The Coming of the King: Henry Gresham and James I (The Henry Gresham Series Book 3)

by Martin Stephen

  ‘Is that a general accusation, relating to my whole life?’ said Raleigh moodily. He was restless, cooped up, tense. ‘Or does it relate to something specific?’

  ‘I think you were into something serious against James,’ said Gresham, ‘but just weren’t sure if Cobham was the man to do your dirty work. So you strung him along, almost to test him, and were going to decide what to do with him – use him in a rebellion, or offer him up to the King in exchange for your getting back into favour – if and when he made it to Jersey.’

  Raleigh had flung himself into a chair, thrown his head back and closed his eyes. It was as if he had not heard Gresham.

  Was Raleigh still plotting? He was entirely capable of doing so whilst in prison. In his captivity before his trial he had turned on his immense charm, as only he could do, bewitched the hapless son of the Keeper of the Tower and made the boy carry secret letters for him. He had also written some of the most moving words to Bess, the night before his planned execution. Bess had shown them to Gresham.

  ‘Are you still plotting?’ asked Gresham.

  ‘You won’t believe me if I say no, and if the answer’s yes you’re best not knowing,’ said Raleigh, which was no help at all. ‘Now, I really appreciate your coming to see me, but I do have things to do ...’

  It was a dismissal, and a rude one at that. Gresham had wondered about mentioning mercenary armies and livery companies, but shied away. Raleigh had saved Gresham’s life twice now, but Gresham sensed if Raleigh saw Gresham as a real threat to Raleigh’s freedom he would be prepared to kill him.

  April. The City, or part of it, was planning for something to happen in April. Something requiring thousands of trained soldiers. But what was it?

  Chapter Fourteen

  January to February 1604

  They stumbled on their first breakthrough in late January.

  It could not have come early enough for Gresham. An army was being recruited that could topple a kingdom, yet not a whisper circulated among the army that was Gresham’s spy network. With one exception. A Sea Captain. Or rather, a former Sea Captain. A Sea Captain who, out of sight of land, had been willing to take any ship that looked weaker than his own. He was in some respects the maritime equivalent of Travis – a killing machine, sea rather than land-borne, available for hire. Captain Billy, as he delighted to be called, had made one mistake. His voyage paid for by a London merchant, he had come across a lumbering tub of an English merchantman, out of sight of England and France. And decided it was easy meat. Drunk, he had not spotted the four brass cannon on each side of the tub. Nor had he credited the tub’s Captain with the capacity to blast grapeshot into his attacker, decimating Billy’s men, and then neatly tack round not once, but twice, sending hard ball into the hull of his attacker. Sending it so hard that the foremast toppled and broke, with Captain Billy forced to break off and head home. The crew, pirates in all but name, were surprisingly democratic. Captain Billy was unceremoniously dumped ashore. He was lucky. It would have more normal for him to have been dumped over the side. He now haunted the inns of the port of London, hoping for free drink and telling stories no-one believed. He was a minor player, so the demand that he must meet Gresham and only Gresham either meant the old man had finally lost his senses, or had something to impart that he at least thought was worth a lot of money.

  The inn was dire. The girls who served the beer were raddled, sad things, as good an advert for chastity as could be found. The floor looked as if centuries of vomit had only been half-cleaned. Though it was late afternoon, and there was still light to see by, the shutters remained closed, and only a thin fire, belching out more smoke than heat, fought the January cold.

  ‘You know about the Spanish traders?’ whispered Captain Billy, nervously looking over his shoulder.

  ‘If you whisper and look over your shoulder you only draw attention to yourself,’ said Gresham. ‘Your best cover is to talk normally and look as if you don’t have a care in the world.’

  ‘Right!’ said Captain Billy, looking over his shoulder.

  Gresham decided to give up. ‘Who and what are the Spanish traders?’

  Billy looked so nervous that for a moment Gresham thought he was going to go silent. Somehow he forced the words out.

  ‘Trade with Spain is difficult, very difficult, as you know.’ Hostilities between the two countries, and the fact that English merchantmen felt able to take a pop at any Spanish vessel they chose, had made it so.

  ‘Well, war or no war, there’s a tidy sum of money to be made out of Spanish goods. Spanish leather and Spanish wine are only two examples. Loads of our jewels come from the Spanish new world colonies. Chances are that fine sword of yours is Toledo steel.’

  ‘So?’ said Gresham, more interested than he thought he would have been when he started this wild goose chase.

  ‘Well, there’s a group of merchants in the City who’ve had a deal with Spain for years now, or at least a deal with those like them in Spain. They get access to the Spanish goods, and the ships that carry the goods back to England agree not to attack any Spanish hull. In return, the English ships are given free passage.’

  ‘By the Government?’ asked Gresham.

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Billy. Gresham was beginning to realise there was intelligence in this man. ‘More like private enterprise, the right people bribed to look the other way, that sort of thing. Greasing the right palms is expensive – it’s one reason why those boots of yours and that sword are so expensive. But the merchants here don’t mind. Everyone knows how difficult it is to get Spanish goods, so there’s a premium charge can go on them.’

  ‘So a group of City merchants make their pile out of illegal trade with Spain?’

  ‘Yes, but there’s more.’ Billy started to look over his shoulder, caught Gresham’s eye and stopped.

  ‘You don’t hear so much nowadays about the English knocking off the big treasure ships. But I tell you, there’s a mint of money being made by some people – some few people – in having a go at the smaller Spanish ships.’

  ‘Piracy,’ said Gresham.

  ‘You might call it that,’ said Billy. ‘Others just call it good business.’

  ‘So there’s a group of merchants and associated sea captains who do very well out of war with Spain. Is that what you’re saying?’ asked Gresham. It made sense.

  ‘Yes, but things are changing. Seriously changing.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Word is that Spain really does want peace. Has wanted it since 1598, when the talks collapsed. Word is the new King hasn’t got the stomach. And there’s a bunch of City people who reckon on there being more money in peace than war.’

  ‘So tell me how that works,’ said Gresham.

  ‘It was different when Spain was sending Armadas at us. Attacking their ships wasn’t just good business, it was defending ourselves. Now the threats more or less gone away. Each year there’s less money to be made from piracy – the Spanish are getting braver and better at defending themselves. And while a few blokes make a mint out of trading in Spanish goods at a premium, there’s a load more reckon they could make real money now out of normal trade.’

  All very interesting,’ said Gresham, whose mind was racing to see if there was any relationship between this and the unprecedented raising of a mercenary army by London tradesmen. ‘But where is it all leading?’

  ‘That’s for you to work out,’ said Billy. ‘But I can tell you one thing. A number of Captains have been paid quite a lot of money not to attack any Spanish ships. Of course, not many ships go out this time of year, but it’s still a tidy sum.’

  Commerce slowed right down over the winter, but some ships had to sail regardless of the weather.

  ‘’How much is what I’m going to tell you next worth?’ asked Billy.

  ‘How can I know that u
ntil I know what it is you’re going to tell me?’ asked Gresham.

  A frown furrowed Billy’s low brow. He was clearly about to give birth to something he at least thought was worth a lot. Gresham relented. He put his hand in his purse, brought out gold coins. He placed one in the palm of his hand. Clenched his fist, placed it in Billy’s sweating palm and released a coin. The flash of gold in a place like this could have them both killed.

  ‘That for how much you’ve told me already. Same again if I deem what you’re about to tell me is good.’

  Billy swallowed hard. Gresham had overpaid him, he realised.

  ‘Well ...’ said Billy, clearly nervous. Was it because of the news he was about to give, or fear of losing his money?

  ‘I know five of the ships that used to trade with Spain have hired for April ...’

  April again!

  ‘... and told they’ll be sailing to Spain and bringing a cargo back.’

  ‘What cargo?’

  ‘You tell me. What I can tell you is they’ve been told to leave the hold empty, and pack food and water for 200 men apiece.’

  Soldiers. It had to be Spanish soldiers. A thousand Spanish soldiers to meet up with two thousand mercenaries. They would command England. The Earl of Essex, back in 1601, could have taken the throne with barely a hundred men. When he took the crucial decision to turn right out of his house on The Strand, to collect militia from the City, had he turned left he would have found the rulers of England at Whitehall Palace guarded by a handful of men. Gresham had persuaded Essex to turn right, and so betrayed his friend. England had no standing army. A surprise attack on wherever the Court was would meet no opposition. And Whitehall, Richmond, all the other palaces were not fortified.

  ‘And where will this ... cargo be landed.’

  ‘The ships have been told to anchor off the Tower of London, as near as they can get. And they’ve been given money to buy extra boats.’

  The Tower. It had to be. Not every vessel could make it that far. It was at the end of the Pool of London. The ships chosen would be the smaller ones, or ships with relatively flat bottoms that could nip up the coast and into the thousands of small harbours that dotted the English coast. There was a risk in this, of course: the smaller the vessel, the more likely it was to founder. But if the vessels coast-hopped from Spain, dropped anchor in shelter if and when the weather turned bad, it could work. And to take The Tower first! It was a brilliant idea. It was London’s only defensible stronghold, its ancient walls thick enough to stand even a cannonade for a period of time, albeit that successive monarchs had neglected its defences. It was still London’s arsenal, and an invading force would not only grab the Government’s powder and weaponry store, but acquire them for its own use. And taking The Tower? It was a prison nowadays, simply not on a war footing. The last assault on it had been in Mary’s reign. It had few Guards, and Gresham doubted they had the stomach for a fight. Bribe a few people to leave a few doors open and you would not even need the Controller of The Tower on your side. Faced with even fifty crack Spanish troops inside the outer wall, few men would die for a lost cause – particularly if five hundred top mercenaries were baying outside the gate. If the Spaniards once got in The Tower, it was difficult to see who in England could get them out.

  Raleigh. He had to be involved. The Spanish troops would anchor not just opposite London’s only fortress and its armoury. It was also the current home of the only Englishman capable of leading a rebellion against James.

  Raleigh would love, and appreciate, the irony. He had gone to his trial; hated, reviled and spat on. The blatant unfairness of that trial had rubbed up against one of the better traits of the English, a sense of fair play – for all that their rulers had rarely obeyed it. Fickle public opinion, aided by the natural xenophobic hatred of the Scots, had swung round now to make Raleigh the hero of the nation.

  Yet Raleigh must think he would retain control, must have some reason to think that the Spanish would leave him to rule England.

  Cecil! It had to be Cecil! Cecil had been surprisingly sympathetic to Raleigh at his trial. It was easy to forget that Cecil and Raleigh had been friends. Bess, Raleigh’s wife, had taken in Cecil’s children when their mother had died, and treated them as her own. What if James was proving too tricky a horse for Cecil to control? What if Cecil was looking at the fate of those who had helped James to the throne of England, and wondering if it was only a matter of time before Cecil was thrown down, having served his purpose? What if Cecil conducted an audit on himself, and realised that he was neither Scottish nor a beautiful young man, the two clear ways to James’s heart? What if he compared himself with James, and wondered how long such a relationship could last? James loved physical beauty in men: Cecil was deformed. James was addicted to sweet white wine: Cecil disliked alcohol, as something which took away a man’s control over his life. James was addicted to hunting: Cecil despised blood sports, and saw war as the worst of them all. James despised the routine of governance, was easily bored: Cecil delighted in the minutiae.

  How much easier it would be for Cecil to have a monarch he could control and dominate.

  Arbella. Arabella. The bird-brain, dim-wit girl whose power lay in her second name: Stuart. The girl with a real claim to have the blood of English monarchy running through her veins.

  So let us suppose...

  Gresham was divorced from the increasing sense of panic shown by Captain Billy. Gresham had clearly taken off and was now living in a different world, mentally at least, from that inhabited by Billy and the other users of the tawdry inn. Where had Gresham gone? Would Billy get his money?

  Mannion, who had been seated two tables away, moved over and sat himself down between Billy and Gresham.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘ ‘Appens a lot, this does.’ Too often, in Mannion’s opinion, not that Gresham ever listened. ‘Just let ’im be with the fairies for a bit. While we’re waiting, ‘ow about another drink?’

  So let us suppose, Gresham thought, oblivious, that there really is an unholy alliance between Raleigh, Cecil and the Livery Companies.

  Whilst James I is on the throne, Raleigh is simply living dead. With Arbella, who knows? Perhaps she will fall under his sway, as did another Virgin Queen?

  As for Cecil, in Arbella he has a compliant Queen who he can mould to his image.

  And for both of them, if there is a regime change backed by Spanish power, what better person to validate and authenticate it than Sir Walter Raleigh? The scourge of the Spanish, who gives his word and his honour that Spain will not outstay its welcome, and in exchange for peace will simply help to put an English Queen on an English throne with English people as her chief advisors. Surely the English have little to fear from their hated enemy if that enemy’s interference is backed by an Englishman who has been their greatest enemy?

  And for the Livery Companies? Just that. The opening up of a mutually beneficial trade between the two countries. Instead of the money to be made from trade with Spain going to a select few, it would be shared within a wider group. A consummation devoutly to be wished, well worth a few thousand pounds – particularly backed as it was by the King’s Chief Secretary.

  It was beautiful in its own way. What other plan could unite the man who had done most to bring a Scots King to the throne, and now wished to bring him down, a convicted traitor, England’s sworn enemy and a bunch of middle class businessmen? It was breathtaking. Raleigh gets himself out of The Tower and feeding at the trough again, and Cecil? Cecil has a glorious part to play. Exonerated from any suggestion that he was behind the arrival of the Spaniards, he would graciously step up to the mark and negotiate alongside a change of monarch the peaceful departure of the Spaniards, thereby gaining heroic status.

  And what was in it for the Spanish? A long-awaited peace with England, the end of a war she could no longer afford and
an end to the English destruction of her shipping. Plus also the opening up of a mutually beneficial trade between the two countries. But far, far more important was religion. James was already reneging on his promise to emancipate Catholics in England. Some thought he was shaping up to be an even harder task-master than Elizabeth. If the price for putting Arbella on the throne was tolerance of Catholicism in England – and that would be the Spanish price – then it was a remarkably good value deal in the light of the millions and millions that had been poured into a string of Armadas, bought for the price of a thousand soldiers and the hire of a few ships. With the two most powerful people in England in their debt, the Spanish would have all the power they needed over England to make sure it posed no threat to Spanish interests, as well as the huge benefits of peaceful trade and an end to piracy.

  The more Gresham thought, the more full of admiration he became. It was a brilliant scheme, with something in it for everyone

  Yet Gresham’s soul shuddered at the prospect.

  He did not believe Spain would leave. Ever. He could see that Raleigh and Cecil would believe Spain would be content to leave the rule of England in the hands of their new-found friends, yet Cecil did not know the Spaniards as Gresham did. Gresham had felt the bitter, bitter blow to Spanish pride as the 1588 Armada failed, had sensed and seen in the atrocities carried out by Spanish troops the deep, unthinking hatred of Spain for those who followed the Protestant faith. For many Spaniards leaving the true Church was akin to someone leaving behind their right to be treated as a human. Huge amounts of Catholic blood had been shed to put Spanish troops on English soil. Gresham did not think that Spain would ever give up its garrison in The Tower once it had a foothold there. And apart from the fact that Gresham approved of the English running their own country and objected to the idea of it becoming just another Spanish province, he would be among the first Englishmen to be burnt if it was Spain calling the shots. He had damaged Spain too often and too hard for forgiveness. No. Cecil and Raleigh must believe this plot would allow them to use Spain to put them both in power. Gresham believed Spain was using Cecil and Raleigh to put itself in power.