Poyntz laughed. ‘I was quite safe. So were Barnes and the others. It was not the good bishop who had us detained.’
‘Who then?’
‘Why, Lord Cromwell,’ he said. Then, in response to my obvious surprise, he explained further. ‘The Gospel tells us to be as wise as serpents and gentle as doves in dealing with enemies of the faith. We are to be subtle, devious even, and Cromwell is a master at that. When Barnes preached at our brother Robert’s funeral he stirred up a wasps’ nest. The papists were all abuzz with indignation and like to sting any true Christians they could find.’
‘It seems that Barnes was not displaying the wisdom of a serpent,’ I commented wryly.
Poyntz shrugged. ‘Our dear brother is inclined to be headstrong. Anyway, before any harm could be done, Cromwell acted. He had Barnes and a few other of us put under lock and key until things had calmed down.’
His wife pouted. ‘You may make light of it. Next time it will be the bishop who takes you. Then what will become of me and the children?’ She turned to the chaplain. ‘John, tell him it is madness to return to London.’
‘My dear Madge,’ Rogers replied in a soothing voice, ‘things are getting better. Lord Cromwell tells me in letters brought over by Master Treviot that the rising in the North has made the king more determined than ever to bring papists to heel. His Majesty is still considering an alliance with some of the German Lutheran princes and is almost ready to sanction an official English Bible. When he has punished the rebels no one will dare oppose him. It will give him all the excuse he needs to make new laws to reduce the powers of the bishops.’
‘That’s right,’ Poyntz urged, ‘and I must go back to take care of my business.’
His wife pursed her lips in defiance. ‘Well, I’m not moving from Antwerp.’
I took the opportunity to steer the conversation in the direction that interested me. ‘Is Antwerp really so safe? Tyndale was captured and executed here, wasn’t he?’
It was obvious from the glances exchanged round the table that I had stirred up a sensitive subject. Poyntz muttered, ‘He was tricked.’
‘What exactly happened?’ I asked.
Vaughan explained. ‘Our security here in the English House rests on a very simple foundation — we are commercially indispensable to the municipal authorities. Of all the goods passing through this entrepôt, our woollen cloth is by far the most important. It feeds hundreds of native workshops that dye and dress the cloth. It brings buyers here from all over Europe. If we moved our staple to another port — which, theoretically, we could do — the Portuguese, the Italians and the rest would follow us. So the city fathers cannot afford to upset us. Nor can their master, Emperor Charles. He relies heavily on the money Antwerp’s trade pours into his coffers. That is why here within our walls we are virtually independent. So, we can worship in the Lutheran style, as you saw this morning. We can print Bibles and other books setting forth Gospel truth. We can offer asylum to brothers and sisters fleeing from papal persecution. Of course, in Rome they hate this. We are a real thorn in their flesh. They are constantly pressing the Emperor to eradicate heresy. But His Unholiness may huff and puff all he will; Charles dare not offend us.’
‘So what went wrong in Tyndale’s case?’ I demanded.
‘Treachery!’ Madge Poyntz cried. ‘The papists tried to lure him back to England but he was too clever to fall for their knavery. He knew how dangerous England is.’ She glanced meaningfully at her husband. ‘Then they sent a smooth-tongued villain to trap him with lies and flattery. I never liked the rogue — not from the first moment I set eyes on him — but you men couldn’t see his true colour.’
Vaughan took up the story. ‘Sadly there’s some truth in what Madge says. Tyndale was lodging with the Poyntzes last year when this fellow, Henry Phillips, turned up. He was a gambler and a wastrel — though, of course, we did not know that at the time. Desperate to pay his debts, he had become a papist spy and informer.’
Misery was writ large on Poyntz’s face. ‘Phillips was so plausible. He posed as one of us and had all the right language to be convincing. Poor William was a trusting soul. If only I had been here on that day!’
‘Don’t blame yourself, Thomas,’ Rogers responded. ‘Phillips deliberately waited until you were absent on business. He went to Dufief, the imperial Procurer-General, and lured William out into the street where Dufief’s men were waiting to pounce. They threw William into a disgusting prison and then actually had the temerity to force their way in here in search of his books and papers. Praise be God, we managed to foil them. Then we set about trying to get our friend released. No one worked harder on his case than Thomas here. He appealed to Cromwell and to other members of the English court.’
‘And Cromwell did nothing?’ I asked.
‘On the contrary,’ Vaughan responded. ‘He did everything in his power to help. He appealed to the imperial authorities and sent several agents to investigate Phillips and his contacts. One was Robert Packington and another was Master Theobald here. We were very nearly successful. We were promised William’s release. But the wretch Phillips had one more ace in his scrip. He denounced Thomas Poyntz as an accomplice of Tyndale and we were unable to prevent him being held under house arrest for three months. God be praised, we managed to engineer his escape. He got back to England and gave Secretary Cromwell a detailed report of the situation here. Unfortunately…’
I tried to bring the conversation round to my friend’s involvement. ‘What exactly was Master Packington’s part in all this?’ I asked.
It was Theobald who responded. ‘Robert and I were both sent over to identify the agents of Bishop Gardiner and Bishop Stokesley and to discover all we could about how they were trying to undermine Cromwell’s policy. Phillips had hurried south to Louvain after his treachery here. He was too terrified of reprisals to stay anywhere near Antwerp.’
‘If he’d come anywhere near me, I’d have given him cause,’ Madge interjected.
‘What did you discover?’ I prompted.
‘Oh, Phillips was very bold in that seething papist wen,’ Theobald replied with a scowl of utter contempt. ‘He boasted to anyone who would listen that he was part of a major operation to have Tyndale, Barnes and other champions of the Gospel burned as heretics. He tried to impress the Church hierarchy with his own importance in the campaign against heresy.’
‘Who was behind that campaign,’ I asked.
Theobald shook his head with a rueful smile. ‘Ah, that was the one thing he would never say. He railed against the king, mouthed all manner of vile slanders about Cromwell and Cranmer but never revealed who he was working for. I think Robert had his suspicions but…’
Vaughan held a finger to his lips as a servant entered with a fresh flagon of wine. When the door had closed again, he explained: ‘Some of our own people are not above being bribed to gather information.’
Poyntz said, ‘I don’t believe that rogue Phillips had such an important paymaster. He was a mere scavenger, picking up scraps of information and selling them wherever he could.’
‘You may be right,’ Theobald conceded. ‘Anyway, we had a stroke of luck with one of his couriers, an English monk by the name of Gabriel Donne. He was studying at Louvain University and was due to make a visit home, carrying messages from Phillips to his contacts in London. Now Donne came from a London merchant family Robert knew well and he made a point of befriending him. Robert obtained a passage on the same ship and during the visit he persuaded the monk to change sides and betray Phillips to Cromwell. That was in the summer of last year and I heard no more about the matter until Robert returned here a few weeks ago with fresh instructions from Lord Cromwell.’
At last I felt I was getting closer to the centre of Robert’s secret life. ‘Did he say who Phillips’ contacts were?’