The Traitor’s Mark (27 page)

‘You think things are less good now?'

‘I think when you stir politics into the pot it turns the mixture sour. We're rid of the pope. That is good. The Bible is in English. That is good. But we walk not on a straight
path illumined by the Gospel. We are not the godly commonwealth that Lord Cromwell and others gave their lives for.'

‘And for which Archbishop Cranmer strives.'

‘Of course.'

‘Will it ever come, this godly commonwealth?'

‘We must believe so and work towards it. Otherwise the sacrifices of people like Johannes Holbein will have been in vain.'

‘He did not give his life for a perfect England,' I said. ‘He thought the reformed nations had gone too far; that they had their own kinds of violence and oppression and were no better than those where the pope still reigns.'

‘I find that difficult to aecept. He must have believed in something. No man would risk what he risked without being sustained by faith of some kind.'

I pondered my answer. ‘I think he believed in good people. He revered Cromwell. He had a genuine affection for the archbishop.'

‘And you, Thomas? What do you believe in this world of confused and conflicting ideas?'

‘I don't care much for ideas ... doctrines ... official statements of faith. They all make men do strange things – sometimes heroic things but also violent, abominable things. Once, like Holbein, I was impressed by Lord Cromwell – until he did something terrible in pursuit of an ideal. So, perhaps I'm still looking for someone to believe in,
someone so obviously good that I want to share whatever it is that he has found. That's not a scholar's answer to your question but it's the best answer I can give at the moment.'

Morice turned to me with a warm smile. ‘I think it's an excellent answer and a better one than I've heard many supposedly clever scholars give. Hold to it, Thomas, and one day you will find that person you're looking for. He or she won't be perfect. Never make the mistake of seeking perfection. But that person will be genuine, and honest and good-hearted and worthy of your trust.'

With such discussion, as well as talk of trivial things, we passed the journey to Eastwell. Arrived at the impressive centre of Moyle's domain we dismounted, and, leaving the guard in the courtyard, we approached the main entrance. The door opened before we reached it to reveal, not one of the owner's many servants, but the owner himself. He greeted Morice with a smile and looked me over with a less friendly expression. ‘I bid you welcome,' he said, ‘but why do, you come with such a large escort?'

‘I bear an urgent message from his grace, the Archbishop of Canterbury and Primate of All England.' Morice spoke in a tone that made the formal announcement sound all the more frigid.

Moyle nodded in acknowledgement and preceded us into the hall. ‘We'll go to my parlour.'

The spacious chamber was richly furnished and lined with Flemish tapestries. Moyle waved us to chairs close to
the hearth where large logs smouldered. Morice unfastened his purse to take out the warrant. But my attention was focused elsewhere. I stood transfixed, staring at the space above the fireplace. There, in full, exuberant blazon, was the Moyle coat of arms. The shield at the centre of the design,' enfolded in extravagant red and white mantling, was comprised of a black chevron and three black moles, all on a white ground.

Chapter 20

‘Is this your family coat of arms?' A stupid question spoken out of shock and confusion.

‘Of course it is.' Moyle turned to look at the armorial decoration. ‘Argent, a chevron sable, between three moles of the second,' he declared with obvious pride. ‘What is your interest in it?'

I glanced at Morice to make sure he understood why I had diverted Moyle's attention. I saw him return the archbishop's warrant to his purse. I stumbled for words. ‘'Tis ...'tis rather similar to another I came across recently.' Inwardly cursing myself for an idiot, I took out the coloured version of the Holbein painting Morice had given me and showed it to Moyle.

‘'Tis nothing like,' he said. ‘This is or, a chevron jules
between three badgers sable.' Clearly, he enjoyed airing his heraldic knowledge.

‘Yes, of course, you are right. Now that I can compare the colours ...'

‘Tinctures,' Moyle corrected.

‘Yes, exactly, as you say, quite different. Do you happen to know whose arms these are?'

‘No idea.' He shrugged. ‘But I assume you did not come here to discuss heraldry.'

‘Indeed not,' Morice said, recovering quickly. ‘His grace desires to inform you of new arrangements for his commission. He has nominated Thomas Legh to lead it. I believe you are familiar with Dr Legh and worked with him in the suppression of some of the religious houses. His majesty's approval of this appointment indicates the importance he places on it. His grace wanted you to be the first to hear the news. I assume I can report back your enthusiastic welcome of this decision. It will expedite the inquiries and enable us to deal swiftly with all troublemakers.'

‘As his grace pleases.' Moyle received the news with an expressionless face but only with difficulty concealed his displeasure. ‘Does bearing this message require such an impressive armed escort? And why is young Treviot with you? When last we met I had occasion to protest against his insolence.'

I grasped the opportunity to provide an explanation for my presence. ‘You were right to reprimand me, Sir Thomas.
My behaviour was rash and inexcusable. I insisted on accompanying Master Morice in order to offer my apologies.'

Morice nodded sagely. ‘'Tis important we have no falling out among the leaders of the shire. His grace hopes you will make your peace with Master Treviot. As to the escort, we have another errand to perform of a more difficult nature. Indeed, by your leave, Sir Thomas we must be on our way. We bid you good day.'

As we travelled westwards, the mood of our party was very different from that which had marked our outward journey. Morice and I rode on a little ahead of the guards. I was too humiliated and ashamed to find words. After a long silence Morice said, ‘You realise the grave embarrassment you almost caused his grace – to say nothing of the total waste of my time.'

‘I'm sorry, but—'

‘There are no “buts”. You've stirred up suspicion against Sir Thomas, who may have papist sympathies but is certainly no traitor.'

‘The evidence I had seemed to point—'

‘The only evidence I can see is that you don't know the difference between a mole and a badger.'

‘That's unfair,' I protested. ‘I'd only seen them carved in stone at Fletcham and drawn very small on Holbein's goblet design. Without colour they did look very like the seal on Moyle's letter to his grace.'

‘I believe you saw what you wanted to see because you don't like Sir Thomas. I should have checked your story myself. If I had made enquiries about Fletcham we would have been spared today's indignity. Unfortunately, I was too busy – and I trusted you. My mistake!'

After another mile or so of silence, Morice seemed to have calmed down a little. ‘Moyle is a powerful man who sometimes abuses his power and must be watched. But he is, nevertheless, someone his grace has to work with in the county and the diocese and cannot afford to antagonise unnecessarily.'

‘I will, of course, make my apologies to his grace in person.'

After another silence, I said, ‘At least we do now know how to track down the real ringleader of his grace's enemies.'

‘Thanks to Johannes Holbein.'

‘Yes, thanks to Johannes Holbein, but I think you might acknowledge that I had something to do with rescuing his information and bringing it to Croydon.'

Morice made no response. He was deep in his own thoughts and muttering almost to himself. ‘Affairs in Kent have absorbed all my time. I have the commission to organise. Letters to send all over the shire. I'm never in bed before midnight. Nevertheless, I should have gone to London to consult Christopher Barker.'

‘Barker?'

‘But then, of course, I couldn't be sure he would be there. Belike he has left for his house at Wanstead.'

‘Who is Christopher Barker?' I persisted.

‘Garter King of Arms. He can tell us who the
real
coat of arms belongs to. I must gain permission to call on him without more delay.'

‘And then we can ...'

‘Then we shall have to embark on a completely new line of enquiry. That will mean
discreetly
examining the movements of the owner of Fletcham. That could take us weeks – weeks we can't afford.'

After this exchange Morice was wrapped in his own thoughts – doubtless calculating all the extra work he thought my blundering had caused him. Darkness fell and we continued our journey. Morice ignored the grumbling of the troops and when I offered a night's hospitality at Hemmings he declined, saying that he could not afford any more delay than I had already caused him. We parted at Ightham and I reached Hemmings sometime in the small hours, cursing Moyle, and Morice, and Black Harry, and the owner of Fletcham manor – but mostly cursing myself.

When I came down late the following morning the hall was echoing with commotion and laughter. Lizzie, Adie and the children were playing blind man's buff. Henry Holbein, with a cloth sash tied round his head, was charging around making fierce growling noises, which he seemed to find
necessary for his role as the blind man. The others, with much squealing, were scurrying to and fro to avoid him. The boys kept rushing up to within inches to taunt him, like braves at a bear-baiting, while Adie was helping Annie avoid being caught.

‘So you've returned to us. How did you enjoy your fine company?' Lizzie came up as I stood by the screens passage, watching.

‘I don't think they enjoyed me very much. I managed to blacken my reputation in a certain area. But what's happening here? You all seem to be having a good time.'

‘We're trying to keep them occupied.' She nodded towards the revellers. ‘Occupied and cheerful, but some scars run deep.'

‘Have the boys been told about their father?'

‘Yes, Ned managed that beautifully. He talked to them about the heaven where brave men go and hugged them when they wept. He even made me cry. They're sensible children. If you can give them peace and security for a few years, they'll be fine.'

‘And Adie?'

‘More difficult. She has built a wall around herself. It's the only way she can see at the moment to stop herself being hurt. She spends all her time with the children. She knows she's safe with them. As for the rest of us – she's very polite but always on edge. She can't relax because she can't allow herself to feel that anyone can value her for herself.'

‘I suppose she must think that all men are rutting stags.'

‘That's only part of it. I know all about the wants and needs of men. I was younger than her when I was put in the brothel. All whores – or all sensible ones – learn to distance themselves from their work. You almost become a looker-on, watching yourself going through the motions. That way you keep your self-respect and persuade yourself that, someday, a man will come along with whom it will be different. Adie feels deep down that she's been spoiled for ever. Someone will have to coax her back into a belief that she's lovable.' Lizzie stared at me long and hard.

‘Well, we must do what we can,' I said, and went in search of breakfast.

The next couple of days were an interval of calm. The tone seemed set by the yellowing leaves that drifted down from the trees. Stubbornly, they had clung to the elms which lined the drive and the beeches bordering the nearer fields when blustering tempests did their best to shake them free. Now, of their own volition, they yielded to the changing season. I, too, felt buffeted by the recent days of hectic activity and welcomed the freedom to reflect on the situation of the little society at Hemmings and make my own plans. I rode around the estate, often taking the boys with me, to attend to routine matters. I dealt with correspondence forwarded from Goldsmith's Row by the small staff I had left there. I sent to London for Raffy's tutor. My son had already had an overlong holiday from
his books because I had been too distracted to attend to his schooling. Now that it seemed further time would elapse before it would be safe to return to the capital, it was time to establish a routine for Raffy and his new classmates. I also tried my clumsy best to help Adie.

I came upon her one evening after the children were abed, sitting in a corner of the kitchen, sewing a patch on a garment.

‘I'm sorry about your master,' I said, drawing up a stool facing her. ‘I expect you will miss him.'

She nodded, keeping her eyes on her needlework.

‘How long had you been with him?'

‘Three years.'

‘And he had been good to you?'

‘Yes, Master.'

‘Have you heard from your brother recently? Would you like to go and see him?'

‘I think he is too busy.'

‘He serves Lord Graves, does he not?'

‘Yes, Master.'

‘In Leicestershire?'

‘Yes, Master.'

‘Tell me about him.'

She shrugged. ‘He's tall ... fair ... He works hard. He's very good with animals.'

‘Older than you?'I prompted.

‘By two years.'

‘And you have no other family?'

‘No.'

‘Did your father make any provision for you? A dowry?'

She shook her head. ‘There was no money. He was falconer to Lord Graves. His lordship allowed Ignatius to take over from him. He found me a position with Master Holbein. He said that was all he could do for me.'

‘I think we should go and see your brother. Would you like that?'

‘If it please you, Master.'

‘No, Adie,' I said, trying not to raise my voice. ‘If it please
you
.'