The rebel heart hg-4

by Martin Stephen

  'Well,' the lawyer said, 'East Linton's maybe twenty, twenty-five mile out of town. No a long ride for a gentleman such as youself. You have good horses, do you?'

  Gresham said where they had hired their nags.

  'Aye,' said the lawyer, 'well, it's always a guid thing to help old animals in their distress, but I think we can do a wee bit better than that for ye.' He rang a small bell by his side, and a man his own age came in. 'My client here will be needing some decent horses. And some others taken back to where they belong. Sir,' he turned to Gresham, 'will you trust my man to find you mounts?' Gresham nodded. 'In which case, might I suggest you wait here for the hour or so it will take my man to acquire them? Will you remind me how many men there are in your party? And the lady, of course.'

  'There are…' Gresham wanted to say six men and the lady, but stopped himself in time. Poor old Tom was drifting onto the Essex or Norfolk coast now, if he was lucky, and if he was luckier might even get a pauper's burial. Or he was full fathom five; down among the dead men until his bones — and his broken nose — were returned to sand. 'There are five men. Myself, my… secretary here…' Gresham motioned to Mannion, who he had promoted to a secretary in case the Scotsman was conscious of rank and wanted to boot out the servant, 'the girl and three male servants. Oh, and we'd better add in the maid, if she ever recovers from her sea-sickness.'

  Mary could have been shot, skewered, ravished and drowned when the Anna was attacked and, had they lost the battle, would almost certainly have had three of the four administered to her. Despite being locked in a cabin while the battle raged above, hearing men die and scream and so on, she had hardly mentioned those passing inconveniences, preferring instead to keep up a continual and very taxing diatribe against the sea and all surfaces which did not stay still. Gresham had only shut her up by threatening for the journey home to put her in the rowing boat and tow it however many hundred yards behind the Anna that it took for them not to hear her whining voice.

  'Will the lady and her maid require a small carriage, then?' asked the lawyer.

  Gresham thought about it. 'Does the weather look set fair?' he asked. Something of a rather good summer's day appeared to be emerging from under the smog. Jane could ride well, and so could the maid after a fashion. It would do both of them good to be out in the open, and they would probably be more comfortable on horses than in a hired, bone-rattling carriage.

  'It will be fine,' said the lawyer firmly, as if God communicated these things direct to him, 'for at least two more days. Ten mile a day will be enough for you with ladies, I believe? There is a good inn at East Linton. It is on the main route, of course.'

  Gresham made a decision. 'They can ride, in the first instance. Can you get us a carriage and horses, for it to ride with us should the weather change, or for the return journey?'

  Had he made a mistake? The lawyer did not blink, nor did anything in his expression change. Gresham had been introduced by Northumberland not as a nobleman or a courtier, but simply as 'someone who holds my trust', which in the diplomatic language of the day put Gresham as little more than a senior employee. The cost of the small coach would be the same as that for all the horses put together. By ordering it as a reserve Gresham had revealed that money was no object to him. Ergo, either Gresham was not what he appeared, or someone very wealthy was paying for the trip.

  'Will you grant me the pleasure of entertaining yourself and your

  … secretary to dine with me over noon?' This lawyer was no fool. Then again, few lawyers Gresham had met had been fools. Total and utter bastards, yes, but fools, no.

  Under normal circumstances Mannion would have perked up at the offer of food, slugged back whatever was left in his drinking vessel and started to loosen his belt a notch. Instead he looked up at Gresham with unusual respect, and said in a passable middle-class accent, "We do have business elsewhere in the city, sir, as I am sure you are aware.' Mannion was dressed like a secretary, and appeared as comfortable as a wolf suddenly asked to don a woolly fleece. Despite this, his combination of servility and disapproval was superb.

  'I can tell the time,' said Gresham dismissively. 'I would be delighted to accept your offer. You are most kind.'

  'I apologise for the humbleness of the fare,' said Cameron Johnstone. 'You are very welcome, but nevertheless unexpected guests.'

  The food was actually surprisingly good. There was excellent beef, a venison pie, a pigeon baked whole and several varieties of fish. There was also hot soup, crammed with vegetables, and rough bread that belied its appearance with a wonderful, nutty flavour. There was local ale, and more of the good French wine.

  'I must be open with you,' said Cameron, eyeing with the slightest hint of amusement the inroads Mannion had made into the food. 'I know of you by reputation. The work I do for the Earl of Northumberland is not only… related to his business matters. I also deal for him in

  … political issues.'

  'Political issues?' asked Gresham.

  'The border between Scotland and England is the most troubled in the world, perhaps,' mused Cameron. 'You will have heard tell of the reivers, and their like?' Gresham had indeed heard of the legendary border raiders. 'The Earl of Northumberland stands as the gate to England, but it is a gate that opens two ways. It is also the gate to Scotland, of course. Over hundreds of years certain… understandings have built up. Certain ways of doing things. Were it not for these understandings, the border lands would have drowned in their own blood years ago. These understandings do not stop warfare, of course. They limit it, and restrict some of the consequences when it does take place.'

  'And you… broker these "understandings"?' asked Gresham genuinely interested.

  'I think the phrase is "go-between",' answered Cameron. 'I quite literally go between my Lord of Northumberland and his party, and certain Scottish nobles on the other side, and sometimes talk to the wilder elements who inhabit the borders, for one set of nobles or for both.'

  'Isn't it dangerous?' asked Gresham. 'The wilder elements are unlikely to respect the nobility on either side. I can see that the nobility — on both sides — might be inclined to blame you for everyone else's faults.'

  Cameron gave a dry laugh. 'You have a rare understanding of these things. As I would expect from Sir Henry Gresham.'

  Gresham looked at him levelly. 'Did you suggest to the Earl of Northumberland that he might place your name before me? And if so, how is it that you knew I would be coming to Scotland?'

  Cameron's smile, thought Gresham, was like that of a snake before it killed its prey.

  'I knew the Earl would recommend me, and that you have been part of his circle,' said Cameron. Which neatly avoided answering the question while seeming to do so, thought Gresham. 'And someone who is actually no more and no less than a spy would be mortified not to meet a man who in England is one of the best-known of that breed. Whatever the reason for your visit to Scotland, I hoped you would do business through me.'

  Or arrange to have me robbed and killed at sea, thought Gresham.

  'My business can at times be dangerous. As I'm sure is yours,' said Gresham calmly.

  'Aye', said Cameron, 'but I care little for that. You see, no member of my family has lived beyond the age of forty. We all die, the male members at least, of what seems to be a canker, a growth, usually in the stomach, sometimes in the lungs or groin. So when I met my girl, my wife, and we had two fine bairns, I did everything in my power to make a living for them before I reached the age of forty. Including selling my loyalty and probably my soul to men such as your Northumberland, our equivalent here in Scotland and the worst parcel of border-raising rogues on God's earth into the bargain.' Cameron paused for a moment.

  'And?' Gresham prompted him.

  'And so it was a great surprise when my dear wife and our two bairns died within a week of each other, of what you would call the plague, though I who had held them and kissed them survived without a scratch or a single stinking pustule. So here I am, with a
fine estate and, to be honest with you, Sir Henry, no one to leave it to. So your arrival here lightens up what is to be frank quite a dreary existence, and the prospect of death holds no fears for me. Quite the opposite, as it happens.'

  In Gresham's experience men only used a phrase such as 'to be honest with you' as a preface to dishonesty, and a phrase such as 'to be frank' as a preface to dissembling.

  'So why reveal all this to me?' said Gresham. He had heard Cameron Johnstone speak and for a moment heard himself speak. The prospect of death holds no fears for me. Quite the opposite, in fact. It could have been Gresham speaking of himself. Perhaps that was why Cameron had said it.

  'Because I do not for a minute believe that you are here to chase the antecedents of your ward. And because my native curiosity makes me interested to know why you are here. Not out of mere idle curiosity, but in the vain and rather conceited hope that I might be able to help.'

  'I'm sorry to hear about your family. Truly sorry. It's difficult to imagine your pain and suffering,' said Gresham.

  'Do you have wife and children?' asked Cameron.

  'No, I do not,' answered Gresham.

  'Then it will be difficult for you to imagine what it means to lose them.'

  Cameron Johnstone was hiding infinitely more than he was revealing.

  'I need to meet your King,' said Gresham. 'As a matter of urgency, and in strictest secrecy.'

  'For reasons you will not tell me, of course?' asked Cameron.

  'For reasons I will not tell you,' confirmed Gresham. 'Of course. Can you do this for me?'

  'Oh, yes,' said Cameron almost casually. 'But understand one thing. I can set you up such a meeting, but our King James has more than a mind of his own. He will decide. Yet there are many in the capital city,' he waved to encompass Edinburgh, 'who can not only promise but deliver you as much. You see, we are less formal here in Scotland than you are used to in your great Court of London. All sorts of men, and women too, have their secret assignations with the King, as well as their public ones.'

  All sorts of men? And women too? Secret assignations? Was this sodomy and black magic? Were Cameron's comments premeditated, or simply a lucky hit?

  'Arrange this meeting for me,' said Gresham, 'and I will be for ever in your debt spiritually, though I'm happy to make sure any debt is not financial.' He tossed a bag of coin over the table.

  Cameron eyed the purse with an expression of amusement, and flicked it back to Gresham's side of the table.

  'I fear you were no listening, Sir Henry. I've no need of money. A little pride, or even a reason for living, now that would be helpful.'

  'And you think I can supply either?'

  'If I'm being honest, no,' said Cameron. 'But you offer more hope than most. So I can return to you within two hours and tell you whether or not the King will see you, when he will see you and where.'

  'And what if a party of troops returns in two hours to arrest me? Or a group of border bandits to kill me and leave no questions?'

  'Most risks are shared, are they not?' asked Cameron cheerfully enough.

  'I think it would be best if in accepting your offer,' said Gresham, 'I did so with one caveat. Please row out to me on board the Anna with your answer. With one boatman only.'

  Cameron did not blink. 'That will be fine,' he said, 'though please acknowledge it will take me longer to reach you there than it would had we a rendezvous here in the city. Please describe your vessel, and roughly where she is in the anchorage.'

  They loaded the cannons and the swivel guns just in case, but need not have worried. Cameron rowed out to them alone, with much splashing and missing of the water.

  'I thought you said you were wealthy?' said Gresham.

  'Aye,' said Cameron, 'and I did not get so by wasting money on men to row me when I have a body that can do the thing myself.' Not only had Cameron arranged a meeting with the King, but had done so for that evening. Things were indeed different in Scotland. Cameron was quite apologetic.

  'I'm sorry you had to wait until this evening,' he said. 'The King has been hunting all day.'

  'Is my meeting secret?' asked Gresham. 'It is so arranged,' answered Cameron.

  And so it was that they entered the Palace by a back door, a whispered conversation between Cameron and two guards opening the crude wooden door criss-crossed with iron bars. They walked through an open courtyard, then entered a labyrinth of stone passages. A thin drizzle was coating the dirty stonework now, which glistened in the light of the few torches that were burning in sconces on the walls.

  'Are you an agent for the King?' asked Gresham. He and Mannion were walking behind Cameron, Gresham with his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  'It is as I explained it to you,' said Cameron, not turning his head, concentrating on the turnings, 'I work for the King on occasion, and for Northumberland on occasion. And, on occasion, for others. And, on this occasion, for you.'

  'And on occasion for yourself?' asked Gresham.

  'Always for myself,' answered Cameron succinctly, but said no more.

  They came to a door with a huge lintel, so low they had to bend to enter. Before they did so, Cameron turned to both Gresham and Mannion. 'Leave your swords by the door. And any daggers or other blades you may have. When the King was in his mother's womb she saw a group of armoured noblemen knife her music teacher, Rizzio, the man many thought was her lover, to death in front of her. It's left him with a horror of bare steel. He'll sense if you have a blade. Remove them all. Even the hidden ones.' Cameron looked meaningfully at Mannion, who stared back impassively.

  'Do it,' said Gresham. 'But if there are armed men in that room, or armed men enter,' he said to Cameron, 'I'll break your neck as my last act on earth.' He realised what a small threat it was to a man who had professed to welcome death.

  'Please do,' said Cameron. 'But do look inside the room first.'

  He swung the door open. It was small, sparsely furnished with a crude table and four stools. Two torches flared in the ubiquitous cast-iron sconces, guttering and sending out dirty smoke that stained the walls even more and made the eyes sting. An unarmed man in Stuart livery, dirty and grease stained, was in the room, his back to an unlit fire. He greeted Cameron briefly and with no evident affection, and left through another low door on the opposite end of the room. It measured perhaps twelve foot by twelve, and cheap tapestries adorned two walls.

  'Don't sit down,' hissed Cameron, after Mannion had unloaded a small armoury and Gresham his sword and dagger, leaving them by the door. They were still horrendously vulnerable, Gresham realised. A rush of men to either door and they were effectively defenceless. They waited.

  The door opened suddenly, and a man entered the room. He was of medium height, though slightly hunched in his back, his head seeming almost too thin for his body. His tunic and hose were dotted with jewels and pearls, but like his retainer the fine material was greasy and marked with stains. Cameron bowed low, and Gresham and Mannion followed. This presumably was James VI of Scotland; perhaps shortly to be James I of England.

  'Your Highness,' said Cameron, 'Sir Henry Gresham, from the Court of England, asks your gracious permission for an audience.'

  James did not return the bow, but plonked himself down on a stool. He did not ask the others to sit.

  'Has the man no tongue in his own head?' he asked. The tone was perfectly polite, the content distinctly aggressive. The accent was thicker than Cameron's, on the edge of intelligible.

  'Your Majesty,' said Gresham, 'my tongue is constrained by my being in a foreign country and at a foreign Court, and in the presence of a King. I intended no disrespect in allowing your countryman to speak for me.'

  'That was well said, enough,' conceded James. 'So now you've started, what else is it you have to say to me, now that you've dragged me down here.' Gresham was getting the feeling that the King had not had a good day.

  'Your Majesty,' Gresham said, 'I would be grateful if it were possible for us to speak alone.'


  'Alone, then,' answered the King, 'except for my servant here. You may trust his capacity to bide his tongue. Or, to put it the other way, with him present to guard me if need be you may hold a conversation with me. Without him, your conversation will be with yourself.' The King seemed very bored, listless even.

  Gresham bowed low, accepting the deal. Cameron and Mannion backed out of the room. Mannion banged his head on the stone lintel, and Gresham gritted his teeth, waiting for him to swear. The only noise was the door shutting.

  Gresham pulled the Queen's ring out of the sealed pocket he had been carrying it in, and placed it on the table. It gleamed dully in the torchlight.

  The King leant forward, suddenly interested.

  He looked up at Gresham, and Gresham saw the flash of intelligence in his small, dark eyes.

  'There is something to go with this token? Something from the Queen your mistress?' There was an eagerness in his voice now, an almost childish excitement.

  Gresham bowed again, reached inside his tunic and brought out the sealed package that Elizabeth had given him. He placed it on the table. The King looked at it for a moment, and then nodded to his servant. The servant leant forward, picked up the sealed document, put it in his pocket.

  Why was the King not reading it? It was almost as if it he already knew its content, was patting himself on the back without having to read it.

  'Your Majesty,' Gresham said, hoping to capitalise on the King's evident good mood. 'I have another letter for Your Highness, if you will care to receive it.'

  'Another letter?* said the King. There was even a hint of humour in his voice now. The man was dirty, Gresham realised, ingrained muck in his fingernails and in the creases on his forehead. There was a strange smell around him, a musky, musty smell, not the sharp and acrid tang of sweat but something older, rather like a maturing cheese. 'You've been a very busy man, Sir Henry Gresham.'

  'Others have wished me to be busy on their behalf, Your Majesty,' said Gresham.