D. Wilson - The Traitor’s Mark

‘He uses his nephew to maintain close contact,’ I said.

‘Yes, Germain; as double-dyed a papist as you would never want to see. Of course, from the cathedral at Canterbury, lines run throughout Kent and the South-east.’ He laid some more thin traces of salt. ‘We have to find ways to block this activity. I’ll come back to that in a moment. Now, at least Gardiner’s opposition is in the open. We can trace his network and, by God’s good grace, close it down. But there is another network – secret, insidious, unscrupulous and violent.’

‘Presumably, that is the organisation Black Harry is part of?’ I suggested.

Denny held up a warning finger. ‘Don’t jump ahead. It is vital to see things as clearly as we can.’ He pointed to his first pile of salt. ‘Like everything else, this starts with the tireless schemer, Eustace Chapuys. He has connections with the papistically inclined all over the country. However, his most powerful ally is the Duke of Norfolk. So let’s put another salty marker for him. His lordship has ample resources for the Catholic campaign – money, estates where his authority rivals the king’s, an army of servants ready to do his bidding. But even Norfolk has to tread warily.’

‘I’m amazed he has survived so long,’ Butts added. ‘Twice he’s inveigled the king into marriage with his nieces. Both have ended up under the headsman’s axe. His majesty watches Norfolk closely now.’

‘And that leads us to the big question,’ Denny said. He picked up the salt cellar and placed it between the mounds of salt representing Chapuys and Norfolk. ‘Who is this?’

We all stared at the pattern marked out on the table as Denny continued. ‘In Leicestershire a godly preacher is found drowned in his own fishpond. In Bristol a rich merchant is “persuaded” by a gang of ruffians to stop supporting a congregation where the Gospel is truly preached. In Hampshire a minister, his wife and four children perish in a mysterious fire. There is one mind behind these and other incidents; one monster as well endowed with cunning as he is devoid of morality and human feeling.’

Butts nodded. ‘A fanatic bent on opposing the Gospel by all and every means.’

‘You mean Sir Thomas Moyle,’I suggested.

The others looked at me in surprise.

‘Moyle?’Butts queried.‘The Kentish MP?’

Denny said, ‘Whatever makes you suggest his name?’

I told them about Black Harry’s activities and how I had discovered that the gang was supported by Sir Thomas.

‘You must be mistaken,’ Denny said. ‘Our mysterious limb of Satan operates from the centre. He is closely connected with the duke; someone familiar with the court. But he also has influence and interests over a wide area.’

I persisted. ‘If we assume that Holbein the painter, working for the archbishop, discovered the identity of your salt cellar, he had to be silenced before he could pass on the information. So Black Harry was sent to kill him. When Harry failed he took refuge in one of his patron’s houses. We know that house belonged to Moyle.’

The courtiers were still not convinced.

Butts said, ‘You are certainly right about Holbein’s connection with Norfolk. He has made several likenesses of the duke and other members of his family.’

Denny added, ‘We know he used his access to the duke’s household to gather information and I’m inclined to agree with you that this placed him in grave danger, but Sir Thomas Moyle … I cannot see him as the paymaster of assassins.’

‘If only we could make contact with Holbein we would soon know the truth,’ Butts added.

‘Yes, this is of prime importance,’ Denny agreed. ‘Do you think you can find him, Master Treviot?’

‘The problem is finding him before Black Harry does.’

‘Is there anything we can do to help? Do you need more men for the search?’

‘Thank you, Master Denny, but if we have too many people asking questions around London that will alarm our enemy. Better we should wait for Master Holbein to get a message to us.’

‘Pray God he does so quickly.’

‘I’m sure he will as soon as he safely can. He will want to be reunited with his sons. Meanwhile, what can we do to help the archbishop?’

‘Make sure his commission works properly is the short answer. Unfortunately, his grace is a stranger to ruthlessness but ruthlessness is what we need.’

Butts said, ‘It is his lack of guile that the king finds so attractive. I doubt he would ever be manoeuvred into sacrificing his grace.’

‘And there, as you know, William, we disagree. His majesty trusted Cromwell …’

‘Ah, yes, Anthony, but he did not like him. There’s the difference.’

‘I grant that Cranmer is the last man the king would throw to the wolves – if he was in his right mind.’ Denny stopped abruptly.

‘Then is the rumour true that the king is sometimes not in his right mind?’ I asked.

Denny was clearly discomfited. ‘You must not take me too literally.’

Butts came to his aid. ‘No one can appreciate .the pressures kings are under. Every day his majesty has to make a hundred decisions: a courtier seeks promotion; a bill must be drafted for parliament, a letter from the Emperor needs to be answered. Age and infirmity make it more difficult to shoulder his responsibilities. They may cloud judgement; affect decisions …’

‘Such as whether to launch the country into war,’ I suggested.

Butts nodded. ‘That among other things.’

‘We are getting off the point,’ Denny said hurriedly. ‘We were discussing your commission in Kent. His majesty has agreed to send for Thomas Legh to join you. He is the most formidable lawyer in the country; as a member of the commission for dissolving the monasteries he was invaluable. I think you’ll find him more than an equal of the Canterbury clergy and their friends.’

There was a knock at the door and a royal page entered. ‘An’t please you, Master Denny, his majesty wishes to retire.’

‘Then I must go and prepare him for bed.’ Denny stood quickly.

‘Perhaps I should attend also,’ Butts said. ‘He might require a sleeping draught.’

I said my farewells and went to the stable yard, where a yawning Dick was waiting. As we rode away from Woodstock towards the inn where we were staying I pondered a question that had often occurred to me before: why would any man in his right mind covet the position of a courtier? Money, power, status? If these things were gained they certainly came at a price – one beyond any I was ready to pay.

Having crossed the Thames at Kingston and followed the south bank, we reached Southwark after two days’ steady riding. I sent two men back to Goldsmith’s Row and kept Walt and Dick with me. We sat around Ned’s fire, drinking one of his heart-warming concoctions. He and Bart listened intently as I recounted my visits to Croydon and Woodstock but I noticed that Ned looked somewhat perplexed when I finished my account.

‘Unfortunate that you upset Sir Thomas,’ he said. ‘I imagine he could make life very difficult for you in the county.’

‘Not as difficult as I plan to make his life when I expose his connection with Black Harry.’

‘You are sure about that?’

‘That’s the one thing in this whole complicated business that I am sure about. There’s proof, heraldic proof.’

‘Well, if you’re convinced.’ He shrugged.

‘Tell me why you’re not.’

‘I’m just an old ex-monk who’s spent most of his life cut off from the real world. I know nothing about intrigues and plots. But it does seem to me slightly odd that Sir Thomas Moyle is, on the one hand, a secret manipulator, hiding in the shadows, and, on the other, a partisan, vigorously and openly demonstrating his opposition to the archbishop’s friends.’