Sovereign (41 page)

‘I remember it well.’

‘Virtually everyone in the north viewed the prospect of a break with Rome with horror. We knew Anne Boleyn was a reformer, we feared this would mean heretics like Cromwell coming to power,
as indeed it did.’

‘I was a reformer then, Giles,’ I said quickly. ‘I knew Cromwell well in the days before he came into his great power.’

Giles gave me an interrogative look. His eyes could be very sharp. ‘From what you have said, I think you are no longer an enthusiast?’

‘I am not. For neither side.’

Giles nodded. ‘Martin was. He was as much of an enthusiast as it was possible to be.’

‘For reform?’

‘No. For the Pope. For Queen Catherine. That was the problem. Oh, it was – and is – easy to be sentimental about the King’s first wife. How she had been married to him
for twenty years, always been loyal, how wicked the King was to cast her aside for Anne Boleyn. Yet there was more to it than that, as we both know. Queen Catherine was in her forties, past
child-bearing, and she had not given the King a male heir. Unless he could marry a younger woman who might provide an heir, the Tudor dynasty would die with him.’

‘All that is true.’

‘And there were many of us who thought the only way to preserve true religion in England was for Queen Catherine to do what the Pope himself had suggested to her: go into a nunnery, allow
the King to marry again.’ He shook his head. ‘Foolish, obstinate woman. By insisting God intended her to be married to the King until death, she brought about the very revolution in
religion she hated and feared.’

I nodded. ‘It is a paradox.’

‘A paradox Martin could not see. He stood stiff in the view that the King must stay married to Catherine of Aragon. So he told us over the dinner-table that day, in no uncertain
terms.’ Giles looked over at the table. ‘It made me wroth, furious. I saw, if he did not, that unless Catherine of Aragon agreed to a divorce, or to go to a nunnery, the King would
break with Rome. As in the end he did. It may seem strange, now both Catherine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn are dead, to think we argued so fiercely, but we who supported the old religion were split:
the realists like me, and those like Martin who urged Queen Catherine should not give an inch. I was angry, Matthew.’ He shook his leonine head. ‘Angry too to hear Martin’s
parents support him, and realize he must have discussed his beliefs with them, though not with me that had done everything to smooth and aid his path into the law.’ A heavy bitterness came
into Giles’s voice.

‘Perhaps he had not told them. His parents might only have felt they must stand in their child’s corner in argument.’

Giles sighed. ‘Perhaps. And perhaps the old sourness at my childless state was part of my anger, especially when my wife began to argue Martin’s side too. She should not have, that
was disloyal of her. Anyway, in the end I ordered Martin Dakin and his parents from my table.’

I looked at Giles in surprise. It was hard to imagine him full of such fierceness. But before his illness he must have been formidable.

‘I never spoke with Martin or his parents again. My wife was sore upset when I forbade her sister our table. She never really forgave me.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘My poor
Sarah, her sister’s family forbidden the house. And then three years ago the plague came to York and they all died, my wife, and both Martin’s parents, a few weeks later. Martin came up
and arranged his parents’ funerals, but I could not bring myself to contact him, or attend. I do not even know whether he is married now; he was single at the time we quarrelled.’ I saw
shame on his lined face.

‘That is a story to pity a man’s heart, Giles. Yet one that has been all too common these last few years, families split apart over religious differences.’

‘Pride and obstinacy are great sins,’ he said. ‘I see that now. I would be reconciled with Martin if I can.’ He laughed mirthlessly. ‘In the end we both lost, and
Cromwell and the reformers won.’

‘You should know, Giles,’ I said, ‘I may have become disillusioned with the reformers but I hold the old regime to be no better. No less ruthless, no less fanatical.’ I
paused. ‘No less cruel.’

‘For all I may have grown sadder and mellower these last few years, at the end I cleave to my faith.’ He looked at me. ‘As all men must at the end. They say the King himself is
disillusioned with reform,’ he added. ‘Yet I am not so sure. Cranmer is still in charge of the church.’

I shrugged. ‘The King plays one faction off against the other. He trusts neither now.’

‘So with him it is all politics?’

‘Perhaps he believes every twist and turn he makes inspired by God himself working in his mind.’

He grunted. ‘I think we are agreed at least that the notion God works the King’s mind for him is nonsense.’

‘We old reformers never sought to put the King in the Pope’s place.’ I looked at him. I was not surprised he was a religious conservative, I had gathered as much. Yet the
obstinate bitterness he had shown towards his family had shown me a new side to his character. But we all have darker sides to our natures, I thought.

‘Well,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Let us leave these sad topics. We should go and see how young Barak is doing.’

I hesitated, then said, ‘Giles. Before we do, there is something I ought to tell you in my turn.’

He looked at me curiously. ‘What is that?’

‘Yesterday, when I was in your library, looking at your maps—’

‘Ah, yes. Did you find what you wanted? Madge said you stayed a long time.’

‘I did, and thank you. Your collection is truly remarkable.’

He smiled with pleasure. ‘It has been my pastime for fifty years.’

‘Did you know you have some lawbooks there that I think no one else has, that have been lost?’

He gave a childlike smile of pleasure. ‘Really?’

‘Lincoln’s Inn would pay well for copies. But I found something else.’ I took a deep breath. ‘An Act of Parliament, that I think has been excised from the records. Called
the
Titulus Regulus
.’

He sat very still then, looked at me from narrowed eyes. ‘Ah,’ he said.

‘I wondered if you knew you had it.’

‘Yes, I did. You read it? What did you think?’

I shrugged. ‘It repeats the old rumours that King Edward IV’s marriage to Elizabeth Woodville was invalid because of a precontract. Impossible to prove one way or the other now. It
seemed to me King Richard was cobbling together all the arguments he could to justify his seizure of power.’

He nodded judiciously. ‘Perhaps.’

‘Yet if it came to light now, it could cause trouble.’

To my surprise he smiled. ‘Matthew, for those of us past seventy, especially lawyers, the suppression of the
Titulus
is an old story. I was a student at Gray’s Inn when it was
published for all the world to see, and also when next year the new King’s men came to the Inns to seize all copies. There is nothing new there.’

‘Forgive me speaking bluntly, Giles, but there will be few left alive now who remember. And that Act could cause embarrassment if it came to light.’

He continued to smile. ‘I found the
Titulus
ten years ago, when they were clearing old lawbooks from the Minster library. I kept it. But few have any interest in my collection.
Martin used to go and look at the books, he was interested, and occasionally one of my fellow lawyers, but I think you are the first person other than me to have spent much time up there in years.
And the Act is well hidden in its way, unmarked among the dusty shelves, for I keep the index in my head. And you would not tell Maleverer.’

‘Of course not. But you should know, there is a hunt on for subversive documents at King’s Manor —’

‘A hunt? What documents?’ He looked at me with interest.

‘I cannot say more. But believe me when I say you should get rid of the
Titulus
.’

He pondered a moment. ‘You speak true, Matthew?’

‘Yes. I care little for any embarrassment disclosure of the
Titulus
might cause the King. But I would not have you, or anyone, in danger because of that wretched Act. This is not a
good time to have a copy in your possession.’

He looked into the fire, considering, then sighed. ‘Perhaps you are right. I have been too vain of my collection. Pride, again.’

‘I hope you have no other dangerous materials in those rooms.’

‘No. Only the
Titulus
. When I am gone, if the
Titulus
were found I suppose it could be a problem for my executors.’

‘Yes,’ I said uncomfortably. ‘It could. Madge could end up being questioned too.’

‘Danger to Madge. By Jesu, what has England come to, eh? Very well. Wait here, Matthew.’ He rose slowly from his chair, holding the arm a moment when he stood to get his balance.

‘Do you need help?’ I asked, getting up.

‘No, I am a little wembly after being in bed so long, that is all.’ He walked steadily enough to the door, and left the room. I stood looking into the fire. I wondered if he had made
a will, who the library would go to. His nephew, perhaps. And then I thought, if Martin Dakin was a strong political conservative and a lawyer at Gray’s Inn, he was a prime candidate to have
been involved with Robert Aske’s group of conservative lawyers there in 1536. And a man likely to be a suspect in the present rebellion; for all I knew Martin Dakin could be in the Tower,
like Jennet Marlin’s fiancé, that other Gray’s Inn lawyer.

Giles reappeared. To my surprise he was carrying the book containing the
Titulus
, together with a sharp knife. He smiled at me sadly. ‘Here, Matthew,’ he said. ‘See how
I trust you.’ He laid the book on the table and, taking the knife, carefully cut out the pages of the
Titulus
. He lifted them with a sigh. ‘There, I have never done such a thing
with one of my books before.’ He walked over to the fire and, with a steady hand, laid the pages on the flames. We watched as the thick old parchment flared and blackened. The greyfalcon
turned on its perch to watch, the dancing flames reflected in its eyes.

‘That must have been hard to do,’ I said.

‘Well, you are right, we live in dangerous times. Come, look out of the window.’ He beckoned me over and pointed at a small stout man who was walking confidently down the street
towards the Minster, clerical robes flapping round him. ‘I saw him from the library. Do you know who he is?’

‘No.’

‘Dr Legh. The Minster Dean. Formerly Cromwell’s most feared commissioner. The hammer of the monasteries.’

I looked at Giles. ‘They made him Dean?’

‘To keep an eye on the Archbishop of York. You are right, Matthew, even mere scholars must keep watch these days.’

I turned back to the window. The figure of a woman had caught my eye, half-running down the narrow street towards the house, skirts lifted above her ankles and blonde hair flying out behind her.
It was Tamasin.

T
HERE WAS A LOUD KNOCK
at the front door, and a moment later Madge ushered Tamasin into the room. The girl was flushed and
anxious-looking, and gave us the briefest of curtsies. ‘Sir,’ she said. ‘I have come from the King’s Manor. The guard on the gate said you had gone into the city and I
guessed you might be here. We are ordered to return there now. Is Jack here?’

I nodded. Madge went to summon him. Giles smiled and looked admiringly at her clothes, her green dress and her blonde hair beneath her French hood. ‘By heaven,’ he said. ‘They
employ pretty messengers at the court these days.’

‘I fear we must leave without looking at the petitions,’ I said.

‘Well, they are simple enough and we have seen them already. Come to the castle at nine and we can take an hour then.’ He looked at me curiously. ‘Is something amiss? Does
Maleverer require you?’

‘I was half expecting a summons,’ I said evasively.

Giles nodded, then went back to studying Tamasin with frank appreciation; she coloured a little.

‘And where are you from, mistress?’ he asked.

‘London, sir.’

‘Like Master Barak.’

Barak appeared in the doorway. He gave Tamasin an anxious look.

‘Well,’ Giles said. ‘I will see you both tomorrow morning.’

I apologized again for our hasty departure, and we left the house.

‘W
HAT
’
S HAPPENED
?’ Barak asked as Tamasin led a rapid pace down the street.

‘It is as I thought would happen,’ she replied a little breathlessly. ‘I was in my room and Lady Rochford herself came in, looking grim as an ogre. She told me to fetch you,
Jack. We are to meet her in one of the pavilions. I ran almost all the way.’

‘Looks like you were both right,’ Barak told me. ‘She wants to talk to us, not kill us.’

I took a deep breath. ‘We shall see.’

Tamasin looked at me earnestly. ‘The summons was for me and Jack alone.’

‘I want to see what she says for myself,’ I said firmly. ‘And perhaps she will be less bullying with a lawyer present.’

‘You do not know Lady Rochford, sir,’ Tamasin answered uncertainly.

We walked rapidly to King’s Manor and headed for the pavilions, which had stood guarded but empty over the weekend. ‘ ’Tis the nearer one,’ Tamasin said, leading the way
across to the fantastic structure. The towers on either side of the entrance arch, which seemed so like brick till you came right up and saw the grain of wood through the paint, had guards posted
in front of them. They crossed their pikes to bar our way. I glanced at Tamasin, who nodded.