‘So did Dr London,’ Morice observed softly, ‘and now who is the chief hunter of so-called heretics?’
Cranmer was still struggling to be convinced. ‘What does this signify?’ He pointed to the drawing. ‘Why did Master Holbein send it to you, Thomas?’
‘If he guessed he was being watched, he would not have been able to communicate directly with Your Grace. He knew of my interest in tracking down the Aldgate murderers; though, at that time, I had not identified Black Harry. He wanted me to know there is a connection between the gang and one of the most important men in Kent. Perhaps he hoped that somehow, at some time, I might show this to you.’
‘No, no, Thomas, this is slender reasoning. He must know the chances of your seeing this as some sort of clue are remote.’
‘He is probably desperate enough to take any chance,’ Morice said. ‘He is like a cony trapped in its own burrow, with the hounds waiting outside. He can never be free until Black Harry is caught.’
‘I also know him to be a great lover of cyphers, codes and hidden meanings,’ I said. ‘It amuses him to put puzzles in his paintings and we have sometimes discussed secret messages for jewels that will please our patrons. I know the way his mind works. Looking back, I suppose that is why I kept the sketch.’
Cranmer shook his head wearily and I have seldom seen a man look more miserable. ‘Who can I trust? Among all the swirling treacheries and deceits of Kentish society Sir Thomas is one of the few rocks I have clung to. Am I to believe now that he is a supporter of felons who slaughter women and children?’
Morice said, ‘Perhaps, Your Grace, the time has come to take Master Treviot more fully into our confidence.’
‘Yes, yes.’ Cranmer waved a hand. ‘Take him to your office, I need to think.’
Morice’s ‘office’ was a tiny room adjacent to the archbishop’s, which was almost filled by a standing desk, two stools and a large coffer.
‘His grace seems much distressed,’ I said.
‘More than he shows. He carries a heavy burden.’Tis my job to lighten it as much as possible. That means that I must do things he cannot or will not do.’ He stood at his desk. ‘I think better on my feet and we’ve a knotty problem to unravel, but please do take a seat.’
‘What is it his grace chooses not to do?’ I perched on one of the stools, resting my back against the wall.
‘He lacks ruthlessness. He always thinks the best of people. Sometimes I fear it may prove his undoing.’
‘I know he has powerful enemies but as long as he enjoys the king’s favour …’
‘You have put your finger on the problem. There are three points you need to understand.’ Morice enumerated them clearly, like a grammar teacher rehearsing the rules of Latin declensions. Indeed, I felt as though I had returned to the schoolroom, with this austere figure looking down at me and explaining everything, as though to a sluggardly pupil.
‘Point one: God’s truth is enshrined in his written word. It is to this that his grace is committed above all things. Point two: there are those who seek truth elsewhere; in Rome, in the doctors of the Church, in the traditions of men. Point three: his majesty’s truth is something of a chameleon. Its hue varies according to political or diplomatic necessity. Do you understand what I am saying?’
‘I think so.’
‘For example,’ Morice went on, like a long-suffering pedagogue, ‘when his majesty needs to be on good terms with the Emperor, he is almost as Catholic as the pope. When he needs the support of the Lutheran princes, he is a vigorous reformer.’
‘And which camp is he in at the moment?’
‘His ambassadors have been instructed to back the Emperor in his conflict with France.’
‘Then that is not good for the archbishop.’
Morice frowned. ‘If only it were that simple. The partisans at court jostle for power ceaselessly. They watch the political situation and try to take advantage of every twist and turn but the king is not easily manipulated. He seems to be like a slumbering lion and they tiptoe around him, carefully laying their plans. But he knows what they are doing and he may suddenly fling out a paw with vicious talons. He understands well who he can trust, who he can use – and who he can destroy.’
‘As he destroyed Lord Cromwell?’
Morice scowled. ‘That was a bad business. For a while it seemed that all was lost. The likes of Bishop Gardiner and the Duke of Norfolk had the upper hand. They would have had the king launch an English version of the Spanish Inquisition. Several of our friends were arrested but we knew well enough who the real target was.’
‘The archbishop?’
‘Of course.’
‘But they failed.’
‘They failed three years ago. That doesn’t mean they have given up. You have heard what happened at Windsor – three good Christian men burned to death for confessing Christ. But that was only meant to be the first chapter in their cruel book. Dr London, Gardiner’s personal inquisitor, was aiming to catch in his net men of the Privy Chamber, close to the king. That was why the good bishop had poor Marbeck imprisoned and mercilessly interrogated.’
‘But again they failed.’
‘And again I say that they failed then but have not abandoned their crusade.’
‘Well, I am glad I do not move in court circles,’ I said.
‘Don’t be naive, Thomas,’ Morice snapped, the verbal equivalent of a teacher lashing out with the birch. ‘You are involved in this business now, whether you will or not.’
‘How say you so?’
‘Because the battleground has moved from the court to the country. Some weeks ago the reactionaries went ahead with a plan they had long been brewing against the archbishop. “Your Majesty,” they said, “look at your county of Kent; it is a very vipers’ nest of Lutherans and fanatics of all kinds. We really should have a commission charged with examining all the clergy and rooting out all who are not dutiful preachers of the religion set out in Your Majesty’s book.” And the king agreed.’
‘But I thought this new commission was his grace’s idea.’
Morice allowed himself a slight smile. ‘Oh, no, what really happened is this. A couple of weeks ago he summoned the archbishop to join him for a trip along the Thames in the royal barge. “Aha,” says the king, as soon as they were alone and no one to hear them, “I have discovered who is the biggest heretic in Kent.” “Name him,” says his grace, “and I’ll have him straightly arrested.” Why,” says his majesty, “it is you, My Lord Archbishop, or so I am informed.’”
I gasped. ‘Yet Cranmer was not straightly arrested?’
‘Fortunately, it was his majesty’s idea of a joke.’ Morice smiled grimly. ‘The lion growled but kept his claws sheathed. He said, “My Lord Archbishop, we must do something about the spread of false teaching in your diocese. I have agreed to set up a commission to examine all your clergy. I have here a list of suspects diligently drawn up by the Bishop of Winchester and his associates. I hereby appoint you, My Lord Archbishop, to head this commission. You may choose whoever you wish to assist you in this task but see that it is done swiftly and thoroughly.”’
‘So now his grace can use his powers to remove all those tainted with Catholicism.’
‘Yes, but the commission is meant to be even-handed, rooting out Bible men, as well. Therefore, we do have to tread very carefully. We thought we had made a wise move when we appointed Sir Thomas Moyle as deputy commissioner. It seems we made a grave mistake.’
‘What’s to be done now?’
‘Thanks to you,’ Morice said, ‘we have discovered Sir Thomas’s true colours. Once we have apprehended this Black Harry, I doubt whether it will be difficult to persuade him or one of his mercenary crew to give evidence against Moyle. Then it should be only a matter of unravelling the string of treachery until it leads us to the fons et origo. It will be very satisfactory to see Gardiner, Norfolk and London caught in the snare they had set for the archbishop.’