London - Edward Rutherfurd [310]
It was not even his lawyer’s mind but something much more instinctive in him that finally understood what he must do. A thing was either true or false, right or wrong, black or white. It was not the religious scholar, it was the generations of Anglo-Saxon Bulls in him that knew it. The king’s claim was a lie. There was nothing more to say. He was either a Christian believer or he wasn’t. That was it. He felt relieved.
But there remained Susan and the children and his moral obligation there. Now his lawyer’s mind interposed. That too was a claim that must be satisfied.
As he quietly left St Etheldreda’s and walked out through the walled garden Rowland knew what he must do.
Susan stared at Rowland; at first she could hardly speak. It was dark outside, the children were in bed and they were alone. As much to give herself time to think as anything, she went over it carefully: “You think that the Charterhouse monks will refuse the oath?” He nodded. “But you believe that the king, even now, means to require the oath only from those, like the monks, who opposed him?”
“I think so.”
“You do not suppose he would require it of you.”
“I took it before. Why should he trouble me?”
“But if, by chance, the king altered his mind, and asked for the oath again . . .”
“We must decide what I should do.”
“So you have come to me, because you owe a duty to me as your wife, and to your children.” She nodded thoughtfully, and then, looking up, quietly spoke the terrible proposition he had made. “You are asking my permission to refuse the oath? You are asking if you may go to execution?”
And returning her gaze with affection he calmly answered: “Yes.”
From almost any other man, she supposed, it would have been a lie, an excuse. Tell me I must not go, he would have been saying. Let me be a coward with dignity. And, at that moment, she almost wished she had married a lesser man. But she knew that Rowland really meant it.
This was her dilemma. In her innermost heart, she knew that Rowland and Peter were right. Yet here, also, was her pain: to know that, for the sake of the God they shared, he would rather leave her all alone. And worse yet, her knowledge as a wife, that if, to save her family, she refused her consent, he would accept it but, very likely never in his life forgive her.
“You must do what your conscience tells you,” she therefore said. “I forbid you nothing.” She turned her face away, not only to hide her tears, but because she could not bear to see that she had made him happy.
“It will not happen.” Thomas Meredith was adamant. “Unless he means to provoke the king deliberately, there is no danger,” he assured Susan. “I see Cromwell every day. I know exactly what is intended. The king will bring those who opposed him to heel. If those few, like the Charterhouse monks, still remain obstinate . . .” He grimaced. “I fear it may go hard with them.”
“Poor Peter.”
“I cannot help him,” he admitted sadly. “But Rowland,” he continued reassuringly, “is another case entirely. He took the original oath like everyone else. He is not under suspicion of any kind. Does he mean to speak out?”
“No.”
“Well then.” He smiled. “If his name were ever mentioned, which it will not be, I’ll assure Cromwell he is loyal.” He grinned. “Trust your brother. I’ll protect him.”
“You are sure?”
“I’m sure.” He kissed her. “You have nothing to fear.”
It would be May tomorrow. The afternoon sun was pleasantly warm; there were yellow buttercups and cowslips in the meadows as the gilded royal barge slipped up the stream.
Dan Dogget was smiling. There was no doubt about it, he had been lucky of late. And all thanks to Thomas Meredith. Was he free of worry, then? Almost, but not quite. He glanced back towards the covered cabin in the stern.
The curtains of the cabin were drawn back, since the weather was warm, and the doorway was open so that, from where he sat amongst the oarsmen, Dan could