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.
JB
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.'
Barak grunted. 'The king will never go back to Rome, whatever Norfolk wants. He likes being head of the Church too much. The old arsehole,' he added quietly. He looked at me with sudden intensity. 'Could we have saved Lord Cromwell, do you think? If we'd guessed Grey was a traitor?'
I sighed deeply. 'That question has tormented me night and day. I think he was so deep in trouble over the Cleves marriage he would have fallen in the end. Unless he'd agreed to abandon Queen Anne and reform, and he wouldn't do that.' I smiled sadly. 'At least that's what I tell myself, to comfort myself perhaps.'
'I think you're right,' Barak said. 'His principles killed him in the end.'
'He killed many others for those principles.'
Barak shook his head, but did not reply. We leaned there in silence for a moment. Then I saw a boat turning in to the stairs, two faces I recognized. I nudged Barak. 'I've arranged for some others to meet us here. They wished to see you.'
'Who?' Puzzled, he followed my gaze to the wherry. It pulled up and Joseph Wentworth stepped out. He gave his hand to a young woman in a dark dress and hood to help her out of the boat.
'Is that-'
I nodded. 'Elizabeth.'
She walked a little unsteadily, her head bowed low, and Joseph had to help her up the steps. I went to the head of the stairs and Barak followed.
Joseph took my hand warmly and bowed to Barak. 'Master Barak, I am glad you are here. My niece wished to thank you both.'
Barak shuffled awkwardly. 'I did nothing, really.'
Elizabeth raised her head. Her hair had grown again too, a few curly strands escaping beneath her hood. For the first time I saw her face properly, clean of dirt and marks. It was pretty but full of character too. There was none of the indrawn blankness or sudden ferocious anger I had seen before in her eyes, her gaze was full and clear though infinitely sad.
