“The book should be burned upon entry into the country. A shipment was intercepted just last week at Hull, and consigned to the flames.”
“And what if you learned of anyone at court who had a copy in their possession?”
More looked at her with anxious eyes. “Mistress Marwood, my gentle friend, please tell me that you do not.”
“No, I can honestly say I have never set eyes upon a copy.”
“Then keep it that way. Much as I love and respect you, it would be my duty to inform the king, if you did. For the salvation of your soul, Thomasin, dear, nothing more. For the salvation of your eternal soul.”
Thomasin breathed deeply. There was no doubt in her mind how More would advise her, if he learned of Anne’s position. But she also had a sense of More’s limits: his mind might soar like an eagle, through Greek and Latin, through philosophy, history, astronomy and the law, but there were absolute cliffs inside him, walls of permanence constructed by his faith, through which he would never pass. His mind was a beacon for truth and justice, but she sensed that in places, she might stumble against its inflexibilities. Perhaps that was what faith was for. Perhaps it was her fault, and she lacked conviction.
“Thomasin, you look pensive now.”
“I am just thinking over what you have said. The appearance of these books calls for vigilance?”
“Indeed.”
“I accept your position. I wonder, though, if you would ever consider reading them yourself, so as to be fully appraised of their argument, and to better refute them?”
“Look the devil in the face, you mean?”
She shrugged at his extreme analogy.
“I have a long list of books I would rather read,” More continued. “Erasmus’s own book,Ciceronianus, also came out this year, and he is patiently awaiting my response to it.”
Thomasin smiled.
“Music!” called King Henry from across the room. “I have a new lute player, de Bellay; listen to him and see whether you have heard anything as sweet across the Channel.”
“We had better submit,” suggested More, “or else the king might make us dance!”
TEN
Thomasin was relieved to see that the river was calm. The surface lay flat and grey-green like a millpond, merely the gentlest ripple lapping against the steps. The royal barge was tethered to the quay, docile and obedient.
She had never been a good traveller by boat, so had concealed her discomfort when Queen Catherine announced they were taking a barge down to Westminster. There was not enough space to joust at Bridewell, but making just a short trip downriver, to the western edge of the city, allowed them to use the lists of the other palace, and return in time for dinner. Now, dressed for the occasion in white and green, Thomasin followed Queen Catherine, Princess Mary and Lady Salisbury into the barge and took her seat beside Ellen.
“What a mild and pleasant day,” her cousin commented. “You would not think it was almost the end of November.”
“I am thankful for it,” Thomasin agreed. “I do not like to be tossed about.”
“We will have to go by boat to Greenwich, when the time comes,” warned Ellen, “but at least we will be celebrating Christmas at the end of it.”
It would be a very different sort of Christmas, Thomasin thought, to the quiet one they had spent at Windsor last year. They might move location, but the tensions between Henry, Catherine and Anne would travel with them.
As the rowers untied the barge from its moorings, Thomasin saw the next group appear through the Watergate, awaiting the arrival of the next vessel to carry them down to Westminster. Among them were Cromwell’s man, Ralph Sadler, and Nico Amato behind him. She had not found an opportunity to speak with Nico since the unpleasant scene in the garden, imagininghim busy with the work of a clerk, fetching, carrying and bending to accommodate the master who struck him. But there he was, looking a little sheepish, his eyes downcast.
Thomasin lifted her hand to wave as the barge pulled away, but he did not look up.
Ellen was right: the distance was blessedly short. The tide was with them too, so the boat shot along on the current. The rowers steered them past the great mansions with their long gardens and round the bend, after which the huge edifice of Westminster Palace came into view. Buildings crammed the bank, with their many faces and turrets, walls and sloping roofs. The palace itself was a cluster of different units, connected by corridors and walks: the main hall and abbey were set back from the edge, with their huge stained-glass windows overlooking walled gardens and orchards. The barge came to rest at a flight of steps that led up to a gate in the wall.
Once they had disembarked safely, they followed a passage burning with torches straight into the painted chamber. It was good to be back, thought Thomasin, recalling her previous time spent here, when she had enjoyed the peace of the place, compared with the bustle of Bridewell.
Fires had been lit in the queen’s chambers, and cedar wood pastilles placed on the coals, although they still smelled a little damp. Cushions had been plumped, carpets draped, a gold canopy of state hung, and spread across the table were pies, cakes and wafers, beside flagons of wine. Considering that they were only to pass an hour or two in the rooms, it was comfortable enough.
“So,” said Princess Mary, spinning about in the middle of the room, “here we are, ready to joust! I wish I could ride!”
“You must be content with handing out the prizes,” said her mother.
