Late July, 1598 Scotland
Their arrival in Scotland was an anti-climax. Blustery, sharp winds chased them up the coast, threatening a storm that never quite happened. They saw numerous other sail, but none seemed to want to follow their exact course, none seemed threatening. Gresham eyed with grim memories the towers of Dunbar Castle, perched on its twin rocks, and the vast three-towered bulk of Tantallon Castle, but no boats scuttled out to chase the Anna, and Tantallon seemed deserted. There was no quayside berth for them at Leith, but the anchorage seemed half empty by the side of the bustle of London. A cloud of smoke, coal and wood seemed to hover permanently over Edinburgh, even though it was the middle of summer.
The first disappointment was horses. All they could seem to hire. were small nags, underfed and as grumpy as their owner. Still, Gresham had dressed in the most sober and sombre manner to avoid attention, and the horses were at least in keeping with his clothes. The second disappointment was what was rumoured to be one of the best hostelries in the city. It was dark, cramped and stank of stale piss, where previous inhabitants had clearly not bothered with chamber pots. He set Mary, the maid, and his three men working to scrub the rooms, even cajoling some hot water out of the kitchen and some half-decent soap. He left the job to Jane's ministrations. She seemed settled now, quiet but calm, and had made no mention of her brush with the master since it had happened. Before Gresham left, he noted that she had donned a simple smock, and was on her hands and knees, scrubbing away like a washerwoman. How extraordinary to move so quickly and easily from being the most beautiful woman at Court to this. Dick had returned to the world of the sane alongside her after the battle, yet Gresham could detect no familiarity between the young man and the beautiful girl of the same age. Whatever else Jane had mastered, she had the ability to send out the strongest possible signal to any interested male that she was not available. If rumour was to be believed she was the first woman in England to turn Essex down.
Gresham and Mannion set off to get the sense of the city. James held Court at Holyrood Palace; it was a poor thing from the outside compared to the Palaces Elizabeth owned. The forbidding bulk of the castle and Arthur's seat dominated the city, overlooking the stinking pond that they call Nor' Loch. It was not a place to bring cheer to the soul, Gresham thought.
Cameron Johnstone was the name Gresham had been given when he had asked for a contact in Scotland. A thin, straggly lawyer dressed from head to toe in black. Part of his garb would have been fashionable in London five years earlier, but part showed a strong French influence. The impression of legal respectability was spoilt by a thin scar that ran from his chin to just under his right ear. His accent was as thick as Scottish rain, but understandable. His office was also clean, and Gresham and Mannion had learnt enough about life in Scotland to relish what seemed to be the absence of fleas on both their host and his furnishings.
'Ye'll be wanting refreshment?' asked the man, and a fat servant girl with freckles and great plump cheeks brought in wine. It was good. French, by the look and the taste, and had kept well.
Something nagged at the back of Gresham's mind. He knew he had never talked with this man before, never met him face to face. But had he seen him before? There was something vaguely familiar about the slightly shambling figure, the way the head was held slightly to one side…
'Now,' said the man, 'I'll be of the mind that you'll no want to be wasting your time or mine. Any friend of the Earl of Northumberland is a friend of mine — though not of all my countrymen, I might add.' He allowed a brief grin to flit across his features. The Percy family, Earls of Northumberland, had been fighting the Scots, when they had not been fighting their own King, for time immemorial. It was a relationship based not so much on love and hate as familiarity and hate. Percy had business interests in Scotland, had recommended this man and had provided him with a letter of introduction.
The lawyer glanced at Percy's letter. He listened as Gresham gave his invented story of being told of a Scots couple who had briefly lived in the village from where he had rescued Jane, who had paid a local man to look after the girl while they were away 'for a few months' and who had never come back. East Linton, that was the name of the village they claimed to have come from. Jeffrey was the name that had been given, said Gresham. Angus Jeffrey and, perhaps, a Belinda Jeffrey. He knew it was not much, but it was all he had to go on. Johnstone looked at Gresham, having taken brief notes, and Gresham felt he was being looked into and through.
'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.
'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!'
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.'
'To stop the assassination? Those were your instructions?'
Cameron looked uncomfortable. The motion of the boat was rising and falling in the easy swell, now they had cleared Leith, but Cameron's discomfort had nothing to do with the sea.
'Well, no, as it happened. My instructions were simply to identify the boy, find out who he was working for, if the plot was real.'
'And did you?'
'Identify him? Yes, though he was surprisingly well buried. Find out if the plot was real? There was reason to believe so. The boy was living above his means, had purchased two very fine pistols and so on. As for finding out who he was working for, no. That was our failure.'
'And your master would have let him do his work?' Gresham asked.
'Aye, well… that was left rather open.'
'It would be, wouldn't it? James must be desperate for the throne of England. Elizabeth's death might be seen as simply speeding up an event that is going to happen anyway.'
'If you mean that the relative poverty of our country and the perceived wealth and splendour of England has given many of our noble families a gleam in their eye that outshines the star at the nativity, yes. And James himself would deeply love to leave the intrigue — and, aye, the threat to his own life — behind him.' Cameron paused for a moment. 'That was why I had to think long and hard before I stopped the man. In the act, as it happens.'
'You stopped him?' said Gresham, fascinated.
'We'd actually been given a date for the attempt. Except it was a week later than when the fool actually tried it. At Court. Simple, really. He planned to move forward at the start of the procession, when Elizabeth first marched from her bed chamber through the antechamber, fire a pistol at her head from the closest range and presumably back that up with a dagger. I'd been watching him for a week, and sensed something was different in him.'
'Why was there no scandal?' asked Gresham incredulously. 'Why didn't we hear about this?'
'Luck, mainly,' said Cameron. 'I grabbed him at the back of the crowd, as he was making to break through, tumbled him through an arras and an open door. I hadn't realised how much all eyes are on the Queen at moments like that. Anyway, we got away with it. Only a few guards saw the disturbance, and they were easily settled.' 'And the assassin?'
'Dead, unfortunately. He fought like the Devil, and it was him or me. Which meant we never did find out who he was working for.' 'So why did you decide to stop him?'
Cameron sighed. 'It was damned difficult. For all I knew James wanted her dead. But the truth was, the boy was Scottish. I can't help but believe that if he'd been paid by the Scots I'd have heard somehow. The father didn't know who the boy was working for, just knew he was planning to do something dreadful in England and had said goodbye to them all in a letter. He only wanted the boy's life saved. Which we failed in as well.'
Gresham said, 'But even if the boy wasn't working for the Scots no one would believe it. James would have been seen as setting up the murder, and the effect might have been to rule him out of the succession. So you decided that your King's chances of becoming King of England would actually be lessened if the murder succeeded, and so stopped it.'
'Summed up like a professional!' said Cameron. 'And then I decided that we might as well get as much advantage from the situation as possible, and told Cecil, having disposed of the body. I told him the boy was Scottish, told him how we'd heard, and was very forcible in my denial that James had any part of it. He believed me, I think. After all, the assassination would have turned people against James. Cecil told your Queen. I suspect that letter was her thanks. And possibly even a promise.'
'The promise of a throne?'
'It seems likely. You see, I'm a cynic. Most Scots are, and if you look at our history you'll see why. I think Elizabeth hates James. I think she wants him as the next King to throw her reign into glory. I think she's starting to hate her country for letting her die, and making James her heir she sees, in a perverted way, as her revenge.'
'My, my,' said Gresham.*You are cynical, aren't you?'
'All too likely to be bloody true, though,' said Mannion. 'She's always been too much of a bloody woman. Can't make her mind up, changes it all the time when she does. It'd been all right if she'd had babies. Babies makes women stop being selfish.'
Mannion's summary of half of humanity was at least clear and simple.
'So that's why you like giving women babies so much?' asked Gresham. 'You see it as your social duty to help out womenkind?'
'Well,' said Mannion, 'you upper-class bastards — beggin' your pardon — spend enough time ensuring the line doesn't die out. You can't deny the same privilege to the working classes.'
There was a slight expression of confusion on Cameron's face. He had not heard too many interchanges between Mannion and his master before, and clearly had much to learn.
'All of which leaves the interesting question of who it was tried to kill the Queen,' said Gresham. 'The Pope? Spaniards?'
'They've tried before,' said Mannion glumly. It was common knowledge in the Court that King Philip of Spain had tried up to ten times to have the Queen killed.
'Or one of the English factions wanting to put a puppet Queen on the throne?' Gresham continued.
'Unfortunately for my credibility, you miss one other candidate out,' said Cameron. 'The Scots.'
'But you said it would be political suicide for the Scots to try and assassinate Elizabeth now,' said Gresham.
'Political suicide is what my kindred have been best at these past five hundred years,' said Cameron. 'We have nobles who can't think beyond the end of their bonnets, are even stupid enough not to see the consequences if a Scotsman murders the Queen. And some with memories of the last time one Queen murdered another. A Scottish Queen.'
'You were at Court,' said Gresham. 'Someone must have authorised that. Someone like the Queen.'
'I believe she knew of my presence. Unofficially,' said Cameron, sniffing.
'So you were the intermediary between Elizabeth and James? Placed in her Court with her consent to take that role? And when you had to go back to report to James because guards had seen you and your cover had gone, she was left with no messenger… which is presumably why the role descended on me.
'You'll be pleased to stay as my guest in The House,' said Gresham. Cameron started to demur, but Gresham held up his hand to silence him. 'The price of your passage is having you where I can keep an eye on you. And knowing an instant messenger is there should I need to write to King James myself. And,' Gresham continued, 'think how convenient it will be for you to keep an eye on me. And be so near to Essex.'
Cameron stayed silent. He realised this was an order, not a request.