The Chalice (36 page)

I said, “How could we possible win our freedom now? We are going to be roughly questioned—one or both of us may be put to the pain. Or perhaps they will just kill us here in Saint Sepulchre, before sunrise.”

Brother Edmund was silent for a moment. “Yes,” he said. “It is possible we will be killed. In which case we should both pray for God’s mercy and forgiveness.”

I had thought myself fully prepared for martyrdom a few hours ago. Now, with all of my being, I did not want to die.

Brother Edmund continued, “But it is also possible that something else is about to happen. How could Dudley know of our mission? He rode all the way from London with these soldiers.”

I pressed my cheek even harder against the stone’s edge, and said, “I believe that Geoffrey Scovill told him.”

“What?”
I could hear the shock in his voice.

The morning that we left Dartford for Canterbury, the morning after Christmas, as I hurriedly packed food, Geoffrey banged on the door of my house. I had made arrangements for Arthur to stay with Sister Winifred for a few days—our plan was to tell them we would join Brother Oswald for a single pilgrimage. Which had the benefit of being true.

Geoffrey pushed his way past Kitty to storm into my kitchen. He took in the slices of bread, the wrapped parcels of portable food.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I am preparing meals for some friends who came for Christmas,” I said evenly. “They are going on a journey.”

“Where?” Geoffrey demanded. His blue eyes narrowed as he studied my face.

“It is none of your concern,” I said.

“I am the constable of Dartford, and so it is my concern,” he said. “Their destination had better not be Canterbury.”

I was dismayed—how on earth could he know when we had decided less than twelve hours ago?

I said, “Why do you care where they go?”

“Because there is nothing but trouble for them in Canterbury,” he said. And then, “Is Sommerville going with them? Are you?”

“No,” I said quickly.

Geoffrey’s lips whitened. I did not want to keep hurting Geoffrey Scovill, yet I did exactly that.

“So now you lie to me, is that what we’ve come to?” he said roughly. “Joanna, you’re a fool. This is madness, and it will change nothing.”

With that, he was gone.

I told Brother Edmund everything, every word of the conversation. When I was finished, he said, “You should have informed me and the others.”

“Yes,” I said brokenly. “I have erred, so many, many times. And this error cost Brother Oswald his life, and perhaps ours, too. But we didn’t leave for another few hours, and I never saw Geoffrey again. He didn’t try to stop us. I never imagined he would go to someone like John Dudley. It is hard to believe that Geoffrey would ever do anything to harm me, no matter how angry he was. And I—I didn’t want you to know about this quarrel.”

There was silence for a time. I wondered if Brother Edmund was so appalled, he no longer wished to speak to me.

But then his voice came again, and there was no anger in it.

“Do you remember, in the cemetery, when you asked me if something was wrong?”

“Yes,” I said. “You looked so distressed.”

“While we were there, I looked over at you, hiding behind that gravestone, and I realized something, Sister Joanna,” he said and then his voice trailed away.

I waited, uncertain. When he spoke again, his voice was even softer.

“I realized that as much as I wanted to strike a blow for our faith, for our blessed Saint Thomas, I wanted something else, too. It’s what I’ve wanted for quite a long time. I have not always understood it; I’ve felt it and fought it. I always thought my destiny was as a man of God. But I now know that I want it so much that, given a choice between life and death, I believe with all of my heart, that I would choose life—even a life that is strange and difficult for me.”

I slid down along the rough wall. I couldn’t see him in the darkness, but I knew his face could not be more than three feet from mine.

“What is it that you want, Brother Edmund?” I said.

“Something is called for at this moment, something profound must be said, but all of my references are from Scripture,” he said, the shadow of a laugh in his voice. “I can only think of Catherine of Siena and what she said: ‘The human heart is always drawn by love.’ ”

He hesitated again.

“It’s you,” he said. “I am in love with you.”

Tears filled my eyes and my throat tightened. I willed myself to stop, so that I would be able to speak to him.

“If we are able to free ourselves, Sister Joanna, my only wish is to marry you,” he said. “I know absolutely nothing of being a husband, but I would give the rest of my life to you.”

“Yes,” I said, and despite everything that had happened, I smiled into the darkness. How incredible it felt, this happiness coursing through me.

But I had no time to tell him of my own feelings, for the door to my cell—to Sister Elizabeth Barton’s cell—swung open. The young bearded man, holding a torch, pulled me toward the passageway.

“Good-bye, Brother Edmund,” I called out wildly, as I was dragged out the door.

Fear rose in me, but joy burned in me, too. I was loved. I must do everything possible to survive the night.

At the end of the passageway, the man pushed me around the corner.

I collided with someone who stood there awaiting me.

It was Jacquard Rolin.

I stumbled back and tried to speak, but Jacquard whipped me around and covered my mouth with his hand. He was fast and strong—much stronger than I had ever perceived.

“I don’t believe your Brother Edmund can hear through that door, but there is a chance of it,” he whispered into my ear. “Don’t say my name if you desire that he should live.”

I nodded, frantic.

“Very good.” He withdrew his hand. I turned slowly to face him. I was unable to believe that it was truly the Low Countries Reformer who stood before me in Saint Sepulchre.

“Come, let us walk farther and then we can converse,” he said. “But first, untie her hands.”

The man immediately obeyed. Jacquard was in command of this situation.

We walked as he looked me up and down. “What a night you’ve had, Joanna Stafford,” he said, as calm and pleasant as if we had met in the middle of the High Street. “I heard you lost your courage and cried when they put you in Elizabeth Barton’s cell. That doesn’t sound like you.”

“How is this possible?” I stammered. “Are you the one who betrayed us to Dudley?”

Jacquard smiled. Those perfect teeth gleamed in the torchlight.

“Come with me,” he said.

Jacquard led me to the prioress’s chambers. He knocked once, pushed open the door, and then gestured for me to go first with a flourish of his palm.

I walked into the room, the same one I’d entered with my mother ten years ago. It was lit with many candles. The oak table was still there. A man sat on the other side of it.

It was Eustace Chapuys, ambassador of the Emperor Charles.

“Hello, Juana,” he said.

This was wrong—so wrong. For a moment I wondered if I was hallucinating. But I could feel my legs and my arms. I drew breath. This was real.

The only thing I could manage to say to him was “You do know me, then?”

Jacquard laughed behind me. Chapuys smiled, too, a wry smile as if I’d said something extremely amusing, but there was a bitter edge to it as well.

I pointed at Jacquard. “Why is he here, Ambassador? He is employed by the king, and he follows the Reform faith.”

Chapuys lifted his chin and said, “No, Juana. Jacquard Rolin is a spy in the service of the Emperor Charles.”

The candlelight tilted and ran together. I was falling and would have hit the floor, but Jacquard, again moving incredibly fast, caught me. He carried me to the empty chair opposite Chapuys.

The ambassador said: “Wine. Food. At once.”

A goblet was pressed to my lips. I drank limply. I tried to wave off the chunk of bread, but they insisted. I managed to get the bread down but it was not easy.

“Jacquard infiltrated a party of German heretics and arrived in London in May,” said Chapuys. “We had to have someone keeping you under observation in Dartford. I have English men and women in my service, but none skillful enough for the delicacy of this important task. I asked for the best—and the best is what I received.”

Jacquard bowed. “Your praise honors me.”

“Why would you need to observe me at all?” I asked.

Neither man answered.

I turned around to glare at Jacquard. “You are not a Reformer? But your beliefs—you told me of them yourself.”

Jacquard transformed himself while I watched. His eyes burning, he said, “Timothy’s views on the doctrine of free will are most inspiring.” He burst out laughing.

“Enough,” said Chapuys quietly.

“Lord John Dudley—I don’t understand how he comes into it,” I said. “He cannot possibly be in the employ of the emperor.”

“Dudley believes Jacquard to be a low-level spy for Cromwell, which he in fact is,” the ambassador explained. “Jacquard has been a valued spy for the Emperor Charles for the last eight years. With his skills, he was able to attract Cromwell’s interest just enough so that the Lord Privy Seal would recruit him but had no idea of his true allegiances. He employed Jacquard three weeks after he arrived in London.”

“Not to spy on me?” I asked, horrified.

“No, not initially. Cromwell wants spies everywhere, and Dartford is a town with many inns, a prime place for the gathering of treasonous gossip.” The ambassador grimaced. “But after the scene you created on Tower Hill, the Lord Privy Seal made it his business to learn who you were and then asked Jacquard to make regular reports of your actions. Unfortunately, you are now someone of interest to him. That will make our work together much more difficult.”

The words
our work together
hung in the air.

“We considered allowing you and the others to carry out your quest at the cathedral, but it was too risky,” Chapuys said. “We couldn’t take the chance you’d be killed or arrested. Jacquard knew that you planned something with the monks, something to do with Canterbury. He alerted that constable, Geoffrey Scovill, hoping he’d stop you. He didn’t, unfortunately. And Scovill waited hours to inform Jacquard that you’d left. We lost valuable time. Dudley was told of your group’s plan, but only under the condition that he separate you and Brother Edmund from the others. Jacquard and I came directly here, to await you. The other monks are taken to jail in Canterbury—they will pay the price for what happened.”

“No, they mustn’t,” I pleaded. “Can’t you help them?”

“They will be imprisoned, but I don’t expect they will be executed—and there will be no trial,” Chapuys said. “The king will not want to inflame the international situation. His treatment of Saint Thomas’s shrine and the shrines of England—this is the reason for his excommunication.”

I still didn’t understand why Dudley would agree to leniency for Brother Edmund and me, and said so.

“I told him that my own network discovered this plot of yours, and I wished to save you because of the memory of your Spanish mother,” Chapuys said. “Also I bestowed on him the largest bribe I’ve had to issue since coming to this country. Dudley, the son of a traitor, desperately needs money, that is the key to controlling him. Cromwell and the king will be told of six monks who stormed Canterbury Cathedral—that is all.”

“We had to make conditions rough for you here in Saint Sepulchre to placate Dudley,” said Jacquard. “He truly despises you. There’s no question but that you have a talent for arousing hatred in the most powerful men.”

I turned away from him, back to Chapuys. “What is the king’s intent for the bones of Saint Thomas? Dudley said we were mistaken, but I can’t believe that to be true.”

Chapuys considered before answering. “Yes, King Henry hates Becket and wants to make an example of him for his defiance to the Crown. From what I gather, their orders were to remove the box and bring it to London. What will be done then, only the king knows, and he is most changeable.”

So Norfolk’s information was, indeed, wrong. How could I have paid him such heed? My stupidity was unending.

Chapuys said, “I can understand why faithful Catholics would go to Canterbury on a mission such as this one. No matter what the king’s intention, his despoiling of the shrine is infamous. But this expedition of yours was very costly and very damaging. We will say no more of it. From now on, there will be no more intermediaries. You can understand why I couldn’t speak to you directly before now. If our connection were exposed, we’d both be summarily executed, and war with Spain would directly follow. But I am the only one who can direct your movements from now on.”

Again I was to be controlled—used. I’d thought myself free of this—and a life with Brother Edmund beckoned—but my will could never be my own.

Something about the word
intermediaries
. Of course.

“You were the one who sent Gertrude Courtenay to Dartford to find me,” I said to the ambassador.

“Of course,” said Chapuys. “She was the best conduit I had. A loyal and hard-working operative.”

“Is your connection to her now known?” I asked.

“I’d hardly be here if it were. No, she burned all my letters after reading; I had ordered her to do that, and she followed my command. But others’ letters were found in her box, and they added to the case against her husband. Do you know that in the Exeters’ Cornwall manor, a painted banner was found, to be raised when the time came to rally the west against the king? How could she do such an incredibly foolish thing? Gertrude Courtenay thought her husband’s wealth and title and royal
blood would preserve him. I tried to point out to her that those were the very things that would doom him.”

Again I saw Henry Courtenay standing atop the scaffold, and shuddered.

Chapuys, ever perceptive, said, “I know much has happened to you, and it has been difficult. I regret that, I sincerely do. But for the past nine months, our source of information on you, he . . . fluctuates. ‘Send her to London.’ ‘Remove her from London.’ ‘Bring her to an astrologer.’ This is not something under my control—or under anyone’s control. I very much doubt even he can control what he learns and in what manner or speed.”