‘No,’ I replied gently. ‘You are not under arrest, not yet. Though others will be coming here for you in a while. I am Matthew Shardlake, a lawyer. It would certainly be better for you to talk to me first. I may be able to do something to help you, if you help us.’
Leeman only glared at me. ‘You are the agents of Bertano, emissary of the Antichrist.’
‘That name again,’ Nicholas said.
I pulled a stool over to the bed and sat face to face with Leeman. ‘We have heard that name many times recently, Master Leeman,’ I said. ‘But I swear to you I do not know who Bertano is. Perhaps you could tell me.’ I considered a moment. ‘By the Antichrist I take it you mean the Pope.’
‘The Beast of Rome,’ Leeman confirmed, watching carefully for our reaction.
I smiled. ‘Nobody here is a friend of the Pope, I assure you.’
‘Then who do you work for?’
I took out the Queen’s seal which I had been given on the day of my appointment and held it up for him to see. ‘For her majesty. Privately. I am trying to find out what happened to a certain book.’
Leeman frowned, then said, ‘Lawyer or courtier, ’tis all the same. You all steal bread from the mouths of the poor.’
‘Actually I am an advocate at the Court of Requests, and most of my work is done on behalf of the poor.’ His look in response was contemptuous; no doubt he despised the charitable doings of the rich. But I persisted. ‘Tonight we were looking for a manuscript which we believe you and your friends were trying to smuggle abroad. I also seek, by the way, the murderers of Armistead Greening.’
‘Who is now safe in heaven,’ Leeman said, looking at me defiantly.
‘There is another manuscript, also missing, by the late Mistress Askew, who was cruelly burned at Smithfield.’
‘It is gone.’ There was a note of triumph in Leeman’s voice now. ‘Vandersteyn had it with him.’ He paused. His face paled. ‘Curdy – your people killed him. Good McKendrick, I saw him run. Did you catch and kill him, too?’
‘He escaped. And it was not us who killed Curdy, but some others we have been forced to work with. They are concerned with finding Anne Askew’s writings, but we are not.’ I spoke slowly and carefully: I saw I had his attention. ‘I am interested only in the other manuscript, which they do not know about. The one stolen from the Queen.’ I leaned forward. ‘A book which, if published, could do great damage to the Reformist cause. Just when her majesty’s troubles appeared to be over, and the tide beginning to swing against Bishop Gardiner, you steal it. Why, Master Leeman?’
He did not reply, but looked at me through narrowed eyes, calculating. A slight blush appeared on his pale cheeks and I wondered if he was remembering his oath to the Queen, which he had broken. I continued quietly. ‘I traced you through the guard Gawger, whom you bribed, and the carpenter who gave you the substitute key for the Queen’s chest.’
‘You have learned much.’
‘Not enough. Where is the book now?’
‘I do not know. Greening had it. Whoever killed him took it.’
‘And who was that?’ He did not answer, but I sensed he knew more. He looked at me, then surprised me by saying, in a scoffing tone, ‘You think the danger to the Queen is ended, if the book I took is recovered?’
‘So it has seemed. I have lately been at court, Master Leeman.’
He answered, weariness and scorn mingling in his voice: ‘It is not over. How did you learn the name Bertano, if you do not know who he is?’
‘Greening’s neighbour, Okedene, heard you arguing loudly in Greening’s shop, shortly before Greening was killed. He heard the name Bertano mentioned as an emissary of the Antichrist.’
Leeman nodded slowly. ‘Yes. The Queen may be a good woman, and perhaps in her heart she recognizes the Mass as a blasphemous ceremony, but because of Bertano she is doomed anyway. The King is about to receive a secret emissary from Rome. That can only mean he is going to return to papal servitude. Many would fall then, Catherine Parr chief among them.’And then I felt a chill as I understood. ‘Bertano is the official emissary of the Pope,’ I breathed.
‘Whether that is true or not,’ Nicholas said angrily, ‘you broke your oath to guard and protect her.’
‘In the end she is no more than another of the idle rout of nobles and princes, the refuse of mankind.’ Leeman spoke so fiercely, I wondered again whether his conscience pricked him.
Nicholas frowned. ‘God’s death, he is an Anabaptist. That mad company of schismatics. He’d have all gentlemen murdered and their property given to the rabble.’
I turned round and gave him a warning look. ‘I am in your hands,’ Leeman said fiercely. ‘And know that I will soon be killed.’ He swallowed hard. His angry tones held the defiance of a martyr, but his voice also trembled slightly. Yes, I thought, he is afraid; like all men he fears the flames.
‘Indeed,’ he continued. ‘I am what your boy calls an Anabaptist. I understand baptism may only be allowed once one has come to true knowledge of God. And that just as the Pope is the Antichrist, seducing men’s hearts while living in pomp and magnificence, so earthly princes and their elbowhangers are likewise thieves and must be overthrown if Christians are to live as the Bible commands!’ His voice rose. ‘With all goods held in common, in true charity, recognizing we are all of the same weak clay, and that our only true allegiance is to Our Lord Jesus Christ.’ He leaned back, breathing hard, staring at us defiantly.
‘That’s some lecture,’ Barak said sardonically.
‘So,’ I began quietly, ‘you would overthrow the King, who is said to be, by God’s decree, Supreme Head of the Church in England?’
‘Yes!’ he shouted. ‘And I know I have just committed treason with those words, and could be hanged and drawn and quartered at Tyburn. As well as burned for heresy for what I said about the Mass.’ He took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘Best to get it all out now. I can only die once. It is what I believe, and because of that I will be received in Heaven when you kill me.’
‘I told you earlier, Leeman, that we are not necessarily your enemies. If you can help guide us to the Queen’s book, I may be able to help you.’ I looked at him closely before continuing. ‘You come from the gentle classes. You must do, to have been appointed to the position of status and trust you held. So what brought you to your present beliefs?’
‘You would have me incriminate others?’ Leeman took another breath. ‘That I will not do.’
‘You have no need to. Master Myldmore has already told us all about your group. We have him safe. We know the names – the three who came with you tonight: Curdy who was killed, Vandersteyn who got away in the boat, and McKendrick who fled. And Master Greening and the apprentice Elias, both of whom were murdered.’
A look of astonishment crossed his face. ‘Elias, too, is dead?’
‘Yes, and by the description and methods of the killers, by the same hands that murdered Greening.’
‘But we thought – ’ He checked himself and whispered, ‘Then Elias is in heaven, by God’s mercy.’
I pressed on. ‘We also know, through Myldmore, how Anne Askew’s Examinations came into the hands of your group. And my enquiries at court led me to you as the man who stole the Queen’s book.’
Leeman slumped back on the bed. ‘Myldmore,’ he said despairingly. ‘We knew he could not be trusted. That man had been seduced by Mammon.’
‘And had residual doubts about the Royal Supremacy.’
Leeman said, ‘Yes. We could not let him into our secrets. Master Greening was firm on that.’ He shook his head. ‘Greening brought me to the truth, he and the others. God rest him.’
I said, ‘We would like to find his killers. Please help us.’
Leeman lay quietly, thinking. I burned to know all, but I was sure that, as with Myldmore, gentle persuasion was the best tactic, though Leeman seemed a much tougher and more intelligent man. Finally he spoke again, in more subdued tones. ‘You know so much, it will do no harm to t
ell you the rest. As for me, yes, I was born and raised a gentleman. In Tetbury, in the Cotswolds. It is sheep country, and my father owned many flocks. He had grown fat on the cloth trade, and by his connections he was able to get me a position at court as one of the Queen’s guard.’ He smiled sadly. ‘My father, landowner though he is, at least embraced the new faith, as did I as I grew up. Though the King himself has moved steadily back to the old ways. And would now go further.’
‘Back to Rome, you think?’ Barak fingered his beard thoughtfully.
‘Yes. My father warned me that when I came to London I would see things I would not like, but in order to advance myself I must hold my tongue and wait for better times. Concentrate on advancement, always advancement.’ He clenched a hand into a fist. ‘Towards riches and power, not towards God. That is all that fills the hollow hearts at court. My father could not see that,’ he added sadly. ‘He saw only part of what Christ demands of us. As through a glass, darkly.’ He turned to me. ‘You have seen Whitehall, Master Shardlake?’
‘I have.’
‘It is magnificent, is it not? And still a-building. Getting grander by the day.’
‘Some say the King wishes it to be the greatest palace in Europe.’
Leeman gave a hollow laugh. ‘It is designed to reduce those who come to a state of awe. Every stone speaks of the King’s power and wealth, every stone cries out: “Look, and fear and wonder.” While within,’ he added bitterly, ‘the dirty game is played called kingly craft, wherein no man is safe.’
‘I agree with you,’ I said. ‘Certainly about kingly craft.’
Leeman looked at me hard, surprised by my reaction – I think he had intended to provoke me into defending the King and his court. He went on: ‘I hate it. The great palace, every stone built with the sweat of poor men, the stench and poverty and misery just beyond its walls. My vicar in Tetbury was a man who had come to see the emptiness of the Mass, and he put me in touch with friends in London, men of faith.’ Leeman paused, his eyes seeming to look inward for a moment. ‘It is as well that he did, for royal service offers many temptations – debauchery of the flesh, vanity in dress and manner, fine clothes and jewels – oh, they are tempting, as the Queen herself says in her book.’
‘You have read it?’
‘Yes, when it was in Master Greening’s possession.’
The thought of him reading the stolen manuscript made me suddenly angry, but I forced myself to keep my expression open and amiable as he continued. ‘Through friends outside I progressed further towards God, and the right understanding of our wicked society.’ He looked me in the eye again. ‘One discussion group led me to others as my faith deepened, and last year I was introduced to Master Greening.’
I could see how it had happened: a sensitive young man, with a conscience and radical inclinations, tempted by the magnificence of the court but aware of the evil within. His beliefs had deepened as he moved into more radical circles, eventually coming into Greening’s orbit. I ventured, ‘So, you were accepted into Greening’s little group, unlike Master Myldmore. Who also had access to secrets,’ I added meaningfully.
Leeman laughed. ‘I guessed you had made that connection. Master Vandersteyn had connections, too; not here, but in the courts of France and Flanders, with men who would tell him things. It was his idea to build a similar group here, of true believers who were in a position to find out secrets that might harm both papists and princes, help stir the population to rebel against both.’
‘I see.’ So Vandersteyn, now heading out into the North Sea, had been the key.
‘He met Master Greening on a business trip to London two years ago, and so our little group was born. McKendrick had already come to see the truth. Then the papists came sniffing at his heels and he had to flee Scotland. He had held a junior position at the Scotch court of the child Mary and knew all the schemings and bitings among the rival lords there.’
‘And Master Curdy? He does not seem to have been a man of connections.’
‘No. But he was a man of faith, with an instinct for truly sniffing out who might be trusted and who might not.’
‘So,’ Barak said flatly. ‘A little cell of Anabaptist spies, rooting for secrets to disclose.’
Leeman looked at him defiantly. ‘And we found them. Even Myldmore, whom we had rejected because he had not reached true faith, came back to us when Anne Askew entrusted him with her writings. We knew that if her story of illegal torture by two councillors of state were published abroad and smuggled back into England it would rouse the populace. English printers are too closely watched for it to be done safely here. And it will be published,’ he said defiantly. ‘The government has agents in Flanders, but Master Vandersteyn’s people are adept at avoiding them.’
‘I see.’ I took a long breath. ‘Well, I told you, I do not care about Anne Askew’s book. Others did, and it was necessary for me to work with them for a while.’
‘Richard Rich?’ Leeman asked. ‘There is a villain.’
I inclined my head. ‘As for you, you overheard the Queen and Archbishop Cranmer disputing loudly one night when you were on duty, and learned of the existence of the Lamentation.’
He groaned, wincing at a spasm of pain. ‘By my faith, sir, you are a clever man.’
I took another deep breath. ‘And I guess you told your group about the Queen’s book, and it was decided you would steal the Lamentation, even though publication could seal the Queen’s fate. Because you believed her fate was already sealed and publication would at least show that she held radical beliefs before she was toppled. And you knew her fate was sealed because of Bertano?’
‘Yes. I argued within the group that it was better to expose Bertano publicly, that knowledge of his coming would truly rouse the populace. But others argued against, saying we would not be believed and it was too late to prevent his coming.’
‘Who argued that position?’
‘Master Curdy and Captain McKendrick both.’
‘And how did you find out about Bertano?’
‘I told you, Vandersteyn has informants on the Continent. Including a junior official at the French court. Suffice to say that his responsibilities involved accommodation for foreign visitors, which gave him the opportunity, like me, to overhear conversations. Such as the arrival in France of Gurone Bertano, a papal ambassador who once lived in England and was being sent to seek an agreement between the Pope and King Henry. At the King’s invitation.’
Barak shook his head firmly. ‘The King would never surrender his authority back to Rome.’
‘Yes,’ Leeman agreed. ‘Master Vandersteyn was mightily shocked when his emissary from Flanders brought him the news.’ He looked at me, his dark eyes hard. ‘But his people can always be trusted. Bertano is now at the French court, and he will arrive here within a few days. It has been done secretly, only a few men at court know, and nobody with any sympathy for reform. Certainly not the Queen.’
I glanced at Barak, who sat stroking his beard, frowning hard. It was an outlandish, extraordinary story, yet it fitted what Lord Parr had told me – that despite their failure to destroy the Queen and those around her, the conservative faction were not downcast, were rather comporting themselves as though they had something else up their sleeves. If this was their trump card, the stakes could not be higher.
‘When did the news about Bertano come?’ I asked.
‘Just after I told our group about overhearing the Queen’s argument with Cranmer over the Lamentation. And we all agreed: if the King decides to go back to Rome, it surely follows that the Queen must be replaced. The Pope would insist on it. But if the Lamentation were published, the populace would see the King had executed a good and true woman.’
I got up and walked to the window. I was horrified. If what Leeman said about Bertano was true, the Queen was in deadly danger from another source, too, and was a dispensable pawn in a far bigger game. It was hard to take in. But at least it seemed Greening’s group had made a majority dec
ision not to publish the Lamentation before the Queen fell, but only to keep it in Greening’s shop. Safe, they supposed.
Barak spoke bluntly to Leeman. ‘Making public that the King was about to receive a secret emissary from the Pope would surely have roused popular anger, perhaps prevented the visit taking place at all.’
‘Ay,’ Nicholas nodded agreement. ‘The outrage among reformers would be tremendous.’
Leeman replied, ‘That is what I said when we discussed Bertano in the group. We argued over it for days.’
I came back to him and sat down again. ‘But Curdy and McKendrick opposed it? I ask, Master Leeman, because I think one of your group might have been a spy in the pay of a third party, I know not who. I am fairly certain, by the way, that we were followed to the docks tonight, and that events there were watched.’
He nodded sadly. ‘That is what we also came to think, after Master Greening was murdered and the Lamentation disappeared. That is why we all fled. Vandersteyn had Anne Askew’s writings, ready to take abroad, so at least the killers would not get them. Afterwards, we realized there must have been a spy, for nobody else knew what we were doing.’ He shook his head. ‘But we thought it was Elias, as he was the only one that refused to leave the country.’
‘He had not been told about the Lamentation, he was too young for such a secret but he could have . . .’
‘He could have overheard. That is what we thought, afterwards. And he needed money, with his family to support.’ Leeman shook his head. ‘Poor Elias.’
‘If there was a spy, it wasn’t him.’ I thought quickly; that left only Curdy, who was dead, Vandersteyn, who was gone, and McKendrick. And I could not see it being Vandersteyn; he had too long a history as a radical and had been at the very centre of the conspiracy. That left Curdy and McKendrick, who had lived in the same house and had both been against exposing Bertano before his arrival. I asked, ‘What was Curdy’s and McKendrick’s argument against making Bertano’s visit known immediately?’
‘Curdy said we had no clear evidence, and if we set the story abroad it would simply be denied, and the negotiations would take place anyway. McKendrick agreed, he said stronger evidence was needed, perhaps more detail of where the negotiations were to take place, and with whom. He said he knew from experience in Scotland how rumours can fly, only to be quickly quelled if there is no evidence. He suggested Vandersteyn try to get more information from the Continent, and then break the news in detail, when Bertano was actually here. We knew only that he was coming around the start of August. In the end we agreed to wait, and Vandersteyn sent letters to his associates abroad, in code, to try to get more information.’