D. Wilson - The Traitor’s Mark

‘Yes.’

‘At that time yon swore an oath of loyalty to your diocesan bishop, did you not?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you aware that Prebendary Cooke is under investigation for spreading slanderous rumours about the archbishop?’

‘Well … I had heard …’

‘Yes or no!’ Legh thundered. ‘Do you know that your patron is a sworn and open enemy of his grace?’

‘I … er … think …’

‘ Think ? I don’t want to know what you think! This is your last warning: if you don’t give me clear and simple answers to my questions, you’ll be in contempt. Do you know your patron is an enemy of the archbishop?’

‘Well … yes.’

Legh addressed himself to the room at large. ‘If I had to prise answers from the rest of you in the same way we would be here for days. Well, I won’t do it. Any sign of prevarication and you’ll be detained, awaiting trial by a higher court. Now, Master Perks, how many times in the last year have you been summoned to Canterbury by your patron?’

The old man was now quivering and dabbing his brow with a kerchief. ‘Three, I think … no, four.’

‘And what did you discuss?’

‘Well … er … many things …’

‘Master Perks!’

‘Well … Prebendary Cooke was interested in clergy his grace had licensed to preach in the area.’

‘Did he not ask you whether, in your opinion, any of his grace’s appointees were guilty of heresy?’

‘He was concerned about that, certainly.’

‘And what did you tell him?’

‘I … er … mentioned that John Lanks might, perhaps, be not orthodox on all points of doctrine.’

‘And was John Lanks subsequently arrested and taken before the archbishop’s court?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what was the verdict of that court?’

‘Not guilty.’

‘Louder, please, Master Perks. I want everyone to hear you.’

‘Not guilty.’

‘Indeed, not guilty of any heretical teaching whatsoever. And why would he be? Do you suppose a man in whom his grace reposed confidence would be a disseminator of damnable heresy?’

‘I suppose … er … no. Certainly not.’

‘So what it comes to is this: you and your generous patron worked together to indict an innocent man of preaching false doctrine. And this was part of a plot to discredit the Archbishop of Canterbury, a godly scholar and pastor who has the love and trust of his majesty.’

‘ No !’ the poor man screamed. ‘That was never my intent-’

‘Then, pray what was your intention? Have I misunderstood?’ Legh glanced to left and right along the table. ‘Perhaps my colleagues can fathom how a different conclusion can be drawn from what you have told us.’ He paused momentarily. ‘No? I thought not. Captain!’ he called, ‘take this fellow away.’

Peter Perks was hustled, blubbering and protesting, from the room.

After that opening, none of the men being examined was disposed to stand up against such verbal bullying. The commission dealt in brusque and rapid succession with all the other suspects. Rather more than half were dismissed with a stern caution but the remainder were handed over to the guards for transportation to Canterbury. Legh left the rest of us little to do. It was when Simon Belleville was set before us that my interest was particularly aroused. He was a stocky, bristle-haired farmer of yeoman birth whose rise in the first years of the Dissolution had been wing-footed even by the standards of the day. I remember my father telling me that Belleville was one of the first speculators in monastic property to approach him for a loan and that he had doubled his capital many times over in the ensuing years. My father disliked him, often referring to him as ‘the man with two popes’; someone who paraded his devotion to traditional religion and had a reputation for generous support of altar gilds and chantries, but who did not allow this to stand in the way of his profiteering from the dismantling of monasticism. Now he was one of the richest men in Kent and one who loved to display his wealth in ambitious building projects. His house at King’s Branfield rivalled the mansions of the older shire families – in size, if not in taste, and he had created scarcely less impressive edifices for his two sons. Indeed, their corner of Kent was often jokingly referred to as ‘Bellevilleshire’, an enclave where the king’s writ ran second to their own. He stood before the commission today accused of ‘proud words’ spoken against the archbishop.

‘According to our information,’ Legh said, ‘you have been heard to boast on more than one occasion, “I decide what is preached in my churches”. Is that correct?’

Belleville made a gesture as though waving the accusation aside. ‘If I said that I meant only that I would not tolerate any teaching contrary to that approved by his majesty.’

‘Even if that teaching had the endorsement of his majesty’s archbishop?’

‘Is there any difference between what the king believes and what his grace believes?’

‘I will ask the questions,’ Legh snapped. ‘Confine yourself to simple answers. Have you or have you not challenged the instruction given by priests appointed by his grace of Canterbury?’

‘I may have debated one or two points of doctrine …’

‘Indeed?’ The chairman smiled. ‘Would you be good enough to remind the commission at which university you studied theology?’

Laughter drifted round the hall as the unpopular landowner stood abashed.

‘I take it from your silence that you are not qualified to “debate” holy mysteries.’ Legh smirked at the man’s discomfort. ‘Now,’ he continued, ‘one of the clergy to whom you have given the benefit of your extensive doctrinal knowledge is John Horton, is it not?’

Suddenly, I saw where this line of questioning was leading. I scribbled a note and passed it along to the chairman. He read it, nodded and announced, ‘Before we proceed any further with Master Belleville we will take our dinner adjournment. We will resume in one hour.’ He led the way from the hall.

In James’s parlour the commissioners sat to enjoy the ample meal provided by our host.

Legh said, ‘I had intended to adjourn after we had bundled that pompous little demi-king off to jail, but Master Treviot here seems to have other ideas.’

‘I’m sorry for disturbing your schedule, Dr Legh,’ I said, ‘but it may be that there is more at stake here than an argument between Belleville and Horton. You are aware, I’m sure, that Horton is the curate at Branfield Abbots.’

‘Of course. The poor man’s disappeared. If any ill has befallen him I intend to make Belleville swing for it.’

‘Well, the fact is that Horton is not the only one of the archbishop’s appointees to go missing.’

‘You mean Garrow at Stepton? Yes, we know about him. What’s your point?’

‘There’s also the death of Padman in the mysterious fire at Radlow.’ I hurried on before Legh could tell me that he also knew everything about that. ‘These events have all taken place in the area dominated by Belleville.’

‘Agreed,’ Legh said. ‘So the sooner we call him to account, the better.’

‘Certainly, Doctor. But should we not also be trying to apprehend the gallowsbird directly responsible for these atrocities?’

‘Do you know who that is?’

‘I have a very strong suspicion and, if I’m right, he has links to those at the very top of the papist conspiracy against the archbishop.’

‘Interesting.’ Legh pushed his trencher to one side. ‘Tell me about your suspicion.’

Briefly, I explained the picture Ralph and I were building up of the connection between Black Harry, Ferdinand Brooke and the leaders of the conspiracy at court. ‘If Belleville is another link in the chain,’ I concluded, ‘he may well be harbouring the gang. He may even know the whereabouts of the missing priests.’