James sighed. ‘Yes, indeed, I fear we shall have to take Sir Hugh in for further questioning after all. Will you be so good as to call my men in?’
I rose and stepped across to the door.
Incent jumped to his feet again, trembling — though whether with fear or anger it was difficult to say — and shouting, ‘That man you were talking of, the one who was shot, was a heretic! He spoke in the parliament house against the Church. He brought disruptive books into the country. He defied the authority of the priests.’
‘And for that he deserved to be felled in the street by an assassin, even as he was on his way to mass?’ I asked, trying hard to remain calm.
‘Better that than the fire!’ Incent ranted — and immediately realised that he had gone too far. ‘Look,’ he whined, ‘my brother is one of the cathedral clergy in London, fighting hard to control these wretched New Learning people, but he had nothing to do with that man’s death.’
‘As to that, he can answer for himself,’ James observed, ‘and, doubtless, he will be examined by Master Secretary Cromwell. As for you, I counsel you to look to your own safety. Be content to live peaceably with your neighbours. Stop making accusations and seeking confrontation. For now, Sir Hugh, having regard for your patron, I will leave you. But, if I have cause to come here again, do not expect any further lenience from me.’
As we rode away, James said, ‘Let us hope he is suitably chastened. I’ll have your friends released immediately and I suggest you advise them to remove themselves from here without delay.’
I thanked him and assured him that Ned and Jed would be returning to London with me on the morrow.
I dined with my mother in her chamber and, at my request, Lizzie joined us. It was difficult for me to be alone with my mother — difficult and upsetting. Sometimes she recognised me and sometimes she did not. Only when Lizzie was present did she seem less confused.
‘She is very comfortable with you,’ I said. ‘She likes you.’
Lizzie shrugged. ‘She has got used to me. I’ve become the only constant thing in her life. All the toing and froing of these last weeks has distressed the poor soul very much. And now we’re going to make her move again.’
We watched the old lady as she sat methodically spooning up her pottage and staring vacantly into space.
‘She’s like this most of the time,’ Lizzie said. ‘Sometimes we have quite long conversations but they’re less frequent now.’
As if to confirm her words, my mother suddenly looked up from her bowl with a smile. ‘Is this man your husband, my poppet? He’s a lusty young fellow, isn’t he?’
Lizzie rose and went to her side. ‘Mistress Treviot, this is your son, Thomas. Yes, he is a lusty lad, isn’t he? Perhaps too lusty for his own good,’ she added under her breath, with a flash of her familiar scowl.
But the old lady’s eyes had glazed over again and she made no response.
Lizzie resumed her seat with a sigh. ‘I sometimes think she’s the only happy one here. At least she lives in her own world — wherever that may be.’
My mother began to hum an old tune and to rock from side to side with the rhythm.
‘Yes,’ Lizzie said. ‘It’s she who has her wits about her and we who dwell in a hellish Bedlam.’
On an impulse I rested my hand on hers. ‘Don’t be melancholic. Things will get better. They must.’
‘Why must they?’ She turned her head, eyes blazing. ‘Every scrap of news we hear is worse than the last.’ It was the sort of indignant outburst that was typical of this high-spirited woman. But she did not remove her hand.
‘Well, from what I’ve heard on the road, it seems that the trouble in the North is over. The rebels have disbanded and been promised a royal pardon.’
‘Oh, we’ve heard all about that!’ Lizzie’s nose wrinkled in a sneer. ‘Ned says that’s just a trick of the king’s. He says as soon as the poor people up there have gone to their own homes, our Harry will send a fresh army to drag them out and put them to death.’
‘Ned is a bit too sympathetic to the rebels’ cause. I hope he will learn to be less free with his opinions. Perhaps his brief spell in the local jail will make him more careful.’
‘Prison doesn’t seem to have knocked any sense into you,’ Lizzie snapped, and now she did remove her hand. ‘But then you’ve become a copain of Master High-and-Mighty Cromwell, haven’t you?’
I was spared the need to respond by a knock at the door. One of the servants brought the news that Ned and Jed had returned. I hurried out to meet them and Lizzie was at my heels. Our two friends had barely dismounted when she ran up to embrace them. ‘Mary and all the saints be praised!’ she exclaimed between tears and laughter. ‘I prayed for you every day — every hour!’
Ned beamed and, with some difficulty, disengaged himself from her entwining arms. ‘Then your prayers have been answered — though we must give due praise to Master Treviot as well as Our Lady.’ He grasped my hand. ‘Thank you, indeed, Thomas. Long years in the monastery accustomed me to confinement but a few more days in that damp, stinking hole…’
‘It’s good to see you safe.’
‘And you,’ Ned responded warmly. ‘We have much news to catch up on.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed, ‘and best we do it well away from eager ears. Come with me.’
I led the way to the large wagon barn, next to the stables. Ned, Lizzie and I climbed to the loft and settled ourselves among the sweet-smelling hay. I described, as succinctly as possible, my arrest, release and visit to Antwerp.
‘So,’ Ned said, when I reached the end, ‘you are now in the employ of the great man. What is your impression of him?’
I had been pondering that question myself ever since my surprise interview at the house beside Austin Friars and it took me some moments to offer a considered reply. ‘I think Lord Cromwell is a man who speaks much and says little.’
‘That agrees with what I hear. Those around the court believe that his rise to power has come from telling people (especially the king) what they want to hear. While he lulls them into believing all is well, he quietly pursues his own subversive policies. That was how he brought down Anne Boleyn.’
‘Brought down Anne Boleyn! That cannot be!’ Lizzie exclaimed. ‘Were they not both of the New Learning? Surely they worked together to pull down the monasteries? That’s what everyone says.’
‘That’s just what the devious Cromwell wants everyone to say. Our contacts at court tell a different story,’ Ned replied.
I laughed. ‘Your contacts at court? Come now; what does St Swithun’s House know about great affairs of state?’
‘Don’t scoff, Thomas.’ I could see that Ned was quite serious. ‘Gossip at the king’s supper table is often common talk in the Stews by breakfast. As it happens, we’ve been finding out more about these “New Learners” at court. We had a pair of their friends to St Swithun’s one evening a few weeks back. Some draughts of our excellent ale — embellished with a certain powder from my chest of simples — and they bade farewell to discretion. What they had to say about their betters would have made the Devil blush.’
I laughed but Ned ignored my mockery.
‘You would be shocked to hear what goes on between the pious ladies of Queen Jane’s chamber, the king’s hunting companions and even the royal chaplains. But that’s not to the point. Basically, it seems, we must abandon any idea that the “New Learners” are a close fellowship of Bible students, united around an agreed core of fashionable, novel doctrines. Having severed the cables binding them to Mother Church, they are adrift on a sea of treacherous currents that carry them in several directions. His Majesty’s household is all asquirm with a myriad heretics. It is a cockpit where enemies of the truth unleash their talons against honest Christians. Some are hot to desecrate churches and pull down religious images but others distance themselves from such vandalism. Some proudly follow Luther’s heresy, insisting that faith is all and good works count for nothing. Others point out that this only leads to unbridled licence and the abandoning of Christian virtue. ’Tis no wonder the realm is in such a state when those at the centre are so divided.’