'When he would not submit, our venerable prior was judged guilty of treason and executed at Tyburn. I was there; I saw his body sliced open by the executioner's knife while he still lived. But it wasn't the usual hanging fair that day, the crowd watched silently as he died.'
I glanced at Mark; he was watching Jerome intently, his face troubled. The Carthusian continued. 'Your master had no better luck with Prior Houghton's successor. Vicar Middlemore and the senior obedentiaries still would not swear, so they too went to Tyburn. This time there were calls against the king from the crowd. Cromwell wasn't going to risk a riot the next time, so he tried all manner of pressure to make the rest of us take the oath. He put his own men in charge of the house, where Prior Houghton's arm, stinking and rotten, was nailed to the gate. They kept us half-starved, mocked our services, tore up our books, insulted us. They picked off trouble-makers one by one. Someone would suddenly be sent off to a more compliant house or just disappear.'
He paused and leaned his good arm on the bed for a moment. I looked up at him.
'I have heard these stories,' I said. 'They are mere tales.'
He ignored me and resumed his pacing. 'After the north rebelled last spring, the king lost patience with us. The remaining brethren were told to swear or be taken to Newgate where they would be left to starve to death. Fifteen swore and lost their souls. Ten went to Newgate, where they were chained in a foul cell and left without food. Some lasted for weeks—' He broke off suddenly. Covering his face with his hands he stood rocking on his heels, weeping silently.
'I have heard such rumours,' Mark whispered. 'Everyone said they were false—'
I waved him to silence. 'Even if that were true, Brother Jerome, you could not have been among them. You were already here.'
He turned his back on me, wiping his face with the sleeve of his habit, and stood looking from the window, leaning heavily on his crutch. Outside, the snow whirled down as though it might bury the world.
'Yes, crookback, I was one of those who had been spirited away. I had watched my superiors taken, I knew how they died, but despite our daily humiliations we brethren succoured each other. We thought we could hold out. I was a fit, strong man then, I prided myself on my fortitude.' He laughed; a cracked hysterical sound.
'The soldiers came for me one morning, and brought me to the Tower. It was the middle of May last year, Anne Boleyn had been condemned to die and they were building a great scaffold in the grounds. I saw it. And that was when I became truly afraid. As those guards bustled me down into the dungeons, I knew my resolution might fail.
'They took me to a big underground room and bundled me into a chair. In a corner I saw the rack, the hinged table and the ropes, two big guards standing ready to turn the wheels. There were two others in the room, facing me across a desk. One was Kingston, the warden of the Tower. The other, glowering at me most foully, was your master, Cromwell.'
'The vicar general himself? I don't believe you.'
'Let me tell you what he said. "Brother Jerome Wentworth, you are a nuisance. Tell me straight, without cavil, will you swear to the Royal Supremacy?"
'I said I would not. But my heart banged as though it would burst my chest as I sat before that man, his eyes like the fires of hell, for the Devil looks out of them. How can you face him, Commissioner, and not know what he is?'
'Enough of that. Go on.'
'Your master, the great and wise counsellor, nodded at the rack. "We shall see," he said. "In a few weeks' time Jane Seymour will be queen of England. The king would not have her cousin refusing the oath. Nor does he want your name included among those executed for treason. Either would be an embarrassment, Brother Jerome. So, you must swear, or you will be made to." Then he nodded at the rack.