'That's it!' said George, so happy that Gresham had got the message at last that his voice became dangerously loud. A man muttered in his sleep, turned over, reached out for his sword then fell back into a disturbed slumber. 'You've got it! Except you've gone and spoilt it! That was why Cameron was so angry. Why he laid you out. He told me so. I'd already told Sheriff Smith not to call the men out. I'd already ensured there'd be no men at Essex's call tomorrow. But Essex needed to think there would be — to make him rebel, so he could destroy himself. And you nearly spoilt it.'
'Nearly?' croaked Gresham. 'And as you've been rubbing at the same spot for five minutes, do you think I could suck on the cloth, even if half the liquid's my own blood?'
George reached for a pitcher of water on the floor, and offered it to Gresham.
'Just pour it over my bloody head.'
It was water in the desert. Cold snow on the burn from the fire for a few seconds. Then the pain returned.
'Yes, nearly,' said George. 'Cameron explained to Essex that you'd be bound to say what you did, that you must have found out about the thousand men and decided the only way to stop the rebellion, the only way for Cecil to preserve his power, was to persuade you that the thousand men didn't exist. Cameron said he'd had direct word from Smith that the men were still there. So it's all right. It really is! Essex will go to the City tomorrow, expecting a thousand armed men to turn out for him. And they won't be there! And Essex's followers will lose heart, lose faith in him and evaporate. The rebellion'll be over! And no one will die except Essex and some of his foul cronies.'
'Why am I alive?' asked Gresham. He had just enough strength to reach out for the pitcher, drink, roll the stale fluid round his mouth and dried-out lips.
'Because of me,' said George. 'They were going to kill you. I said I'd done good service for the Earl, and that you and I'd been good friends, and that I only asked for one thing from him: your life. I said he could decide what to do with you when he was King, but that all great Kings started their reigns by acts of mercy. I gave him my word you'd stay tied up here, and I'd guarantee you wouldn't be released. I think Cameron wanted you dead. Essex wouldn't have it, though I think he was tempted.'
Cameron would have hated seeing Gresham live. Essex probably had enough shreds of decency left in him to respond to George's plea. Gresham probably did owe his life to George. How ironic.
'What's their plan for tomorrow?' asked Gresham. He was strong enough to inch himself up a little more now. He only saw two images of George instead of three.
'They had a terrible argument,' whispered George. 'Davies had a brilliant plan to take over the Court, capture the Queen and go from there. Then that terrible man Gorges poured cold water over it, said that unless we captured the Tower and the City first we'd simply be besieged in Whitehall, particularly as we don't even know if Cecil and Nottingham and all the rest of the power brokers are actually at Whitehall. All we know is that we march at dawn. Cameron's doing everything he can to make Essex march to the City. He says if Essex goes to Whitehall — Essex has nearly four hundred men here already, you know — he might actually capture the Queen and the Court, that the rebellion might succeed.' George looked down at Gresham. 'Look, I'm really sorry. Sorry for all of it. I didn't mean to get you in danger. Cameron swears you'd have been spared on the boat. But I did save your life, tonight, here. They'd have killed you if I hadn't stood up. Now I can untie your legs, but only if you give me your word you won't run off. You see, if you're not here tomorrow, I'm well and truly dead.'
Gresham looked at George, and wondered if he could tell him the truth. He had to. He had no option.
'George,' he said, 'you've been fooled. You've been sold a line.'
'Oh, not that again!' said George. 'You just can't bear it that for once I've been cleverer than you.'
'George,' said Gresham, 'those thousand men exist. Or five hundred of them at least, and about fifty others who arrived in a merchant ship last week, moored up-river. They're there now. They're battened down below in the day, but they take them ashore to walk and breathe a bit at night, when no one can see them.'
No one except the father of one of Gresham's men, who was a poacher, and had seen strange men exercising on the shore at a time when no law-abiding man was about. That had been the message which had been causing him so much thought, just before Jane had told him about Richard the Second being performed at the Globe.
'Men? On a boat? But I don't understand!'
'Nor does the poacher who heard those dozen men talking on the shore in Spanish. Nor did anyone else when a man with a goatee beard yelled at two of his men not to kill me on board the
Anna. Or perhaps only I heard. When he called out first of all, he shouted Spanish for "Hold off!" Then he shouted in perfect English. It happens to people in the heat of battle. They revert to type.'
'But I still don't understand-'
'No, you don't That's the whole point. Cameron doesn't work for Essex, or for Cecil, or even for James.'
A wave of nausea hit Gresham. He recognised it as a result of minor concussion, the almost inevitable result of a bad blow to the head.
'Cameron works for Spain. Has done all along.'
'Spain?. Spain?' George's brow was furrowed. 'But that's impossible! I don't see-'
'Keep your voice down! Can't you see it's the only explanation? Do you think Spain's given up its ambition for the English throne when it has a perfectly good claim to it, one that stands up in any court? One that even Cecil has to acknowledge? When countless thousands of its men and countless millions of its gold have been poured into a string of Armadas, only one of which ever got within sight of our shores? When it's funded ten or more assassination attempts on the Queen? When it pays a "pension" to half the influential people in the Court, including Cecil? When the Queen, and Cecil, and Essex, and Raleigh, and for all I know even bloody James himself, have seen James as the heir apparent, thought the threat from Spain was only from Spanish invasion and dismissed it, been lulled into a sense of false security? And all the while Spain's been working on the real plot, the one way it can guarantee to get the Infanta on the throne of England.'
'But how? I just don't see-'
'Think!' said Gresham. 'For years Spain's been working on Cecil to isolate Essex, to get rid of him. Essex — the only one who wouldn't take a Spanish pension. And Cecil does their job for them, because he thinks he can play them and King James off against each other, and he wants rid of Essex — the only man with more influence with the Queen than he has — as much as they do. So Essex is first of all put in a position where he can't refuse to go to Ireland, and as a direct result is forced into rebellion. After that, it's simple. It only takes two men to get Spain on the throne of England: Grey is one. Bastard that he is, I'll bet my inheritance he's been in the pay of Spain for years. So he launches an attack on Essex's closest friend, Southampton, guaranteed to provoke Essex, be the last straw, act like a glove slapped across his face. The famous Sheriff Smith is the second man. Pay him to be on Essex's side, raise these men. And pay him to look the other way when his militia are reinforced in the morning by fifty extra men, dressed like militia but Spanish. Trained marksmen.'
'How can so few men make a difference?' asked George in desperation.
'You still can't see it, can you?' said Gresham. 'If Essex has any sense, he'll take Smith's men straight to Whitehall. He secures the Queen, takes her prisoner, calls Parliament together and declares a protectorate. London's fed up enough with the Queen and Cecil to rise up in support of him. Particularly if the Queen's kept alive.'
'So… so how does Spain come into all this?'
'So unbeknown to Essex, to Cecil and to anyone else except King Philip of Spain, there's fifty trained marksmen in that troop of bloody militia. Fifty Spanish marksmen smuggled in by bloody Cameron. Fifty trained marksmen who'll make sure they're in the forefront of those who go to drag the Queen from her bedchamber, who'll then calmly put a musket ball in her head or
in her breast.'
'Oh God,' said George in a quiet voice, the enormity of it all suddenly dawning on him.
'Oh God, indeed,' said Gresham. He was sitting with his back to a wall. 'Are you starting to see it now? I'll bet half the Spaniards are English speakers, renegade Catholics who think they'll get to heaven by killing the heretic Queen. A few of them might be Scots too. No shortage of Scotsmen in the mercenary trade. When they've shot the Queen, they'll find and kill Cecil. He never leaves any Palace where the Queen is staying. Then they'll shoot Essex, and probably Meyrick and Davies if they get a chance.'
'And Cameron Johnstone will stand up with his Scottish accent,' said George, 'and declare the rebellion is in the name of King James of Scotland, soon to be King James of England.'
'And for good measure probably say as well that James is poised with an army just north of the border, poised to invade England to reinforce his point that he's our next King. It's very clever, isn't it?' said Gresham who was tiring of saying important things in a whisper. George's head was bowed. 'Both of James's greatest supporters, Cecil and Essex, are dead. A Scots King has not only killed his allies in Court, but has also killed our Queen. The English have gone off Elizabeth recently, but if anyone's going to kill her the average Englishman wants it to be one of us, not some hunchbacked sodomite from Scotland. And he's killed Essex as well, who they really do like. They're going to love James, aren't they? Raleigh will be the only survivor with any real clout. And guess what? For some strange reason they won't seek him out and kill him. He'll be the only figure with power in Court who's allowed to escape. He'll go berserk if he thinks James killed Elizabeth, he'll be galvanised into action. He'll have ambassadors off to Spain pleading for the Infanta to take over the throne before dawn's risen, and by evening he'll have an army marching to block the border. For once, everyone in England'll be on his side. And dear old James, who thought he had it all sewn up — Elizabeth seeing him as the least worse choice, Cecil gunning for him, Cameron Johnstone orchestrating it all beautifully, even Essex on his side — suddenly finds himself high and dry, the most hated man in England, his greatest ally proving to be a traitor, his other so-called allies all dead.'
'How could Cameron do that?' asked George, needing no concentration now to speak in a whisper. 'And how could I have been such a fool?'
'Same answer,' said Gresham.*You see, a fox doesn't worry about killing a chicken. It doesn't invent a God, or morality, to tell it what to do. It doesn't give meaning to things, try to work out reasons. It just goes for the kill, because that's how it survives. Most humans aren't like that. They aren't animals, they have all these weaknesses: goodness, morality, feelings, a conscience, all that rubbish on the road to survival. Sometimes you meet people who've none of it: Cecil's one; Cameron's another. They have one, simple instinct, and no morality. Used in the right way, it gives you tremendous strength. And a huge advantage over the rest of us. By the way, he'll be here to kill me before long.' 'What?' said George.
'Think about it,' said Gresham. 'Cameron laid me out because I was about to tell Essex the truth. He'd have shot or stabbed me if he'd had the chance, but he didn't have a pistol and Essex had stopped everyone drawing their swords. What did he lay me out with? A stool? Or was it a complete table?' Gresham felt gingerly at the edges of his wound. 'Anyway, he can't let me live.'
'So what do we do?' asked George desperately.
'If I vanish and he comes in, he'll simply raise a hue and cry. You stay awake,' said Gresham, 'and keep my arms free, and lay your sword down here, by me where it won't alarm one of these men if they wake, but where Cameron can see it. And if you can grab a pistol, and point it at him, so much the better. But resist him because you're a friend of mine. Don't let him know what I've told you.'
'I thought we weren't friends any more,' said George.
'Irony comes back before friendship,' said Gresham. 'Stay awake.'
'But what about the fifty men?' asked George.
'As it happens,' said Gresham tiredly. It was going to be a real struggle to stay awake, never mind what dawn brought. 'High tide was about half an hour before sunset today. They can't land the men until nightfall. Take an hour, maybe a bit less to get them to the City. So by night the ebb tide would be positively ripping along. My men should have cut the mooring ropes just after dark. If it was windy they'll have had to board. But I don't think there's been any wind, so simply cutting the ropes should be enough. They'll only have one spare anchor at most, and it won't hold on that bottom, not with a full tide. There's no point in trying to sail up against the tide, not without wind. My men'll follow them down, give them a shooting party if they try to leave the ship. It'll be enough to make sure they're not where they need to be when they're needed. And Smith won't be there either. I saw to him this morning. It's amazing what an intimate description of what it's like to be hung, drawn and quartered does to a man.'
Cameron came in the hour before dawn. Gresham was still propped up against the wall, one arm conveniently near George's sword. George stared at Cameron, unblinking, a pistol surprisingly steady in his hand.
There was nothing in Cameron's eyes. No expression. No feeling. He looked directly at George.
'Your lands and your life, or your so-called friend? The choice is yours. But don't think you can have both! If I leave here with Gresham, you're safe. If I leave here without him, I'll make sure you're one of the first to be hung, drawn and quartered when Spain takes over the Crown!'
Gresham looked at George, not seeing a man worn down by failure, jealousy and bad decisions. Instead he saw the burly figure who had waded into the boys in the playground when Gresham was being beaten to a pulp, losing his senses and his dignity when a group of boys who had decided that to be a bastard was a crime had set on him.
'My so-called friend has scuppered your and Spain's chances. I hope even if I didn't know that, I'd choose my friend.'
Cameron was weighing up his chances, Gresham could see. Yet the pistol did not waver, and Gresham's capacity to resist was an unknown quantity. Cameron looked straight into Gresham's eyes.
'Perhaps not now. But later: you and your woman and your servant.'
'You realise the worst of it?' Gresham asked after Cameron had left, radiating malevolent hatred. 'If Essex turns to Whitehall, we might still have him as King. I've no way of knowing if Spain has other men suborned at Whitehall, other men who might kill the Queen. It's possible.' It was the thought that had helped keep him awake through the dreadful night.
'So what's the answer?' asked George.
'I'm thinking,' said Gresham.
Essex House awoke before dawn, the atmosphere as frenzied as it had been the night before. Men were hoping to see their leader. They were disappointed.
'Bundle me in a corner,' said Gresham to George. 'Half hide me in that tapestry! And put some rope loosely round my wrists, so it looks as if I'm tied up still.'
Where was Essex? There were 300 armed men in the yard now, and more men coming in and out of the dining hall, not least because food was being prepared and handed out there. They could hear the noise of men riding out from the yard an hour or more before dawn, calling to Essex's supporters, gathering the clan. The men who came in to feed, gossip and look for their leader talked wildly. Raleigh had called to see his kinsman Sir Ferdinando Gorges at first light. Essex was so suspicious that he demanded the meeting take place on a boat in the middle of the Thames, in full view of Essex House. Discussion had been cut short when Essex had ordered four musketeers to set out from the river gate, and his bitter enemy Raleigh had rowed away. A consignment of arms ordered by Rutland from Europe had not arrived. Too many of the Welsh had not come to London yet. Where was Essex? Every minute that went by allowed the Privy Council to muster its forces.
It was late now, long past dawn, and the sense of frustration in the dining hall was getting greater by the minute. There was a sudden burst of jeering, yells from the yard; then a sudden cheer.
'Go to the wind
ow,' said Gresham, 'or better still, help me up so I can see.'
Gresham was convinced that if he appeared unbound he would be killed. Nearly every man who came in cast a wary glance at him. With George's help, he hobbled to the window.
The Privy Council had sent a deputation to Essex. Their arrival had been the source of the jeers. The cheers had been for Essex. He was there with a host of the others — Southampton, Rutland, Mounteagle — standing in the yard.
'Open the bloody window!' urged Gresham, and George fumbled with the catch. 'My God they're trying!' Gresham said.
'Who's trying?' said George.
'The Privy Council, that's who,' replied Gresham. 'Look at who they've sent: Egerton with the seal. He was Essex's jailer when he first fell out with the Queen, and by all accounts tried to be as decent as he could. Then there's Essex's uncle, Sir William Knollys and Worcester — he's a friend of Essex's. Who's the other one?'
'Popham,' said George, 'the Lord Chief Justice. I suppose they had to send him.'
'Hush!' said Gresham. He could only pick out odd words. Egerton raised his voice over the noise of the crowd, asking what the reason for this assembly was. Essex shouted back, speaking to his own men more than to the Lord Keeper, that men had sought to kill him, murder him even in his bed.
The Privy Councillors all tried to speak, but Southampton burst in, shrieking about the assault on him by Grey. The men started to chant, cheer and jeer. Egerton suddenly rammed his hat firmly down on his head. His words were clear enough. Disperse, he said to the crowd, or be found guilty of treason. Now that was guts, thought Gresham. He only hoped the actual guts that had produced the order would not soon be laid out on the cobbles of the yard. There were howls, yells, obscenities. 'Kill them!' was the least violent. Essex swung round, marched into the house. The four Privy Councillors followed him, buffeted by the crowd. The tumult came inside the house. Essex's study was along the corridor, separated from the dining chamber by a vestibule. For a moment Gresham thought the Privy Councillors were going to be marched into the dining hall. There was an increase in the noise, shouted words, raised voices. A door slammed. The Privy Councillors had been locked in Essex's study. The noise advanced to the dining hall. The door was flung open, and Essex was caught in the light from the high windows. He looked ill.
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