During the grim proceedings yesterday, he had run through all the possible options and as he reviewed them again in the bored warmth of the day, they looked no better. Ideally appealing to Lady Anne Boleyn or her father the Earl of Wiltshire and Ormond would have been safer, considering their regard for Mistress Margaret Black, whom, it had been not so subtly hinted, supplied them with the latest in forbidden overseas literature-the sort of light reading that would have the present Lord Chancellor cheerfully striking the flint for a heretic’s faggots himself.
Heretical books, the bible translated into the English tongue; was the burning issue of his times. Where was a man supposed to stand on that, law or conscience? Did one loyally follow the lead of his monarch and Holy Mother Church? That in itself created a difficulty. His Majesty had relaxing his restriction on the publication of heretical books early this year. However the decision had been reversed and instead, now held to the rigid stance of the bishops and their good friend, Sir Thomas More. That being so, how could Ned safely rely on the evangelical connection of Lady Anne? Her father had more influence on the Privy Council than even Cromwell, except that Sir Thomas Boleyn was currently racing all over the kingdom, rallying support for the King’s latest petition. Only the King or God knew where the Earl of Wiltshire and Ormond was to be found this week.
In a fit of desperation Ned had also very briefly considered whether an approach to the Earl of Suffolk may have worked. Sir Charles Brandon had the ear of the King and it was rumoured appreciated ‘generous gifts’. That narrow door of opportunity had unfortunately been slammed shut. The Earl’s wife Mary Tudor, the former queen of France and sister of the King, absolutely despised Anne Boleyn and made it very plain that any friends of the Boleyns could only expect a helping hand to the gibbet-especially any named ‘Black’ or ‘Bedwell’ due to an unfortunate run-in with the Earl’s men last year.
Scratching Wiltshire and Suffolk from the list only left the Earl of Norfolk, Sir Thomas Howard, an eminent member of the Royal Court and veteran of the wars with the Scots. There was a firm family connection to grasp since he was the uncle of Lady Anne, his sister having married Thomas Boleyn. Unfortunately, due to those same circumstances last year, Ned wasn’t amongst those Norfolk favoured. Ned had, for his own survival, foiled a possible plot of Sir Thomas Howard, involving Cardinal Wolsey and Lady Anne. Who the intended target was still left Ned confused, lost in a maze of treachery and murder, though the whole affair had tended to confirm the reputation of Lord Howard for cunning and double dealing. The current jape at the Inns of Court was if any snake followed following the course of his lordship’s schemes, it would be tied in knots. Anyway he wasn’t sure the Earl’s man, Skelton, viewed Ned with any fondness since the Grafton Regis incident and his wounding.
So out of them all Ned was left to the dubiously good graces of Councillor Thomas Cromwell, a man on the rise and a dangerous competitor in the fatal game of court intrigue.
It was closer to midday when eventually some arrogant snot of an usher from his lord’s secretary, Ralph Sadleyer, waved him into the inner sanctum. As when he had last seen him, Cromwell was hard at work surrounded by clerks sorting through various papers of state or reports. The man was definitely in his element. From Ned’s viewpoint, all the participants moved with a timed synchronicity that reminded him of one of those new mechanical time clocks. The centre of it all was of course Cromwell’s table where he weighed and judged every scrap of parchment that passed before his perceptive eye.
Ned approached and made the appropriate courtly bow of deference. He was certainly getting a lot of practice at this. His acknowledged ‘good lord’ barely flicked an eyebrow at the show of respect and continued with his inspection of current matters on his table. Ned had sufficient experience of the man to know that this was part of a testing process. You remained still and patient without flinching and in due course would be accorded the priority your petition deserved. At least he had got in the door-some could wait for days…or weeks.
The slow minutes crawled by and Ned stayed very still, concentrating on the low murmur of the clerks and the cracks in the tiles. No doubt one or more had already presented some news on his rapid appearance. His reception depended on what Cromwell regarded as important, for him, or the King.
“Master Bedwell I have been told one of my servants impounded a vessel on my authority, in the name of the King, our Sovereign Lord. Could you explain why I would wish to do that?” It could have been considered a quiet voice though it rang sufficiently through the panelled chamber. If Ned had not already been accustomed to its snap of assumed command, he would have jumped at the shock. Instead he gave a lower bow and said nothing. Prior experience had taught him it was safer to allow Cromwell to vent his displeasure before giving any explanation. “Master Bedwell, this deposition also states that you refused to allow an officer of the Lord Chancellor’s access to the impounded vessel. Would this be true?”
Ned continued to graze the tile floor with his doffed cap and clamped his lips tight.
“This presumption has left Sir Thomas More exceedingly vexed, a point he repeatedly makes in his missive to me.” It was very difficult to ascertain from Cromwell’s tone whether he was upset at the usurpation of his authority or amused that it discomforted Lord Chancellor More.
Ned took it as a finger’s breadth of leeway and began his explanation. “Councillor, I admit I did act impulsively. I plead the urgency of the matter and its connection to Our Sovereign Majesty’s honour and the Great Petition. I feared that the Chancellor’s pursuivant was not cognisant of the full import of his actions.” Ned hoped this was good start. It was always difficult to judge the right approach, balancing grovelling with flattery and the flag of self interest.
Cromwell appeared to consider his plea for a moment and tapped the table with a finger as he swapped attention between the papers before him and Ned. “For an apprentice lawyer, Master Bedwell, you seem remarkably well acquainted with the mind of Our Sovereign Lord. Would you be so good as to enlighten this poor servant on His Majesty’s thinking regarding this affair?” The observation came out as crisp, dry and menacing. Ned fervently hoped it held an undertone of tolerant amusement.
“Councillor, it concerns information best kept close.”
That reply had Cromwell quirk his eyebrows into a more pensive frown before dismissing his cluster of clerks with a single command. Once the room had been cleared he waved Ned forward. “Why is it, Master Bedwell, that somewhere in this tale I suspect is the presence of your friend, Mistress Black?”
Ned was already sure that if pressed Cromwell could have come up with the complete manifest of the vessel at the centre of this and its list of owners, so he made no pretence of evasion. “She does figure prominently Councillor.”
Cromwell gave what might have been a sigh and signalled for Ned to continue. “I am sure that the Lord Chancellor has already supplied you with his reasons for wanting charge of any investigation?”
This received the smallest nod of acknowledgement Ned had yet seen. Briefly he wondered how many pages Sir Thomas More had churned out to justify his rights. He did have a reputation for excessive wordage and a very fast quill. His legal fees were said to be outstandingly large.
“I’ve inspected the scene and I believe that there are sufficient inconsistencies that the zeal of the Lord Chancellor’s minions would miss or ignore to the detriment of the King in his pursuit of the resolution of his Great Matter.” That waved banner of royal interest acquired a flicker of Cromwell’s heavy eyebrow, encouraging Ned to continue. “I will not shock you Councillor, with the gruesome details of what I saw, just a few facts.”