Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [448]
He did pay one visit to Peter though, at his workshop, and urged him not to repeat the offence: to which Peter had replied only with that same, distant half smile that made it impossible to know whether he had understood or not.
But the next Sunday, when Peter stood in the churchyard of St Edmunds, and afterwards went into the cathedral itself and made his declaration in front of the bishop, there could be no question. It was an open challenge. Before the end of the day, he had been taken by the bailiff.
The priests questioned him. They gravely asked him if he denied Transubstantiation: he did. Would he accept the supremacy and authority of the pope? He quietly shook his head. Did he deny purgatory, the power of holy relics; did he refuse to raise his eyes at the elevation of the host? Did he deny all the tenets of Holy Church? He did.
The priests were fair with him. Would he not recant? He would not.
One of the canons, a tall, elderly man who had watched him intently, then intervened.
“But why do you refuse all these, Peter Mason?” he asked, not unkindly. “Give us your reasons.” And for a moment Peter’s brow furrowed, as if he could not remember; but then it cleared. “These superstitions go against the true revealed religion; they are popish practices,” he recited; and contentedly awaited their verdict.
There could only be one verdict; but it was qualified by the canon who had interrupted as follows:
“We think thou art a simpleton, Peter Mason. Consider well that thou mayst yet escape death by a timely repentance.”
As he was led away, his cheerful round face showed no sign of fear.
Not so Edward Shockley.
Each of the next two days he waited in dread for others of the little Protestant prayer group to be brought for questioning. Would Peter be asked for accomplices and would he name them?
What if they took Robert or Abigail – or what if they took him himself?
How would he answer if they asked him whether he denied Transubstantiation? He trembled at the thought. And then a worse one occurred to him. What if he denied his secret Protestantism but Abigail and the others insisted to the priests that he was one of them?
Several times during the day he would break out into a sweat; and once or twice in the big workshop he thought he had caught his young brother-in-law gazing at him with a cynical smile: John Moody whose pale blue eyes missed nothing – certainly he knew.
Was it possible that one of his own family might denounce him to the bishop? He had been kind to John, and to Katherine of late. Surely they would not.
It was three days after Peter’s arrest that Edward Shockley stood in the market place and saw John Moody walking towards him with a strange look on his face. He felt himself grow pale.
The young fellow came beside him.
“There is something I must say.”
“Well?”
“Peter Mason. I know how well you know him.”
Now he was ashen.
“I scarcely know the man.”
John Moody frowned.
“But I thought . . .”
“The Masons are nothing to me.”
What did that expression on his brother-in-law’s face mean? He dreaded to know, yet he must find out. He paused anxiously.
“I had thought you could speak with him,” John Moody said. “Something must be done.”
“He’s said what he believes. What can anyone do?” he replied guardedly.
To his surprise now, John took a different tack to what he had expected.
“I’ve seen him at his house – every day. ’Tis not what he believes.” He grimaced, “’Tis what his wife believes. Yet it will kill him.”
“And you wish me . . .?”
“To urge him to recant.”
Edward stared at him. Then, after all, the young man did not suspect him.
“Yet we are good Catholics,” he challenged him, watching the young man’s face carefully for any hint of cynicism