Meyer sighed deeply. ‘I suppose he always knew that there could only be one end to this affair.’
‘We must hope for good news until we know for certain what has happened to him. Meanwhile, the best we can do for him is to complete what he began.’ I unwrapped the painting and laid it on the pastor’s desk. ‘This is the message he left for me to pass on. What does it mean?’
Meyer stared at the canvas. ‘What an extraordinary …’
‘Please, can you translate?’ I urged. ‘I’m in a hurry to pass the message on.’
‘Yes, of course. Exquisite handwriting. So much talent. What a waste.’
‘The translation?’ I tried not to shout.
He took a sheaf of paper from a shelf and handed it to me. ‘There’s pen and ink beside you,’ he said. ‘If I read perhaps you would like to write.’
The words pastor Meyer dictated were as follows:
Visits of this man to the Duke of Norfolk
15 December, 1541, Kenninghall. Visitor says we are delaying our plans. You must beg forgiveness of his majesty and avoid being arrested like others of your family. We cannot proceed without you
20 May, 1543, Whitehall. Visitor says you must draw his majesty’s attention to the Windsor heretics … Our friends in Canterbury are ready to spring the trap
20 August, 1543, Whitehall. Visitor says everything is ready for the purge in Essex and Kent. My agents need more money. The pope will grant absolution …
‘That is the end’, Meyer said. ‘Who is this-man who gives orders to your duke?’
‘Someone who conceals his power extremely well,’ I replied.
At Ned’s house all was ready for our departure, including a simple meal packed by our host that we could eat as we travelled. The only task we had to perform was to make copies of Holbein’s notes and his painting of the heraldic device. As I worked, Ned sat opposite me at the table.
‘Strange to think of the Duke of Norfolk taking orders from a social inferior,’ he said. ‘Such a proud man.’
‘They are both in the service of Emperor Charles and the pope. That, I suppose, levels out lesser distinctions of rank. As covert Catholics, I imagine they enjoy your sympathy, Ned.’
‘That’s an unjust taunt, my friend.’
‘I mean no insult by it. I’m intrigued to know what you really think of a man like Thomas Moyle.’
‘I have never been able to understand how violence, militancy and treason can be squared with the Christian profession,’ he said. ‘By all accounts this Moyle has always been a duplicitous creature. In time past he was one of the most virulent enemies of the religious life. He was a chief commissioner in the campaign to close the monasteries.’
‘Aye, and a zealous supporter of Cromwell. It was only after Cromwell’s fall that he showed his true colours. He knew all about the ex-minister’s network and was in a position to sell his information to Eustace Chapuys, the imperial ambassador.’
‘So it seems we should not think of him as a good Catholic; just an ambitious, self-serving scoundrel who believes in nothing but his own advancement.’
I laid aside the quill. ‘Do you have a sharper pen, Ned? This one is beginning to blotch badly. If Moyle believes in nothing but Moyle, his religion has served him well. He’s made a rich marriage with the daughter of one of the leading goldsmiths and his control of the Court of Augmentations must bring him in hundreds by the year.’
Ned signed. ‘I have often noticed one characteristic of successful men: however much they have, it is seldom sufficient.’
‘Well, this time he has reached for one prize too many. This’ – I collected together my notes – ‘will bring about his downfall. Let us be on our way to lay the evidence before Archbishop Cranmer.’
Bart begged to be allowed to accompany us and there seemed no good reason to deny him. We rode into the main courtyard at Croydon Palace just as the last sunlight was drenching the tiled roofs. The household was at supper in the great hall and we were bidden to join them. Afterwards I was escorted to Ralph Morice’s office.
The secretary listened with mounting excitement as I recounted my meetings at Woodstock and Bridewell.
‘Johannes has sacrificed himself in a great cause,’ he commented. ‘The archbishop will include him in his prayers. He is a lesson to us all in dedication to God’s truth.’ He laid out my notes on his standing desk and studied them carefully.
‘I had no dyes to represent the heraldic shield fully,’ I explained, ‘but I have written in the colours.’
‘Have you brought the painting with you? I’d like to see it.’
I sent a message to Dick and within minutes he came with the wrapped canvas. I unpacked it and set it on a stool placed against the wall.
‘There is much sadness in those eyes,’ Morice said quietly. Then, more briskly, ‘His grace will want to see this. He reads German very well – not that I doubt that this translation is excellent. It will be good to have the shield copied in colour. We have someone here who can do it in water-paint. Let me see if I can recall how the heralds would describe it … “On a ground or, a chevron jules, between three moles sable”. I think that’s right. Personally, I dislike such gaudy, self-glorifying display.’ He picked up the portrait and strode to the door. ‘His grace should have finished supper now. I’ll go and report to him. Please wait here; I know he’ll want to talk to you himself.’
He was gone a long time. The last twenty-four hours had been tiring. The lamplight was soft. The fire gave off a comforting heat. My head drooped.
‘So, if you’re ready, Thomas …’
I woke with a start.
‘His grace will see you now. He’s in the library. Bring the painting.’
Morice led the way to a long chamber with several book presses standing against the walls. Cranmer was sitting in a high-backed chair at one of the tables. I made my obeisance. The archbishop received it with a nod and a wistful smile. He looked weary and there were shadows around his eyes. He motioned me to a bench opposite.
‘It is good to see you again, Thomas, and may I say how relieved I am that you are safe and well. Ralph has kept me informed of your activities. I appreciate what you have been doing.’
I made some self-deprecating response but the archbishop was now staring at my notes and seemed not to be listening.
‘This is very, very sad,’ he said.
‘I wonder if “sad” is the right word, Your Grace.’
‘You believe I should be angry, indignant, personally offended?’
‘I’m sure I would be.’
‘Perhaps you won’t object if I remind you that Jesus enjoins us to love our enemies.’
I must have looked crestfallen, for his smile broadened and he added, ‘Fortunately, our Lord said nothing about loving other people’s enemies.’ After a pause, he continued, ‘I have looked at the painting. Its message is clear: treason. These people wish to overthrow Church and state, as established by his gracious majesty. That we cannot permit. Yet, it dismays me to see a man of Sir Thomas’s talent and long years of service to the Crown becoming the agent of a foreign power.’
Morice said, ‘He’s obviously been concealing his real allegiance for many years.’
Cranmer nodded. ‘So it would seem. We have always known that he has a hankering after the old ways but his behaviour up till now has been correct. I was appalled to hear of his treatment of poor Richard.’
‘Your Grace, a royal messenger arrived this afternoon with a letter from Anthony Denny. He is drawing up Turner’s pardon for the king’s signature.’
‘Good, good. Perhaps we should arrange for Richard to rest for a while. It makes little sense to aggravate discord.’
Morice tugged at his beard and gave a discreet cough. ‘With respect, Your Grace, may I suggest that it might be interpreted as a sign of weakness. Thanks to Master Holbein’s endeavours, we can now take the offensive against all this subtle and secretive plotting. With the evidence we have, we can arrest Moyle. Denny also reports that Thomas Legh will be with us by tomorrow evening at the latest. With him leading your commission, all the enemies of Church and state will rapidly be brought to heel. The Duke of Norfolk has laid his last plot. When his majesty sees Master Holbein’s notes nothing can save him.’