Part 6   Cue large castrato singing in the style of Shirley Bassey             Melanchthon!       He's the man, the man with the holy touch.       A spider's touch.       Such a swell anchthon       Beckons you to enter his world of grace       You should not face             Golden words he will pour in your ear,       But his lies can't disguise what you fear,       The true believer knows that when he's spoken,       It's the wage of sin from             Philipp Melanchthon!       In the Greek his name means 'horse love black earth'       What is earth worth?   The diva becomes more desperate and Bassey-er             Golden words he will pour in your ear,       But his lies can't disguise what you fear,       The true believer knows that when he's spoken,       It's the wage of sin from             Philip Melanchthon!       Tender soul beware what this black earth's told,       This earth is cold.             He seeks only grace       Only grace       He seeks grace       He seeks only grace       Only grace       He seeks grace.

Austin and Martin galloped swiftly. The roads were good and there were few delays. Riding was faster than taking a Rhine-Neckar barge up-river. But returning from Stuttgart the barge might be the faster way. If they returned. Thomas More banished such pessimistic thoughts from his mind. Brother Felix of Barcelona had no such doubts. Today was just he same as any day since the Dominican monk had been admitted into the ranks of the Inquisitors. As always, he was on a mission from God. The two investigators had made such good time that, unbeknownst to them, they had beaten a wagon filled with barrels of concentrated dye to Stuttgart by three days. Felix spoke no German. For this and other reasons it was difficult to pass him off as a local. More's solution was simple, "I shall be a wealthy merchant and you can be my confessor." Felix had doubts, "A Dominican confessor?" "Dominicans hear lots of confessions." "Certainly. But few are voluntary." In the absence of a better plan Felix agreed with More. But the trail went cold. At Haupstätter Strasse several had heard of Johannes Reuchlin but none could say where he had gone. There was more promising news at the Stiftskirche. A new college had opened upriver at Esslingen and new monks and scholars were always in demand. Oddly, none had returned but many had sent letters to friends and colleagues in Stuttgart saying how exciting their vaguely described research was. New recruits simply had to travel the seven miles and ask for Schloss Schwartzert.

As they rode east, More was troubled. He felt sure that he was close to finding the evil mastermind behind the outrage at the cathedral. Yet he knew that Brother Felix would insist on playing things by the book. He needed some time alone. "Friend Felix," he said, "we can't just go up to the schloss and knock on the door. If the terrorizers are there we shall simply be taken. I suggest we split up. I shall try to take another entrance but I'll need you to gather further information in the village of Esslingen." "You are putting yourself in danger, amigo Thomas." "Danger is my profession." Felix smiled at the Englishman's braggadocio. Dawn was still an hour or two away. "I shall give you until the sun reaches its zenith. Then I shall come for you."

As always, the castle had a back entrance. There was a small jetty with some rowboats moored. More had taken a dingy from up river and quietly rowed to the jetty. He silently sank the boat to avoid an extra vessel drawing unwanted attention. The lock on the door of the castle was old, and no match for the blade of More's dagger. The Sheriff of London slipped inside and skulked along the passage trying to find his bearings. This seemed to be some sort of dungeon. There were row upon row of empty cells. Where could all the monks and scholars from Stuttgart be? More had a sickening feeling he knew. Just as he was rounding a corner he came face to face with a group of armed men. They were escorting a prisoner. The face was more haggard than when last they met but it was still recognizably Reuchlin. But there was no time for greetings as the escorts fell upon More. Had there been fewer he might have taken them. But as it was he received a blow from a sword pommel on the back of the head and fell unconscious.

More awoke in a cell, unarmed. The quality of light streaming through the bars above suggested early morning. He had not been out for long. The cell-door was heavy oak and iron. An exploratory push confirmed it could only be opened from the outside. A slot near the bottom of the door suggested any meals that might be delivered would arrive without the door opening. So no chance of overpowering a waiter. At least the cell was clean. It didn't look like it had held any other prisoner for years. He had best make himself comfortable. It was just then that a slab of stone in the wall to the right of the door turned around and a woman entered the cell. She was tall and willowy with raven hair. She spoke flawless Swabian German. "Ah, a companion!" It was all rather confusing. More's experience of imprisonment was that aristocratic beauties just didn't barge into one's cell. Still, an introduction was in order. "The name is More, Thomas More." "I'm not sure what my name is." Again, this fell outside of More's experience. The girl always had a name, sometimes false but always memorable. "How is that?" he asked. "I was kidnapped. Just before I was to take my final vows. That would have been yesterday. So I should have the name Joseph." "Joseph? You were to be Sister Joseph?" "Sister Joseph Minor, actually. It's a very popular name in my convent. Was a popular name. We were taken last week. All my sisters have been married off to horrid heretics. I am the last and I fear I am to be married to the most horrid heretic of all." "And you do not want to be married, of course." "Oh, but I do. I want to be married to Jesus. I want to give myself wholly to the most perfect, most gracious, most loving Man there is." More noticed that when he had been captured by the guards some dirt had adhered to his doublet. He began surreptitiously removing specks. "I see. So what were you called as a novice?" "My birth name. Konstanz. Konstanz Ecks." More redoubled his cleaning efforts. "So how is it you made your entrance into my cell?" "Oh, it's a secret door. Probably put in by the previous owners. I don't think the guards know about it. It's been no use up until now, I've had no company. Oh! Where are my manners? You've shown me your place, I'd better show you mine." Konstanz's cell was considerably more comfortable than More's. There was a bed with a straw mattress, a chair and a writing desk, complete with parchment, quills and ink. "They make me write letters to my family telling how happy I am in the convent," she confided, "I guess they don't want anyone to suspect that anything is out of the ordinary. I have to write exactly what they dictate but in my own hand." More looked around. "I suppose your meals a slid through the door hatch?" "Oh, no. The guard brings them in." "Just one guard?" "Of course, what threat could a mere woman be?" Konstanz seemed surprised that she could be considered a danger to anybody. "Just one guard?" "Always." "And when is your next meal?" "Breakfast should be any minute now." "Well," said More, "I shall wait here, where I will not be visible to the guard. When he comes in I shall strike, then you and I can release the other prisoners."

The door opened. More pounced and dragged the guard to the ground. But what was this? Another guard! Perhaps they were delivering Konstanz's meal before taking More to face the question. But what was important right now was that a sword was coming for More's chest and he was unarmed. Crash! The chair broke over the second guard's head. He fell unconscious beside his half throttled mate. Konstanz was looking flushed but pleased with herself. More took a ring of keys from the first guard's belt and the sword from the second. "You know, Konstanz," he said, "you probably could have escaped by yourself." She smiled, "But then I should have never met you, Thomas." The guards were locked in the cell as More and Konstanz raced to find other prisoners. They only found one, Johannes Reuchlin. "Where are the others?" asked More. "There are no other prisoners, More," said Reuchlin, shaking his head sadly, "They recruit any man who would join them, the rest they kill. The women folk are forcibly married to the recruits. I am the only conscript, because no-one else has my skills." Reuchlin suddenly looked horror struck. "Save you, Thomas! You must not let them take you!" "Have no fear," said More, with a bravado he did not fully feel. He held up his captured sword. "I shall save the last stroke for myself. Now, we must get you and Konstanz out of this Devil's mill." More retraced his steps to the jetty. Exactly the same number of boats were there. It must be used but infrequently. "Hurry More, let us go!" urged Reuchlin. "I can't go now. I must go back and face whoever is behind this." Reuchlin looked grim. "It is my nephew, More. My own nephew." "Philipp?" "The same. He calls himself Melanchthon now. It is he who is the leader in all this." "Then I must face this Melanchthon. And that battle would be no place for an old man and a comely maid." "Oh Thomas!" cried Konstanz, "I would not leave without you! I don't have time for this, thought More. "Wait here," he said, "if I'm not back in an hour, set off without me." He looked at the sun. An hour would still give him a good two-score minutes before noon to rendezvous with Felix.

More tore through the dungeons looking for stairs leading up. He raced through an unlit room that was full of barrels, knocking over a twain in his haste. There was a splashing sound, probably ale. Good! thought More, that's less for the terrorizers.

In hindsight it was probably inevitable the sheriff would be captured. What made it frustrating was that it happened just as he reached the audience room of the heresiarch, an audience room of similar size if not splendor to Cardinal Wolsey's chamber at Hampton Court. "Bind him in chains!" came the command. What was surprising was the speed in which said chains were produced. Where they kept handy for such an occasion? But such speculation was fruitless. Now was the time, Thomas thought, to prepare his soul for death. The bearded man was seated on a raised chair, stroking a calico cat that was lying in his lap. "Before I kill you, Herr More, let me tell you of my plans to establish the Lutheran faith as the sole expression of Christianity throughout Germany..." [To be continued]