Otto Von Habsburg

by C. J. Sansom

  ‘At least they still pray, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes. And believe their prayers intercede with God for the dead.’ I thought of Brother Gabriel and his anguished intensity. ‘But they are wrong.’

  ‘I confess it sends my head to spinning, sir, all this theology.’

  ‘It shouldn’t, Mark. God gave you a brain. Use it.’

  ‘How is your back today?’ he asked, changing the subject. I reflected it was becoming a talent of his.

  ‘Bearable. Better than it was first thing.’

  The innkeeper brought us dishes of rabbit pie, and we ate silently for a while.

  ‘What do you think became of that girl?’ Mark asked at length.

  I shook my head. ‘Jesu knows. There are so many threads of enquiry, they merely multiply. I had hoped for more from Copynger. Well, now we know women have been molested at the monastery. By whom? Prior Mortimus, who troubled Alice? Others? As for the girl Orphan, Copynger’s right. There’s no evidence she didn’t just run away, and the old woman’s fondness for her could be colouring her judgement. There’s nothing to lay hold of.’ I clenched a fist on the empty air.

  ‘What did you think of Justice Copynger?’

  ‘He’s a reformer. He will help us where he can.’

  ‘He talks of true religion and how the monks oppress the poor, yet he lives richly while turning people off their land.’

  ‘I don’t like him either. But you should not have asked him about Alice’s mother. It’s not your place. He’s our only reliable source of information and I don’t want him crossed. We’ve little enough help. I’d hoped for more information on the land sales, to connect with the bursar’s books.’

  ‘It seemed to me the Justice knew more about the smugglers than he said.’

  ‘Of course he did. He’s taking bribes. But that’s not why we’re here. I’m with him on one thing: the murderer comes from within the monastery, not from Scarnsea. The five senior obedentiaries.’ I ticked them off on my fingers. ‘Abbot Fabian, Prior Mortimus, Edwig, Gabriel and Guy. Any of them is tall and strong enough to have despatched Singleton – except Brother Edwig, who was away. And any of them could have killed the novice. That is, of course, if what Brother Guy told us about deadly nightshade is true.’

  ‘Why would he lie?’

  Again I saw in my mind’s eye the dead face of Simon Whelplay as we lifted him from the bath. The thought of him being poisoned because I might talk to him kept recurring, turning in my guts like a torsion.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I replied, ‘but I’m taking nothing on trust. They’ll all lose heavily if the monastery closes. Where will Brother Guy find employment in the world as a healer, with his strange face? As for the abbot, he’s wedded to his status. And I think the other three may all have things to hide. Financial chicanery by Brother Edwig? He could be hiding money away against the risk of the place going, though he’d need the abbot’s seal on any land sales.’

  ‘And Prior Mortimus?’

  ‘There’s little I’d put past him. As for Brother Gabriel, the old serpent of temptation still visits, I’m sure of that. He’s not taken his eyes off you since you came. I can imagine he has his attachments among the monks, even if not to poor Whelplay, but then you come along showing a fine calf, in your good doublet and hose, and he starts dreaming of you out of them.’

  Mark pushed his plate away, frowning. ‘Must you adumbrate the details, sir?’

  ‘Lawyers must spend their time adumbrating details, however sordid. Gabriel may appear gentle, but he is a tormented man, and tormented men do wild, irrational things. If recent acts of sodomy could be proved against him, he could face the rope. Rough questioning from Singleton could have made him desperate, especially if there are others to protect. And then there is Jerome. I want to see what he has to say. I’m intrigued by his calling Singleton a liar and perjurer.’

  Mark did not reply. He was still frowning. ‘Oh, wake up,’ I said in a burst of irritation. ‘Does it matter if the sacrist covets your arse? He’s hardly likely to get it.’

  There was a flash of anger in his eyes. ‘I was not thinking of myself, sir, but Alice. The girl who disappeared was also Brother Guy’s assistant.’

  ‘That had occurred to me as well.’

  He leaned forward. ‘Would it not be better, and safer for all, to take the obedentiaries, and Jerome, and arrest them all on suspicion? Take them to London and get what they know out of them?’

  ‘On what evidence? And how question them, the torture? I thought you disapproved of such methods.’

  ‘Of course not. But – stiff questioning?’

  ‘And what if I am wrong, and it is not one of them at all? And how would we keep such a mass arrest secret?’

  ‘But – time and danger press.’

  ‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ I burst out in sudden anger. ‘But bullying won’t fetch out the truth. Singleton tried that and look where it got him. You untangle a knot with slow teasing, not sharp pulling, and believe me we have here a knot such as I have never seen. But I will unpick it. I will.’

  ‘I am sorry, sir. I did not mean to question . . .’

  ‘Oh, question, Mark,’ I said irritably. ‘But question sensibly.’ My anger had animated me, and I rose and threw some coins on the table.

  ‘Come, let’s go. We’re wasting the afternoon, and I have a mad old Carthusian waiting.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  WE SAID LITTLE as we walked back to the monastery, under a sky that was rapidly clouding over again. I was angry with myself for my outburst, but my nerves were frayed and Mark’s naivety had irritated me. I had found a new mood of determined resolution, though, and set a sharp pace on the road until I stumbled in a drift and Mark had to steady me, which irritated me further. As we neared the walls of St Donatus, a bitter wind began blowing and it started to snow once more.

  I banged unceremoniously on the door of Bugge’s gatehouse; he appeared, wiping food from his mouth with a dirty sleeve.

  ‘I wish to see Brother Jerome. At once, please.’

  ‘The prior has custody of him, sir. He’s at Sext.’ He nodded in the direction of the church, from which a faint chanting was audible.

  ‘Then fetch him out of it!’ I replied sharply. The churl went off muttering, and we pulled our coats, already white with snowflakes, round us tightly as we waited. Shortly Bugge reappeared, accompanied by Prior Mortimus, a frown on his red face.

  ‘Ye wish to see Jerome, Commissioner? Has something happened that I should be fetched from church?’

  ‘Only that I have no time to waste. Where is he?’

  ‘After his insults to you, he’s kept locked in his cell in the dorter.’

  ‘Then take us to him, please. I wish to question him.’

  He led us away to the cloister. ‘I dread to think what insults ye’ll get, bearding him in his own den. If ye’re minded to have him committed for treason, ye’ll be doing us all a service.’

  ‘Will I? He’s friendless here, then?’

  ‘Pretty well.’

  ‘There’s a few friendless people here. Novice Whelplay, for example.’

  He looked at me coldly. ‘I tried to teach Simon Whelplay a contrite spirit.’

  ‘Better broken to heaven than in one piece to hell?’ Mark muttered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Something a reforming magistrate said to Master Poer and me this morning. By the way, I hear you visited Simon early yesterday.’

  He reddened. ‘I went to pray over him. I did not want him dead, just cleansed of what possessed him.’

  ‘Even at the price of his life?’

  He came to a halt and faced me, a harried look on his face. The weather was getting worse; snowflakes whirled round us as our coats and the prior’s habit billowed in the wind.

  ‘I didn’t want him dead! It wasn’t my doing, he was possessed. Possessed. His death wasn’t my fault, I won’t be blamed!’

  I studied him. Had he gone to pray over the nov
ice yesterday from some sense of guilt? No, I reflected, Prior Mortimus was not one to question the rightness of anything he did. It was strange; his air of brutal certainty reminded me of radical Lutherans I had met. And no doubt he had contrived some intellectual sophistry that allowed him to molest young women without trouble to his conscience.

  ‘It is cold,’ I said. ‘Lead on.’

  He led us without further converse into the dorter, a long, two-storey building facing the cloister. Smoke rose from many chimneys. I had never seen the inside of a monks’ dormitory before. I knew from the Comperta that the early Benedictines’ great communal dormitories had long since been partitioned off into comfortable individual rooms, and so it was here. We passed down a long corridor with many doors. Some were open, and I could see warm fires and comfortable beds. The heat was welcome. Prior Mortimus halted before a closed door.

  ‘Normally, it’s locked,’ he said, ‘to make sure he doesn’t go wandering.’ He pushed the door open. ‘Jerome, the commissioner wishes to see you.’

  Brother Jerome’s cell was as austere as those I passed had been comfortable. No fire burned in the empty grate, and apart from a crucifix above the bed the whitewashed walls were bare. The old Carthusian sat on the bed dressed only in his nether hose; his skinny torso was twisted and bent around the shoulders, as knotted and crooked as my own but with the marks of injury not deformity. Brother Guy stood bent over him with a cloth, washing a dozen small weals that disfigured his skin. Some were red, others yellow with pus. A ewer of water gave off the sharp smell of lavender.

  ‘Brother Guy,’ I said, ‘I am sorry to disrupt your ministrations.’

  ‘I am nearly finished. There, Brother, that should ease the infected sores.’

  The Carthusian gave me an ugly glare before turning to the infirmarian. ‘My clean shirt, please.’

  Brother Guy sighed. ‘You weaken yourself with this. You could at least soak the hairs to soften them.’ He passed him a grey garment of hair cloth, the animal hairs sewn into the fabric on the inner side standing out stiff and black. Brother Jerome slipped it on, then struggled into his white habit. Brother Guy gathered up his ewer, bowed to us and went out. Brother Jerome and the prior looked at each other with mutual distaste.

  ‘Mortifying yourself again, Jerome?’

  ‘For my sins. But I take no pleasure in the mortification of others, Brother Prior, unlike some.’

  Prior Mortimus gave him a filthy look, then handed me his key. ‘When you’ve finished, give the key to Bugge,’ he said, then turned and left abruptly, closing the door behind him with a snap. I was suddenly conscious that we were now shut in a confined space with a man whose eyes sparked hatred at us from his pale, lined face. I looked round for somewhere to sit, but there was only the bed, so I stood leaning on my staff.

  ‘Are you in pain, crookback?’ Jerome asked suddenly.

  ‘A little discomfort. We have had a long walk through the snow.’

  ‘Do you know the saying, to touch a dwarf brings good luck, but to touch a hunchback means ill fortune? You are a mockery of the human form, Commissioner, doubly so for your soul is twisted and cankered like all Cromwell’s men.’

  Mark stepped forward. ‘God’s bones, sir, you have a vile tongue.’

  I waved him to silence, and stood staring at Jerome.

  ‘Why do you abuse me, Jerome of London? They say you are mad. Are you? Would madness be your defence were I to have your arse hauled off to the Tower for your treasonable talk?’

  ‘I would make no defence, crookback. I would be glad to have the chance to be what I should have been before, a martyr for God’s Church. I shit on King Henry’s name and his usurpation of the pope’s authority.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘Even Martin Luther disowns King Henry, did you know? He says Junker Heinz will end by making himself God.’

  Mark gasped. Those words alone were enough to have Jerome executed.

  ‘Then how you must burn with shame that you took the oath acknowledging the king’s supremacy,’ I said quietly.

  Jerome reached for his crutch and rose painfully from the bed. He tucked the crutch under his arm and began slowly pacing the cell. When he spoke again it was in a quiet, steely tone.

  ‘Yes, crookback. Shame and fear for my eternal soul. Do you know who my family are? Did they tell you that?’

  ‘I know you are related to Queen Jane, God rest her.’

  ‘God will not rest her. She burns in hell for marrying a schismatic king.’ He turned and faced me. ‘Shall I tell you how I came to be here? Shall I put a case to you, master lawyer?’

  ‘Yes, tell me. I shall sit to listen.’ I lowered myself onto the hard bed. Mark remained standing, hand on sword, as Jerome dragged himself slowly up and down the room.

  ‘I left the world of idle show when I was twenty. My late second cousin was not born then, I never met her. I lived over thirty years in peace at the London Charterhouse; a holy place, not like this soft corrupted house. It was a haven, a place devoted to God in the midst of the profane city.’

  ‘Where wearing hair shirts was part of the Rule.’

  ‘To remind us always that flesh is sinful and corrupt. Thomas More lived with us four years. He wore the hair shirt ever after, even under his robes of state when he was lord chancellor. It helped keep him humble, and steadfast unto death when he stood out against the king’s marriage.’

  ‘And before, when he was lord chancellor and burning all the heretics he could find. But you were not steadfast, Brother Jerome?’

  His back stiffened, and when he turned I expected another outburst. But his voice remained calm.

  ‘When the king said he required an oath from all members of the religious houses acknowledging him as Supreme Head of the Church, only we Carthusians refused, though we knew what that would mean.’ His eyes burned into me.

  ‘Yes. All the other houses took the oath, but not you.’

  ‘There were forty of us, and they took us one by one. Prior Houghton first refused the oath and was interrogated by Cromwell himself. Did you know, Commissioner, when Father Houghton told him that St Augustine had placed the authority of the Church above Scripture, Cromwell replied that he cared naught for the Church and Augustine might hold as he pleased?’

  ‘He was right. The authority of Scripture stands above that of any scholar.’

  ‘And the opinion of a tavern keeper’s son stands above St Augustine’s?’ Jerome laughed bitterly. ‘When he would not submit, our venerable prior was judged guilty of treason and executed at Tyburn. I was there; I saw his body sliced open by the executioner’s knife while he still lived. But it wasn’t the usual hanging fair that day, the crowd watched silently as he died.’

  I glanced at Mark; he was watching Jerome intently, his face troubled. The Carthusian continued. ‘Your master had no better luck with Prior Houghton’s successor. Vicar Middlemore and the senior obedentiaries still would not swear, so they too went to Tyburn. This time there were calls against the king from the crowd. Cromwell wasn’t going to risk a riot the next time, so he tried all manner of pressure to make the rest of us take the oath. He put his own men in charge of the house, where Prior Houghton’s arm, stinking and rotten, was nailed to the gate. They kept us half-starved, mocked our services, tore up our books, insulted us. They picked off trouble-makers one by one. Someone would suddenly be sent off to a more compliant house or just disappear.’

  He paused and leaned his good arm on the bed for a moment. I looked up at him.

  ‘I have heard these stories,’ I said. ‘They are mere tales.’

  He ignored me and resumed his pacing. ‘After the north rebelled last spring, the king lost patience with us. The remaining brethren were told to swear or be taken to Newgate where they would be left to starve to death. Fifteen swore and lost their souls. Ten went to Newgate, where they were chained in a foul cell and left without food. Some lasted for weeks—’ He broke off suddenly. Covering his face with his hands he stood rocking on his heels, weeping sil
ently.

  ‘I have heard such rumours,’ Mark whispered. ‘Everyone said they were false—’

  I waved him to silence. ‘Even if that were true, Brother Jerome, you could not have been among them. You were already here.’

  He turned his back on me, wiping his face with the sleeve of his habit, and stood looking from the window, leaning heavily on his crutch. Outside, the snow whirled down as though it might bury the world.

  ‘Yes, crookback, I was one of those who had been spirited away. I had watched my superiors taken, I knew how they died, but despite our daily humiliations we brethren succoured each other. We thought we could hold out. I was a fit, strong man then, I prided myself on my fortitude.’ He laughed; a cracked hysterical sound.

  ‘The soldiers came for me one morning, and brought me to the Tower. It was the middle of May last year, Anne Boleyn had been condemned to die and they were building a great scaffold in the grounds. I saw it. And that was when I became truly afraid. As those guards bustled me down into the dungeons, I knew my resolution might fail.

  ‘They took me to a big underground room and bundled me into a chair. In a corner I saw the rack, the hinged table and the ropes, two big guards standing ready to turn the wheels. There were two others in the room, facing me across a desk. One was Kingston, the warden of the Tower. The other, glowering at me most foully, was your master, Cromwell.’

  ‘The vicar general himself? I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Let me tell you what he said. “Brother Jerome Wentworth, you are a nuisance. Tell me straight, without cavil, will you swear to the Royal Supremacy?”

  ‘I said I would not. But my heart banged as though it would burst my chest as I sat before that man, his eyes like the fires of hell, for the Devil looks out of them. How can you face him, Commissioner, and not know what he is?’

  ‘Enough of that. Go on.’

  ‘Your master, the great and wise counsellor, nodded at the rack. “We shall see,” he said. “In a few weeks’ time Jane Seymour will be queen of England. The king would not have her cousin refusing the oath. Nor does he want your name included among those executed for treason. Either would be an embarrassment, Brother Jerome. So, you must swear, or you will be made to.” Then he nodded at the rack.