Lamentation

Paget looked at me contemptuously and said, ‘Stice’s spies, the lawyer Bealknap and afterwards the steward Brocket, reported no dealings between you and the Queen or her court for a year. But then last month, out of the blue, you were sworn to the Queen’s Learned Council. With the mission, people were told, of finding a missing jewel. But as the steward Brocket overheard you saying to Lord Parr’s man Cecil, it was actually the Lamentation of a Sinner you sought. A search that led you to join Richard Rich in his hunt for Anne Askew’s ravings.’

I remembered when Cecil had visited me after Elias was murdered. The Lamentation had been mentioned then. That rogue Brocket must have been listening at the door. If they know all this, I thought, there is no point telling lies about a stolen jewel. With horror, I realized the depth of the trouble I was in, and felt my bruised face twitch.

The King spoke again, in a strangely quiet voice. ‘Anne Askew. I did not mean her to be tortured. I only gave Wriothesley permission to use strong measures.’ He wriggled slightly in his chair, but then added sternly, ‘That is his fault, and Rich’s. Let them suffer if her writings are published.’ Then the King looked at me again, and spoke with biting coldness. ‘But the Queen should have told me this manuscript existed, and that it was stolen, not set forth a search under cover of lies about a missing jewel. What say you to that, lawyer?’

I swallowed hard. And I decided that whatever I said must be calculated to protect the Queen, to deflect any possible charge of disloyalty from her. Otherwise, truly, it would all have been for nothing. I took a deep breath. ‘When Lord Parr consulted me, just after the book was stolen, the Queen was quite distracted, frightened, too, after — recent events.’ I knew that with what I planned to say next I could be signing my own death warrant: ‘It was I who asked her to let me try and find the book secretly, using the story of the stolen jewel.’

‘I will be questioning Lord Parr tomorrow,’ Paget said quietly.

I felt relief at that. I knew the Queen’s uncle, whatever his faults, would also do his best to deflect responsibility from the Queen to himself. And to make sure our stories tallied I said, ‘Lord Parr did agree that we should try to find the book secretly.’

‘Who else knew?’ the King asked sharply.

‘Only Archbishop Cranmer. The Queen knew the book might be considered too radical, after she wrote it. She sought his opinion, and he said the manuscript should not be published. But before it could be destroyed, it disappeared. Stolen by that guard,’ I dared to say. ‘So she did not deceive you, your majesty, she intended to destroy the book at once lest it anger you.’

The King was silent, his brow puckered. He shifted his legs, wincing. When he looked at me again the expression in his eyes had changed. ‘The Queen was afraid?’ he asked quietly.

‘Yes, your majesty. When she discovered its disappearance she was astonished, confused — ’

‘She would have been. Coming after all these months of Gardiner and his minions trying to turn me against her.’ His voice rose angrily, but I was — for the moment — no longer the object of his fury. ‘Gardiner told me she was a heretic that denied the Mass; they would have broken my heart again!’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘But I knew their ways, I knew my Kate was faithful and true, the only one since Jane. So I told them I would do nothing without strict proof. And they brought none, none!’ His face was red now, sweating. ‘Those rogues, that would have had me turn against Kate, and take me back to Rome! I have seen through them, they will pay-’

The diatribe ended in a bout of painful coughing which turned the King’s face puce. The Lamentation, which he had been holding on his lap, began to slide to the floor. I leaned forward instinctively, but Paget, with a quick frown at me, returned it to the King before taking his goblet, hastily refilling it, and handing it back to him. Henry drank deeply, then sat back in his chair, gasping. Paget murmured, ‘Your majesty, perhaps too much should not be said in front of this man-’

‘No,’ the King said. ‘This he should know.’ He looked at me. ‘When the manuscript was brought to me, I feared what it might hold. But I have studied it.’ Then, quite unexpectedly, he gave a prim little smile. ‘Its sentiments are a little thoughtless, but — ’ he waved a hand dismissively — ‘the Queen is but a woman, and emotional. Nothing is said here against the Mass. The book is not heretical.’ His tone now was pompous, judgemental, as befitted one authorized by God Himself to decide such matters, as Henry truly believed he was. ‘Kate fears too much,’ he concluded. I thought, how fast his emotions change, and how he wears them on his sleeve. At least when he chooses to. For the last few months had shown, too, how coldly secretive he could be. Yet his last words gave me hope for the Queen.