Dark Fire (67 page)

‘I am sorry,’ I said aloud. ‘I am sorry.’

I must leave, I told myself, I must pull myself together. I dried my face as best I could on my sleeve, then rode out into the City. I had one more thing to do.

A
S
J
OSEPH HAD SAID
, people everywhere were discussing Cromwell’s fall. Looking at their faces, the expression I saw most
frequently was fear. For all his brutality, Cromwell had provided stability in uncertain times. And London was a reformist city: if there was to be anything like a return to the old religion it
would be unpopular here. I heard someone say, ‘The king is to marry Catherine Howard!’ and whirled round, but it was only some apprentice shooting his mouth off, he could not know
anything. A silent crowd watched as a clergyman, a reformer no doubt, was manhandled down the steps of his church by a squad of the king’s guard. I turned quickly away. I realized that,
having once been ardent for reform, I had always taken it for granted that London was a safe place for me, even after my enthusiasm evaporated. Now I felt suddenly vulnerable. I realized how Guy
must feel most of the time in this city.

I found a hubbub outside the House of Glass. A black carriage with four horses in the shafts was pulled up at the door and servants were piling it high with trunks and boxes. I dismounted and
asked one of them whether Lady Honor was indoors.

‘Who should I say – hey, you can’t just go in!’ But I had, tying Genesis to the rail and stepping inside, dodging a lady attendant struggling with an armful of voluminous
silk dresses. I ran upstairs to the parlour.

Lady Honor stood before the fireplace, checking items from a long list as a pair of servants manhandled another box out of the door. She wore a light dress such as might be used for travelling
in summer.

‘Lady Honor,’ I said quietly.

She looked taken aback for a moment, then reddened.

‘Matthew. I did not expect—’

‘You are leaving?’

‘Yes, for the country, today. Have you not heard—’

‘I know. Lord Cromwell has fallen.’

‘One of my friends at court has sent word the duke is displeased about my part in helping him over the Greek Fire business. And helping
you
,’ she added with sudden
asperity.

‘You have done nothing—’

She laughed bitterly. ‘Come, Matthew, we know better than that. When did anyone need to
do
something to be in danger? Several of my dinner guests have been arrested, and my friend
says it might be a good thing for me to disappear for a while, go to my estates until the new dispensation is clearer.’

‘So Norfolk’s in the saddle.’

‘The Cleves divorce and the Howard marriage are likely to be announced in the next few days.’

‘My God.’

‘I wish I’d never let you involve me in that matter!’ she said with sudden anger. ‘Now I am going to have to rot in Lincolnshire, for good for all I know.’

I must have looked as stricken as I felt, for her face softened. ‘I am sorry, I hate all this hurry. There is so much to organize.’ She looked at my bandaged wrist. ‘What
happened there?’

‘It is nothing. I am leaving too. For the Midlands.’

She studied my face, then nodded. ‘I see. Yes, you must go too. What happened with the Wentworth girl?’

‘She is free.’ I sighed. ‘And I found the answer to Greek Fire, but too late to save Cromwell.’

She raised a hand. ‘No, Matthew, you must not tell me any more.’

‘Of course, I am sorry. Honor—’

She gave that wry smile of hers. ‘Am I not a lady any more?’

‘Always. But—’ Although I had not planned the words, they came tumbling out. ‘We are both going to the Midlands. Perhaps we could ride together as far as Northampton.
And we will not be so very far apart. It is summer, the roads will not be too bad. Perhaps we could meet—’

Her face flushed. She was standing three paces away, and I stepped towards her. I should not want for courage now. But she raised her hand.

‘No, Matthew,’ she said gently. ‘No. I am sorry.’

I gave a long, sad sigh. ‘My appearance—’

Then she did close the distance between us and took my arm. I looked into her face.

‘Is most pleasing to me. And always has been. Your features are as fine as any lord’s. I tried to tell you so, that day by the river. But—’ She paused, choosing her
words carefully. ‘Do you remember also I said once that some men, some exceptional men only, were fitted to rise above their class?’

‘Class,’ I said impatiently. ‘What is class? If you want me—’

She shook her head. ‘Class is everything. I am a Vaughan. Once I would have been happy to know you, you are one of those fit to be raised up, as my husband was. But not now, given your
past loyalties and who the new powers are in the land. And I will not be lowered to your status, Matthew.’ She shook her head again.

‘Then you did not love me,’ I said.

Her smile was sad. ‘Love is a child’s romantic dream.’

‘Is it?’

‘Yes, it is. I admired you, I liked you, yes. But my family’s place is what matters in the end. If you came from noble lineage, you would understand.’ She gave me a last,
affectionate look. ‘But you don’t. Goodbye, Matthew, keep safe.’ And then, with a rustle of skirts, she was gone.

I
RODE OUT OF
Cripplegate an hour later. A throng of people was queuing to pass through, some looking fearful. A group of the king’s guard was
posted there and I was afraid I might be stopped but I was allowed to pass through. I rode away through the dull afternoon, past Shoreditch and the windmills that turn endlessly on Finsbury Green,
and did not pause till I reached Hampstead Heath. There I stopped. I rode off the track into the long grass and looked back at the City. I could make out the bulk of the Tower, where Thomas
Cromwell lay now, the river flowing past. London looked strangely peaceful from up there, a tableau rather than a city on the edge of panic as old scores were settled among high-born and low. I
felt utterly weary. I would have liked to lie down in the grass and sleep. But I could not. I took a deep breath and patted Genesis. ‘We’ve far to go, good horse,’ I said, then
turned and rode away, fast, to the north.

30 July 1540

I
WALKED
down from Chancery Lane to the Temple Stairs, looking keenly about me to see what changes might have occurred, for I
had been away nearly two months. In truth people were going about their business much as ever, though there were fewer than usual for there were rumours of plague in the eastern suburbs and many
lawyers had left the City. And for those who remained there was a double spectacle today, at Tyburn and at Smithfield.

The letter from Barak had come a few days before. It was brief and to the point.

His words tied in with other news that had reached the Midlands. The expected persecution of reformers had been milder than feared, though there were ever stronger warnings against Lutheranism
from the pulpit and three Protestant preachers, including Cromwell’s friend Barnes, were to be burned that day at Smithfield. But three papists were to be hanged, drawn and quartered at
Tyburn at the same time: a message from the king that neither side had the upper hand now and there would, after all, be no return to Rome. Archbishop Cranmer, to everyone’s surprise, had
kept his place. And though a speedy divorce from Anne of Cleves had been approved by the Church, and everyone awaited the announcement of the king’s betrothal to Catherine Howard, neither
Norfolk nor anyone else had been appointed to Cromwell’s place; his offices were being shared out among the courtiers. The word was that for the first time in nearly thirty years Henry
intended to govern himself, without a chief minister. What a disappointment that must be to the duke.

I had arrived that morning and, to my relief, found everything quiet and normal at home. Joan had not been happy at my prolonged absence and I could see that, after the alarms of the weeks
before I left, the poor woman had been frightened to be left in the house alone. I promised her faithfully that my life would now resume its quiet course.

The previous evening, over dinner in the inn at Berkhamsted where I had stayed overnight, I heard the news of Cromwell’s execution. The man who brought it from London said the executioner
had bungled the job and needed several blows to strike off his head. ‘But it’s off now, that’s the main thing,’ someone called out and people laughed. I rose and went
quietly upstairs.

As I reached the river, I took off my cap and rubbed sweat from my brow. The blazing heat had returned in the days after Cromwell’s fall and given no respite since. I scanned the stairs.
Barak was waiting at the spot where I had asked him to meet me in my reply. His hair had grown again and he looked well set up in his best green doublet. His sword swung at his belt as usual. He
was standing a little apart from the people waiting for boats, leaning over the parapet and staring pensively at the busy river. I tapped his shoulder and he turned, his sober look replaced by a
broad grin. He extended a hand.

‘You are well?’ he asked.

‘Quite recovered, Barak. I have been having a quiet time. You?’

‘Ay, I’m back at the Old Barge and glad to be. Essex is too quiet for me. All that countryside, that wide horizon, gives you a headache to look at it.’

‘I know what you mean.’ And indeed my sojourn at Lichfield had cured me of the desire for a country life. Walking around the parched countryside, listening as my father and his
steward endlessly bemoaned the weather, had begun to grate on my nerves. And as Barak said, there was something in those wide horizons that was unsettling to the eye.

‘Our old master died two days ago. Did you know?’ His expression was sombre again.

‘Ay.’ I lowered my voice. ‘I heard the execution was bungled.’

‘It was. I saw it.’ His face darkened. ‘His head’s boiled and on a spike on London Bridge now, pointed away from the City so he cannot look on the king any more. But he
died bravely, refusing to admit any fault.’

‘Yes, he would.’ I shook my head. ‘Those charges were ridiculous. Conspiring to make war on the king? If there was one thing Thomas Cromwell did faithfully all his life it was
serve Henry Tudor.’

‘It’s not the first time treason charges have been cooked up when the king wanted rid of someone. When they arrested Lord Cromwell at the council table he cried out, “I am no
traitor,” and threw his cap to the floor. Then Norfolk tore the Order of the Garter from his chest.’

‘And what of Norfolk?’ I asked. ‘Are you sure we are safe?’

‘Ay. I have friends in some of the less public parts of the king’s service. I’ve had word from Norfolk himself we won’t be touched. He’s terrified of a single word
getting out about Greek Fire. I’ve dropped a hint that if anything happened to either of us there might be others who knew the tale.’

I looked at him askance. ‘That was a risky thing to do. For both of us.’

‘It’s insurance for us. Trust me, I know how these things work.’

‘Did you hear anything of Kytchyn? Or Madam Gristwood and her son?’

‘They are safe. They fled with the man who guarded their house as soon as they heard of Cromwell’s fall. I don’t know where they are.’

I nodded. ‘So I may resume practice.’

He nodded. ‘If that’s what you wish.’

I went and leaned on the parapet, for my back hurt after my long ride. He joined me and we looked over the river. I tried to avoid looking down towards London Bridge.

‘There hasn’t been the purge I expected,’ I said, ‘though Robert Barnes is to be burned today. I haven’t heard anything from Godfrey – I fear for him.’
I looked at Barak. ‘And three Catholics to die at Tyburn.’