I met him through an informal debating society of reformers, which used to meet in a London inn – secretly, for many of the books we read were forbidden. He began to put some work from departments of state my way. And so I was set on my future path, riding behind Cromwell as he rose to supplant Wolsey and became the king's secretary, commissioner general, vicar general, all the time keeping the full extent of his religious radicalism from his sovereign.

He began to seek my assistance with legal matters affecting those who enjoyed his patronage – for he was building a great network – and I became established as one of 'Cromwell's men'. So when, four years ago, my father wrote to ask if I could find William Poer's son a post in one of the expanding departments of state my master controlled, it was something I was able to do.

Mark timed his arrival for April 1533, to see the coronation of Queen Anne Boleyn. He much enjoyed that great celebration for the woman we were later taught to believe was a witch and fornicator. He was sixteen then, the same age I was when I had come south; not tall but broadly built, with wide blue eyes in a smooth angelic face that reminded me of his mother's, although there was a watchful intelligence in his pale-blue eyes that was his distinctively.

I confess when he first arrived in my house I wanted him out of it again as soon as possible. I had no wish to act in loco parentis for this boy, who I had no doubt would soon be slamming doors and sending papers to the floor, and whose face and form stirred all the feelings of regret I associated with home. I had imaginings of my poor father wishing Mark were his son instead of me.

But somehow my wish to be rid of him eased. He was not the country boor I had expected; on the contrary he had a quiet, respectful demeanour and the rudiments of good manners. When he made some mistake of dress or table etiquette, as he did in the early days, he showed a self-mocking humour. He was reported as conscientious in the junior clerking posts I obtained for him, first at the Exchequer and then at Augmentations. I let him come and go as he pleased and if he visited the taverns and bawd houses with his fellow clerks he was never noisy or drunken at home.

Despite myself I grew fond of him, and took to using his agile mind as a sounding board for some of the more puzzling points of law or fact I dealt with. If he had a fault it was laziness, but a few sharp words could usually rouse him. I went from resenting that my father might have wished him for a son to wishing he might have been my own. I was not sure now that I would ever have a son, for poor Kate had died in the plague of 1534. I still wore a death's head mourning ring for her, presumptuously, for had she lived Kate would certainly have married another.

An hour later Joan called me down to supper. There was a fine capon on the table, with carrots and turnips. Mark was sitting quietly at his place, in his shirt again and a jerkin of fine brown wool. I noticed the jerkin was adorned with more of the agate buttons. I said grace and cut a limb from the chicken.

'Well,' I began, 'it seems Lord Cromwell may have you back at Augmentations. First he wants you to aid me with a task he has set me, and then we shall see.'

Six months before Mark had had a dalliance with a lady-in-waiting to Queen Jane. The girl was only sixteen, too young and silly to be at court but pushed there by ambitious relatives. In the end she brought them disgrace, for she took to wandering all over the precincts of Whitehall and Westminster until she found herself in Westminster Hall, among the clerks and lawyers. There the little wanton met Mark, and ended by rutting with him in an empty office. Afterwards she repented and blurted everything out to the other ladies, from where in due course the story reached the chamberlain. The girl was packed off home and Mark found himself turned out of a hot sheet into hot water, interrogated by high officials of the royal household; he had been astonished and frightened. Though angry with him, I sympathized with his fear as well; he was very young after all. I had petitioned Lord Cromwell to intervene, knowing he had an indulgent approach towards that type of misdemeanour at least.

'Thank you, sir,' he said. 'I am truly sorry for what happened.'

'You are lucky. People of our station don't often get a second chance. Not after something like that.'

'I know. But – she was bold, sir.' He smiled weakly. 'I am but flesh.'

'She was a mere silly girl. You could have got her with child.'

'If that had happened I would have married her if our degree had permitted. I am not without honour, sir.'

I put a piece of chicken in my mouth and waved my knife at him. This was an old argument. 'No, but you are a light-brained fool. The difference in degree is everything. Come, Mark, you have been in government service four years. You know how things work. We are commoners and must keep our place. People of low birth like Cromwell and Rich have risen high in the king's service, but only because he chooses to have them there. He could remove them in a moment. If the chamberlain had told the king instead of Lord Cromwell you could have found yourself in the Tower, after a whipping that would have scarred you for life. I feared that might happen, you know.' Indeed the affair had given me several sleepless nights, though I never told him that.

He looked cast down. I washed my hands in the fingerbowl.

'Well, this time it may blow over,' I said more gently. 'What of business? Have you prepared the deeds for the Fetter Lane conveyance?'

'Yes, sir.'

'I will look at them after dinner. I have other papers to study as well.' I put down my napkin and looked at him seriously. 'Tomorrow we have to go down to the south coast.'

I explained our mission, though saying nothing of its political importance. Mark's eyes widened as I told him of the murder; already the thoughtless excitement of youth was returning.

'This could be dangerous,' I warned him. 'We have no idea what is happening down there; we must be prepared for anything.'

'You seem worried, sir.'

'It's a heavy responsibility. And, frankly, just now I would rather stay here than travel down to Sussex. It is desolate down there beyond the Weald.' I sighed. 'But like Isaiah we must go down and fight for Zion.'

'If you succeed Lord Cromwell will reward you well.'

'Yes. And it would keep me in favour.'

He looked up in surprise at my words, and I decided it would be wise to change the subject. 'You have never been to a monastery, have you?'

'No.'

'You went to the grammar school, you didn't have the doubtful privilege of the cathedral school. The monks scarcely knew enough Latin to follow the ancient tomes they taught from. It's as well for me I had some native wit, or I would be as illiterate as Joan.'

'Are the monasteries truly as corrupt as it is said?' Mark asked.

'You've seen the Black Book, the extracts from the visitations, which is being hawked around.'

'So has most of London.'

'Yes, people love tales of naughty monks.' I broke off as Joan came in with a custard.

'But yes, they are corrupt,' I continued once she had gone. 'The rule of St Benedict – which I have read – prescribes a life devoted to prayer and work, separate from the world and with only the barest essentials of life. Yet mostly these monks live in great buildings attended by servants, living off fat revenues from their lands, scabbed with every sort of vice.'

'They say the Carthusian monks lived austerely and sang joyful hymns when they were taken to be disembowelled at Tyburn.'

'Oh, a few orders live straitly. But don't forget the Carthusians died because they refused to recognize the king as head of the Church. They all want the pope back. And now it seems one of them has turned to murder.' I sighed. 'I am sorry you must be involved in this.'