more active papists among the gentry?’ Butts asked mildly.

‘No. Doubtless his grace’s commissioners will reveal who the most difficult landowners are.’

‘Then let us hope they make haste,’ Denny said acerbically.

‘I’m sure Morice understands the urgency of the situation. He impressed upon me that if the opposition is not silenced within days or weeks his grace’s enemies may prevail,’ I said.

‘He is right, though not entirely for the reasons he thinks. The problem is wider and deeper.’

Several moments of silence followed. I was aware of unspoken communication between the other men. Then Denny dismissed the servants. ‘Master Treviot, we believe you have been brought here by Providence and we have decided to share with you things that no one outside our very tight circle knows.’

The words were ominous. I had grown very wary of being made party to dangerous confidences. ‘Master Denny, I doubt-’

‘We are at the political centre,’ Denny continued, ignoring my protest. ‘We can see much of what is happening. But not all. You have the advantage of being able to move freely about the country.’ He moved aside several of the dishes. ‘As you will see, there are aggravating gaps in our knowledge. We want those gaps filled by whatever you can discover. The first thing you should know is that our king intends to go to war – possibly in person.’

‘War?’ I gasped. ‘But I thought he was a sick man. I had heard he was offering friendship to the Emperor – but war!’

Butts said, ‘Would you like to tell his majesty he is too old and too ill for charging around on battlefields? He has decided to send troops to France and to lead them in person. It might kill him. It will certainly bankrupt England. But he will do it.’

Denny took up the tale again. ‘Now the man who has talked him into this folly is the imperial ambassador, Eustace Chapuys.’ Taking a silver table salt, he spooned a small mound of the contents on to the bare boards. ‘This policy has the support of some members of the Council, principally Bishop Gardiner.’

‘Because he sees it as one step in reuniting England with Catholic Europe?’

‘Precisely, Master Treviot. His ultimate objective is to restore our bondage to the pope. So, here we have Gardiner, working closely with Chapuys.’ He put another pile of salt on the table and with the spoon made a white line between the two. ‘Gardiner is hard at work to put a stop to the reformation of the English Church. His biggest obstacle is Cranmer. So, as you have seen, he is working hard to undermine the archbishop. As he rid the realm of Cromwell, so he plans to dispose of Cranmer and have himself appointed in his place. That explains the trouble he is stirring in Canterbury. Let’s put another pile of salt for the prebendaries and a line linking them to the bishop.’