The rebel heart hg-4

by Martin Stephen

  'You've been kind enough to call me Your Majesty four times now,' said James. Gresham checked through his memory: James was right. '"Sir" will do right enough from now on. Tell me about this other letter.'

  Then a crashing realisation dawned in Gresham's head. James was drunk. He was in the first stage of drunkenness, when the drunkard knows the state he is in and almost over-compensates in the exactness of his language. Gresham had known a host of men, and women, who were far better at conducting their business drunk than sober. The realisation of King James's state did not shock so much as intrigue him. It was only early evening.

  'Sir,' said Gresham, 'it comes from Sir Robert Cecil. As with the Queen, he has asked for it to be treated as most secret. I should add that he does not know of the letter from Her Majesty, any more than Her Majesty knows of his letter.'

  'You would be wise not to make too many assumptions about what Her Majesty may or may not know. But you will tell him, as his man?' said James.

  'Sir, I will not tell him.' Gresham had almost said 'I will no tell him', his brain already picking up the Scottish idiom. 'I am not his man. I have merely agreed to deliver this letter for him.'

  'And what does it say?' Was James toying with him now, implying that he had opened the letter? And therefore perhaps implying that he had opened the letter from the Queen? Oh God! Gresham was on trial again for his life. Was it thus with all monarchs, or only those bounded by the North Sea? Well, if in doubt, try the truth. It was such a rare commodity in Courts that it had rare healing powers as well as shock value.

  'Sir,' said Gresham, 'it is true that once before I opened a letter from Robert Cecil that I was carrying while sailing with the expedition by Sir Francis Drake to Cadiz. I found that it ordered my death. Since then I have tried to avoid reading anything penned by him and placed in my trust.'

  'Well, you clearly survived,' said James, 'unless it's a ghost I see before me now. But I guess you may have an inkling of what this second letter contains.'

  'I believe it reassures Your… you, sir, that Robert Cecil is neither a sodomite nor a servant of the Devil.'

  James's hand had started to rise to his chest, as if to make the sign of the cross, at the word 'Devil', before he corrected it.

  'And am I right to accept that reassurance?'

  Robert Cecil had tried to have Gresham killed on several occasions and was holding him to ransom even now. He loathed Gresham, had done so for years. Just as his father had been the strength behind Elizabeth's throne, so the son hoped to be the strength behind James's throne when he came to be King of England. A word now from Gresham that Cecil was either a sodomite or a Devil-worshipper could remove Cecil from the power he lusted after, do him irreparable damage.

  But would it? Or would it damage Gresham more? Well, the truth had worked so far. Try it again.

  'Sadly, sir,' Gresham said and watched James lean forward, as if desperate to hear the bad news, 'you are right to accept that reassurance. At least as far as I am in a position to judge.'

  James rocked back, but the alert interest was clearly still there.

  'Sadly? Why sadly? What is sad about clearing a man of two grievous accusations?'

  'What is sad, sir, is that we are sworn enemies who yet work together. And I count myself as a friend to one who is a bitter enemy of Cecil, the Earl of Essex. It grieves me not to be able to confirm Robert Cecil in any accusation made against him, as it grieves me not to support my friend. Yet to convict him of sodomy or Devil-worship would be wrong, I believe.'

  'And is this a man I should trust, this Cecil who is your enemy?' asked James. 'Or should I trust this man who is your friend, this Essex?'

  In a few months this rather unprepossessing man might be Henry Gresham's King. It would not do, for purely practical reasons, to lie to him.

  'If, sir, you become King of England with the support of Robert Cecil, he will do more than anyone eke to preserve you in that state. If you become King of England with the support of the Earl of Essex, you will reign far more dramatically. It would be two very different reigns.'

  'But what of their different loyalty to me before I achieve that happy state?' In the bitter turmoil of Scottish politics, James had proved himself a survivor. He had good reason to know and to fear changing loyalties, shifting allegiances and fickle friendships.

  'That, sir, is a matter between yourself and them. I can only state that I do not consider Cecil a sodomite or a Devil-worshipper, but that if I were to choose my company I would choose Essex over Cecil.'

  James thought this over for a few seconds. He motioned to his servant, ordered him to bring drink.

  'Tell me about the English Court,' said the King of Scotland. He had still not asked Gresham to be seated. 'Tell me about Essex,' prompted James. The servant returned with a decanter and two fine, cut-glass goblets, Venetian by the look of them. The King looked up at Gresham, motioned him to sit. He did not ask Gresham if he wished to drink, but ordered the servant to hand him a glass. Sweet white wine, by the look of it. Ironically, it was the monopoly on all sweet wines imported into England, granted from the Queen, that allowed Essex to lead the life that he did. Gresham preferred the drier, Alsace wines.

  'Essex I know only as a social companion, a drinking partner if you will,' said Gresham, waiting for the King to take the first sip. Or rather, the first glass, Gresham saw, as the King knocked back the opening salvo and motioned for a refill. Was Gresham meant to do the same? He compromised by taking a large swig of the stuff. Was this to be trial by drink? 'He is a charismatic figure, glamorous and brave, foolhardy and moody, ambitious for military glory, highly intelligent but at times stubborn beyond belief, spoilt yet vulnerable. He is loyal, though taxed by the demands of loyalty. He is a leader, though a flawed one and in some strange sense a broken personality. He has a zest for life, and something of a desire to lose it.'

  'You sum up a man well, Sir Henry,' said the King, taking his second glass slightly more slowly. 'But tell me, who does England want as its next King?'

  'If you mean England as the country, sir, the truth is that it cares little who is King or Queen if there is peace and a chance for prosperity to flourish. If you mean England as the Court, there are as many factions as there are nobles. I believe that at present the majority would favour you. Spain has given too many painful memories to England, and as for Arbella Stuart, our country no longer wants to anoint a silly woman in order to make the throne the prize of the first man who wins her favours. We did that with Mary and King Philip of Spain.'

  'Drink your drink, man,' said the King. 'There's truth in wine, as well as folly.' Gresham obediently knocked back what was left in his glass. Without a word, the servant filled it up to the brim. Gresham felt an obligation to take a significant sip from the refilled vessel. 'And will you tell me about the Queen?'

  Gresham thought about that one for a split second.

  'I would prefer not to, sir, if such were to be granted me. A man who gossips about one monarch to another is likely to gossip to everyone.'

  James sat silent for a moment.

  'Well, you've passed your first test. You've managed not to poison me against anyone, despite one of them being an enemy of yours. You'll wait in Leith for me to pen a reply to both these letters. They'll be delivered by Cameron Johnstone.' There was an ever so slight slurring of the King's words. 'Within twenty-four hours. You will know they are my letters by this seal.'

  James snapped a finger, and the servant produced a candle and some sealing wax. The candle was lit from the sconce, and James melted wax onto the table, stamping his fist down on it. The ring on his finger left a clear seal imprinted in the wax. James made sure Gresham had seen the mark, and then the servant picked the still warm wax from off the table, broke it into pieces like communion wafers and threw the remnants into the cold fireplace.

  James stood up. Giving a brief nod to Gresham, he left through the same door he had entered by. The servant followed, not repeating the acknowledgement to
Gresham by even a nod.

  And where did that little exchange leave him, thought Gresham? None the wiser was the truth. James had clearly been expecting a message from Elizabeth, looking forward to it even. He had not been expecting a message from Cecil, but had accepted it with relative equanimity. He wanted to know about the English Court; no surprise there. And having been handed a messenger, he wanted to make use of him to reply by return. Ail very reasonable. And he had been rather drunk at the same time as being very reasonable. What message was there in that for England's future prospects?

  Jack and Dick had been ordered to go back to the Anna, once cleaning duties were complete, if only to keep an eye on the crew. The lugubrious Edward had been allocated as Jane and Mary's escort for a tour round Edinburgh. Jane had come back excited by her first sight of a new city. They were in Gresham's room now, the largest of those they had taken. It smelt of scrubbed stone and hay, copious quantities of which had been strewn across the floor once it had dried.

  'Do you know,' Jane said to Mannion, finding it easier to confide her excitement to him rather than Gresham, 'they don't live like we do in London with separate areas for the rich and for the poor. Oh, the rich have town houses, but a lot of them here, they all live on top of one another, quite literally — the higher up the building you go, the better class you are.'

  She turned to Gresham. 'And do you know what a lot of the lawyers are called?'

  'Tell me,' said Gresham, who knew he was going to be told whatever he answered.

  'Bonnet-lairds!' Jane exclaimed, who for today had decided to be a young seventeen-year-old, rather than any of the other things Gresham had seen her be. A shrieking fish-wife; a cool matron, seventeen rising fifty; a sulky seductress; a chief librarian… that was only the start. 'A laird is a noble around here, what we might call a gentleman. Apparently a lot of the lawyers buy small estates just outside Edinburgh, and call themselves landowners. The people call them bonnet-lairds. "Bonnet" means… not quite real. Something you put on and off too easily. When do we ride out to find the parents I'm meant to have had?'

  Her capacity to change the subject was not the least infuriating of her mannerisms.

  'We have to wait the arrival of a package from Cameron Johnstone,' said Gresham. 'We can't make any plans until then.'

  Early next morning there was a rattling at the door of Gresham's room, and the Scots lawyer fell rather than walked through it. His left sleeve was torn and there were blood streaks all the way down his arm. He had a livid bruise on the side of his head. He was gritting his teeth with pain.

  'What happened?' asked Gresham, rising to his feet, sword out, peering through the door to see if Cameron's attackers had followed him.

  'In the street!' muttered Cameron. 'In full view! That's what caught me out. I was expecting something in a back alley, not in the full glare of public approval.'

  'Did they try to kill you?'

  'I think it was this they wanted.' He grimaced as he brought out two sealed packages. It was James's seal, the one he had stamped into the table. Three of them, great lumps of offal that they were.' 'How did you escape?'

  Mannion had come in and, without a word pushed Cameron into a seat. He was expertly stripping the man's jacket off. A bowl and the cleanest cloth they could find were soon sending red streaks into the clear water. Mannion had initially scorned Gresham when on campaign he had always insisted on the water being boiled before it was used to treat wounds. It was advice given to Gresham by Dr Stephen Perse at Cambridge, and Mannion's view of academics was equivalent to his view of Spaniards and Scotsmen. Yet even he had come round when the infection rate in Gresham's men had been insignificant in comparison to the other troops on campaign.

  'They came up from behind,' said Cameron, feeling gently with his tongue at a loosened tooth. Tried to rush me into an alley, but I heard their noise, sensed what was happening. So I stopped and ducked down, and they bounced off me rather. Then one of them clubbed me on the head. He'd have got me, I think, but we were in the public street and he had to try and half hide the blow. So I saw most of the stars but kept conscious and tried to run between the legs of the nearest one. He used the knife, caught me here on the shoulder.'

  'What then?'

  'I stuck my knife into his guts and cut the other one's face. The last man backed off and I was able to run.'

  'When did you last appear in a law court?' asked Gresham, bringing a mug of ale to him. 'It doesn't strike me that your legal skills are your greatest strength at the moment, or the ones you use most often.'

  'Ouch!' said Cameron, as Mannion touched the entry point of the wound. Cameron felt round the wound gingerly, grimaced, and then yanked something out. It was a tiny splinter of steel. 'Thought so,' he said. 'Point of his dagger. Cheap stuff. Like the men. Och, me and the law? I was in court only last week, actually. I do like to keep my hand in. Unfortunately the woman in question's supposed marriage to the man who walked out on her wasn't supported by any documentary evidence, unlike his actual marriage to the other woman he'd lied about to the first. If you follow me.'

  'But the law isn't your primary concern?' continued Gresham, who was beginning to realise that the Scottish advocate was a more interesting figure than he had first thought.

  Cameron sighed. 'You could say that. I fear my… other activities have tended to dominate in recent years. Not least of all because they were more profitable. That was at the time, of course, when I had a reason to want more money.'

  'Forgive me,' said Gresham, 'but did your wife and children actually exist?'

  'Oh yes,' said Cameron. 'I take the point, and in the spirit it was intended. Wonderful sob story, isn't it? But, as it happens, it is true. With one final twist. I became a spy, as distinct from a respectable if rather dowdy lawyer, because it gave me more money. And, if I'm being honest, because it was more exciting. I thought the only danger in it was to me, that I was running the risk. Imagine my surprise, therefore, when my wife and children caught their illness from an agent who asked us to shelter him for two nights in our home. We gave him the children's bedroom. Space is at a premium here in Edinburgh, even for reasonably wealthy families.'

  He took a drink from the mug, ran his hand up the side of his face, examined his fingers. There was only a little blood on them.

  'You have to admit that life has a sense of humour. We'd just sacked a maid, but let her stay on for two days out of kindness to find somewhere else to go to. Her last job was to change the sheets on the bed. My wife was scrupulous about these things. Except the maid never changed them, and for the first time in her life my wife did not check. She was going to, had actually set off, when there was a knock on the door and her dear mother made one of her unannounced visits. I suspect my friend the agent left some of his fleas as a parting present. He was dead a week later anyway, my wife and children a few days after that. So that's the story. I seem to be left with the job I did for them. And I do seem unable to get myself killed.'

  'We're leaving, now,' said Gresham, the alarm bell tolling in his head. The intrigues in the Court of London were like walking through a deep marsh in a thick fog. In Scotland it was like doing the same walk not only in fog but in the pitch black of night.

  'I need a fast passage to England,' said Cameron. 'May I take passage on your boat?'

  So as to knife me in the back all the more easily, thought Gresham. Out loud he said, 'Why so urgent?'

  Cameron grinned. 'For some reason James trusts you to deliver this package to Elizabeth.'

  'We sail within the hour. If you can be there by then, you may take passage. If not, we leave regardless.'

  Gresham and Mannion both noted the man who scurried away as soon as they left the lodgings, but if he was going to call out help to stop them he failed to do it in time. They made it to the Anna unmolested.

  'Why the hell are you lettin' that freak come along with us?' asked an incredulous Mannion.' 'E's about as trustworthy as a spoon with an 'ole in the middle of it!'
r />   They were on the quarterdeck, watching the smoke of Edinburgh recede. Cameron was somewhere down below. ('Probably knocking holes in the bottom of the boat' muttered Mannion.) Jane was standing nearby.

  'Trustworthy?' said Gresham. 'Women are witches when it comes to judging character. Here, Mistress Jane, what do you think of our new acquaintance Cameron?'

  Jane thought for a moment.

  'I think he is evil,' she said, 'and you are mad to bring him with us. Why have you?'

  Gresham tried not to show his shock at the certainty of her judgement and its intensity.

  'Like you,' he said, 'I don't trust him. Yet I'm like a tennis ball being hit between the factions at Court, and being hit from one Court to another. Already someone's tried to murder us. Cameron is the only enemy I can see! If I can keep him in sight, he might lead me to the others.'

  Cameron chose that moment to join them. Before he could offer the time of day, and without dismissing Mannion or Jane, Gresham spoke, 'You're clearly up to your neck in the intrigue of both Courts. You're clearly trusted by King James. It was quite clear he only saw me because of your intervention and that he didn't actually want to come, so you must have serious credibility with him.'

  Cameron waved a hand, neither confirming nor denying.

  'And I remember where I saw you before. In winter. In the English Court. You were hanging round at the back. I only remember you because you looked so odd in your drab clothes. I only caught a glimpse of you. But you walk in a peculiar manner, slightly sideways, like a crab. You did it as you got off the horse on the quayside. What were you doing in Elizabeth's Court?'

  'Saving her life, as it happens,' said Cameron.

  'How so?'

  Cameron sighed, 'in front of these?' he asked disparagingly, motioning to Mannion and Jane.

  'It's the price of your passage,' said Gresham. 'Unless you want to swim home.'

  'I suppose you have to know,' Cameron eventually replied, after a good few seconds when he looked to be seriously considering the swim. 'James received a tip-off that there was going to be an assassination attempt on the Queen's life. All we knew was that the assassin was Scottish, an exile who no one had seen for three or four years. It was his father who tipped us off, though God knows how he knew. Scottish families work like no other. James sent me down to the Court. Under cover of doing work for the Earl of Northumberland. The Earl agreed without knowing why. The Earls of Northumberland and the Kings of Scotland have been trading like this since time began.'