Part 3 Sir Thomas More was unceremoniously flung into a straw-lined cell in Münster and locked in chains. He was the only occupant. "Frau Schnell will be with you shortly with your last meal," the gaoler announced as he strode out, slamming the door and locking it with the same key before striding off into the distance. Frau Schnell? Mistress Quickly. This sounded promising, thought More, Perhaps he could use his masculine wiles and... But no! Here in Münster a Mistress Quickly was sure to be a matron, devoted to her husband. He had not long to wait. A woman unlocked the door, carefully placing the key in the key-hole where it would be out of More's reach. Then she walked towards him bearing a steaming tureen. She was barely in her twenties, blue-eyed with long golden curls. "The name is More, Thomas More." "Schnell, Camilla Schnell." "Camilla? How delightful! From the Latin," said More learnedly, "meaning 'the respectable one'." "You can call me Cam," she said, proffering him the bowl. "Cam Schnell?" More raised a sardonic eyebrow, as he accepted the food. "Here is a dainty dish at my last meal," he said, gallantly. "But sir, with the siege I'm afraid this dish is only potato soup," Cam said in a contralto voice with an edge of iron about it. "I'm sure it will be delicious. Your husband must be very lucky to be married to you." "My husband!" She nearly spat. "My husband is an old wreck who already has three wives. He is an Elder, so he thinks it his duty to marry often, with no thought for the wishes of the girl he acquires." This was a disadvantage of polygamy that had not occurred to More. "Did you not have any say in the matter?" "Say? Hah!" It was a hollow laugh. "In Münster, if a man asks you to marry him you must do so, lest you are beheaded for 'impropriety'. For women, there is no choice." As a good Catholic, Sir Thomas was outraged, "But a woman has a right to choose!" "Do you think so, Thomas?" she said, caressing him about his chains. "Have a care, Cam," said More, "I'm an old wreck myself, not of Generation XXX like yourself." "Better than my husband, Thomas. He is Generation XXVIII, if not further back. But I like you. You treat a woman as if she is a person, not a thing to be acquired and discarded." She was kissing him now. "In your England, a woman has the same rights as a man?" "In almost all regards," said More, returning her kisses as much as his bounds would allow, "Under Magna Carta, the grandest lady in the realm shares the same freedoms as the meanest peasant man." "Hurra! Oh Thomas! If I help you to freedom will you take me back to England?" "But of course!" "Then," she said, kissing him again, "Let us seal our bargain." She rose to go to the door, returning with the key to unlock More's chains.

Hey-nonny-noony, doo-wop-wop

The escape had gone well, reflected More, to the point where we had almost reached the Prince-Bishop's lines. Cam Schnell had stopped a quarrel that had clearly been meant for him. But Thomas was philosophical. It seemed that at the midpoint of his past adventures there was often a woman - sometimes assisting him, sometimes trying to kill him - who had herself died. But he comforted himself with the thought that his adventures always ended with him returning to England with another woman, equally comely, on his arm. He wondered who it would be this time? Right now at his arm was not a woman but his old friend, Brother Felix, of the Spanish Inquisition. They had a lot of catching up to do. "Did Mistress Quickly lead you straight from the city, Sir Thomas?" Felix wanted to know. "Nay, amigo Felix," said More, "I wanted to espy the armoury, to see if that was where the hand-cannons might be coming through some rent in the veil of time." "And did you?" "Nay again, Felix. But I did find this." More held up a cheap piece of wood, crudely planed and branded with the word 'Augsburg'. "Augsburg? Is that not where Johann Reuchlin has gone?" asked Felix. "Aye. My mind tells me to find some way of getting back inside Münster, to find out once and for all from whence these guns came. But my heart tells me to go to Augsburg, to rescue my old teacher from whatever deviltry is brewing there." Felix nodded, "My head says Augsburg. You are too well known to return to Münster lest it be at the head of a conquering army. And it will be a least a month before the Prince-Bishop scrapes up such a force to face the hand-cannons. Let us to Augsburg and unravel a mystery that is within the powers of we two."

Reuchlin was delighted to meet them. No, he knew of no danger in the peaceful town at the foot of the Alps. But they must come to dinner and meet his new master and pupil. He was sure he could arrange an invitation. It was done. Dinner was to be at eight. More wore his best clothes, Felix had washed his robes especially. The castle, even at a distance, was breathtaking. The inside exceeded all expectations. Tapestries, furs, paintings, silks - yet arranged with great taste. More smiled. If Cardinal Wolsey could see this he would curl up with envy. Liveried servants took More and Felix to meet the master of the house, Anton Fugger, and his daughter, Martha. Two of the servants, More noted, spoke not. Herr Fugger communicated with them using hand gestures. Deaf-mutes, More concluded. Anton was a dark-haired man, approaching early middle age he looked as if he had only recently begun putting on weight. Martha was a tall girl, with chestnut hair. And curls that reminded More of the unfortunate Camilla. Dinner was served. The food had the finest ingredients and spices but was, when all was said and done, merely German cooking. The wines, however, were excellent. More limited himself to a glass and a half of sack. After the meal, he intended to investigate. Both Anton and Johann were expansive during the meal. Anton was worrying about the debts the Emperor was running up with his campaigns in Italy against the French. Felix couldn't see the cause for anxiety. "If Charles owes you 10,000 thalers then it is he who has the problem, my lord." Anton smiled wanly, "But as he owes me 10 million then the problem is mine." Reuchlin broke this gloomy train of thought with observations about how well Martha was doing in Latin, Greek and Hebrew. And so the evening wore on. Heavy puddings were brought in and Anton encouraged Sir Thomas to tell some of the tales of his fights against heresy. "The unmasking of Philipp Melanchthon," Anton suggested. "Well, I have to credit Brother Felix with most of the killing in that adventure," said More, modestly, "But I was there at the start, when St Paul's came down..."

It was quite late. Felix was going to his room to say compline, the night-time prayers. More took Reuchlin aside and suggested they get some night air. The moon was nearly full so the pair were able to wander the expansive grounds of the estate with ease. In the distance an outbuilding was lit from within. "Johann, what is yon structure?" asked More. "I have never been there, Thomas," replied Reuchlin, "I believe Herr Fugger refers to it as his workshop." "Let us take a closer look," said More. In the moonlight it was easy to find a path as they crept down. But unbeknownst to them the moonlight made it very easy for them to be followed. Behind him, More heard Reuchlin let out a sigh. Then there was a sharp 'crack' on More's head, and he fell into blackness.

More awoke with a splitting headache and a mouth that felt as if a small animal had crawled in and died. It must have been the sauerkraut I ate, he thought. His limbs felt unnatural. The must be tied to something just below his back. He opened his eyes. Beside him, still unconscious, Johann was tied to a chair. He, More, was tied to a saw-log. Looking down past his feet he was facing a circular saw-blade. It was currently at rest but something about the set-up suggested that this state of affairs was not destined to last. And there was Anton Fugger, with his squirrel-cheeks, looming over More. "So, the spy-master Sir Thomas More has come to investigate Anton Fugger. I wonder who sent you. Was it Emperor Charles himself? Or his poodle, King Henry of England?" "Fugger!" More said vehemently, "Dost thou expect me to talk?" "Nay, Sir Thomas, I expect thee to die." But More was determined to talk, "Herr Fugger, you speak ill of your Emperor. I suspect treachery. I see you are having your daughter taught Hebrew. Are you one of those secret crypto-Jews?" Anton laughed unpleasantly, "Nay, Sir Thomas. My daughter and I are Christian. A knowledge of Hebrew will aid Martha's understanding of Holy Scripture." More pondered the words Anton was using. 'Christian'. 'Holy Scripture'. These were code words used by protestants. Could it be? But before he could voice the question Anton began speaking of his own accord. "Before I kill you, Herr More, let me tell you of my plans to use protestantism to establish a framework for mercantilism across Europe. "You speak of Jews, Sir Thomas, and you have a point. I was first aware of the problem when I heard reports late last century of international bankers being driven from the Iberian peninsular. I realised this was wrong and never again should such things happen." More interrupted, "You feel so strongly for Jews?" "I am an international banker. If first they come for just some bankers, and not for me, should I do nothing? Why! When they do come for me, there will be no-one left to protect me." "But you did nothing last century?" asked More. "No," said Anton, "I was very young. I thought it was just the hot-blooded Spanish, that it couldn't happen here. But now I see in Germany the inquisition has come, Emperor Charles fighting foreign wars that don't build security, that only add misery. The bad old days in the bad old countries have come here now, to Germany! "And Charles is spending golden like a drunken sailor spends coppers! He can't pay me back but too whom else can I lend? His policies are impoverishing the Empire so that none else can afford to borrow from me." Comprehension dawned on More, despite his headache, "So you are helping the rebels in Münster." "Call them not rebels," Anton argued Jesuitically, "King Jan is the choice of the elected city council and has the support of all the townsfolk." Just as a burglar might kill all in a house and claim legal possession thought More to himself but this was no time to bandy words. He had bigger fish to fry. "You do realise that the people of Münster are now holding their possessions in common. How does that create a framework for your precious mercantilism?" Anton smiled, unpleasantly. "I don't want the anabaptists in Münster to win. I just want them embarrass the Emperor. And then when the anabaptists are defeated; and tales of their polygamy, their commonality, and their executions become widespread - why, they will be discredited too. And that's when people will look for a middle-way, banker-friendly religion. Calvinism!" Calvinism! thought More savagely. I nearly had that John Calvin, once. I imagine he's in some hidey-hole, with that stupid bushy beard of his. If only I could get my hands on him now. Collecting his thoughts, he asked Anton, "Herr Fugger, what do you know about the time travel getting hand-cannons to Münster?" "About 18 days," Anton replied, "Wait, what do you mean by time-travel?" More explained how Occam's razor shewed that with all other avenues of passage closed off, time travel was the only explanation for the hand-cannons reaching Münster. Anton harrumphed. "My version of Occam's razor says that given the choice between conspiracy and cock-up, choose cock-up every time. But, if given a choice between time-travel and conspiracy, then and only then chose conspiracy." "You m-mean..." stammered More. "I mean hand-cannon are built here in Augsburg. I have all the resources. Emperor Charles cannot pay his bills but I have mortgages over silver-mines, iron-mines, lead-mines and in the Ruhr and Silesia, coal mines. "The conspiracy is with the Prince-Bishop of Minden, Münster and Osnabrück. He thinks he is one of us and lets shipments of weapons through his own lines into Münster." "One of you?" asked More. "He is a crpyto-Lutheran. Of course, we Calvinists mustn't be linked to cathedral-burning extremists so in due course he will be exposed, discredited and killed. But for now he is still useful to us. Unlike you." Fugger made hand gestures and his two deaf-mute servants hove into view. They mounted saddle-arrangements on top giant pieces of clockwork. Placing their feet into stirrups they lifted their legs up and down. More saw the circular blade start to spin and the log jolt forward to meet it. He steeled himself for the unkindest cut of all. "Auf wiedersehen Herr More" said Anton, jauntily, and left the building. [To be continued]