‘What sort of commission?’
‘As a judge on first evidence. A new inquiry.’
‘Inquiry into what?’
My father glances around; but there is no one near in earshot. ‘That’s the thing. I’ve not been told. I’ve just been summoned to hear the first evidence, to see if there’s a case to answer.’
I pause, thinking. ‘Master Secretary is preparing another treason trial?’
He nods. ‘For sure, but I don’t know who is the accused.’
‘Oh, Father, he’s not going to act against Princess Mary, is he? Not now? Anne is demanding that she swear the oath. But they can’t try a princess for treason?’
‘Lady Mary,’ he corrects me. ‘No, the king would never use us lords against her; she’s too well-loved. And Carew is one of her greatest advocates, and he just got the Garter. It has to be someone else. Someone whose star is falling.’ He looks at me expectantly.
I shake my head. ‘No one’s really falling – Mary Shelton’s been replaced as favourite by Jane Seymour, and the Seymours are in high favour – but that’s just bedroom gossip. We’re planning a May Day celebration, and George and Henry Norris are the lead jousters – so the king favours them. And then a progress to Dover and across the narrow seas to honour the Lisles at Calais, so the old royal family are in high regard. No one’s out of favour?’
‘Well, someone’s going to face an inquiry by the lords,’ my father warns me. ‘So it must be either a courtier or a churchman. A commoner would go to the common courts. But Jane, if Master Cromwellasks you anything about anybody, make sure you tell him all you know – he’s certain to know it already. Don’t hold anything back. You don’t want him to doubt you as well as... whoever he is doubting.’
‘I do. I always tell him everything.’
We turn to watch the dancers. The king is seated on his throne, beating time with his hand. Anne is beside him; as we watch, she says something charming – I can tell it is charming by the turn of her head – and the king nods and smilingly replies, then looks across the room to where Jane Seymour is waiting, hesitantly, for her turn to step forward.
‘Pity about the horse,’ my father says.
‘What horse?’
‘Thunder, that big bay of the king’s. The one that fell.’
‘But I saw him get up? He was sound?’
‘He was unhurt, but the king had him beheaded,’ my father says. ‘For treason, I suppose.’ He has to hide a smile. ‘Falling on the king is clearly the act of a traitor. The punishment for traitors is beheading.Ergo, the horse was beheaded. Rather like the beast trials of Prytaneum, Athens.’
I think of the beautiful animal, the bright-coloured coat and the big, dark intelligent eyes. ‘Oh, poor horse, poor beautiful horse!’ I exclaim. ‘That’s not justice!’
‘He is Supreme Head of the Church,’ he reminds me. ‘And king of England. Justice is whatever he says it is.’ He pauses. ‘That’s why I say to report everything to Cromwell.’
AS IF HEknows my father has spoken to me, Master Cromwell summons me to his dark chamber next day. It is modestly furnished, as if the king’s secretary needs nothing more than bare floorboards, a table, and a high-backed chair with a rush seat for him, and a second chair set on the other side. The writing chest that he takes everywhere is locked with the little brass key in the lock. There is a table and chair for a clerk, laid out with all the instruments for spying: knives for cutting letterlocks; a hair-thinwire for lifting a wax seal and replacing it unbroken; badger-hair brushes for dusting sand on invisible sticky letters; candles ready to make lemon-juice words appear on singed paper.
‘What is this?’ I ask, putting my hand on a series of copper wheels, one inside another, each wheel rim engraved with letters.
‘An Italian device,’ he says. He shows me how the inner wheel has a pointer to a letter of the alphabet, geared to the outer wheel so it can be set to show six letters forward or ten letters back, with another cog to alter the selection of letters between paragraphs. ‘It translates in and out of code,’ he says. ‘You just agree with your correspondent what gearing to use and when to change it.’
‘Clever,’ I admire it. ‘It must make a code very fast to write.’
‘My clerks need to work fast. I’ve never known a busier time.’
‘We are busy at court, too,’ I agree, putting down the code wheel. ‘The queen wants to make a special May Day for the king, as he cannot ride this year.’
‘She has told her ladies that he cannot ride?’
‘Everyone knows. Master Cromwell, why did you want to see me?’
‘It’s always a pleasure to see you. And does she speak of his poetry?’
‘We all speak of poetry.’
‘But the queen and her brother, your husband, and your cousin, Mary Shelton, and her friend, Thomas Wyatt – all noted poets, aren’t you? Young Lord Thom Howard, too? You study metre and rhyme and all that sort of thing, criticise each other’s work, write alternate witty lines – I wouldn’t know; I’m not an educated man...’
