Part 7      "Lord Almighty,       I feel my temperature rising.       Higher, higher.       It's burning through to my soul.             "Girl, girl, girl,       You gonna set me on fire.       My brain is flaming;       I don't know which way to go." - The King, Burning Love

Philipp Melanchthon sat on a raised chair, stroking a calico cat 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..."

Brother Felix stared at the sky. There was still a good hour to go before midday. His questioning of the burghers of Esslingen had been fruitless. The few who could speak Latin gave him uniform advice, "Don't go to the Schloss Schwartzert!" He stood at the lowered drawbridge of the castle. Anything could be happening in there. More could be in great danger. He could wait no longer. Felix removed his garrote Tomás from his belt and held it taut in two upraised hands. Charging towards the entrance he chanted in Latin to the world in general and heretics in particular, "Come get some!"

St Paul's in London had just been a test, a test that had succeeded almost to Melanchthon's wildest hopes. The heresiarch had now assembled a host of wain-riders willing to self immolate; on the morrow they would set off to each cathedral of note in Europe. All of Christendom would see God's judgment on the idolatrous and would be in awe of the resolution of the truly faithful. From the ashes would emerge a reformed Church, a church true to the vision of Luther. Or was it Melanchton's vision? He was almost babbling now, in language reminiscent of the prophet Jeremiah, "I have a dream!". More, who had read all the late heresiarch's work under episcopal license in order to write the refutation Responsio ad convitia Martini Lutheri mort knew this was a phrase Martin Luther had never used. Melanchthon continued his diatribe at More oblivious to the rising level of alarums from elsewhere in the schloss. When his rant was completed he directed his guards to investigate the disturbance. "But Lord Melanchthon, should we leave you unguarded with this dangerous prisoner?" "He is in chains. What harm can he do? Now go!" When the minions had left, the Lutheran leader turned to More, "What say you Englisher?" "You use fine words, Melanchthon, to describe your faith. But the fact remains that you have lured Christian men here to their deaths." "And if a Lutheran fell into the hands of Babylon?" For some reason Melanchthon was reluctant to use the appellation 'Mother Church'. "If he were lucky you might give him the chance to abjure. But if he is true to his faith he is a dead man." Melanchthon was missing the point. More tried again, "And those nuns, married against their will and their vows!" "A woman's true fulfillment is in marriage and motherhood. I am the Lord's agent in allowing them to find their true destiny." "A woman has a right to choose for herself!" thundered More. "How can they choose freely when their heads are full of Babylon's lies? Now they have husbands and, in time, children. These children-to-be have a right to live, a right that surely overides any other rights." The man was a monster. More played his trump card. "You cannot escape the hundreds that lie dead in London due to your terrorizing!" "Does a Lutheran not have eyes? Do we not have hands, organs, dimensions, senses, afflictions and passions?" Melanchthon was surely now no longer quoting. He was just making things up as he went along. "Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons? If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not laugh?" The arch-terrorizer lowered his voice to a growl. "If you wrong us shall we not revenge? We have only followed Jesus' teaching, 'Do unto others as they would do unto you.'[1] The blood of those of St Paul's lies upon the hands of your King and your Pope!" "You say that we are the authors of our own misfortune? That is treason!" Melanchthon smiled, "A traitor? Me?" More realized that perhaps treason wasn't the right word in the circumstance but he wasn't going to let Melanchthon wriggle out of the consequences of his own actions. "Those who died were innocents! They were not policy makers." Well, maybe the Bishop of London. But best not to muddy the waters with hairsplitting. Or mixed metaphors. "They were part of the Roman Church. They were part of the problem. They could have walked away, as did my fellows and I." This was too much. What soul would voluntarily walk away from Mother Church into apostasy and damnation? Only Melanchthon, of course, would see it as righteousness. You couldn't argue with a bigot head-on. Then More remembered when he suffered from the writer's block and Cardinal Wolsey had said, "The closed heart may yet be unlocked with a counter-factual." More had taken that advice and written a novel, ostensibly about an imaginary land, yet hidden within was subtle humanitarian philosophy. It was an old trick but it might work again. "Well, what if?" asked More, "What if those people had walked out of the Church? What if the Lutherans were in a majority in all the countries of Northern Europe? Where would you be then? Utopia, that's where!" "Utopia?" asked Melanchthon, not sure where More was heading. "Utopia means 'nowhere' in Greek," said More smugly. Melanchthon was irritated, "I knew that." "You say we Catholics persecute you Lutherans. But if you were in the majority would persecution cease? And if Christendom were divided into Lutheran and Catholic states, why, states would have a cassus belli one against the other! Germany could become the cockpit of Europe." This seemed to be a line of argument that Melanchthon had not anticipated. He sat, stunned for a moment then cried "Aiee! You may be right!" The cat leapt hissing from the Lutheran's lap as he cast his cloak over his head. More was surprised. This was not normal behavior in a religious fanatic.[2] "Is there anything we can do to prevent this horrible Europe-wide war?" the chief terrorizer asked anxiously. More thought quickly, trying to ignore the weight of the chains. "Even at this late juncture, it may be possible to..." Felix burst into the room and cast Tomás around Melanchthon's neck. "No, Felix!" cried More, "We may be able to make a deal." "A deal?" asked the monk incredulously, "With terrorizers?" But he released his grip and the German slumped to the floor. Felix moved quickly to remove More's chains. More examined Melanchthon. "Dead," he said simply. "Dead? But I only choked him for seconds. Normally it takes two or three minutes." "Perhaps some seizure of the heart," hypothesized More. "Whatever it is, we must leave at once. There are a score of guards on my heels." Felix was right. As the pair was leaving through the south door a squad of armed terrorizers entered from the north. "Follow me!" called More retracing his steps. Soon they were on the dungeon level. "Do we need light?" asked the Dominican. "No. I recall the way. Stick close by me." Even so, it was a little slow moving in the dark. The guards had torches and More and Felix could tell by the growing flickering light that their adversaries were gaining. The pair passed the site of More's earlier spillage. "Be careful not to slip in the beer," warned More. "That is not beer," said Felix, as they raced around a corner. "For all you English and your big noses..." Whoompf! There was a much brighter light behind them. The sounds of pursuit had changed to screams of pain but More felt spurred to even faster running. Felix was of like mind. In what seemed like seconds they were at the jetty. More was the only one of the four that knew all the other three. "No time for introductions," he said, "Everyone into that boat!" They rowed furiously to the other side of the Neckar river and ran up the bank. They stared at the flames rising from the schloss. It seemed inconceivable any more survivors might emerge. Konstanz was the first to speak, "Those guards we locked in the cell..." She paused before saying, "All my sisters! Locked in the women's quarters..." Felix could see the quip forming on More's lips. But then More paused, perhaps noticing something in the woman's eyes. Instead he said, "Konstanz, I'm so sorry. At the very least they will be with their true Bridegroom." A tear rolled down each of Konstanz's cheeks, "You are right, Thomas. They have been through Hell but they are with Him now. I'm not sure I'll ever be worthy of their sacrifice..." She paused then looked deep within the Englishman's eyes, "Perhaps I need a more earthly lover."

Reuchlin's house in Stuttgart was in need of a good clean so the four spent the night at an inn in Der Markt. Konstanz pleaded faintness and went to bed leaving the three men to discuss what must be done. "I honestly thought when I read Luther's theses," More confessed, "that there was some germ of an idea as to how the Church might be reformed." "Myself also," said Reuchlin, "I had hoped that humanist ideals could be threaded into the rich tapestry of Church tradition." "Well, you see now that nothing good can come from los Luteranos," observed Felix, "only murdering Christian men and nun marrying." "You are quite right, amigo Felix," agreed More, "it has become clear that in the days ahead England must ever be more like Spain. If you are willing I would have you return with me to train our Dominicans." "I must stay here," Reuchlin said, "and raise up the people of Stuttgart on a two-fold mission. To discover if any terrorizers survived the burning of Schloss Schwartzert and to ensure they do not." He thrust out his jaw with determination, "It is a holy war." "A crusade," agreed More. "A jihad," said Felix absently, recalling a word his grandfather had used.

Two barges sailed down the Neckar. In the first More lay with his head in Konstanz's lap while Felix punted with the barge-pole, singing Catalan love songs. A tow rope connected the second, where Austin and Martin grazed contentedly on an open bale of hay, chewing as the scenery flowed by.       "Esparraguera, guajira Esparraguera,       Esparraguera, guajira Esparraguera,       Yo soy un hombre sincero..." Felix paused. "One thing troubles me, amigo Thomas," he said, "Senor the Cardinal was quite insistent we bring back a villain." "Why, so he was," agreed the prone More. "Yet everyone we have encountered who was the least connected to the St Paul's plot now lies dead." "Not quite. Master Thomas Cromwell was still alive last time we encountered him. A question Felix: Did he know of the plot and could he be made to confess?" "That is actually two questions, amigo Thomas. As to the first, I know not. And for the second, but of course." [Roll credits]

"No man is an Iland, intire of itselfe;       every man is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine;       if a Clod bee washed away by the Sea, Europe is the lesse,       as well as if a Promontorie were,       as well as if a Manor of thy friends or of thine owne were;       any mans death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankinde;       And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;       It tolls for thee."             - John Donne, Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions

Poets! thought More to himself. Out loud he mused, "That John Skelton. He mocks Cardinal Wolsey and the King's court and his verse is written in the most archaic style. I wonder if he might be linked to the Lutherans?" Felix smiled, "I shall speak with him also." [The End]

[1] In this timeline Melanchthon was part of a group that translated to New Testament from Greek into Höchdeutsch. It seems that Matt 7:12 was the responsibility of another team member. [2] But see the account of the behavior of the 'Mad Monk' at http://www.tribune.atfreeweb.com/bookreviews.htm Melanchthon in our timeline vacillated between hard-line Lutheranism and Catholicism notwithstanding the year he spent as leader of the Reform movement in Luther's absence.