These were extreme words. Thomasin quite forgot about Mariot, so treasonous and dangerous was the message issuing from the young woman before her. No wonder Anne was in such a state when they spoke of her in such a way.
“She is insane,” said Giles. “I wonder how she has not yet been arrested. It can only be a matter of time, because she will not be allowed to continue like this.”
“How do you know this?” called out a voice in the crowd.
“I have been blessed with visions,” Barton replied. “God has chosen me as his instrument. You will see his message come to pass, and then England will descend again into civil war and chaos. Rich man and poor man alike will suffer. Why do you think the king does not act against me? He has received me at court. I have spoken with such men as Thomas More and the new archbishop, Thomas Cranmer. They know the truth of my words.”
Thomasin shuddered, hardly believing what she was hearing. “More would never agree with this.”
“No,” agreed Giles. “The king will not stand for this.”
Barton started speaking again, but Thomasin recalled their purpose. “Do you see Mariot anywhere in the crowd?”
They scanned the heads, and although having the advantage of being on horseback, it was not possible to see everyone. No young girl with near-black hair jumped out to them. The audience was mixed in age and purpose; some stood in silence, stunned by what they heard, others looked fearful or sceptical, while a few whispered to each other.
“She is sowing dissent,” said Giles, who was twitching with discomfort. “This should be stopped as soon as possible. Perhaps I should ride for the sheriff.”
“His soul will be forever in torment in the fires of hell,” Barton continued, “and his cursed spawn will cast England into the sea. It is an abomination in God’s eyes. You are being ruled by a man who heeds the devil’s whisper. Why do you struggle to feed your children? Why does the sweat rage through the city every summer? Why do the crops fail in the fields? Look no further than Whitehall for your answer.”
“Nonsense!” Giles stood up in his saddle, unable to remain silent any longer. “This is treason. Good people, return to your homes; pay no heed to this speech. You endanger yourselves by listening. I cry treason! Dispel, go home, for your own safety!”
Faces turned towards them. A few people nearby began to grumble in agreement.
Barton looked him right in the eye. “Another of the devil’s messengers sent to steal your souls.”
“No, I am Lord Waterson of Suffolk, a God-fearing Christian soul and loyal subject of the king. I call upon these people to dispel and heed this treason no longer. To speak of the king’s death and the damnation of his soul is punishable by death!”
A few more of the crowd started to move, but others stood firm. Their voices began to rise, alarmed by Giles’s warning, so that the mass of people broke into confusion with the woman’s voice rising shrilly among them.
“Go about your business in peace!” called Giles. “Do not associate yourselves with treason!”
Just at that moment, a group of royal guards appeared from the left, hurrying towards the Standard. The sight of them galvanised the crowd to disperse fully, as they shouldered their way through to take hold of Barton. She did not struggle or resistthem, but allowed herself to be led away, still calling out her stark message to whoever could hear her.
“Well, that was to be expected,” said Giles. “They appeared just at the right moment, but what treason she spoke! I cannot see that she deserves any mercy for what she was saying.”
Thomasin felt shaken by what she had witnessed. The vehemence of the woman’s hatred was astonishing. She was either brave and convinced of her message, or utterly mad.
“This is why Anne is so afraid. They can arrest Barton, but she has spread her message already.”
“I don’t know why she has been allowed to speak like this. Others have been arrested and branded for saying less.”
Thomasin was watching the departing people. A few still lingered, gossiping about what they had witnessed.
“No sign of Mariot, though.”
“Unfortunately not. Perhaps she is already on her way back. She might be awaiting us at Monk’s Place upon our return.”
Thomasin doubted it. They turned their horses round, the space almost clear now, and began the ride back.
As they were crossing over Basing Lane, heading south, a man broke out of the crowd and came rushing towards them. “You are the lord who spoke at the Standard?” He was a pitiful-looking fellow, with a damaged ear and missing front teeth.
Giles wheeled his horse round to stand between the man and Thomasin.
“It was you, wasn’t it? The queen is in danger.” He looked up and down, as if checking that he was not overheard. “Some of the Holy Maid’s followers are plotting against her, on the day of the procession.”
“Tell me more,” said Giles.
“I dare not stay longer. They plan to shout and throw things as she passes St Paul’s.”
