Yr. Lordship is well acquainted with the scandalous conduct of the present council under the Lord Protector who in his sloth – to call it nothing worse – has allowed the poisonous hydra of disobedience, rebellion and the desecration of the holy Sacrament, of the churches and monasteries to raise its dark head in England. Now at the end of the month of December in this year of grace, 1549, there have appeared in Wales bands of seditious rabble, as if spewed up from the bowels of the earth. They are vagabonds and men escaped from the galleys, but there are also some peasants amongst them and ranting artisans, a motley undisciplined crew who have made themselves a banner whereon is the form of a hideous black raven’s head, like unto an alchymical sign, for which they give themselves the name of the “Ravenheads”.
Foremost among them is a cruel ruffian, a master butcher from Welshpool by trade, Bartlett Greene by name, having made himself the captain of the band. He curses and rails against God and the Saviour but chiefly he utters the most vile blasphemies against the Blessed Virgin; item, he says the holy Queen of Heaven is nought but the creature of their highest deity or, rather, demon and arch-fiend, that he calls “Black Isaïs”.
This same Bartlett Greene does also maintain with bold effrontery that his Princess of Darkness, that devil’s whore Isaïs, has made him wholly invulnerable and that as a token of this she has made him a gift of a silver shoe that he may march from victory to victory wherever he will. And truth to tell, this Bartlett Greene and his band do seem everywhere to enjoy the protection of Beelzebub and his Captains, for to this day no bullet nor poison, no ambush nor direct assault has done the least harm to his power.
A second matter there is to report, though until now precise details have eluded me: namely that the guiding hand behind the raids and pillage of the Ravenheads, and even behind treaties with the blackest scoundrels in the land, is not that of the cruel and monstrous Bartlett Greene but of some secret commander who does provide them with all manner of goods, gold, letters and secret counsels; such a one must surely be an emissary of Satan.
Such a one that does pull the strings and direct the mob where he will must be a gentleman of rank: indeed, we must seek him among the rich and powerful. And is not Sir John Dee such a one?
Most recently, that they might bring the common people over to the devil’s side, they have carried out an attack on that holy place of miracles, the grave of Saint Dunstan at Brederock, the which they have plundered and utterly destroyed, casting the sacred relics to the four winds, that to report it makes my heart bleed. This they did because it was said among the people that Saint Dunstan’s grave was inviolable and that a thunderbolt from heaven would instantly strike any wretch who dared to desecrate it. Now that the said Greene has exposed the holy shrine to his scorn and mockery, many of the simple folk are deceived and flock to his standard.
Further to report, it has just come to my ears that Bartlett Greene has several times been in secret conference with a Muscovite, who is travelling through the land, a curious fellow about whom the strangest rumours run.
The name of this same Muscovite is Mascee, a nickname, though what it might mean, I cannot tell. People call him the Tutor to the Czar of Muscovy; he is gaunt and grey, well over fifty years of age and has the look, almost, of one of Tartary. He is said to have entered the country as a merchant with many kinds of strange and curious articles from Russia and China, and that he still peddles these same wares. A dubious cur, there is none that knows whence he comes.
Until now all my attempts to lay hold of Master Mascee have met with failure, he vanishes into the air like smoke.
There is one more thing concerning this Mascee, and one that may serve to trap him: there are children at Bangor who say they saw how, after the worst of the tumult was over, this Muscovite went to the desecrated grave of St. Dunstan, reached in between the broken stones with his hand and took out two fair, smooth globes, the one red and the other white, of the size of a ball such as they might play with and made, so it seemed, of precious ivory. The children report that this Mascee did look mightily pleased with his work, hid the globes in his pocket and hurried away. It seems to me a reasonable thing to suppose that this Muscovite coveted the globes for their rarity and that, as a dealer in suchlike trifles, he will try to sell them for a good price as soon as he may. I have therefore sent out word to report to me any such ivory globes, the more since there has been no trace of the Muscovite himself since then.
On one matter I have some scruples which I will not conceal from your Lordship, being appointed by God my Father Confessor. Namely there has fallen into my hands a package of documents from my secular master, the Lord Protector. It seemed a sign from heaven and so I secretly concealed it about my body. In it I found a report from a learned Doctor, at present tutor to her Royal Highness, the Princess Elizabeth, and right strange was that report. Enclosed within was a strip of parchment which I am sure I can extract from the package without fear of suspicion and I therefore enclose it in originali with my report. In brief summary, the tutor’s report
