Lamentation

He sighed, then continued, ‘And soon enquiries were indeed made, by Master Ardengast. Only those who saw Anne Askew in the Tower, and those in the house to which she was taken, knew what had been done to her. I was questioned by Sir Anthony Knevet himself. I confessed at once. I was so afraid I wet my hose during the interview. Anne Askew did not wet herself,’ he added quietly, in self-disgust.

‘She was a rare creature,’ I said.

‘I was sure I would be arrested, but I was told only to keep my mouth shut. Which I have, until you came yesterday. I do not understand why I have not been arrested. But Sir Anthony was very mild with me, and there have been rumours in the Tower that he was so concerned at what Rich and Wriothesley had done, that he privately told the King. But I do not know.’

I considered. Perhaps nothing had happened to Myldmore because if he were put on trial for revealing Anne Askew’s torture, that would involve admitting publicly that it had taken place.

‘Did Sir Anthony Knevet enquire about your motives?’ I asked. ‘Your religious associations?’

‘Yes. He asked about my church, my associates. But I did not tell him about Master Greening or his group. That would be the end of me because of — because of the book. And I had said nothing about that.’

‘I think it is time to tell me, Master Myldmore.’

He looked down at his hands, then raised his head again. ‘On the day I spoke with Mistress Askew, I was sent again, late in the evening, to take her supper, and to report on how she fared. When I went into the cell I found she was still on the floor, but had managed to drag herself half across the room. Jesu knows what that cost her. A candle had been brought in and she was sprawled next to her chest, which was open. She had managed to take out a bundle of papers, which lay on her lap, with an inkwell and a quill. She was writing, sweating and wincing with the effort. She looked up at me. There was silence for a moment, and then she said, in a strange tone of determined merriment, “Goodman gaoler! You have found me at my letters.”

‘I laid the bowl of pottage close beside her, and in so doing saw what she had written: “. . then the lieutenant caused me to be loosed from the rack. Incontinently I swooned, and then they recovered me again. .”

‘I said, “That letter will not be allowed out, madam, it says too much.”

‘“A shame,” she said. “It contains the whole truth.”

‘I asked her if she would like me to feed her again, and she said she would. She leaned back against the chest, like a helpless child, while I fed her and wiped her chin. She told me I was a good man, and a Christian. I said I wished I could be. She said then, “Will you report what I have been writing to Sir Anthony Knevet?” I did not reply and she stared at me, her eyes full of pain but somehow — unrelenting. Then she said, “This is a record, an account, of my examinations since my first arrest last year. I wrote that last piece this afternoon, though my arms sore pain me. It is strange, they have never searched among my clothes, where this testament has been hidden.” She smiled again. “The King’s councillors will tear the strings and joints of a gentlewoman’s body, yet common gaolers hesitate to search her underclothes.”

‘“It is rare for a woman to be imprisoned there,” I said.

‘Then she touched my hand and said, “They will search the chest soon, without doubt, and will find this. You are the first to have seen it, I had not the strength to put it away quickly when your key turned in the door. My fate is in your hands, sir, and if you feel you must take my journal to Sir Anthony Knevet, then you must.” Those blue eyes, glinting in the candlelight, were fixed on mine. “But I ask you, as you seek salvation, to take my writings, now, and somehow get them published. That would make a mighty storm here. Do you think you can do that?”

‘I thought at once of Greening. But I drew back. I said, “Madam, you ask me to risk my life. If I were caught — ”

‘“Your life, sir?” She gave a little smile and with an effort laid her hand on mine. “Life is fleeting, and beyond lies God’s judgement and eternity.” Then she asked my name. “To have the world know what is done in the King’s name would be a mark of grace, Thomas, a great step to your salvation.”’

I felt a sudden anger with Anne Askew. She had used the promise of salvation as a weapon against Myldmore, I thought, a sort of blackmail.