The galleon's grave hg-3 Page 17

'As I said, attachments such as this are a weakness of yours. My lack of attachments is my strength. No harm need come to the woman you love. All that's required is that you are proven to have done no harm to me, and attempt no such harm in the future.'

  'I do not respond to threats,' said Cecil with acid in his voice. 'And what is most certain, above all other certainties, is that those who threaten me need look first to the threat to their own lives.'

  'Wonderful!' said Gresham, suddenly infinitely relaxed. 'Marvellous! You realise what's happened of courser Cecil did not realise, clearly. He was wrong-footed by the ebullient cheerfulness of Gresham's tone, confused. 'We've acknowledged that we're enemies. At last the slimy protocol of Court has been replaced by some real human feeling. My desire to kill your fiancee if you're the person seeking to kill me. Your desire really to kill me if I make that threat.'

  'If my reaction to our relatively brief acquaintance is any guide, there must be many who wish you ill, Henry Gresham,' said Cecil.

  'But few who will say it so clearly,' said Gresham with immense cheerfulness. 'How strange, yet how admirable, that from dislike can come honesty. Now we know each other.'

  'You will never know me,' said Cecil. *Nor you me,' said Gresham, 'but we can both know enough to get by.'

  'Why did you come here tonight?'

  'To see if it was you who tried to have me killed.'

  'And have you?'

  'Our meeting has prompted interesting thoughts,' said Gresham, smiling, relaxed now. 'And there is something you could do as a gesture of goodwill.'

  Cecil shifted uneasily in his seat. Was it physical pain, or mental uncertainty?

  Tou talk of goodwill after making bizarre threats against me?'

  'It was rumoured before I left that there was to be a diplomatic mission to the Duke of Parma, to see if peace could be negotiated between Spain and England. Has it happened?' Gresham asked.

  ‘You are well informed,' said Cecil. It was actually George who had been well informed, but Gresham saw no reason for Cecil to know that. 'No, the mission has not yet taken place. It will not do so for some while.'

  'The rumour also had it that you were to be a member of this mission. I need to accompany it. Your influence in allowing that to happen would be helpful.'

  ‘I would have thought Sir Francis Walsingham's influence was sufficient to ensure you your passport? Why not approach him?'

  'I may well do so. Yet his influence is not necessarily so massive as to resist an objection from, say, Lord Burghley. That same man who might seek to oppose my presence on this mission in the face of, say, an objection from his son.'

  'I repeat, you have just threatened to kill or maim my fiancee,' said Cecil, a vicious anger still in his voice, 'and now you are asking for my help. Do you not recognise a certain irony in your request?'

  'I prefer to think of it as pragmatism,' said Gresham. 'You would happily kill me without a moment's thought if I stood in your way. I reciprocate the gesture. The pragmatism comes in because all your climbing of the greasy pole at Court comes to nothing if our country collapses to an invasion and Spain rules in London. My presence on the diplomatic mission might help avert that.'

  'And how can I be certain that you work for England, and not Spain? How can I be certain that letter you say was forged was not genuine?'

  'You can't. But if I was a spy you would have an excellent chance to catch me out in the close company we would be forced to keep on such an expedition.'

  'And what would you do on such a mission? I do not relish one of our members being caught spying when we are in effect in enemy country. I care not if you lose your life, but it would be a sadness if in losing your own life you threatened the lives of the others on the mission.'

  'Nothing is certain. Yet I give you my word that what I plan to do will not harm England, nor the members of the diplomatic mission. It is essential that I visit the Duke of Parma's court. To do so openly would be the best cover of all. But there's more.' 'More?' echoed Cecil.

  'I also need permission to travel to Lisbon. That permission will have to be openly applied for.' Visits to foreign countries by a gentleman required the issue of a Queen's passport. 'I can obtain such permission, under normal circumstances, either in my own right or through my Lord Walsingham. I would not wish it to be blocked. By anyone with influence at Court, for example.'

  'Your… relationship with the Queen suggests you might gain most things that you ask for.'

  'My relationship with the Queen leaves me with a head on my shoulders simply because alone of those at Court I never ask her for anything. It's not your support I need. It is your word that you will not block my request.'

  Cecil looked witheringly at Gresham. 'You understand so little about the world in which I live. My father is entrusting more and more to me, certainly, but my position is by no means secure. The Queen is… uncertain of me, though not hostile. The Earl of Essex frantically seeks every advantage he can gain. I have more influence than I do authority.'

  Was he asking for Gresham's sympathy? He eased himself back into his chair, though it seemed to increase rather than diminish his pain.

  'I will show you-my… goodwill. There will be no need to trouble Sir Francis. I will not block your proposed trip to Lisbon. You can accompany me on the mission to Flanders simply as a member of my household. You will have the status of a servant on the papers, if your honour can bear it.' He paused. 'Yet I do so not because you threaten those I love. If I believed that lay within your power I would have you stamped on with no more compassion than the filthiest fly under a man's boot. I will do so because I have learned that sometimes a man has to work with scum, and because I believe our country is threatened. And because, despite appearances, you might be useful in averting that threat.'

  'I've learned to work with scum as well,' said Gresham, smiling again at Cecil.

  The two men nodded briefly to each other before Gresham left. Outside Gresham found a drunken boatman asleep in his ferry, and got himself rowed erratically downstream, flashing past the stone of London Bridge with only inches to spare. It was late now, and even back at the the inn all was silent, with only the occasional howl of a dog disturbing the night. He gave a gentle tap on the door, their signal. Mannion had got a chicken from somewhere, and was picking at the last remaining bits of flesh, a large jug of ale by his side. The girl was asleep, fully clothed. Mannion had placed the coverlet over her, a rough woollen blanket. The thin plaster daubed} between the wooden uprights of the wall was flaking off all the time, and a fine layer of white plaster dust had already settled over the girl's hair and the dark covering. It looked like an omen of death. Gresham tried to dismiss it. Mannion spoke in a whisper.

  'I 'ad an 'unch. Got a boy to go and see if George Willoughby was 'ome. 'E is. What's more, 'e's sending his carriage round now. Messenger says 'e's convinced no one's watching the house.'

  'George? How on earth is it that he's back?'

  They found the answer after the bone-crushing ride in the cumbersome carriage kept at the Willoughbys' London house to transport George's elderly parents on their infrequent visits to town. Much as Gresham scorned this as transport for old people, it could convey all three of them out of sight, and if the clattering passage of the vehicle disturbed anyone in the small hours of the morning they made no sign.

  The girl seemed dazed when woken up and bundled into, a carriage, and just as dazed when they arrived and she was hurried upstairs in the company of a hastily awoken housekeeper and two maids.

  'How-' Gresham began to ask, but George held up a hand and cut him short.

  'The stuffing was knocked out of me, seeing you go off in that sieve of a boat. I lost heart for the voyage, to tell you the truth, so when Drake sent a pinnace off to give the good news about the San Felipe next day I cadged a ride on it. I suppose I hoped it might catch you up, tell the truth. Drake'd have said yes to anything, he was so fired up with his capture. We had the wind behind us all the way. I got here thre
e days ago.'

  'How did El Draco respond to the girl going missing?' asked Gresham.

  'Hardly noticed, to tell you the truth. Ranted and raved a bit, accused several sailors of rape and murder, then someone suggested she was madly in love with you and had smuggled herself aboard the Daisy, and then he went back to counting ducats.'

  'Someone?' asked Gresham raising an eyebrow. His friend was an appalling liar, and had gone red as he had spoken.

  'Well, me, actually. Guessed she might have gone with you. Didn't want to see a sailor hanged — you could see the one Drake went for loved his mother and wouldn't have harmed a flea, never mind a fly. Anyway, never mind that. Tell me about your journey…'

  Gresham gave the details, with occasional guffaws, and interruptions from Mannion, and then relayed his conversation with Cecil.

  'Interesting,' said George, his great brow furrowed with thought. 'Let's be logical about this. Someone's been trying to kill you. We need to find out who. So let's work through the suspects.'

  Gresham stood up, and started pacing the room.

  'Obvious first suspect: Cecil.'

  'Obviously a suspect,' said George, 'but it's not conclusive. All we know is that he's taken an interest in you. You could be a pawn in a much bigger game. He could be a pawn in a much bigger game. No. It's not conclusive.'

  ‘Few things ever are in my world,' said Gresham, 'but let's move on.'

  'Walsingham has to be a suspect,' said George. He revelled in this politicking, thought Gresham,

  'How so?' said Gresham. The thought had occurred to him, but it seemed less blasphemous coming from someone else's mouth.

  'Walsingham was Mary Queen of Scots' enemy as much as Burghley and Cecil. He's out of favour because of the execution. Perhaps he set you up as the villain to get himself off the rack of the Queen's disfavour?'

  'It's possible,' said Gresham, 'but I doubt it. He's survived far worse than this, and anyway, I think he's dying. I doubt if killing me to speed up the end of the Queen's displeasure would be a priority in his present frame of mind.

  'There's something you 'aven't thought of,' said Mannion. He had acquired a shoulder of lamb and a tankard from somewhere, but was sufficiently impressed by what he wanted to say to put them down, though only momentarily. 'Walsingham's been setting you up as a spy for Spain, 'asn't 'e? Getting you to go to Mass, letting you give bits of information to them as what we know works for Spain?'

  'Has he?' asked George, aghast. 'I didn't know that!'

  'You weren't meant to,' said Gresham, looking meaningfully at Mannion. He waved the objection away, with a hand that had magically repossessed the leg of lamb.

  "S'no matter,' he said with his mouthful. 'You can trust 'im. I'll lay my life on it.'

  'You lay your life where you want. Just leave me to decide where I lay mine!' said Gresham ruefully.

  'Well, don't you see?' said Mannion. 'Suppose word got out that you're a spy for Spain? Nothing stays a secret for very long in London! Walsingham could always try and explain that he set you up as a double agent, but at best 'e's goin' to appear a bloody fool — one of his spies working for Spain, sent by Walsingham as a crewman on Drake's bloody expedition to Cadiz no less! At worst they might think old Walsingham was trying to ride two horses at the same time, and set 'imself up with a nice pension if Spain did invade and take over, with one of 'is men on the inside track. Easiest thing is to have you knocked off, safely out at sea, and claim the credit for giving rough justice to a bloody spy. Alright, he loses a good agent, but maybe he saves his own bacon.'

  Gresham had stopped pacing now. The first light of dawn was flooding London, sunlight falling through the latticed window lighting half of his face, leaving the other in deepest shadow. Could it be true? Could Walsingham have sacrificed him because one of his men was about to be revealed as working for Spain?

  'Next suspect, then,' said Gresham firmly, starting to pace up and down again. He had reached a conclusion himself, but clearly was not going to share it.

  'The Queen,' said George flatly.

  'The Queen?' Gresham laughed. 'Come off it! I didn't trip her up, I didn't let on that her breath smelled like a latrine pit, and I didn't ask her for money. Why would-'

  'You're a very rich man,' said George.

  Gresham sighed. He was fed up with people telling him how rich he was. It got boring. 'Yes, I am,' he said tiredly. 'And what's more, I'm even richer than I was when my father died, meaning I haven't run through my inheritance like wild young men are meant to do — and, yes, I do have a business brain in my head despite the business of growing the fortune being even more boring than being told by people like you how rich I am!'

  'Who are your relations asked George quietly, ignoring the tirade.

  'Why… there are none,' said Gresham. Something was starting to tighten in his stomach as he began to perceive George's point. George carried on, relentlessly.

  'What happens to the estate of very rich men who die with no family, intestate. I bet you haven't even thought about a will…'

  'Leave it all to me, if yer like,' muttered Mannion. 'God knows, I could use a bit extra…'

  '… and what happens to a vast estate when a man dies as a traitor!' George continued.

  'The Crown inherits,' said Gresham, turning to sit down. Suddenly he felt very tired. The Crown inherits.'

  'The Crown is about to face an invasion, and is fighting a draining war in the Netherlands… how many ships could your estate buy the Queen? How many soldiers could it equip to fight the all-powerful Duke of Parma?'

  'And no one, except a poor fool like you, would mourn the death of the young upstart Henry Gresham,' mused Gresham.

  'The Queen's never been under more pressure for money,' insisted George.

  'Possible,' said Gresham. 'It's such a terrifying prospect, and for this reason it has more credibility than it should have, as distinct from when it's looked at logically. So I'm going to rank it as a possible. No more.' The Queen was ruthless enough to do what was suggested, that was certain. But was she desperate enough?' 'Well, let's see where we stand,' he said. 'I've warned off Cecil. If he is involved he knows I suspect him, so at least he'll be more careful than he might have been. If Burghley's behind this he should get slowed a little by his baby boy; I'm damned sure if Cecil thinks his bride-to-be is in danger he'll have cautionary words with Daddy. Walsingham… well, I'd better see Walsingham and scout out the lay of the land. And if it's the Queen…'

  'And if it's the Queen, we're fucked,' said Mannion morosely.

  'Until she gets bored, or thinks of something else,' said Gresham. 'Or does actually get dealt with as you suggested with your usual subtlety, in which case it might take her mind off us.'

  'Female spiders let the men do 'em,' said Mannion, 'and then they kill them. I've seen it. In the garden,' he added ominously.

  'You are a little sprig of cheerfulness, aren't you?' said Gresham. 'I've got a great idea: shut up.'

  Mannion subsided, though words like 'ignorant' and 'can't face truth' passed just on the edge of hearing.

  'I think it's time for some sleep,' said George, yawning and rubbing his eyes like a baby. 'And a bath for both of you, if you don't mind my saying so. It's taken me three days to get clean, and both of you are seriously anti-social.'

  Gresham could have washed in his friend's house, borrowed some clothes and ridden off to his own house in a semi-decent state. Instead he decided to ride to The House in his salt-stained, ship-wrecked and stinking clothes.

  'I can't understand,' said George to Mannion. 'He's normally so… fastidious.' George usually complained about this obsession with cleanliness, believing that too much water took away the skin's natural oils and preferring to drench himself with perfume. Yet the change, even if only this once, was so extraordinary as to be alarming.

  Mannion grinned, but kept silent. He knew why Gresham wanted to ride through the streets of London as he did. Those filthy clothes, and even the ripe scent of a man
who had been at sea for three months were a badge of honour for a young man, a symbol of someone who had taken part and fought in a great adventure. Just for once Henry Gresham was simply behaving like a normal young man. He wanted to show the world that he had been in battle. He let Anna sleep for a couple of hours, then led her, side-saddle of course, draped in a huge cloak unearthed at George's house that must have been made originally for either a woman carrying triplets or a refugee from a freak show, but which hid adequately for the moment her ship's boy's tunic and breeches.

  He gained his admiration. Four of his own servants from The House had brought horses over for him, for Anna and for Mannion. Mannion stationed two of them in front, ostensibly to clear the way through the crowded streets. He also made it clear to the servants that they were free to tell passers-by that here was a hero of Cadiz, returned ahead of the victorious and glorious Sir Francis Drake. Let him enjoy his moment of glory, thought Mannion. He had fought well, shown hardly a flicker of fear despite what he must have felt, and kept his spirits when many a good man would have given in to despair. He deserved to be cheered through the streets, cheered by a populace dreading the sound of Spanish cavalry riding up Cheapside and only too pleased to celebrate an English triumph.

  Gresham enjoyed the cheering, but also became embarrassed by it. What was a man to do? Wave like the Queen distributing the largesse of her approval to her loyal subjects? Or ride on through haughtily, ignoring the crowds disdainfully and being very proud? At a loss, instead he let himself draw alongside Anna, with whom he had hardly exchanged a word since disembarking. She was still extraordinarily beautiful; the perfect oval of her face, her dark eyes and full lips, high cheekbones and the glorious mass of blonde hair. Yet there were shadows under her eyes. Was another reason why the crowds were cheering that they were thinking in this superb pair they must be seeing a Prince and a Princess? She held herself proudly on the horse — she had a superb seat, her head held high Gresham noticed — but he had spent enough time with her now to know that she was totally exhausted.

  'Are you rested?' he asked, grinning nervously at a passer-by who had yelled 'God bless you sir!', and in so doing making himself look very young indeed.