'No. He's consumed with anger and shame, but his wits are there.'
Mark stared into the fire. 'Is it true then, what he said about Mark Smeaton? That Lord Cromwell tortured him into making a false confession?'
'No.' I bit my lip. 'I don't believe it.'
'You would not wish to,' Mark said quietly.
'No! I don't believe Lord Cromwell was there when Jerome was tortured either. That was a lie. I saw him in the days before Anne Boleyn's execution. He was constantly attending the king, he wouldn't have had time to go to the Tower. And he wouldn't have behaved like that; he wouldn't. Jerome invented it.' I realized my fists were clenched tight.
Mark looked at me. 'Sir, was it not obvious to you from his manner that everything Jerome said was true?'
I hesitated. There had been a terrible sincerity about the way the Carthusian spoke. He had been tortured, of course, that was plain to see. But made to swear a false oath by Lord Cromwell himself? I could not believe that of my master, nor the story of his involvement with Mark Smeaton and his torture — alleged torture, I told myself. I ran my hands through my hair.
'There are some men who are skilled in making false words seem true. I remember there was a man I prosecuted once, who pretended to be a licensed goldsmith, he fooled the guild—'
'It's hardly the same, sir—'
'I cannot believe Lord Cromwell would have prepared false evidence against Anne Boleyn. You forget I have known him for years, Mark; he rose to power in the first place because of her reformist sympathies. She was his patron. Why would he help kill her?'
'Because the king wanted it, and Lord Cromwell would do anything to keep his position? That is what they whisper at Augmentations.'
'No,' I said again decisively. 'He is hard, he has to be with the enemies he faces, but no Christian could do such a thing to an innocent man, and believe me, Lord Cromwell is a Christian. You forget how many years I have known him. Were it not for him there would have been no Reform. That cankered monk told us a seditious tale. One you had better not repeat outside this room.'
He gave me a keen, hard look. For the first time, I felt uncomfortable under his gaze. Alice came in with steaming mugs of wine. She passed me one with a smile, then exchanged a look with Mark that seemed to carry a different level of meaning. I felt a stab of jealousy.
'Thank you, Alice,' I said. 'That is very welcome. We have been talking with Brother Jerome and could do with some sustenance.'
'Have you, sir?' She did not seem much interested. 'I have only seen him a few times, limping about. They say he is mad.' She curtsied and left. I turned back to Mark, who sat staring into the fire.
'Sir,' he said hesitantly, 'there is something I wish to tell you.'
'Yes? Go on.'
'When we return to London — if we ever get out of this place — I do not wish to return to Augmentations. I have decided. I cannot bear it.'
'Bear what? What do you mean?'
'The corruption, the greed. All the time we are pestered by people wanting to know which monasteries will be down next. They write pleading letters, they turn up at the door claiming acquaintance with Lord Rich, they promise if they are granted lands they will do loyal service to Rich or Cromwell.'
'Lord Cromwell, Mark—'
'And the high officials talk of nothing but which courtier may go to the block next, who will have their posts. I hate it, sir.'
'What has brought this about? Is it what Jerome said? Do you fear ending up somehow like Mark Smeaton?'