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Thomas More decided to pay the groom a full shilling to dispose of
Plentitudinous Hillocks' body. "You can go into real estate now, boy."
"But, but, she's a woman. And she's dead."
More flashed his badge. "I'm the Sheriff of London. I possess letters
patent. I'm allowed."
The stable-hand pointed to Brother Felix of Barcelona, who was still
clutching More's bloodied sword. "What about him?" he quavered.
Felix put down the blade and held aloft the crucifix he wore around his
neck. "See this?" he asked, pointing with his free hand, "That could be
you."
Stuttering apologies, the groom dragged the corpse from the room, never
taking his eyes of the two investigators.
When he was gone, the Dominican sighed, "Young people today. Hardly any
of them want the life of the imitation of Christ."
More now concentrated on Felix. The monk had a black eye and there were
burnt patches on his cassock. "What ho, amigo Felix, it seems you've
been having a hot time of it too! What is your tale?"
"Si. I went to the Dominican priory and was told the names of two
printers in the town who could publish foreign works - Spinoza and
Tyndale. I established that Spinoza was a Jew, certainly not a convert
to Lutheranism, so I eliminated him."
"You eliminated him! Felix, in England we have laws to protect..."
"I eliminated him from my suspicions, amigo Thomas. He lives yet. I
know of your absurdly sentimental English laws. You have had the
freedom of the Catholic Church in your island since almost forever. We
have only recently won such hard-fought liberty throughout Spain. And
we know the roots of the tree of liberty must oft be watered with the
blood of unbelievers. One day, Thomas, the laws of England will come in
line with the rest of Europe but I fear that day is still a long time
coming."
More felt he should stick up for England. "How can it be in the best
interests of a kingdom for so many subjects to be put to death?"
Felix smiled. "Spain is a new Kingdom, with a diverse population.
Having Jews, Muslims and heretics as enemies brings us Spaniards
together with a common purpose. It is nation building."
More thought some more. That seemed consistent with the ideals advanced
by Niccolo Machiavelli, the leading Italian moral philosopher. Perhaps
the Dominican was deeper than he had supposed. "So what happened next?"
"I deduced that Tyndale must be publishing the accursèd pamphlets. I
returned to the chapter-house and gathered the younger friars. Then we
set of for the Devil's press.
"The terrorizers must have known we were on to them, they had set a
guard. I crept behind him and cast Tomás," Felix held up his garrote,
"about his neck. In his death struggles I asked him if he returned to
Mother Church. He was unable to speak so I blessed him in the name of
Father, Son and Holy Ghost and apologized to him if he had not adjured.
When he fell lifeless we burst in on the printing works.
"Los hereticos were hard at work. I seized evidence, copies of the
wain-riding pamphlet and more besides. Then I bade any who would accept
the sacraments of the Catholic Church to come outside. None moved.
"The monks and I strode out and barred the door. We set the den of evil
aflame and I placed friars along all four walls that none might emerge
alive. None did. All that emerged were cries and snatches of song
about what a fortress their god was."
"Those Lutherans certainly had fire in their bellies," said More, "You
speak of evidence, Felix. What is it?"
Felix winced and pulled from his satchel a sheaf of 'Wagonen für
Dumkopfen' and two small black books. More picked up one of the books.
It was a New Testament, printed in English. He flipped to the opening
pages. There was a verse printed in a variety of languages. "Look at
this, Felix!"
The monk peered over More's shoulder. He read in Spanish, "'For God so
loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him
should not perish but have eternal life.' Say, how about that!"
"No Felix, not that one, the one below."
Brother Felix looked at the squiggly words. "Hebrew?" he hazarded.
"Exactly! But look at that gimel. And that gimel there. The angle and
length are each quite different. This passage was not typeset but
hand-engraved."
"You mean that this passage is not here by the intention of los
Luteranos but that someone else has interposed it? It must be a clue.
And I think I know just the man who can translated it!"
"No need to get Master Spinoza involved in this, amigo Felix. I studied
Hebrew under Johannes Reuchlin in Württemberg. So that... Wait! By
God's wounds! This engraving is in Reuchlin's own hand. It says...
'Help! I am being held prisoner in a'... how would you translate that
phrase... 'apostasy factory'?"
Felix looked suitably appalled. "Does he say where?"
"No. Which leads me to believe his is being held in Württemberg or
somewhere nearby. There are few linguists in Christendom who are
Reuchlin's better," said More modestly, "Those nefarious Lutherans must
be forcing him to do translations the worse to spread their heresy!"
"We must sail tonight!"
"No. There are still some loose ends. Those workers at Wishart's.
They are Scots but I think this once they may be innocent."
"Put them into the custody of the Cambridge Dominicans, amigo Thomas.
It is surprising what wrongdoing those of our order can uncover if the
question is asked in the right manner."
"No doubt. At least we may discover the name of the true carter."
The pair put the arrests in train. It was now by now nightfall.
Despite their bruises both men were too keyed up to sleep.
"How about a hand of cards?" suggested More, removing the major arcana
from the complementary deck in their room.
"Tools of the devil," responded Felix. "I do know a little Canasta,
however."
"It is more interesting if there are stakes."
"But I am a mendicant under a vow of poverty."
"You have those pamphlets. Your 'Wagonen für Dumkopfen' against my
pennies."
"That seems reasonable. I shall shuffle and you can cut." A perfectly
straight stream of cards flowed between Felix's outstretched right and
left hands.
[To be continued]
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