Dark Fire

Barak laid a luxury edition of the new Great Bible, which had been ordered to be set in every church, upon the desk. I looked at the brightly coloured title page: King Henry on his throne, handing copies of God's Word to Cromwell on one side, Archbishop Cranmer on the other, who in turn passed them down to the people. I swallowed and touched the book.

'I swear I will keep the matter of Greek Fire privy,' Cromwell said. I repeated the words, feeling I was turning a key in a set of fetters that bound me to him again.

'And help me to the best of your ability.'

'To the best of my ability.'

Cromwell gave a satisfied nod, though he still sat hunched over his desk like some great beast at bay. He picked something up and turned it over in his big hands: it was the miniature portrait he had had at the Domus.

'The reformist cause is tottering, Matthew.' He spoke quietly. 'It's even worse than the rumours say. The king's afraid and grows more afraid every day as Norfolk and Bishop Gardiner tip their poison in his ear. Afraid of common people reading the Bible, fearing they'll end by overthrowing the social order in bloody chaos like the Anabaptists at Münster. Radical reformers stand in danger of the fire – you know Robert Barnes is under arrest?'

'I had heard.' I took a deep breath; I did not want to hear this.

'The Act of Six Articles the king forced through last year takes us halfway back to Rome and now he wants the lower classes forbidden from reading the Bible. And he's afraid of invasion.'

'Our defences-'

'Could never withstand a combined onslaught by France and Spain. King Francis and Emperor Charles have quarrelled and the threat's over for now, but things could change again.' He took the miniature and laid it on top of the Bible. 'Do you still paint, Matthew, for a pastime?'

I looked at him, puzzled by his change of tack. 'Not for some time, my lord.'

'Give me your opinion of this portrait.'

I studied it. The woman was young, with attractive if vacuous features. The image was so clear you could imagine you were looking through a window at her. From the jewels set in her elaborate hood and in the collar of her high-cut dress she was someone of wealth.

'This is beautiful,' I said. 'It could almost be by Holbein.'

'It is by Holbein. It is the Lady Anne of Cleves, now our queen. I kept it when the king threw it in my face.' He shook his head. 'I thought I could shore up our defences and our reformed faith at the same time by marrying the king to the daughter of a German duke.' He gave a short, bitter laugh. 'I spent two years after Queen Jane died trying to find a foreign princess for him. It wasn't easy. He has a certain reputation.'

He was interrupted by a gentle cough. Barak was looking at his master anxiously.

'Jack warns me I am going too far. But you've given your oath, haven't you, Matthew, to keep your mouth tight shut?' His hard brown eyes bored into mine as he emphasized the words.

'Yes, my lord.' I felt sweat forming on my brow.

'Eventually the Duke of Cleves agreed we could have one of his daughters. The king wanted to see the Lady Anne before agreeing to marry her, but the Germans took that as an affront. So I sent Master Holbein to make a picture. After all, his genius is to make exact representations, is it not?'

'No one in Europe does that better.' I hesitated. 'And yet-'

'Yet what is an exact representation, eh, Matthew? We all look different in different lights, can never be caught completely in one glance. I told Holbein to paint her in the best light. And he did. That was another mistake. Can you see?'

I thought a moment. 'It is full face-'

'Not till you see her in profile do you realize how long her nose is. Nor does it show her high body odour, nor how she didn't speak a word of English.' His shoulders slumped. 'When she landed at Rochester in January the king disliked her on sight. And now the Duke of Norfolk's dangled his niece before the king, schooled her to catch his fancy. Catherine Howard is pretty, not yet seventeen, and he's caught. He drools over her like an old dog over a fine joint of meat and blames me for saddling him with the Cleves mare. But if he marries Norfolk's niece, the Howards will have me dead and England back under Rome.'

'Then all that's happened these ten years,' I said slowly, 'all the suffering and death, it would have been for nothing.'