Yes, we shall. These events are, approximately, at the same time as each other. The first extract is from the rising in the east, known as Kett's Rebellion, and the second is in the aftermath of the western rebellion, known as the Prayer Book Rebellion.
“Mary,” Longshawe says, “is not queen. Her beliefs are outlawed.”
“Her beliefs,” de Winter counters, “are not to be challenged by her servants. God will recognise his own, when the time comes.”
Andrew Shepherd holds out a hand, not pointing, but nevertheless confrontational. “As a child, I have not had the benefit of a priest or a tutor to guide me, or of books. I barely understand the Mass. But I feel God, and I know God. My sins are my own, as is my repentance.” He stands. “Your gear, Sirs, is in need of my attention. If I may?”
Longshawe nods, while de Winter sits and stares at nothing in particular. Shepherd makes his way off into the crowd of assembled soldiery, his pretext sufficient if not clearly true.
Longshawe turns to de Winter. “You should not be so hard on him. You said yourself, there are sins of which we do not speak. Your own sins. He is brave, to speak so openly before you.”
“You are right. Of course, you are right. I shall try to protect him, rather than admonish him.”
“Perhaps we can each learn from the failures of our fathers.”
“And our own.”
Thomas Gilbert looks up from his desk, attention caught by the slightest of sounds. In front of him, standing stock still and with his heels together, is Edward Strelley, dressed in black.
“Jesus Christ, Strelley, can’t you just knock like a normal person?”
“Didn’t need to,” Strelley says, looking straight ahead.
“It must be ten o’clock.”
“Just about. Dark outside. Not seen.”
“Strelley, you are unusually terse. Explain.”
“Need to escape. France, at least.”
“Again? You didn’t get caught f-”
Strelley’s sword is out of its scabbard and pointing at Gilbert’s throat. “Do not insult her.”
“You are threatening me, Strelley. Just after you have asked for my help.”
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought