Dissolution

CHAPTER 16

We said little as we walked back to the monastery, under a sky that was rapidly clouding over again. I was angry with myself for my outburst, but my nerves were frayed and Mark's naivety had irritated me. I had found a new mood of determined resolution, though, and set a sharp pace on the road until I stumbled in a drift and Mark had to steady me, which irritated me further. As we neared the walls of St Donatus, a bitter wind began blowing and it started to snow once more.

I banged unceremoniously on the door of Bugge's gatehouse; he appeared, wiping food from his mouth with a dirty sleeve.

'I wish to see Brother Jerome. At once, please.'

'The prior has custody of him, sir. He's at Sext.' He nodded in the direction of the church, from which a faint chanting was audible.

'Then fetch him out of it!' I replied sharply. The churl went off muttering, and we pulled our coats, already white with snowflakes, round us tightly as we waited. Shortly Bugge reappeared, accompanied by Prior Mortimus, a frown on his red face.

'Ye wish to see Jerome, Commissioner? Has something happened that I should be fetched from church?'

'Only that I have no time to waste. Where is he?'

'After his insults to you, he's kept locked in his cell in the dorter.'

'Then take us to him, please. I wish to question him.'

He led us away to the cloister. 'I dread to think what insults ye'll get, bearding him in his own den. If ye're minded to have him committed for treason, ye'll be doing us all a service.'

'Will I? He's friendless here, then?'

'Pretty well.'

'There's a few friendless people here. Novice Whelplay, for example.'

He looked at me coldly. 'I tried to teach Simon Whelplay a contrite spirit.'

'Better broken to heaven than in one piece to hell?' Mark muttered.

'What?'

'Something a reforming magistrate said to Master Poer and me this morning. By the way, I hear you visited Simon early yesterday.'

He reddened. 'I went to pray over him. I did not want him dead, just cleansed of what possessed him.'

'Even at the price of his life?'

He came to a halt and faced me, a harried look on his face. The weather was getting worse; snowflakes whirled round us as our coats and the prior's habit billowed in the wind.

'I didn't want him dead! It wasn't my doing, he was possessed. Possessed. His death wasn't my fault, I won't be blamed!'

I studied him. Had he gone to pray over the novice yesterday from some sense of guilt? No, I reflected, Prior Mortimus was not one to question the rightness of anything he did. It was strange; his air of brutal certainty reminded me of radical Lutherans I had met. And no doubt he had contrived some intellectual sophistry that allowed him to molest young women without trouble to his conscience.

'It is cold,' I said. 'Lead on.'

He led us without further converse into the dorter, a long, two-storey building facing the cloister. Smoke rose from many chimneys. I had never seen the inside of a monks' dormitory before. I knew from the Comperta that the early Benedictines' great communal dormitories had long since been partitioned off into comfortable individual rooms, and so it was here. We passed down a long corridor with many doors. Some were open, and I could see warm fires and comfortable beds. The heat was welcome. Prior Mortimus halted before a closed door.

'Normally, it's locked,' he said, 'to make sure he doesn't go wandering.' He pushed the door open. 'Jerome, the commissioner wishes to see you.'

Brother Jerome's cell was as austere as those I passed had been comfortable. No fire burned in the empty grate, and apart from a crucifix above the bed the whitewashed walls were bare. The old Carthusian sat on the bed dressed only in his nether hose; his skinny torso was twisted and bent around the shoulders, as knotted and crooked as my own but with the marks of injury not deformity. Brother Guy stood bent over him with a cloth, washing a dozen small weals that disfigured his skin. Some were red, others yellow with pus. An ewer of water gave off the sharp smell of lavender.

'Brother Guy,' I said, 'I am sorry to disrupt your ministrations.'

'I am nearly finished. There, Brother, that should ease the infected sores.'

The Carthusian gave me an ugly glare before turning to the infirmarian. 'My clean shirt, please.'

Brother Guy sighed. 'You weaken yourself with this. You could at least soak the hairs to soften them.' He passed him a grey garment of hair cloth, the animal hairs sewn into the fabric on the inner side standing out stiff and black. Brother Jerome slipped it on, then struggled into his white habit. Brother Guy gathered up his ewer, bowed to us and went out. Brother Jerome and the prior looked at each other with mutual distaste.

'Mortifying yourself again, Jerome?'

'For my sins. But I take no pleasure in the mortification of others, Brother Prior, unlike some.'

Prior Mortimus gave him a filthy look, then handed me his key. 'When you've finished, give the key to Bugge,' he said, then turned and left abruptly, closing the door behind him with a snap. I was suddenly conscious that we were now shut in a confined space with a man whose eyes sparked hatred at us from his pale, lined face. I looked round for somewhere to sit, but there was only the bed, so I stood leaning on my staff.

'Are you in pain, crookback?' Jerome asked suddenly.

'A little discomfort. We have had a long walk through the snow.'

'Do you know the saying, to touch a dwarf brings good luck, but to touch a hunchback means ill fortune? You are a mockery of the human form, Commissioner, doubly so for your soul is twisted and cankered like all Cromwell's men.'

Mark stepped forward. 'God's bones, sir, you have a vile tongue.'

I waved him to silence, and stood staring at Jerome.

'Why do you abuse me, Jerome of London? They say you are mad. Are you? Would madness be your defence were I to have your arse hauled off to the Tower for your treasonable talk?'

'I would make no defence, crookback. I would be glad to have the chance to be what I should have been before, a martyr for God's Church. I shit on King Henry's name and his usurpation of the pope's authority.' He laughed bitterly. 'Even Martin Luther disowns King Henry, did you know? He says Junker Heinz will end by making himself God.'

Mark gasped. Those words alone were enough to have Jerome executed.

'Then how you must burn with shame that you took the oath acknowledging the king's supremacy,' I said quietly.

Jerome reached for his crutch and rose painfully from the bed. He tucked the crutch under his arm and began slowly pacing the cell. When he spoke again it was in a quiet, steely tone.

'Yes, crookback. Shame and fear for my eternal soul. Do you know who my family are? Did they tell you that?'

'I know you are related to Queen Jane, God rest her.'

'God will not rest her. She burns in hell for marrying a schismatic king.' He turned and faced me. 'Shall I tell you how I came to be here? Shall I put a case to you, master lawyer?'

'Yes, tell me. I shall sit to listen.' I lowered myself onto the hard bed. Mark remained standing, hand on sword, as Jerome dragged himself slowly up and down the room.

'I left the world of idle show when I was twenty. My late second cousin was not born then, I never met her. I lived over thirty years in peace at the London Charterhouse; a holy place, not like this soft corrupted house. It was a haven, a place devoted to God in the midst of the profane city.'

'Where wearing hair shirts was part of the Rule.'

'To remind us always that flesh is sinful and corrupt. Thomas More lived with us four years. He wore the hair shirt ever after, even under his robes of state when he was lord chancellor. It helped keep him humble, and steadfast unto death when he stood out against the king's marriage.'

'And before, when he was lord chancellor and burning all the heretics he could find. But you were not steadfast, Brother Jerome?'

His back stiffened, and when he turned I expected another outburst. But his voice remained calm.

'When the king said he required an oath from all members of the religious houses acknowledging him as Supreme Head of the Church, only we Carthusians refused, though we knew what that would mean.' His eyes burned into me.

'Yes. All the other houses took the oath, but not you.'

'There were forty of us, and they took us one by one. Prior Houghton first refused the oath and was interrogated by Cromwell himself. Did you know, Commissioner, when Father Houghton told him that St Augustine had placed the authority of the Church above Scripture, Cromwell replied that he cared naught for the Church and Augustine might hold as he pleased?'

'He was right. The authority of Scripture stands above that of any scholar.'

'And the opinion of a tavern keeper's son stands above St Augustine's?' Jerome laughed bitterly.

'When he would not submit, our venerable prior was judged guilty of treason and executed at Tyburn. I was there; I saw his body sliced open by the executioner's knife while he still lived. But it wasn't the usual hanging fair that day, the crowd watched silently as he died.'

I glanced at Mark; he was watching Jerome intently, his face troubled. The Carthusian continued. 'Your master had no better luck with Prior Houghton's successor. Vicar Middlemore and the senior obedentiaries still would not swear, so they too went to Tyburn. This time there were calls against the king from the crowd. Cromwell wasn't going to risk a riot the next time, so he tried all manner of pressure to make the rest of us take the oath. He put his own men in charge of the house, where Prior Houghton's arm, stinking and rotten, was nailed to the gate. They kept us half-starved, mocked our services, tore up our books, insulted us. They picked off trouble-makers one by one. Someone would suddenly be sent off to a more compliant house or just disappear.'

He paused and leaned his good arm on the bed for a moment. I looked up at him.

'I have heard these stories,' I said. 'They are mere tales.'

He ignored me and resumed his pacing. 'After the north rebelled last spring, the king lost patience with us. The remaining brethren were told to swear or be taken to Newgate where they would be left to starve to death. Fifteen swore and lost their souls. Ten went to Newgate, where they were chained in a foul cell and left without food. Some lasted for weeks –' He broke off suddenly. Covering his face with his hands he stood rocking on his heels, weeping silently.

'I have heard such rumours,' Mark whispered. 'Everyone said they were false –'

I waved him to silence. 'Even if that were true, Brother Jerome, you could not have been among them. You were already here.'

He turned his back on me, wiping his face with the sleeve of his habit, and stood looking from the window, leaning heavily on his crutch. Outside, the snow whirled down as though it might bury the world.

'Yes, crookback, I was one of those who had been spirited away. I had watched my superiors taken, I knew how they died, but despite our daily humiliations we brethren succoured each other. We thought we could hold out. I was a fit, strong man then, I prided myself on my fortitude.' He laughed; a cracked hysterical sound.

'The soldiers came for me one morning, and brought me to the Tower. It was the middle of May last year, Anne Boleyn had been condemned to die and they were building a great scaffold in the grounds. I saw it. And that was when I became truly afraid. As those guards bustled me down into the dungeons, I knew my resolution might fail.

'They took me to a big underground room and bundled me into a chair. In a corner I saw the rack, the hinged table and the ropes, two big guards standing ready to turn the wheels. There were two others in the room, facing me across a desk. One was Kingston, the warden of the Tower. The other, glowering at me most foully, was your master, Cromwell.'

'The vicar general himself? I don't believe you.'

'Let me tell you what he said. "Brother Jerome Wentworth, you are a nuisance. Tell me straight, without cavil, will you swear to the Royal Supremacy?"

'I said I would not. But my heart banged as though it would burst my chest as I sat before that man, his eyes like the fires of hell, for the Devil looks out of them. How can you face him, Commissioner, and not know what he is?'

'Enough of that. Go on.'

'Your master, the great and wise counsellor, nodded at the rack. "We shall see," he said. "In a few weeks' time Jane Seymour will be queen of England. The king would not have her cousin refusing the oath. Nor does he want your name included among those executed for treason. Either would be an embarrassment, Brother Jerome. So, you must swear, or you will be made to." Then he nodded at the rack.

'I told him again I would not take the oath, though my voice shook. He studied me a moment and smiled. "I think you will," he said. "Master Kingston, I have little time. Get him lengthened."

'Kingston nodded at the rackmasters and they hauled me to my feet. They slammed me down on the rack, knocking the breath from my body. They bound my hands and feet, stretching my arms above my head.' Jerome's voice lowered to a whisper. 'It was all so quick. Neither of the rackmasters spoke a word.'

'I heard a creak as they turned the wheel, then there was a great tearing pain in my arms like I had never known. It consumed me.' He broke off, gently massaging his torn shoulder, his eyes vacant. In the memory of his agony he seemed to have forgotten our presence. Beside me, Mark shifted uneasily.

'I was screaming. I hadn't realized till I heard the sounds. Then the pulling stopped, I was still in anguish but the tide –' he fluttered a hand up and down '– the tide had ebbed. I looked up and there Cromwell stood, staring down at me.

'"Swear now, Brother," he said. "You have only a little fortitude, I see. This will go on till you swear. These men are skilled, they will not allow you to die, but your body is already torn and soon it will be so broken you will never be out of pain again. There is no shame in swearing when you have been brought to it by this road."'

'You are lying,' I said to the Carthusian. Again he ignored me.

'I shouted that I would bear the pain, as Christ had on the Cross. He shrugged and nodded at the torturers, who pulled both wheels this time. I felt the muscles of my legs tear and when I felt my thighbone pull from its socket I screamed that I would swear the oath.'

'An oath sworn under duress is surely not binding in law?' Mark said.

'God's blood, be quiet!' I snapped at him. Jerome started a little, recalled to himself, then smiled.

'It was an oath before God, a perjured oath, and I am lost. Are you kind, boy? Then you should not be in the company of this bent-backed heretic.'

I stared at him fixedly. In truth the power of his story had struck me forcefully; but I had to keep the initiative. I stood up, folded my arms and faced him.

'Brother Jerome, I am tired of these insults and of your tales. I came here to discuss the foul murder of Robin Singleton. You called him perjurer and liar, before witnesses. I would like to know why.'

Jerome's mouth worked into something like a snarl.

'Do you know what torture is like, heretic?'

'Do you know what murder is like, monk? And no more words from you, Mark Poer,' I added as he opened his mouth.

'Mark.' Jerome smiled darkly. 'That name again. Why, your bedesman has a look of the other Mark about him.'

'What other Mark? What are you babbling about now?'

'Shall I tell you? You say you want no more tales, but this is a story that will interest you. May I sit down again? I am in pain now.'

'I will have no more treasonable words or insults.'

'No insults, I promise, nor treason. Just the truth.'

I nodded, and he lowered himself back onto the bed with the help of his crutch. He scratched his chest, wincing at a pang from the hair shirt. 'I see that what I told you of my racking discomfited you, lawyer. This will discomfit you more. The other boy called Mark was one Mark Smeaton. You know that name?'

'Of course. The court musician who confessed to adultery with Queen Anne, and died for it.'

'Yes, he confessed.' Jerome nodded. 'For the same reason I swore.'

'How could you know that?'

'I will tell you. When I had taken the oath before Cromwell in that terrible room, the constable told me I would be lodged in the Tower a few days to recover; arrangements were being made through my cousin for me to be taken as a pensioner at Scarnsea. Jane Seymour would be told I had sworn. Lord Cromwell, meanwhile, had lost interest; he was collecting up my sworn oath with the rest of his papers.

'I was taken to a cell deep underground. The guards had to carry me. It was in a dark, damp corridor. They laid me on an old straw mattress on the floor and left. My mind was in such turmoil at what I had done, I was in such pain. The smell of damp from that rotten mattress made me feel sick. Somehow I managed to rise and went over to the door, where there was a barred window. I leaned against it, for there was a breeze of fresher air from the corridor, and prayed for forgiveness for what I had done.

'Then I heard footsteps, and sobbing and crying. More guards appeared and this time they were half-carrying a young man, just the age of your assistant and with another pretty face, though softer, and streaked with tears. He wore the remnants of fine clothes, and his big scared eyes darted wildly round him. He looked at me beseechingly as he was dragged past, then I heard the door of the next cell open.

'"Compose yourself, Master Smeaton," one of the guards said. "You will be here for tonight. It will be quick tomorrow, no pain." He sounded almost sympathetic.' Jerome laughed again, showing grey decayed teeth. The sound made me shiver. His face worked for a moment, then he went on.

'The cell door slammed and the footsteps receded. Then I heard a voice.

'"Father! Father! Are you a priest?"

'"I am a monk of the Charterhouse," I replied. "Are you the musician accused with the queen?"

'He began to sob. "Brother, I did nothing! I am accused of lying with her, but I did nothing."

'"They say you have confessed," I called back.

'"Brother, they took me to Lord Cromwell's house, they said if I did not confess they would tie a cord round my head and tighten it till they put my eyes out!" His voice was frantic, almost a scream. "Lord Cromwell told them to rack me instead, to leave no marks. Father, I am in such pain but I want to live. I am to be killed tomorrow!" He broke down, I heard him sobbing.'

Jerome sat still, his eyes distant.

'The pain in my leg and shoulder worsened, but I had not the strength to move. I hooked my good arm through the bars to support myself and leaned half-insensible against the door, listening to Smeaton's sobs. After a while he grew calmer and called again, his voice shaking.

'"Brother, I signed a false confession. It helped condemn the queen. Will I go to hell?"

'"If it was tortured from you God will not condemn you for that. A false confession is not like an oath before God," I added bitterly.

'"Brother, I am afraid for my soul. I have sinned with women, it has been easy."

'"If you truly repent, the Lord will forgive you."

'"But I don't repent, Brother." He laughed hysterically. "It was always pleasure. I do not want to die and never know pleasure again."

'"You must compose your soul," I urged him. "You must repent truly, or it will be the fire."

'"It will be purgatory anyway." He began sobbing again, but my head was swimming, I was too weak to call out any more, and I crawled back to my stinking mattress. I did not know the time of day; there is no light down there but the torches in the corridor. I slept a while. Twice I was woken when guards brought a visitor to Smeaton's cell.'

Jerome's eyes flickered up to meet mine for a second, then slid away again. 'Both times I heard him crying most piteously. Then later I woke to see the guard pass with a priest, and there was muttering for a long time, though whether Smeaton made proper confession in the end and saved his soul I do not know. I drifted off to sleep again and when I woke again to my pain all was silent. There are no windows down there, but I knew, somehow, that it was morning and he was gone, dead.' His eyes focused on me again. 'Know then that your master tortured a false confession from an innocent man and killed him. He is a man of blood.'

'Have you told anyone else this story?' I asked.

He gave a strange, twisted smile. 'No. I have had no need.'

'What do you mean?'

'It does not matter.'

'No, it does not matter, for I say the whole thing is a tissue of lies.'

He only shrugged.

'Very well. You have led me away from Robin Singleton again. Why did you call him perjurer and traitor?'

Again he gave that strange, savage smile. 'Because he is. He is a tool of that monster Cromwell, as you are. You all perjure yourselves and betray your due allegiance to the pope.'

I took a deep breath. 'Jerome of London, I can think of only one man who could have hated the commissioner, or rather his office, enough to devise a mad plot to kill him, and that is you. Your infirmity would prevent you from doing the deed yourself, but you are a man who would cozen another to do it. I put it to you that you are responsible for his death.'

The Carthusian reached for his crutch again and stood up painfully. He placed his right hand over his heart; it trembled slightly. He looked me in the eye, still smiling, a secret smile that made me shiver.

'Commissioner Singleton was a heretic and a cruel man and I am glad he is dead. May it vex Lord Cromwell. But I swear on my soul, before God and of my own free will, that I had no part in the killing of Robin Singleton, and I also swear I know of no man in this house of weaklings and fools who would have the fierce stomach to do it. There, I have replied to your accusation. And now I am tired, I would sleep.' He lay back on the bed and stretched himself out.

'Very well, Jerome of London. But we shall speak again.' I motioned Mark to the door. Outside, I locked it and we passed back down the corridor, watched from their open doors by the monks, who had now returned from Sext. As we reached the door to the cloister yard it was thrown open and Brother Athelstan hurried in out of the snow that still tumbled down, his habit white. He pulled up short at the sight of me.

'So, Brother. I have found the reason you are in bad odour with Brother Edwig. You left his private room unguarded.'

He shuffled from foot to foot, his straggly beard dripping melted snow onto the rush matting. 'Yes, sir.'

'That information would have been more use than your tales of mutterings in chapter. What happened?'

He looked at me, his eyes afraid. 'I did not think it important, sir. I came in to do some work and found Commissioner Singleton upstairs in Brother Edwig's room, looking at a book. I pleaded with him not to take it, or at least to let me take a record, for I knew Brother Edwig would be angry with me. When he returned and I told him, he said I should have kept an eye on what Commissioner Singleton was doing.'

'So he was angry.'

'Very, sir.' He hung his head.

'Did you know what was in the book he had?'

'No, sir, I only deal with the ledgers in the office. I do not know what books Brother Edwig has upstairs.'

'Why did you not tell me about this?'

He shifted from foot to foot. 'I was afraid, sir. Afraid that if you asked Brother Edwig about it he would know I had spoken. He is a hard man, sir.'

'And you are a fool. Let me advise you, Brother. A good informer must be prepared to give information even at risk to himself. Otherwise he will be mistrusted. Now begone from my sight.'

He vanished down the corridor at a run. Mark and I hunched ourselves into our coats and stepped out into the blizzard. I looked around the white cloister.

'God's nails, was there ever such weather? I wanted to go round to that fish pond, but we can't in this. Come on, back to the infirmary.'

As we trudged back to our room, I noticed Mark's face was thoughtful and sombre. We found Alice in the infirmary kitchen, boiling herbs.

'You look cold, sirs. Can I bring you some warm wine?'

'Thank you, Alice,' I said. 'The warmer the better.'

Back in our room Mark took a cushion and sat before the fire. I lowered myself onto the bed.

'Jerome knows something,' I said quietly. 'He wasn't involved in the killing, or he wouldn't have given his oath, but he knows something. It was in that smile of his.'

'He's so mazed after being tortured I don't think he knows what he means.'

'No. He's consumed with anger and shame, but his wits are there.'

Mark stared into the fire. 'Is it true then, what he said about Mark Smeaton? That Lord Cromwell tortured him into making a false confession?'

'No.' I bit my lip. 'I don't believe it.'

'You would not wish to,' Mark said quietly.

'No! I don't believe Lord Cromwell was there when Jerome was tortured either. That was a lie. I saw him in the days before Anne Boleyn's execution. He was constantly attending the king, he wouldn't have had time to go to the Tower. And he wouldn't have behaved like that; he wouldn't. Jerome invented it.' I realized my fists were clenched tight.

Mark looked at me. 'Sir, was it not obvious to you from his manner that everything Jerome said was true?'

I hesitated. There had been a terrible sincerity about the way the Carthusian spoke. He had been tortured, of course, that was plain to see. But made to swear a false oath by Lord Cromwell himself? I could not believe that of my master, nor the story of his involvement with Mark Smeaton and his torture – alleged torture, I told myself. I ran my hands through my hair.

'There are some men who are skilled in making false words seem true. I remember there was a man I prosecuted once, who pretended to be a licensed goldsmith, he fooled the guild –'

'It's hardly the same, sir –'

'I cannot believe Lord Cromwell would have prepared false evidence against Anne Boleyn. You forget I have known him for years, Mark; he rose to power in the first place because of her reformist sympathies. She was his patron. Why would he help kill her?'

'Because the king wanted it, and Lord Cromwell would do anything to keep his position? That is what they whisper at Augmentations.'

'No,' I said again decisively. 'He is hard, he has to be with the enemies he faces, but no Christian could do such a thing to an innocent man, and believe me, Lord Cromwell is a Christian. You forget how many years I have known him. Were it not for him there would have been no Reform. That cankered monk told us a seditious tale. One you had better not repeat outside this room.'

He gave me a keen, hard look. For the first time, I felt uncomfortable under his gaze. Alice came in with steaming mugs of wine. She passed me one with a smile, then exchanged a look with Mark that seemed to carry a different level of meaning. I felt a stab of jealousy.

'Thank you, Alice,' I said. 'That is very welcome. We have been talking with Brother Jerome and could do with some sustenance.'

'Have you, sir?' She did not seem much interested. 'I have only seen him a few times, limping about. They say he is mad.' She curtsied and left. I turned back to Mark, who sat staring into the fire.

'Sir,' he said hesitantly, 'there is something I wish to tell you.'

'Yes? Go on.'

'When we return to London – if we ever get out of this place – I do not wish to return to Augmentations. I have decided. I cannot bear it.'

'Bear what? What do you mean?'

'The corruption, the greed. All the time we are pestered by people wanting to know which monasteries will be down next. They write pleading letters, they turn up at the door claiming acquaintance with Lord Rich, they promise if they are granted lands they will do loyal service to Rich or Cromwell.'

'Lord Cromwell, Mark –'

'And the high officials talk of nothing but which courtier may go to the block next, who will have their posts. I hate it, sir.'

'What has brought this about? Is it what Jerome said? Do you fear ending up somehow like Mark Smeaton?'

He looked at me directly. 'No, sir. I have tried to tell you before how I feel about Augmentations.'

'Mark, hear me. I do not like some of the things that are happening now any more than you. But – it is all to an end. Our goal is a new and purer realm.' I got up and stood above him, spreading my arms wide. 'The monastic lands, for example. You have seen what this place is like, these fat monks steeped in every heresy the pope ever devised, living on the backs of the town, becking and scraping to their images when, given the chance, they would play the filthy person with each other, or young Alice, or you. It's all coming to an end, and so it should. It's a disgrace.'

'Some of them are not bad people. Brother Guy –'

'The institution is rotten. Listen: if Lord Cromwell can get these lands into the king's hands then, yes, some will be given to his supporters. That is the nature of patronage, it is how society works, it is inevitable. But the sums are vast; they will give the king enough money to make him independent of Parliament. Listen, you feel for the plight of the poor, do you not?'

'Yes, sir. It is a disgrace. People like Alice thrown off their lands everywhere, masterless men begging in the streets –'

'Yes. It is a disgrace. Lord Cromwell tried to put a Bill through Parliament last year that would truly succour the poor, set up almshouses for those who could not work and provide great public works for those without labour, building roads and canals. Parliament turned the Bill down because the gentry did not want to pay a tax on income to fund it. But with the wealth of the monasteries in the king's coffers, he won't need Parliament. He can build schools. He can pay to provide an English bible in every church. Imagine it, work for everyone, all the people reading God's word. And that is why Augmentations is vital!'

He smiled sadly. 'You do not think, like Master Copynger, that only householders should be allowed to read the Bible? I have heard Lord Rich believes the same. My father is not a householder, they would not allow him the Bible. Nor am I.'

'You will be one day. But no, I do not agree with Copynger. And Rich is a rogue. Cromwell needs him now, but he will ensure he rises no further. Things will settle down.'

'Will they, sir?'

'They must. They must. You need to think, Mark, you need to pray. I cannot – I cannot cope with doubts, not now. There is too much at stake.'

He turned back to the fire. 'I am sorry to vex you, sir.'

'Then believe what I say.'

My back ached. For a long time we were silent as dusk fell outside and the room slowly darkened. It was not a comfortable quietude. I was glad I had spoken so vigorously to Mark and I believed all I had said about the future I thought we were building. Yet as I sat there Jerome's words came back to me, and his face, and my lawyer's instinct told me that he had not been lying. But if everything he had said was true, then Reform was being built on an edifice of lies and monstrous brutality. And I was part of it all. Lying there, I was horrified. Then a thought came to comfort me. If Jerome was mad he might have come truly to believe in something that was only a fantasy in his head. I had known such things before. I told myself that must be the answer; what was more, I should cease from agonizing over this; I needed rest and a clear head for the morrow. In such ways do men of conscience comfort themselves against their doubts.