How seriously should I take Augustine’s warning? He was not the most stable of men and, perhaps, it was not surprising that he was blowing hot and cold. But surely he could not really believe that I was in any danger from a new purge of radicals. Unless… Barnes had directly accused Stokesley and his minions of plotting Robert’s murder. On reflection, I had dismissed this as the raving of a fanatic against authority. But what if it were true? Then those with guilty consciences would certainly stop at nothing to prevent further enquiry into Robert’s death and they had their own well-tried methods to silence criticism: sudden arrest and trial in an ecclesiastical court where the verdict was a foregone conclusion.
Barnes was not the only one to point a finger at the senior clergy. In his outburst at the inquest, the grocer had called out one name in particular — John Incent, a member of the cathedral staff. I did not know Incent well but he was a familiar figure around the City. A tall red-headed man with a reputation for haughtiness, he was most often seen in public on festival days, when he appeared, resplendent in brocaded cope and attended by incense-wafting acolytes. He was certainly one of the most persistent preachers against heresy. Was it possible that he and his colleagues were Il Ombra’s paymasters? If so, what could Robert possibly have done that could warrant a hideous act of foul slaughter — an act, moreover, that would immediately attract suspicion to themselves? Too many questions. Dangerous questions. Questions that Ned, Lizzie, Doggett and now Augustine urged me to stop asking. I began to think that my solicitous advisers might be right. Perhaps the time had come for me to abandon my quest. Perhaps it was dangerous folly to pit myself against powerful forces I did not understand — folly that, as Lizzie had pointed out, would harm others as well as myself. She had certainly learned self-preservation the hard way and her advice deserved careful consideration. Yet, there was still one person who was even more concerned than I to get to the truth. I resolved to call upon her the next day.
I found Margaret Packington in her chamber, with her maid, folding items of her late husband’s clothes into a chest. ‘They are to be sold for the benefit of the Mercers’ Company charities,’ she explained. ‘The warden has been wonderfully kind. He is supervising the distribution of all Robert’s bequests and helping with the formalities of Humphrey’s takeover of the business. Everyone has been so good. I never knew Robert had so many friends.’
‘I’m not in the least surprised,’ I said. ‘He touched many lives. In fact, that was something I wanted to ask you about… if you don’t mind a few questions.’
‘Not at all, Thomas.’ She dismissed the girl and motioned towards the window. ‘Let us sit here. It is the one place that gets much light at this time of year.’
We settled side by side in the window embrasure from which we had a clear view all the way along Sopers Lane. In the street below a pie woman was making her way up to Cheap market with two baskets laden with her wares. A carter, unable to pass her in the narrow lane, allowed his horse to clop along patiently behind. Two men, heads close together, stood arguing in a doorway.
Margaret watched wistfully. ‘Strange, isn’t it, how the world goes on, when your own life has come to a sudden halt. I feel like throwing open the window and shouting out, “Why are you all carrying on as though nothing had happened?”’
I laid my hand on hers. ‘I know, Margaret. Believe me, I know and I wish I could say that feeling will pass quickly. ’Tis fourteen months since Jane… but I am still like a church clock that has stopped and needs someone to set its cogs turning again.’
She patted my hand. ‘Poor Thomas. You must find what comfort you can in the knowledge that God took Jane in his time and for his purpose. What happened to my Robert was so… wrong… so evil. The time was not ripe for him. I cannot believe God purposed it so. You will track down this villain, for me, won’t you, Thomas?’ she pleaded.
‘I’ll do my very best, Margaret. Can you give me any leads? I will do all I can,’ I said cautiously, ‘though this affair may run deeper than we know. There are many accusations flying around but no clear evidence. People say that the bishop and his clerical hounds… but I find that difficult…’
‘Old Stokesley!’ She pulled a face. ‘How well named he is. Our good bishop, so men say, is never happier than when stoking the fire under those he calls “heretics”.’
‘Is it possible that he believed Robert to be a heretic?’
‘If all who love the word of God be, in his mind, heretics, then, yes, Robert was of their number. But I don’t think Stokesley would have dared to lay a finger on him. He was highly respected in the City. He was of the parliament house. And he was a friend of the king’s most trusted councillor.’
‘Cromwell?’
‘Yes. Men say he is riding so high that no one, whether gentleman, earl or bishop, dares to cross him.’
‘A pity this friendship did not protect Robert,’ I said, looking at the widow, who sat twisting a kerchief in her fingers. I understood well her need to find an answer to the question, ‘Why?’ that was screaming in her head. Yet I felt sure that there were things she was not telling me — perhaps because she thought they might cast doubt on Robert’s good name; perhaps because there were confidences she could not betray or because she was protecting other people. ‘Margaret,’ I said, as gently as possible, ‘if I am to help, there are things I must know. I feel that Master Tyndale’s English Testament lies at the root of this affair. Could Robert have known men who were involved in bringing copies of that book across the sea from the Netherlands?’
She sighed deeply. ‘Robert knew many things about many people but he never confided them in me. He wanted to protect me. He said it was safer for me not to know.’
‘It seems, then, that he had a private life; that he moved in a secret world.’ I blurted out my frustration. ‘How can we find out about that world? There must, surely, be someone who was party to his most intimate thoughts.’
Margaret frowned. ‘Augustine was involved…’
‘Augustine is frightened. He came to me last night to warn me off. Stokesley has ordered a fresh purge of New Learning men and Augustine is terrified of being netted.’
She shook her head. ‘It does not surprise me. Augustine goes on and off the boil — like an unwatched pot. When he has drunk too much he is the bravest man in the world. Then comes the sober dawn and his ardour droops like a plucked rose. But perhaps he is right. If you were to come under suspicion; if something… happened… to you, as it did to Robert… well, I should never forgive myself.’
‘Margaret,’ I said firmly, ‘you’re not even to think like that. If I decide to get to the bottom of his murder it will be entirely because of the debt I owe him. Over the years he did so much for me. There remains only one thing I can do for him. If it lies within my power, I shall not fail him. Now, is there anyone else who might also have been involved with Tyndale?’
She stood up and moved across to the fire, holding out her hands towards the crackling logs. ‘I don’t know if I should.’ She looked round, obviously troubled. ‘Robert made me promise. It was just another of his business ventures. Probably nothing to our purpose.’
‘Margaret, I don’t want to press you, but, if there is any chance…’
‘Yes, yes, I do see that the Brothers might have something useful to tell you.’
‘The Brothers?’
‘That was what he called them — his Christian Brothers. There were usually three of them, though others came from time to time. They always met here late at night. I know not what they talked about. But Robert was insistent that I should never tell anyone they had been here.’
‘Do you know their names?’ I probed gently.
Margaret hesitated. ‘’Tis probably nothing, Thomas. They are all prominent citizens, no less so than Robert himself.’