Ben paused in his hungry devouring of the food to scowl. ‘That’s the official story put out to quieten the people. If the trouble is past, why do the king and his council still skulk at Windsor? The truth is the rising has spread north towards the border. Bart’s family is in Cleveland and his cousin rode down two days ago to bring the latest news and recruit support. Have you seen this?’ Ben fumbled inside his tunic and brought out a crumpled sheet of paper, which he passed to me underneath the table.
I ran my eyes quickly over the printed text, keeping the paper on my lap:
A Call to All the King’s True Christian Subjects to Come Together in a Holy Cause
Stand with your brothers in the North!
Demand
Return to the true Catholic faith
Restoration of all confiscated monastic property
Surrender of Cromwell, Cranmer and all base-born councillors
A new parliament to consider the people’s grievances
Deliverance of all heretics to the church courts
Stand Firm Across the Realm to the Shedding of Blood for God’s Truth
In Nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti
I folded the paper and handed it back hurriedly.
Ben said, ‘This is the rubbish Bart’s cousin and other messengers have been spreading everywhere. He says lots of men have responded and are making their way north.’
‘And that’s where Bart has gone?’
‘Yes, arsewipe fool!’ He jabbed viciously at the meat with his knife.
‘Your friend is a religious zealot, then,’ I said.
Ben snorted. ‘Bart? Not he! He’s simply looking for what he calls “action”. He’d join any mob, support any demonstration, sign up for any cause, just for the thrill of it. He came to London because he thought this place was more exciting than his Yorkshire moors. Now he’s gone back there because that’s where he thinks things are happening.’ The young man dabbed his eyes with a shirt sleeve. ‘Arsewipe fool!’
‘And you?’ I asked. ‘What are you doing?’
He shrugged. ‘Waiting. My master is still mad at me but he’ll come round. I’m a good worker and he knows it.’
I pushed my trencher away and watched Ben eat the lion’s share of the meal. ‘Would you like to do something for me… while you’re “waiting”?’ I asked.
‘What sort of something?’
‘Well, two things, really. First, see if you can find that noisy fellow who interrupted the inquest. I’d like to know whether he has any evidence for his accusations of the clergy or whether it’s just his prejudice talking.’
‘That’s easily done,’ Ben replied. ‘What’s the other job?’
‘Have you heard of Il Ombra, “The Shadow”?’
Ben shook his head. ‘No, what is it?’
‘“It” is a he, a man, an Italian ruffian.’ I lowered my voice, though the inn was by now almost empty. ‘He is the one who killed Robert Packington.’
Ben raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re sure of this? Why didn’t — ’
‘Why didn’t I say anything at the inquest? Because if he knows I’m looking for him he’ll take flight — probably leave the country.’
‘Or he might mark you for his next target.’
‘That had occurred to me as a possibility. It’s another reason to keep quiet about what I know.’
‘So, you are still determined to track this fellow down.’
‘That I am. The problem is that if I am known to be asking questions, word will certainly get back to my quarry.’ I did not mention Doggett by name nor his instruction to let the matter drop. By no means would I have wanted my honest and straightforward young friend to become involved with the devious host of the Red Lamb. ‘Will you keep your ears open for any mention of Il Ombra or an Italian villain skulking in or around London? Listen out particularly for any reference to someone who knows about something called a wheellock.’
‘What’s that?’
I told Ben the little I had learned from Doggett about the assassin and his chosen weapon.
He nodded gravely. ‘Yes, I can do that.’
‘Thank you but do be very careful. You know the sort of hellhound we’re dealing with. Don’t draw attention to yourself.’ I took some coins from my purse and placed them on the table. ‘This will keep you fed and lodged for a few days. Try out the inns and marketplaces. Encourage people to gossip. Let me know if you hear anything.’
Ben looked happier when we parted, glad, I think, to have something to occupy his mind and relieved to know where his next meal was coming from. I just hoped that I had not put him in any danger.
After supper that night I went to my chamber and read some more chapters of Tyndale’s Testament. I was intrigued to discover fuller accounts of stories I had seen vividly depicted on church walls or exuberantly performed in the mystery plays I had loved as a child. It was a strange experience to be able to ponder words spoken by Christ or the apostles and find my own meaning, rather than have interpretation thrust at me from the pulpit. Bringing my own imagination to the text made it somehow more personal and permanent. It would be false to say that I fully understood what I read but in a sense, that was unimportant. What mattered was that I was reading it and I would make my own judgement upon it. If it was this kind of intellectual freedom that the New Learning men were advocating, they were, indeed, revolutionaries.
I had just closed the book and locked it safely away in my coffer when there came a sudden rattling at the window. I peered out and saw a hooded figure in the street below. I opened the casement and called, ‘Who’s there?’
The reply came from the darkness in a voice somewhere between a croak and a hoarse whisper. ‘Thomas, it’s me, Augustine. For the love of God. Let me in.’
I took my candle, descended the stairs, went through the shop and drew back the bolts. Augustine slipped quickly inside and I returned with him to the chamber. He held out his hands to the embers of the fire. I noticed that he had come without gauntlets.
‘You must be frozen,’ I said. ‘Let me mull you some ale.’
He shook his head vigorously as he threw back his head. His dark hair was all atangle and there was stubble on his usually shaven chin. ‘No thank you, this is but a brief visit. I’ve come with a simple urgent message: you must stop any enquiry into Robert’s death.’
‘What!’ I stared at him aghast.
‘Meddle in the matter no further.’
‘I can scarcely believe what I’m hearing,’ I protested. ‘Is this the man who only yesterday urged me to discover the truth — even to the shedding of blood?’
He looked down at his feet. ‘Much can happen in twenty-four hours,’ he muttered.
‘Sorry, Augustine,’ I said. ‘I have given my word to your sister-in-law. I’ll not go back on it. In God’s name, sit down and tell me why this fright has come over you.’
He shook his head. ‘No. I must not stay. I came here as soon as I knew what was afoot. You are a marked man, Thomas. Look to yourself. Let one man’s death suffice.’
Chapter 18
Augustine was hovering by the door, anxious to be gone. Seldom have I seen a man more frightened.
‘What is it, man?’ I demanded. ‘Why this complete change of heart?’
He hesitated, a hand on the latch. ‘All I can tell you is that Friar Barnes is arrested and thrown in the Tower.’
‘Because of his sermon at the funeral?’
‘Yes.’
‘What has that to do with me?’
‘Barnes is not the only one. Several others have been taken also.’
‘New Learning men?’
‘Yes.’ Augustine now had the door open.
‘I still don’t see what I have to fear. I am not of their party.’
‘That is not what many people say.’ With that Robert’s brother hurried out and clattered down the stair.
I followed and locked the street door after him, then walked through to the deserted kitchen, suddenly hungry. There was a kettle of rich pottage on the hearth, cooked for the servants’ supper and still hot. I found a stoup, poured myself a bowlful and sat at the table, still damp from its nightly scrubbing, to eat — and think.