Dissolution

demanding their monasteries back, I have to proceed carefully. The king won't have any more forced surrenders, and he's right. What I need, Matthew, are voluntary surrenders.'

'But surely they'd never-'

He smiled wryly. 'There's more than one way to kill a pig. Now listen carefully, this information is secret.' He leaned forward, speaking quietly and intently.

'When I had the monasteries inspected two years ago, I made sure everything that might damage them was carefully recorded.' He nodded at the drawers lining the walls. 'It's all in there; sodomy, fornication, treasonable preaching. Assets secretly sold away. And I have more and more informers in the monasteries too.' He smiled grimly. 'I could have had a dozen abbots executed at Tyburn, but I have bided my time, kept up the pressure, issued strict new injunctions they have to follow. I have them terrified of me.' He smiled again, then suddenly tossed the relic in the air, catching it and setting it down among his papers.

'I have persuaded the king to let me pick a dozen houses on which I can bring particular pressures to bear. In the last two weeks I have sent out picked men, to offer the abbots the alternatives of voluntary surrender, with pensions for all and fat ones for the abbots, or prosecution. Lewes, with its treasonable preaching; Titchfield, where the prior has sent some choice information about his brethren; Peterborough. Once I've pressed a few into voluntary surrender, the others will realize the game is up and go quietly. I've been following the negotiations closely and everything was going well. Until yesterday.' He picked up a letter from his desk. 'Have you ever heard of the monastery of Scarnsea?'

'No, my lord.'

'No reason you should have. It's a Benedictine house, in an old silted-up Channel port on the Kent-Sussex border. There's a history of vice there and according to the local Justice of the Peace, who is one of us, the abbot is selling land off cheap. I sent Robin Singleton down there last week to see what he could stir up.'

'I know Singleton,' I said. 'I've been against him in the courts. A forceful man.' I hesitated. 'Not the best lawyer, perhaps.'

'No, it was his forcefulness I wanted. There was little concrete evidence, and I wanted to see what he could browbeat out of them. I gave him a canon lawyer to assist him, an old Cambridge reformer called Lawrence Goodhaps.' He fished among his papers, and passed a letter across to me. 'This arrived from Goodhaps yesterday morning.'

The letter was scrawled in a crabbed hand, on a sheet of paper torn from a ledger.

My Lord,

I write in haste and send this letter by a boy of the town as I dare trust none in this place. My master Singleton is foully murdered in the heart of the monastery, in a most terrible manner. He was found this morning in the kitchen, in a lake of blood, his head cut clean off. Some great enemy of Your Lordship must have done this, but all here deny it. The church has been desecrated and the Great Relic of the Penitent Thief with its bloody nails is vanished away. I have told Justice Copynger and we have adjured the abbot to keep silence. We fear the consequences if this be noised abroad.

Please send help my lord and tell me what I should do.

Lawrence Goodhaps

'A commissioner murdered?'

'So it appears. The old man seems to be in terror.'

'But if it was a monk, that would only ensure ruin for the monastery.'

Cromwell nodded. 'I know. It's some maniac, some cloistered madman who hates us more than he fears us. But can you see the implications? I seek the surrender of these monasteries as a precedent. English laws and English ways are based on precedent.'

'And this is a precedent of another sort.'

'Precisely. The king's authority struck down – literally. Old Goodhaps did the right thing to order this kept quiet. If the story got abroad, think of the notions it would give to fanatics and lunatics in every religious house in the land.'

'Does the king know?'

He stared hard at me again. 'If I tell him, there will be an explosion. He would probably send soldiers in and hang the abbot from his steeple. And that would be the end of my strategy. I need this resolved quickly and secretly.'

I could see where this was heading. I shifted in my seat, for my back pained me.

'I want you down there, Matthew, at once. I am granting you full powers as commissioner under my authority as vicar general. Power to give any order, obtain any access.'

'Would not this be a task better suited to an experienced commissioner, my lord? I have never had official dealings with the monks.'

'You were educated by them. You know their ways. My commissioners are formidable men, but they're not known for finesse and this needs delicate handling. You can trust Justice Copynger. I've never met him but we've corresponded, he is a strong reformer. But no one else in the town is to know. Fortunately Singleton had no family, so we won't be pestered by relatives.'

I took a deep breath. 'What do we know of this monastery?'

He opened a large book. I recognized a copy of the Comperta, the report of the monastic visitations two years before, whose riper parts had been read to Parliament.

'It is a large Norman foundation, well endowed with lands and fine buildings. There are only thirty monks and no less than sixty servants – they do themselves well, typical Benedictines. According to the visitor the church is scandalously over-decorated, full of plaster saints, and they have – or had – what is alleged to be a relic of the Penitent Thief crucified with Our Lord. A hand nailed to a piece of wood – part of his cross, they say. Apparently people would come long distances; it was supposed to cure cripples.' He glanced involuntarily at my twisted back, as people do when cripples are mentioned.

'Presumably the relic Goodhaps referred to.'

'Yes. My visitors found a nest of sodomites at Scarnsea, as happens often enough in those filthy dog-holes. The old prior, who was the chief offender, was removed. Sodomy is punishable by death under the new Act, it's a good pressure point. I wanted Singleton to see how things stood in that regard as well as investigating the land sales Copynger wrote to me about.'

I thought a moment. 'Wheels within wheels. Complicated.'

Lord Cromwell nodded. 'It is. That's why I need a clever man. I have had your commission sent to your house, with the relevant parts of the Comperta. I want you to set off first thing tomorrow. That letter is three days old already and it may take you another three to travel down there. The Weald can be a quagmire this time of year.'

'It has been a dry autumn till today. It might be done in two.'

'Good. Take no servants; tell no one except Mark Poer. He still shares your house?'

'Yes. He has been looking after my affairs in my absence.'

'I want him to accompany you. He has a sharp brain, I'm told, and it may be good to have a pair of strong arms at your side.'

'But, my lord, there may be danger. And, to be frank, Mark has no great religious zeal – he will not understand all that is at stake.'

'He does not need to. So long as he is loyal and does what you tell him. And it may help young Master Poer work his passage back to employment in the courts, after that scandal.'

'Mark was a fool. He should have known someone of his rank must not become involved with a knight's daughter.' I sighed. 'But he is young.'

Lord Cromwell grunted. 'If the king had learned what he did, he'd have had him whipped. And it showed a poor gratitude towards you, for finding him work.'

'It was a family obligation, my lord; an important one.'

'If he acquits himself well on this mission I may ask Rich to allow him back to his clerk's post – the one I found him at your request,' he added pointedly.

'Thank you, my lord.'