I would have to take to the road yet again first thing in the morning. I prayed earnestly that I would not be too late.
Chapter 13
The news of my imminent departure was received with disquiet by most of my people at Hemmings. Their routines had been repeatedly upset of late and they had had enough excitement to last them for at least another year. Word rapidly spread – and grew in the spreading – that the master was about to plunge headlong into fresh dangers. If recent events were any indication of what might befall me in the plague-ridden City, they had reason to be anxious. Walt took it on himself to mention the household’s misgivings the next morning, as we set out once again on the London road, the dawn shadows stretching before us on the furrowed highway. I had chosen him to be one of my three companions, because he was both strong and level-headed. He had given long service to me and to my father before me and, of all my servants, he was the one who came closest to being a confidant.
‘I hear there’s no sign of the pestilence abating in London,’ he said. ‘A pedlar who came past a couple of days since says it’s quiet as the tomb there. Not even a stray animal to be seen; all slaughtered for fear of contagion.’
‘’Tis only in the City, Walt,’ I said. ‘My information is that it’s not spread far. Even Southwark seems to have missed the worst of it. We’ll spend the night at Master Longbourne’s.’
But Walt would not be denied his gloom. ‘They say most of the churches are closed and mass graves are being dug out at Moor Fields. It must be a terrible thing to die unshriven and nothing to mark the spot.’
‘I daresay much of this talk is exaggerated, Walt.’
‘Well, I know for a fact that the vicar of St Michael at Queme has fled. He was already gone when we were there a-Tuesday. You’d think the priests would be the last ones to leave, wouldn’t you, Master, being shepherds of the flock and all that? No one I’ve spoken to can remember anything like this plague.’
‘As I say, Walt, we should not be too worried. It’s keeping itself within the walls. My meeting is at Bridewell but I shan’t need you and the others. You can wait for me at Ned Longbourne’s if you wish.’
Walt was determined to fend off reassurance. ‘What I want to know is, why London? There must be a curse on the City.’
‘And what do you think London has done to deserve it?’
‘God alone knows, Master Thomas.’
‘Exactly! And we do best not to try to fathom his thoughts.’
The groom was silent for the next couple of miles, though I could tell he was struggling with his thoughts. At last he gave voice to what was really worrying him. ‘Heaven forbid that anything bad should happen to you, Master Thomas, but these men we’re dealing with …’
‘Yes, Walt?’
‘Well, if anything were to go wrong … if this Black Harry found you .. . Well, he has a score to settle, hasn’t he?’
‘What you mean is, he might kill me.’
‘Well, yes … and then there’s the plague.’
‘What you’re trying to say is that I’m needlessly endangering my life and you’re worried about what would happen to you if I got killed.’
‘It’s not just me, Master. There’s everyone in the household and the workshop to think about. And now we seem to have taken on responsibility for Mistress Adie and the two young lads. If you had to leave everything to Master Raffy, and he only a boy, what would become of the business?’
Walt’s concern was obviously something shared by his colleagues and, doubtless, had been much discussed by them in recent days. They were fully justified in worrying about their futures, which I had put at risk. I did my best to offer reassurance. But was I really trying to convince myself and banish my own guilt?
‘As to the boys and their nurse, I hope to see them reunited with Master Holbein. That’s why we’re going to look for him now. I rather think he will take them back to his own people in Germany. If anything happened to me, Raffy would be looked after by the Goldsmiths’ Company. They would see to his training in the craft until he was able to take over the business. But, Walt, try not to worry about what could go wrong. Nothing is certain in this world. We might ride round that bend up yonder, be set on by highway robbers and all left for dead. What I can tell you is that I’ve no intention of getting myself killed but that, if the worst should happen, Treviots will stay in business. Now, the ground seems firmer here; let’s give the horses a canter.’
If you had to leave everything to Master Raffy, and he only a boy, what would become of the business? The words echoed around in my head throughout the rest of the journey. But not in relation to my own situation. This was the question in very many minds as they thought about England and its future. We had a king who was sick and ageing rapidly. Some said it was only the unbending oak of his stubborn will that defied the angel of death and kept him at bay. I had vivid memories of royal Henry as I had seen him in my youth. Word would spread that his majesty was to ride through the City, or that he had organised a Whitehall tournament or a river pageant. My friends and I would rush to find a vantage point where we could get a glimpse of our sovereign. And the sight never disappointed. Massive, regal, splendid in silks and jewels, he paraded before his subjects, the very embodiment of kingship. It was impossible for us not to feel a surge of pride. But now he seldom ventured beyond the walls of his palaces and when he did so even his sumptuous wardrobe could not conceal the over-fleshed body or the occasional winces of pain he failed to suppress. And this ailing, failing monarch only had a child to succeed him, a son two years younger than Raffy. There was, of course, no question of either of the two princesses assuming their father’s crown. Women were not made by God to rule kingdoms. What then would become of the ‘business’ of England?
This was the concern that underlay all the political manoeuvring in which Cranmer, Gardiner, Norfolk and all our leaders of church and state were involved. They were fighting for the future of England. Rather, they were fighting to control the future of England and the destinies of all Englishmen. Shaping our religion was only a part of the conflict the archbishop spoke of. Foreign alliances, war and peace, taxes and the use to which they were put – all matters of state would be in the hands of the men who would exercise the real power when Prince Edward became our king. Of course, they could not say so. Even to speak of his majesty’s death was treason, punishable by hanging, drawing and quartering. But power, total power, ultimate power was the prize for which they were all contending. And it was this struggle in which I had become embroiled.
Holbein also was a player in this dangerous political tourney in which any fall was fatal. The difference between us was that he had chosen his role and I had not. He possessed information that could destroy Cranmer’s enemies and he was intent on passing it to me. What use the archbishop would put it to I could only guess but whatever its importance to his feud, it was unlikely to solve my own problem, that of rescuing Bart from the gallows. There was still only one way to achieve that. As we drew closer to London and what I hoped would be my meeting with Holbein, I knew I had to do two things: become the courier of highly dangerous information and make sure that Black Harry was captured. On reflection, Walt was probably right to be worried.
It was mid-afternoon when we reached Ned’s house in Southwark. He refreshed us with one of his celebrated cordials and wanted to hear all our news.