The Bones of Avalon by Phil Rickman Page B

Bonner. However, it had become clear quite early in our relationship that Bonner, who had publicly professed a hatred of all sorcery, in fact found wizards far less noxious than Lutherans. For did not magic lie at the heart of the Roman Church?
    ‘But what about the abbey’s place in the very foundation of Christianity in these islands. Joseph of Arimathea, the boy Jesu… the Holy Grail.’
    ‘God forbid, John! Nobody of
any
church cares for that one. Even the Lutherans will demand where it may be found in the Bible.’
    ‘You happen to know any significant names from the monks’ petition to Mary?’
    ‘I never saw it.’
    ‘Nobody you can think of in Somersetshire?’
    ‘There are men I can
think
of, but they may not be the main proponents. I’m sorry, John, this was never a big issue for Mary. It went quiet very quickly and was never raised again. I rather suspect this has been a wasted journey for you, though a great pleasure for me. I’m
so
glad I didn’t have you roasted.’
    ‘You just wanted to know about alchemy, you old bastard. You thought I had the secrets.’

     
    My own position had still been fraught in the extreme that memorable day when Bishop Bonner had bustled into my cell.
    Casting horoscopes for Mary and her husband, who would be King of Spain, had not, with hindsight, been the wisest of undertakings, but she’d not long been enthroned at the time, and none of us could have known how bad it would all become and how swiftly.
    Nearly five years now, since I’d been arrested to appear on charges of
the lewd and vain practices of calculing and conjuring.
A fine May morning. My quarters sealed off and searched, my books taken away as evidence of a dangerous interest in the techniques of sorcery and witchcraft.
    Don’t know why I’d thought that this would never happen to me. Many of my associates had already fled the country in fear of an indictment for heresy or treason. Anyone, at this time, might be seen as a threat to the reintroduction of the Roman Church to England and I, as a known conjuror, was an obvious target for all those at court who would win some favour with Mary.
    Therefore, on the evidence of the horoscopes – which included one for Elizabeth, whose very existence was a threat to Mary’s rule – I’d been taken away and thrown into prison. It seemed like madness. Apart from anything, my forecast had been a good one for Mary and Philip of Spain, with Libra rising on the day of the marriage, promising well for their union. And no, before you ask, I
don’t
know what went wrong.
    The practice of astrology, even then, was not the strongest of evidence for devilry. The charge was enough to hold me for a time, but they knew they’d need more to take me to the stake.
    There had followed some loose accusations that I’d tried to kill the Queen by sorcery. But there had been no real evidence that I’d ever used spells, black or white.
    Then came a down-at-heel lawyer called George Ferrers, whose finest moment had come during his period as the Lord of Misrule, planning London’s Christmas festivities, introducing his company of jesters and ‘magicians’, who specialised in illusion and festive fakery. Somehow, the merry custom had survived even into the drab and humourless years of Mary’s reign.
    So Ferrers, of a sudden, steps up and accuses me of blinding one of his children and trying to kill another, some kind of magical assassin for hire. It might have been out of jealousy. He would have heard of my flying beetle, my owls. Either that or someone had paid him to have me stitched up.
    The point of defence being that I didn’t know the man – or his children.
    ‘Even though you conducted your own defence with some aplomb,’ Bonner recalled, ‘the judges would not have wanted to be seen to extend leniency to someone who might well be in league with the devil.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    Although the charges against me had been ridiculous and ill-founded, breaking them down, in