London - Edward Rutherfurd [303]
“I’m not sure if I’m a Lutheran or not,” Meredith had recently confessed to Cromwell, “but I do know I want to see religion radically purified.” There was only one man in England, however, who could change the religion of the people: the king. How could the reformers hope to move the self-proclaimed Defender of the Faith towards their camp?
“Opportunity,” Cromwell said. “It’s that simple. After all,” he reminded him, “who could possibly have foreseen, when it began, the amazing outcome of the Boleyn affair? Yet for us reformers it was an astounding gift, because it is causing the king to break with Rome. We can build on that.”
“The king may be excommunicated,” Thomas objected, “and he may tolerate Cranmer’s tendencies because he likes him, but he still seems to hate heretics as much as ever. He hasn’t moved an inch towards reform.”
“Patience,” Cromwell grunted. “He can be influenced.”
“But how?” Thomas cried. “By what arguments?” At this, Cromwell had only smiled.
“I see,” he remarked with a shake of his head, “that you still know nothing of princes.” He looked him calmly in the eye. “If you want to influence a prince, young man, forget arguments. Study the man.” He sighed. “Henry loves power. That is his strength. He is hugely vain. He wants to look like a hero. That is his weakness. And he needs money. That is his necessity.” His small eyes bored into Thomas. “With these three levers we can move mountains.” And now he smiled. “We may even, young Thomas Meredith, be able to bring a religious reformation to England.” He patted the young man’s hand. “Give me time.”
Now therefore, as Thomas gazed into his sister’s worried face, he wondered what to say. He was already sober enough to realize, with a shock, that he had allowed himself to say too much. He must somehow backtrack.
“I’m not Protestant,” he assured her. “Nor is anyone at court.” He smiled. “You worry too much.”
But she had seen his eyes. And for the first time in her life, she knew he was deliberately lying to her. And though she said nothing, it gave her great pain to know, whatever cynical schemes might or might not be going on at court, that from that day she could no longer trust her brother.
Shocked and disappointed as she was, Susan did not let this matter dominate her thoughts. Rowland, fortunately, had not really taken in their conversation. Nor did she enlighten him. If Thomas was, in some sense, secretly lost to her, she did not want to place the burden of her feelings on her hard-working husband. I must be a good wife and a support to him, she reminded herself.
Only sometimes, when she found herself in the house alone did a sense of desolation visit her. It was, she recognized, a moral loneliness. She would dearly have liked to correspond, at least, with Peter; but his last letter had told her that he was now well enough to undertake a pilgrimage to some of the greatest shrines so she did not even know where to write to him. Meanwhile, she continued, from time to time, to welcome Thomas to the house, and watch him play with the children, and pretend that all was well.
It had been her idea to visit Greenwich. She had always wanted to see round the greatest palace, and learning that King Henry was away one autumn day when both Thomas and Rowland had business there, she had suggested that she accompany them.
She enjoyed the day. Thomas had conducted them all round the great waterside palace. He had even procured a chamber inside the palace where they could spend the night before returning to Chelsea in the morning.
A little before sunset the three of them walked up the broad, green slope behind Greenwich Palace. For a short while they had strolled across to the edge of Blackheath and then