S. Parris - Treachery

‘I understand.’

‘After all Bruno has done for her, you’d think she could find something,’ Sidney bursts out, rising to his feet. ‘If it were not for Bruno, she might be a prisoner of the Queen of Scots and her French allies by now. We all might.’ He looks aggrieved. ‘Why, if he hadn’t come to Plymouth with me, Drake might never have found out his clerk was selling advance notice of his route to the Spanish — she would have lost her entire investment, not to mention hundreds of English lives, and been humiliated at the hands of King Philip. If that is not worth a reward, I don’t know what is.’

Walsingham inclines his head. ‘Her Majesty knows well what efforts Bruno has made in her service. Though you may be interested to learn, it turned out young Master Crosse was not lying.’

‘Really?’ Sidney frowns. ‘But I thought he confessed to the murders?’

‘The murders, yes. But we had the letter decoded and all the details he had sent to the Spanish Ambassador were incorrect. I forwarded it to Drake just before he set sail and he sent back confirmation. If all Gilbert’s communications followed that pattern, the fleet would not have been in any more danger than it was already, in Drake’s view.’

‘He is still a killer,’ Sidney says, in case this should undermine our achievements.

‘And he will die for it,’ Walsingham says mildly. ‘That is the law. The one concession, since it appears that his treason was only partial, is that he will be hanged until dead before he is put to the knife. I gave him my word.’

We sit in silence, each of us picturing a traitor’s end.

‘Her Majesty will reward you, she promised,’ he adds, turning to me. ‘As will Drake, and Dom Antonio, who cannot sing your praises highly enough, it seems. You will be well provided for, Bruno. For a while, at least.’

‘That is very gracious of them,’ I say, trying to sound as if I mean it. A gift of money is never unwelcome, but it would buy me only a few months’ grace. I do not need a purse so much as I need a job — some official position that will allow me to stay in England and write my books, and confer some status on them when they are published. A teaching post at one of the universities would have been useful, a position at court even better. Now it looks as though there is no place for me at either. I was never truly a part of this court circle, though they opened their door to me for a time. But I could not belong among men like Sidney and his uncle the Earl of Leicester, or even Walsingham, all of them bound together by blood, marriage and politics over the best part of three decades. My face, my voice, my ideas mark me as different. Perhaps, as I have often feared, a man like me belongs everywhere and nowhere.

I try to harden my expression, so that my face will not betray the disappointment I am battling. Instead, I reach for the jug and pour another glass of wine.

‘Her Majesty was pleased to support you while she could do so covertly,’ Walsingham continues, his tone gentle, ‘and after some discussion we feel there is a way she could do so again.’ He notes the light in my eyes and holds up a hand, as if warning me not to let my hopes race ahead of his words. ‘Intelligence from Paris suggests that Mary Stuart’s supporters there are still fomenting their conspiracies against the Queen, and that their plots grow more ambitious by the day. If we had a man in Paris able to watch them and report on their movements, that would be worth a good deal to Her Majesty, and of course to me.’ He gives me a long look.

‘But Your Honour, my earnest desire is to stay in London,’ I say, trying not sound as if I am begging. I do not need to spell out to him the dangers that would wait for me at the French court.

‘I know that, Bruno.’ He exhales and shakes his head. ‘And it grieves me that I cannot give you what you want. But I am offering you a chance to do Her Majesty further service. Who knows — perhaps in a couple of years things might be different.’ He holds out his hands, palms up, to show that this is the best he can do.

‘Thank you, Master Secretary,’ I say, forcing a smile, though my heart feels dragged down by its own weight. ‘I will think on it.’ In a couple of years, King Henri of France might be pushed off his throne by the Catholic League, who would tear me to pieces quicker than you could say a novena. In a couple of years, Spain might invade England. These are volatile times: in a couple of years, we might none of us be where we are now. Besides, we all know it is an empty promise, held out only to soften the blow. If Queen Elizabeth can find no place for me now, while my service to her is fresh in her mind, she is unlikely to be any better disposed towards me two years hence.

‘You might catch up with Rowland Jenkes in Paris, Bruno,’ Sidney says, leaning back, his hands behind his head. ‘Have a little word with him about his manners in Plymouth. You might even get to track down the original of that book.’ He nods to the papers on the table. Walsingham frowns.

‘I have seen enough of Jenkes for several lifetimes,’ I say. The thought of him at large in Paris only adds to my reluctance.

There is a timid knock at the door. Walsingham calls to enter, and it opens wide enough to admit the hesitant figure of Sidney’s wife Frances. She slips in and stands behind her husband’s chair; Sidney turns and rests a hand on the mound of her belly. Walsingham’s face visibly softens.

‘What is it, daughter?’ he asks.

‘A messenger has arrived from Lord Burghley, Father,’ she says, with as near to a curtsey as her advanced pregnancy will allow. ‘He has come by river from Whitehall and says it is urgent.’

‘Very well. Would you excuse me, gentlemen?’

We all stand as Walsingham pushes back his chair. He seems relieved at the interruption.

When the door closes behind him, Sidney puts his arm around his wife and pulls the fabric of her dress tight over her belly.

‘What do you think, Bruno — does this not look like a strapping son in there? To judge by the bloody size of it.’

‘I think Lady Sidney looks in fine health, and I’m sure the child is too,’ I say, seeing how the poor girl blushes. She raises her eyes and gives me a grateful smile. She is only nineteen, pale and pretty, though she looks exhausted. After a few days of living with Sidney, I can appreciate why — and I am not even with child.

‘He is a fighter too,’ Sidney says, prodding her abdomen. ‘Kicking and pummelling his way out, is he not, my dear? Going to be a soldier like his father,’ he adds, expanding his chest with pride.

Frances gives a weak smile and bites her lip. ‘Not if I can help it,’ she murmurs.

‘Get along, then — you should be resting, not running errands for your father,’ he says, patting her absently. ‘Bruno and I have business to discuss.’

I bow as she leaves, though I note how she lingers at the door, her gaze resting briefly on her husband. I can only guess what she must be feeling.

‘So you are really going?’ I ask, when the door is closed behind her.

‘I am. Thanks be to God, the Queen relented. I had an audience with her at the end of last week, and she confirmed my posting.’ His face is alight with excitement. He looks like a man in love, I reflect, except that the object of his desire is the command of a garrison in Flushing.

‘So she has forgiven you for attempting to run away to the New World?’

‘It seems so. At least, I had the impression she feels a small degree of guilt in driving me to such desperate measures. The governorship of Flushing is her way of making amends. She has even offered to stand god-mother to the child. But he has not forgiven me,’ he adds, darkly, jabbing his thumb towards the door where Walsingham left. ‘Firstly for trying to join Drake’s voyage without telling him, and now for going to war just as the child is about to be born.’