Lamentation

Chapter Forty-three

They sat in a long row behind a table covered with green velvet, six members of the King’s Privy Council, the supreme body answerable to him for the administration of the realm. All wore the finest robes, gold chains and jewelled caps. Philip Coleswyn and Edward Cotterstoke and I were given seats facing them, the three Tower guards who had brought us in taking places behind us. My heart pounded as I thought, this was where Anne Askew had sat, and many others as well these last few months, to answer the same charge of heresy.

Sir Thomas Wriothesley, Lord Chancellor of England, waved a beringed hand in front of his face. ‘God’s death, they stink of the Tower gaol. I’ve said before, can people not be washed before they are brought here?’ I looked at him, remembering his fear at Anne Askew’s burning that the gunpowder round the necks of the condemned might hurt the great men of the realm when it exploded. Nor did I forget that he had tortured Anne Askew together with Rich. He caught me looking at him and glared at my presumption, fixing me with cold green little pebble eyes.

All the councillors had documents before them, but Sir William Paget, sitting at the centre of the table in his usual dark silken robe, had a veritable mound of paperwork. The square pale face above the long dark beard was cold, the thin-lipped mouth severe.

On Paget’s left sat Wriothesley, then Richard Rich. Rich’s face was expressionless. He had made a steeple of his slim white fingers and looked down, his grey eyes hooded. Next to him Bishop Stephen Gardiner, in cassock and stole, made a complete contrast. With his heavy build and powerful features, he was all force and aggression. He laid broad, hairy hands on the table and leaned forward, inspecting us with fierce, deep-set eyes. The council’s leading traditionalist, with his supporters Wriothesley and Rich beside him. I wondered if he had known of Anne Askew’s torture.

Two other councillors sat to Paget’s right. One I hoped was a friend: Edward Seymour, Lord Hertford, tall and slim, his face and body all sharp angles. He was sitting upright. I sensed a watchful anger in him and I hoped that if it emerged it would be to our advantage. Beside him sat a slim man, lightly bearded, with auburn hair and a prominent nose. I recognized the Queen’s brother, William Parr, Earl of Essex, from my visit to Baynard’s Castle. My heart rose a little on seeing him: he owed his place at the council table to his sister. Surely if she were in trouble today he would not be here. His presence made up a little for the absence of the figure I had hoped most of all to see — Archbishop Cranmer, counterweight to Gardiner. But Cranmer, whose attendance at the council was said always to be motivated by strategy, had stayed away.

Paget picked up the first paper on his pile. He ran his hard eyes over us, the slab face still expressionless, then intoned, ‘Let us begin.’

We had been brought to Whitehall Palace by boat. The Privy Council followed the King as he moved between his palaces, and I had thought we might be taken on to Hampton Court, but apparently the council was still meeting at Whitehall. First thing that morning the three of us, red-eyed, tousled and, as Wriothesley noted, smelly, were led to a boat and rowed upriver.

At the Common Stairs there had been a great bustle, as Barak had described; servants were moving everything out. A little procession of laden boats was already sculling upriver to Hampton Court. I saw huge pots and vats from the royal kitchen being carried to one boat and thrown in with a clanging that reverberated across the water. Meanwhile a long tapestry wound in cloth was being lifted carefully into another waiting boat by half a dozen servants. A black-robed clerk stood at the end of the pier, ticking everything off on papers fixed to a little portable desk hung round his neck.

One of our guards said to the boatman, ‘Go in by the Royal Stairs. It’s too busy here.’

I looked at my companions. Philip sat composed, hands on his lap. He caught my eye. ‘Courage, Brother,’ he said with a quick smile. It was what I had said to him when he grew faint at Anne Askew’s burning. I nodded in acknowledgement. Edward Cotterstoke stared vacantly at the great facade of polished windows, his face like chalk. It was as though the full seriousness of his position had only just sunk in.

The boat halted at the long pavilion at the end of the Royal Stairs, green-and-white Tudor flags fluttering on the roof. We climbed stone steps thick with the dirty green moss of the river, then a door in the pavilion was opened by a guard and we were led into the long gallery connecting the boathouse to the palace, fitted out with tapestries of river scenes. We were hustled along the full length of the pavilion, past more servants carrying household goods, then into the palace itself. We found ourselves in a place I recognized, the vestibule which formed the juncture of the Royal Stairs with three other sets of double doors, all guarded. I remembered that one led to the Queen’s Gallery, the second to the Queen’s privy lodgings and the third to the King’s. It was the third door which was now opened to us by the guards. A servant carrying a decorated vase almost as large as himself nearly collided with me as he emerged, and one of our guards cursed him. We were marched quickly to a small door, the lintel decorated with elaborate scrollwork, and told we would wait inside until the council was ready. It was a bare little chamber stripped of furniture, but with a magnificent view of the gardens. A few minutes later an inner door opened and we were called into the council chamber itself.

Paget began by getting each of us to confirm our names and swear on a Testament to tell the truth before God, as though we were in court. They had that power. Then he said, with a note of heavy reproval which, I suspected from long dealings with judges, was intended to intimidate us, ‘You are all charged with heresy, denial of the Real Presence of the body and blood of Christ in the Mass, under the Act of 1539. What do you say?’

‘Sirs,’ I said, surprised by the strength in my own voice, ‘I am no heretic.’

Philip answered with a lawyer’s care, ‘I have never breached the Act.’

Edward Cotterstoke closed his eyes and I wondered if he might collapse. But he opened them again, looked straight at Paget, and said quietly, ‘Nor I.’

Bishop Gardiner leaned across the table, pointing a stubby finger at me. ‘Master Shardlake uses words similar to those his former master Cromwell employed when he was arrested at this very table. I remember.’ He gave a contemptuous laugh. ‘Parliament found differently. And so may the City of London court, if we decide to send them there!’

Paget glanced at Gardiner, raising a hand. The Bishop sat back, scowling, and Paget said, more mildly, ‘We have a couple of questions which apply only to you, Master Shardlake.’

He nodded to Wriothesley, who leaned forward, his little red beard jutting forward aggressively. ‘I understand you were recently sworn to the Queen’s Learned Council.’

‘Yes, Lord Chancellor. Temporarily.’

‘Why?’

I took a deep breath. ‘To investigate the theft of a most precious ring from the Queen’s chambers. Bequeathed to her majesty by her late stepdaughter, Margaret Neville.’ I was horribly aware that I was lying through my teeth. But to do otherwise meant revealing what I had actually been looking for and causing grave danger to others. I glanced at Lord Hertford and William Parr. Neither returned my look. I swallowed and my heart quickened. I had feared the floor might seem to tremble and shake beneath me but it had not, yet.

‘A rare and precious object,’ Wriothesley said, a note of mockery in his voice. ‘But you have not found it?’

‘No, my lord. And so I have resigned my position.’

Wriothesley nodded, the little red beard bobbing up and down. ‘I understand there have been several sudden vacancies in the Queen’s household. Two senior guards, a carpenter, Master Cecil who now serves the Earl of Hertford. Most mysterious.’ He shrugged. I wondered whether he was fishing or had just noted these changes and wondered if they were more than coincidence.

Then Richard Rich spoke, looking not at me but down at his clasped hands. ‘Lord Chancellor, these domestic matters are not part of the accusations. Master Shardlake has advised the Queen on legal matters for several years.’ Rich turned to look at Wriothesley. I realized with relief that his own involvement in my investigations meant it was in his interests to help me. Wriothesley looked puzzled by his intervention.

Gardiner knitted his thick black brows further, glowering at Rich. ‘If this man —’ he waved at me — ‘and his confederates are under a charge of heresy, any links to her majesty must surely concern this council.’

Lord Hertford spoke up suddenly, sharply. ‘Should we not first find whether they are guilty of anything? Before turning to subjects the King wishes closed.’ He emphasized his words by leaning over and returning Gardiner’s fierce stare.

The Bishop looked set to argue, but Paget raised a hand. ‘Lord Hertford is right. In the discussions over whether this matter should be included in today’s agenda, we agreed only to ask these men whether they had breached the Act. The evidence before us relates solely to that question.’

‘Flimsy as it is,’ William Parr said. ‘I do not understand why this case has been brought before us at all.’

I looked between them. Someone had wanted the charge of heresy against us to be put on the council agenda. But who? And why? To frighten me, assess me, to see me condemned? To try and get at the Queen through me? Which of them was accusing me of heresy? Gardiner was the most obvious candidate, but I knew how complicated the web of enmities and alliances around this table had become. I glanced quickly at my companions. Philip remained composed, though pale. Edward sat upright and attentive now, some colour back in his cheeks. Mention of the Queen had probably brought back to him what I had told him in the Tower, that this interrogation might concern the religious factions on the council. In this regard at least, whatever his dreadful turmoil of mind, Edward would try to serve the radical cause.

‘Then let us get straight to the point,’ Gardiner said reluctantly. ‘First, have any of you possessed books forbidden under the King’s proclamation? Philip Coleswyn?’

Philip returned his gaze. ‘Yes, my Lord, but all were handed in under the terms of his majesty’s gracious amnesty.’

‘You, Edward Cotterstoke?’

He answered quietly, ‘The same.’

Gardiner turned to me. ‘But you, Master Shardlake, I believe you did not hand in any books.’ So I had been right: they kept a list.

I said evenly, ‘I had none. A search was made of my house when I was arrested yesterday morning, and nothing can have been found, because I had nothing.’

Gardiner gave a nasty little half-smile, and I wondered for a dreadful moment whether a forbidden book had been planted in the house; such things were not unknown. But he said only, ‘Did you ever possess books forbidden under the Proclamation?’

‘Yes, my Lord Bishop. I destroyed them before the amnesty expired.’

‘So,’ Gardiner said triumphantly, ‘he admits he had heretical books that were not handed in. I know, Master Shardlake, that you were seen burning books in your garden.’

I stared at him. That was a shock. Only Timothy had been at the house that day, and he had been in the stables. Moreover he would never have reported it. I remembered his frantic anger when they had come to arrest me the day before. I answered quietly, ‘I preferred to destroy them. The proclamation declared only that it was illegal to keep books from the list after the amnesty expired. And I have had none since before that date.’

Wriothesley looked at me. ‘Burning books rather than handing them in surely indicates reluctance to draw your opinions to the attention of the authorities.’

‘That is pure supposition. It was never said that a list would be kept.’

Paget gave a tight smile; he was a lawyer too, and appreciated this point, though Gardiner said scoffingly, ‘Lawyer’s quibble,’ and glowered at me. I wondered, why this ferocious aggression? Did it betray his desperation to find a heretic linked to the Queen?

Lord Hertford leaned forward again. ‘No, my Lord, it is not a quibble. It is the law.’

William Parr nodded agreement vigorously. ‘The law.’

I looked along the row: enemies to the left of Paget; friends, I hoped, to the right. Paget himself remained inscrutable as he said, ‘Master Shardlake has the right of it, I think. It is time we turned to the main matter.’ He reached into his pile and pulled out some more papers, handing three sheets to each of us in turn across the table, his hard unblinking eyes briefly meeting mine. ‘Members of the council have copies of these letters. They concern a complaint by a former client of Master Shardlake, Mistress Isabel Slanning, sister of Master Cotterstoke here. We have called her as a witness today.’ He turned to one of the guards. ‘Bring her in.’

One of the guards left. Edward’s face twisted briefly; a horrible, tortured look. Gardiner, taking it for guilt, exchanged a wolfish smile with Wriothesley.

I looked at the papers. Copies of three letters. Isabel’s original complaint to Rowland, accusing me of conspiring with Edward and Philip to defeat her case. A reply from Rowland, short and sharp as I had expected, saying there was no evidence whatever of collusion, and pointing out that unsupported accusations of heresy were seriously defamatory.

It was the third letter, Isabel’s reply, that was dangerous. It was dated a week before and was, by her standards, short.

So that was why Rowland had been avoiding me: he wanted no association with matters of heresy if they became official. I had been concerned that Isabel had overheard Coleswyn’s words on the night of the dinner. Yet she had misremembered or falsified what happened: that evening Philip had adjured me to pray and study the Bible, as the only sure path to salvation. I had made no reply. And neither of us had mentioned the Mass. What Philip had said marked him as a radical reformer but not a heretic; just as, from what I had been told was contained in the Lamentation, the Queen’s views marked her. They were risky views to express, but not illegal. I frowned. Paget’s office must receive a dozen such letters a week, written from malice by quarrelling family members, former lovers, business enemies. At most, the accuser would be questioned by an official from the council. Why indeed had such nonsense been brought here?

Another door opened and Isabel, dressed in her finery as usual, entered. Behind her came the tall, black-robed figure of Vincent Dyrick. He looked uneasy.

Edward stared at his sister, a long, unfathomable look. Isabel, whose expression a moment before had been haughty as always, seemed to quail a little at the sight of these great men. She glanced quickly at her brother, who only stared back at her stonily. Then she curtsied. Dyrick bowed, rising to look at the men behind the table, his eyes scared, calculating slits.

Hertford said bluntly, ‘It is not customary for those brought before the Privy Council to be allowed lawyers.’

Paget answered firmly, ‘Two of the accused are lawyers themselves. In the circumstances it is reasonable to allow the witness her legal representative.’

I looked at the Secretary, the King’s Master of Practices; it was still impossible to discern whose side he was on. But someone had made a miscalculation if he thought Vincent Dyrick would help Isabel. He was obviously here under pressure; he was not a man who would willingly appear before such a powerful group to plead a pack of nonsense.

Paget addressed Dyrick. ‘We have been discussing the correspondence. You have copies?’

‘We do. And Mistress Slanning knows them by heart.’ That I could imagine.

Paget grunted, and looked at Isabel. ‘You say there was a conspiracy between these three men to cheat you, motivated by their being heretics?’

Isabel turned to Dyrick. ‘You must answer yourself, mistress,’ he said quietly.

She swallowed, then replied, hesitantly at first but with growing confidence. ‘Master Coleswyn and my brother attend the same church, where the preacher is known to be radical. Coleswyn and Master Shardlake dine together, and once I heard them speaking heresy afterwards. And Master Shardlake knowingly chose an expert who would look at my painting and undermine my case.’ She was speaking rapidly now. I wondered, could she actually believe what she was saying? I knew from experience how people could twist facts to suit what they wanted to believe, but this was a very dangerous forum for such self-delusion. She continued, ‘Edward will do anything to thwart my case, he is wicked, wicked —’

Edward answered, quietly, ‘No more than you.’

Paget glanced at him sharply. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

Philip spoke up. ‘Only that the conflict between my client and his sister goes back to events when they were children.’ Isabel’s face took on an expression of fear as she realized that Philip had just referred obliquely to what she and Edward had done near half a century before and that he might refer to it openly now. Her face paled, the wrinkled flesh seeming to sink. She looked terrified.

‘And this expert?’ Paget looked at Dyrick.

‘His name is Master Simon Adam, an expert on house construction. My client says there are — rumours — that he may have radical sympathies.’

‘More than rumours,’ Isabel said boldly. ‘A friend told me her servant knew the family —’

‘That is third-hand hearsay,’ I said flatly.

Isabel turned to Dyrick for support. He was silent. Edward Seymour said, ‘Master Shardlake advised you to pick this Master Adam?’

Isabel hesitated, then said, with obvious reluctance, ‘No. But I asked him for a list of experts. This man’s name was first on the list. He put it first so I should pick it, I am sure.’

‘Mistress Slanning insisted on my providing a list of experts, and chose Master Adam against my advice.’ Could she really be misremembering what had happened to this extent? Looking at her, I realized she could.

And then William Parr, Earl of Essex, did something which shifted the whole balance of the interrogation. He laughed. ‘Sound choice,’ he said. ‘Nobody comes before Adam, not since the world began.’

Hertford and Rich laughed too, and a wintry smile lifted the corner of Paget’s mouth. Isabel’s face was like chalk. Gardiner, however, banged his fist on the table. ‘This is no matter for levity. What of the heresy spoken among these men?’

Philip said, clear and steady, ‘My Lords, there was no heresy. And it was not Master Shardlake who spoke the words referred to in Mistress Slanning’s letter. It was I, as I took farewell of him at my door.’ I gave him a glance of gratitude. ‘And I did not mention, let alone argue against, the Real Presence.’

‘Well, madam? Is that right?’ Edward Seymour asked sharply.

Isabel looked genuinely confused. ‘I thought — I thought it was Master Shardlake who spoke about the Bible, but it may have been Master Coleswyn. Yes, yes, I think it was.’ For a second she looked embarrassed, but rallied. ‘Either way, those were the words.’

‘And the Mass?’ Paget asked.

‘I–I thought they said that. I am sure — I thought —’ Flustered, she turned to Dyrick, but he said flatly, ‘You were there, madam, not me.’ Isabel looked at him, helpless for once in her life. She began to tremble. It was known that Dyrick would take on anyone as a client, the more blindly aggressive the better. But Isabel Slanning had proved too wild a card even for him.

Then Rich said, his voice contemptuous, ‘This woman is wasting our time.’

Gardiner glared at him again, then said to Philip, ‘But you did speak those words about faith coming through study of the Bible, and prayer?’

‘Yes. But that is no heresy.’

Blustering now, Gardiner went on, ‘All know the King mislikes this endless talking over religion. As he said in his speech to Parliament last Christmas, though the Word of God in English is allowed, it is only to be used for men to inform their consciences.’

‘And that is what Master Shardlake and I were doing, informing our consciences.’ Philip looked at Isabel. ‘Rather it is Mistress Slanning who makes light use of God’s Word, to further her personal quarrels.’

He had spoken well, and left a silence behind him. After a moment Wriothesley said to him, ‘You swear neither of you denied the Real Presence when you met?’

‘I did not,’ I answered.

‘Nor I,’ Philip said.

Paget looked at Isabel. ‘What were you doing at Master Coleswyn’s house that evening, Mistress Slanning? You were not at the dinner?’

She swallowed. ‘I see it as my duty, when I suspect heresy, to watch and wait for it. That I may inform the authorities.’

‘You spied on them,’ Lord Hertford said flatly.

Paget leaned forward, his voice hard. ‘Yet you did not see fit to inform the authorities of this alleged collaboration between heretics until the Lincoln’s Inn Treasurer rejected your accusations.’

‘I–I did not think at first. I was so angry at my brother’s lawyer conspiring with mine —’ She looked at Edward, who stared at her strangely, his expression blank yet intense.

William Parr said, ‘Is it not manifestly clear to all that this woman’s claims are those of an ill-natured litigant — unfounded, motivated by mere spite — and that these men are guilty of nothing?’

Lord Paget looked between us, then inclined his head. ‘Yes. I think it is. Mistress Slanning, you are a vicious and vexatious creature. You have wasted our time.’ Isabel gasped, fighting now to control her emotions. Paget turned to us. ‘Gentlemen, we will discuss this a little further between ourselves. All of you wait outside until council business is finished.’ He made a signal to the guards and we were led away.

We were returned to the room where we had waited before. As soon as the door was closed I spoke to Philip in heartfelt tones. ‘Well done, and thank you. You answered well.’

He replied sorrowfully, ‘One must speak more with the wisdom of the serpent than the innocence of the dove, where matters of faith are concerned. Jesus Christ said so.’ He looked at me. ‘Do you think we will be released now?’

‘I have every hope. Isabel made a fool of herself. We are lucky I have friends on the council, and Rich has his own reasons not to see me brought down. Paget, too, seemed won over to our side.’

‘Yes.’ He frowned. ‘Gardiner and Wriothesley would have taken the chance to examine us further about our beliefs, which for me at least would have been — a concern.’

Edward had sat down on the windowsill, his back to the magnificent view of the river, and put his head in his hands. I said to him, ‘You did well too, sir.’

He looked up. It was as though all the energy had drained from him once more; he seemed again the exhausted, tormented figure of the day before. He spoke quietly, ‘You told me I must stand firm, lest they use these allegations to build a case against the Queen’s friends. But now it is over — the other matter remains: what Isabel and I did.’ He looked at Philip. ‘And I know I must pay.’

Before Philip could answer, the door opened. Richard Rich entered. He looked at Philip and Edward, who stood hastily. ‘You two,’ he snapped, ‘outside. Wait in the corridor with the guards. I want to talk to Shardlake.’

Philip and Edward did as he ordered. Rich pushed the door shut and turned to me. His face wore a strange expression, half-admiring, half-angry. ‘Well, Master Shardlake, you got out of that one. With my help. It was a strange thing to give it, sitting between Wriothesley and Gardiner, who, knowing our history, thought I would be glad to see you burned.’ He laughed mirthlessly. ‘A strange feeling.’

I looked back at him. He deserved no thanks, for like Dyrick he had sought only to protect his own skin. I kept my voice low. ‘Who wanted that matter brought before the Council, Sir Richard? Normally such a silly accusation would surely not have gone there? And why? Was it to do with the Queen? Gardiner said—’

Rich waved a hand dismissively. ‘Gardiner seizes every chance that comes his way to take a tilt at the Queen. He’s wasting his time; he should realize by now that ship has sailed.’ Rich took off his cap, revealing his thick grey hair. ‘But you are right about it being silly, and I have been trying to find out who pressed for it to be included on the council agenda. I was not consulted. Paget decides, on the basis of advice from many quarters. I dare not press the matter too closely.’ His thin face was momentarily pinched with worry, reminding me how he had looked at Anne Askew’s burning. How he must dread her book appearing on the streets.

‘So it could have been anybody?’

‘Gardiner, Wriothesley, the Duke of Norfolk, though he was not present today — anyone —’ His voice rose angrily. ‘Lord Hertford, for all I know. He and his brother Thomas were with Paget yesterday, and shouting was heard, I know that.’

‘But Hertford is on the reformist side. He helped me.’

‘He seemed to, I grant you. But on the council people may take one line in public and another in private.’ Rich’s voice lowered to an angry whisper. ‘The Parrs and Seymours would both like the Regency of little Edward when the King dies, and Seymour and his brother quarrel constantly. Sir Thomas Seymour thinks he should have a place on the Privy Council, but the King knows he has not the ability. More knives are sharpened every week.’ He gave me a look of hatred. ‘And as for my private feelings, do not think I will help you again, crookback. Unless it is in my own interest. I would gladly see you burned. And watch with pleasure.’

I smiled wryly. ‘I have never doubted that, Sir Richard.’

‘Then we understand each other.’ He bit off the words. ‘Now, the council says you can go, the guards will take you out.’ Then, with those grey eyes burning, he said, ‘You have been lucky. If you have any sense left you will keep well away from here. Do not think the time of crisis is over.’ Then, in an undertone — more to himself than me — he added, ‘Of late sometimes I have wished I, too, could run like a rabbit.’