‘You can’t be sure,’ Barak interjected.
‘I’m not sure of anything,’ I replied with sudden heat. I made my voice calm. ‘But no search was made of the rest of the room. The books on the shelves were undisturbed and would they not have been an obvious place to look for a hidden paper? Also, I believe some bottles were taken from the shelves. I think the people who murdered those poor men knew exactly what they were looking for.’
‘So there will be no physical traces left of their experiments,’ Cromwell said.
‘That would be my guess, my lord.’ I looked anxiously at him, but he only nodded reflectively.
‘See, Jack,’ he said suddenly, nodding at me. ‘Learn from a master of observation.’ He turned bleak eyes on me again. ‘Matthew, you must help me solve this.’
‘But, my lord—’
‘I can’t tell anyone else,’ he said with sudden passion. ‘I daren’t. If it got to the king—’ He sighed, a shuddering sound. It was the first time I had seen Thomas Cromwell afraid.
‘You must solve this,’ he repeated. ‘You can have any authority, any resources.’
I stood on the fine carpet, my heart thudding. Once before he had sent me to investigate a killing, pitching me into horrors beyond imagining. Not again, I thought. Not again.
He seemed to read my mind and sudden anger flashed in his eyes. ‘Christ’s wounds, man,’ he snapped. ‘I’ve saved that girl’s life for you. Or at least I’ll save it if you help me; Forbizer can be made to change his mind again if need be. My own life could be at stake here as well as everything you once believed in.’ I had a momentary vision of Elizabeth, lying blank-eyed in her cell. And I knew that at a word from Cromwell I could be flung in gaol too, for knowing too much.
‘I will help, my lord,’ I said quietly.
He looked at me for a long moment, then gestured to Barak. ‘Jack, the Bible. Before I tell you more, Matthew, I must have your oath to keep this matter secret.’
Barak laid a luxury edition of the new Great Bible, which had been ordered to be set in every church, upon the desk. I looked at the brightly coloured title page: King Henry on his throne, handing copies of God’s Word to Cromwell on one side, Archbishop Cranmer on the other, who in turn passed them down to the people. I swallowed and touched the book.
‘I swear I will keep the matter of Greek Fire privy,’ Cromwell said. I repeated the words, feeling I was turning a key in a set of fetters that bound me to him again.
‘And help me to the best of your ability.’
‘To the best of my ability.’
Cromwell gave a satisfied nod, though he still sat hunched over his desk like some great beast at bay. He picked something up and turned it over in his big hands: it was the miniature portrait he had had at the Domus.
‘The reformist cause is tottering, Matthew.’ He spoke quietly. ‘It’s even worse than the rumours say. The king’s afraid and grows more afraid every day as Norfolk and Bishop Gardiner tip their poison in his ear. Afraid of common people reading the Bible, fearing they’ll end by overthrowing the social order in bloody chaos like the Anabaptists at Münster. Radical reformers stand in danger of the fire - you know Robert Barnes is under arrest?’
‘I had heard.’ I took a deep breath; I did not want to hear this.
‘The Act of Six Articles the king forced through last year takes us halfway back to Rome and now he wants the lower classes forbidden from reading the Bible. And he’s afraid of invasion.’
‘Our defences—’
‘Could never withstand a combined onslaught by France and Spain. King Francis and Emperor Charles have quarrelled and the threat’s over for now, but things could change again.’ He took the miniature and laid it on top of the Bible. ‘Do you still paint, Matthew, for a pastime?’
I looked at him, puzzled by his change of tack. ‘Not for some time, my lord.’
‘Give me your opinion of this portrait.’
I studied it. The woman was young, with attractive if vacuous features. The image was so clear you could imagine you were looking through a window at her. From the jewels set in her elaborate hood and in the collar of her high-cut dress she was someone of wealth.
‘This is beautiful,’ I said. ‘It could almost be by Holbein.’
‘It is by Holbein. It is the Lady Anne of Cleves, now our queen. I kept it when the king threw it in my face.’ He shook his head. ‘I thought I could shore up our defences and our reformed faith at the same time by marrying the king to the daughter of a German duke.’ He gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘I spent two years after Queen Jane died trying to find a foreign princess for him. It wasn’t easy. He has a certain reputation.’
He was interrupted by a gentle cough. Barak was looking at his master anxiously.
‘Jack warns me I am going too far. But you’ve given your oath, haven’t you, Matthew, to keep your mouth tight shut?’ His hard brown eyes bored into mine as he emphasized the words.
‘Yes, my lord.’ I felt sweat forming on my brow.
‘Eventually the Duke of Cleves agreed we could have one of his daughters. The king wanted to see the Lady Anne before agreeing to marry her, but the Germans took that as an affront. So I sent Master Holbein to make a picture. After all, his genius is to make exact representations, is it not?’
‘No one in Europe does that better.’ I hesitated. ‘And yet—’
‘Yet what is an exact representation, eh, Matthew? We all look different in different lights, can never be caught completely in one glance. I told Holbein to paint her in the best light. And he did. That was another mistake. Can you see?’
I thought a moment. ‘It is full face—’
‘Not till you see her in profile do you realize how long her nose is. Nor does it show her high body odour, nor how she didn’t speak a word of English.’ His shoulders slumped. ‘When she landed at Rochester in January the king disliked her on sight. And now the Duke of Norfolk’s dangled his niece before the king, schooled her to catch his fancy. Catherine Howard is pretty, not yet seventeen, and he’s caught. He drools over her like an old dog over a fine joint of meat and blames me for saddling him with the Cleves mare. But if he marries Norfolk’s niece, the Howards will have me dead and England back under Rome.’
‘Then all that’s happened these ten years,’ I said slowly, ‘all the suffering and death, it would have been for nothing.’
‘Worse than nothing, there’ll be a cull of reformers that would make Thomas More’s inquisitions seem mild.’ He clenched his big fists, then got up and walked over to the window, staring out over the lawn. ‘I’m doing all I can to discredit them, find papist plots. I’ve had Lord Lisle arrested, and Bishop Sampson; he’s in the Tower, I had him shown the rack. But I can find nothing—nothing.’ He turned and faced me. ‘Then I told the king about Greek Fire. He can’t wait for the demonstration; he loves weapons of war, and warships above all. He sees us making England’s navy the greatest on the seas, clearing the French from the south coast. He’s my friend again.’ Cromwell clenched his fists. ‘A foreign power would pay much for that formula. I’m setting extra spies in the ambassadors’ houses, all the ports are being watched. Matthew, I must have that formula back safe before the demonstration. Today is the twenty-ninth of May. We have only twelve full days.’
Then, to my surprise, I felt an alien emotion towards Thomas Cromwell: I felt sorry for him. But I reminded myself that a creature at bay is at its most dangerous.
He sat up, slipping the miniature into the pocket of his robe. ‘Michael Gristwood had to use three intermediaries to get to me. They are the only others who know about Greek Fire. Two of them are lawyers, men of Lincoln’s Inn that you know. The first was Stephen Bealknap—’
‘Not Bealknap. Dear God, he’s the last one any man should trust. And they’d had a falling out.’
‘So I hear. They must have mended it.’
‘I’ve a case on against Bealknap.’
Cromwell nodded. ‘Will you win?’
‘Ay, if there’s any justice.’
He grunted. ‘Talk to him, find if he told anyone else. I doubt he did, for I told Gristwood to order him from me to sew up his mouth.’
‘Bealknap has a care for his safety. But he’s a greedy rogue.’
‘Find out.’ He paused. ‘When Gristwood told Bealknap about Greek Fire, he gave thought as to who might have access to me. He went to Gabriel Marchamount.’
‘Did he? They had some dealings in the past, I know, but Bealknap was too shady for Marchamount’s liking.’
‘Marchamount moves in semi-papist circles. That worries me. Question him too. Threaten him or flatter him or offer him gold, I don’t care so long as you loosen his tongue.’
‘I’ll try, my lord. And the third—’
‘Marchamount took the story to a mutual acquaintance of ours. Lady Bryanston.’
My eyes widened in surprise. ‘I met her only a few days ago. She invited me to dinner.’
‘Yes, I dropped your name at her table last week, when I was thinking of employing you to get the formula from Gristwood. That is good, you must go. Talk to her too.’
I reflected a moment. ‘I shall, my lord. But if I am to get to the root of this matter—’
‘Yes?’
‘I need to know more about Greek Fire. Retrace the steps from its discovery to the demonstrations you held.’
‘If you think fit. But remember, time presses. Barak here can tell you all about the demonstrations, he can take you out to Deptford to see where they took place.’
‘And I could talk to the monastery librarian. Perhaps visit St Bartholomew’s to see where the stuff was found.’
He smiled coldly. ‘You don’t believe in Greek Fire yet, do you? You will. As for Bernard Kytchyn, Brother Bernard the librarian as he used to be, I’ve been trying to trace him since Lady Honor first came to me. To make sure he kept his mouth shut too. But like half these ex-monks he’s disappeared without trace.’
‘Perhaps I could try the Court of Augmentations; he must have arrangements to collect his pension.’
Cromwell nodded. ‘That’s Richard Rich’s territory. But you could say it was in connection with a case.’ He looked at me sharply. ‘I don’t want Rich getting a whiff of this. I raised him to the king’s council, but he knows about the plots against me and will change sides in a moment to protect himself. If he went to the king and said I’d lost Greek Fire—’ He raised his eyebrows.
‘I would like to talk to Goodwife Gristwood again,’ I said. ‘I had a feeling she was keeping something back.’
‘Good, good.’
‘And finally, there is a man of learning I would like to consult. An apothecary.’
He frowned. ‘Not that black monk from Scarnsea?’
‘He is a learned man. I would only like to ask him, if need be, for advice about alchemy. I would not wish to involve him further than necessary.’
‘So long as he is not told of Greek Fire. There were rumours of its rediscovery three hundred years ago and the Lateran Council banned its use. They said it was too dangerous. An ex-monk might feel himself bound by that. Or might want to give it to France or Spain, where the monkish brethren still flourish.’
‘He would not do that. But I do not wish to place him in danger.’
Cromwell smiled suddenly. ‘I see this matter intrigues you, Matthew.’
‘I will bend my mind to it.’
He nodded. ‘Come to me if you need anything. But time is all. You must move fast. You’ll have Jack to help you. I’m setting him to work with you.’
I stared at Barak. What I felt must have shown in my face, for he smiled sarcastically.
‘I work alone these days,’ I said.
‘You need help with this. Jack will lodge with you. You’ll get used to his rough ways.’
I had already learned Barak did not trust me. It occurred to me that perhaps Cromwell did not either, not wholly, and was setting Barak to keep an eye on me.
I hesitated. ‘My lord,’ I ventured, ‘I must also give some time to Mistress Wentworth’s case.’
He shrugged. ‘Very well. And Jack will help you with that. But this business comes first.’ He fixed me with those hard brown eyes. ‘If you fail, all those associated with me will be at risk. Your lives could be at stake too.’
He rang a little bell and Grey stepped in from an inner room. He looked worried.
‘Grey’s been told. Keep me informed of progress every day. Any news, anything you want, send it via Grey. No one else.’
I nodded.
‘I can’t trust anyone now,’ he growled. ‘Not the people I raised to the council, not even my own staff, whom Norfolk pays to spy on me. But Grey’s been with me since I was a nobody, haven’t you, Edwin?’
‘Ay, my lord.’ He hesitated. ‘Is Master Barak to be involved in this too?’
‘He is.’
Grey pursed his lips. Cromwell looked at him.
‘Matthew can do anything that requires diplomacy.’
‘That—er - might be best.’
‘Jack can deal with anything that requires a strong hand, eh?’
I glanced at Barak. He was studying his master’s face. One again I caught that look of concern, and I realized that he feared deeply for Cromwell. And perhaps for his own fate too.
Chapter Nine
WHEN WE LEFT THE ROOM Barak told me he had things to collect. I went outside, fetched Chancery and led him into the front yard. From a little distance a murmuring was audible, and I heard a shout of ‘Don’t shove there!’ The doles were being distributed.
My mind was in a whirl. Cromwell and reform about to fall? I remembered Godfrey’s distress a few days ago, the mutterings everywhere about the queen. Though my faith had reached a low ebb, I felt a clutch of dread at the thought of the papists back in charge, the bloodshed and return to superstition that must follow.
I began walking distractedly about the yard. Now I was saddled with this churl Barak. What was he doing? ‘A pox on it all!’ I burst out aloud.
‘Ho there, what’s this?’ I whirled round to see Barak grinning at me. I reddened with embarrassment.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Things affect me like that sometimes. But I’ve a choleric temperament. His lordship said you were a man of melancholy humour, who keeps his feelings to himself.’
‘Usually I do,’ I said curtly. I saw that Barak carried a big leather satchel slung over his shoulder. He inclined his head to it. ‘The papers from the abbey and some material my master has gathered about Greek Fire.’
He fetched the black mare and we rode out again. ‘I’m starving hungry,’ he said conversationally. ‘Does your housekeeper keep a good table?’
‘Good plain fare,’ I replied shortly.
‘Will you see the girl’s uncle soon?’
‘I’ll send him a note when I get back.’
‘His lordship has saved her the press,’ he said. ‘It’s a nasty death.’
‘Twelve days. We don’t have long, either for Elizabeth or this other business.’
‘It’s all a fog to me.’ Barak shook his head. ‘You’re right to question Mother Gristwood again.’
‘Mother? She’s childless.’
‘Is she? Not surprised. I wouldn’t want to tup her. Nasty old stoat.’
‘I don’t know why you dislike her so, but that’s no basis for suspicion.’ I spoke shortly. Barak grunted. I turned and looked at him. ‘Your master seems very concerned Sir Richard Rich should not be involved.’
‘If he learned about Greek Fire and its loss he’d use it against the earl. My master raised Rich up, as he said, but he’s a man who’d betray anyone for his own advantage. You know his reputation.’
‘Yes. He founded his career by perjuring himself at Thomas More’s trial. Many say that was at your master’s bidding.’
Barak shrugged. We rode on in silence for a while, up towards Ely Place. Then Barak drew his horse in close. ‘Don’t look round,’ he said quietly, ??
?but we’re being followed.’
I looked at him in surprise. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I think so. I’ve taken a quick look back once or twice and the same man’s been there. Odd-looking arsehole. Here, turn in by St Andrew’s Church.’
He led the way through the gate, behind the high wall enclosing the church, and jumped quickly down from his horse. I dismounted more slowly. ‘Hurry now,’ he said impatiently, leading the mare behind the wall. I joined him where he stood peering round the gateway.
‘See,’ he breathed, ‘here he comes. Don’t stick your head out too far.’
There were plenty of pedestrians around and a few carts, but the only rider was a man on a white colt. He was about Barak’s age, tall and thin, with a thatch of untidy brown hair. His pale face had a scholarly look, though it was pitted as an old cheese with the scars of smallpox. As we watched the man halted, shading his eyes against the sun as he looked up the road to Holborn Bar. Barak pulled me back. ‘He’s missed us. He’ll be looking round in a moment. What a face, he looks as if he’s just been dug up.’ I frowned at his presumption in grabbing at me, but he only smiled back cheerily, pleased to have bested the white-faced man.
‘Come on, we’ll lead the horses round the church and go back by Shoe Lane.’ He took the mare’s reins. I followed him on the path through the churchyard.
‘Who was that?’ I asked as we halted on the far side of the church - somewhat breathlessly, for he had led a brisk pace.
‘Don’t know. He must have been following us since we left his lordship’s house. There’s not many would have the nerve to set watch there.’ He heaved himself deftly into the saddle, and I lifted myself onto Chancery’s back more slowly; after my day of riding hither and thither my back was sore. Barak looked at me curiously.
‘You all right?’
‘Yes,’ I snapped, settling myself in the saddle.
He shrugged. ‘Well just ask, any time, if you want a hand. It’s nothing to me you’re a hunchback, I’m not superstitious.’ I stared after him, speechless, as he turned and led the way into Shoe Lane, whistling tunelessly.
As we rode on to Chancery Lane I was too offended by his insolence to speak, but then I thought I should find out what I could about the wretched man. ‘That’s twice I’ve been watched this last week,’ I said. ‘By that man and before by you.’