Rory Clements - The Queen's man

‘Anne, too.’

He sighed and managed a small smile. ‘You have nothing to feel guilty about. Rench was about to murder you. Remember this well: you did nothing but save yourself and the woman you love. He suffered the fate he deserved. Mr Cooper will have no nightmares, and it was his blade that did the deed.’ Shakespeare hugged his brother. ‘Come, be strong and let me take my leave of you. I shall return for the wedding.’

Shakespeare was more worried about another body interred in the vicinity of Stratford: the corpse of Ruby Hungate, buried in woods a mile from the Black House. Few would care a jot about Badger Rench, but the powerful figures of Sir Thomas Lucy and the Earl of Leicester were certain to take a keen interest in the whereabouts of Mr Hungate. And Constable Nason would be sure to assist them with what he knew of the Black House and its occupants. Well, they were not going to find the body and that was an end to it. Hungate was buried eight feet deep. As for Florence and Audrey Angel, they no longer posed any risk.

Will hesitated. ‘Anne feels she should apologise to you, John. The letter. . the Spiritual Testament. . She was foolish and her foolishness put us all in danger.’

‘Tell her to forget it.’ Shakespeare climbed into the saddle, put his boots in the irons, then wheeled his horse about.

Sir Francis Walsingham was almost cheerful. No, Shakespeare corrected himself, not actually cheerful . That would be too much to hope for; the Principal Secretary had the permament look of a bloodhound that had been denied its supper and was not given to smiling. But certainly remarkably even-tempered and at ease.

They were in Walsingham’s office at his mansion in Seething Lane, London. It was an austere place, much like his country retreat, Barn Elms. The chairs were plain, unadorned oak, as was the table. There were no hangings on the wall and little light, for the windows were often kept shuttered through the day. The table and shelves were a litter of papers, books and maps. Only Mr Secretary knew what they all were; only he could locate a particular document or letter, for there seemed to be no method to the disarray.

The only symbol of Walsingham’s power and position was the painting that adorned the wall opposite the window. It was modestly sized, perhaps six feet wide by four feet high, and it showed the eighth King Henry in splendour on his throne, with Queen Mary and her husband Philip of Spain to his right, and his son King Edward VI and daughter Queen Elizabeth to his left. The divide between the Catholics and Protestants was sharply evident. Shakespeare’s eyes strayed to the picture. He knew well that it had been a gift to Sir Francis from the Queen. It always surprised him to see Philip of Spain among the Tudors.

‘Keep your enemies close,’ Walsingham said when he saw the direction of Shakespeare’s gaze. ‘It is a lesson for us all.’ He poured two silver goblets of sack. ‘You have done well, John. Very well. I thank God you were there to save the Scots devil.’

Shakespeare could not disguise his incredulity. He was expecting to be berated; this was not at all the reception he had expected. ‘Sir Francis. .’

‘I know. You imagined I would have wished Mary Stuart dead.’

‘Indeed, I assumed so.’

‘Well, you would not be far from the truth, John. But do you not think I could have ordered her throat slit before now, had I so wished it? No, that is not the way for a civilised country to go. I want the woman to be condemned for her crimes in open court and to suffer the full force of the law of England. She came here as a guest and she has repaid our generosity by conspiring against us. When eventually she faces the executioner, the capitals of Europe will know that her death was lawful, just and deserved.’

Shakespeare saw no sign of dissimulation, but that meant nothing. He knew enough about Mr Secretary to realise that he could call an apple a pear and have you believe it. ‘Mr Slide suggested-’

Walsingham tapped his right index finger twice on his table. It was an impatient gesture. ‘Pay no heed to Harry Slide. He has a mind of his own. The problem is he thinks he knows my mind. Harry Slide is a useful man in his own way, but he is limited. That is why he is the hireling and you are my apprentice and my great hope. Consider this your blooding.’

‘You flatter me, Sir Francis.’

‘I flatter no one, not even Her Royal Majesty.’

‘But someone paid Slide to organise this assassination attempt.’

‘Indeed they did.’

‘And if not you, then why send me to both Sheffield and Stratford?’

‘Do you think to interrogate me, John? Is this wise?’

‘When first you took me on as your assistant secretary, you told me you liked plain speaking. Forgive me if I now talk out of turn, but I was lured along a merry trail and I would like to know who set me on it.’

‘You were blooded and you survived. Yes, I knew some mischief was brewing, but I was not certain what form it would take. When it was suggested to me that you might investigate the papist conspiracies in your home county, I was naturally interested. Yet I had no notion as to what you would find.’

‘Then this is my lord of Leicester’s doing.’ It made sense, of course. Had not Hungate mentioned a ruby he might have won had Mary died?

‘I did not say that.’ Walsingham paused and tapped his finger on the table again. ‘As you know, he has interests in Warwickshire, but that does not mean he was involved in the attempt on the Scots devil’s life. The important thing is that you discovered the plot and stopped it, for which I have already commended you.’

Shakespeare was not wholly convinced, but there was little advantage in pressing the point further. ‘Indeed you have, and I thank you.’

Walsingham nodded. ‘But you are still fretting. I see it in your eyes. You don’t understand exactly why I did not tell you my fears before you left Oatlands. And my answer is that I trusted you to solve this puzzle yourself and bring the answer to me. And now you have proved me right. However, I must say this: not everyone is happy with you. .’

Shakespeare held Walsingham’s gaze. ‘Sir Francis?’

‘There is the matter of the Earl of Leicester’s man, who has disappeared. What do you know of him?’

‘Ruby Hungate? Very little. I met him at Oatlands, then Stratford, and then at Sheffield where he seemed primed to do murder. Why?’

‘Sir Thomas Lucy says he returned to Stratford and went into the Forest of Arden to discover the whereabouts of the sister of the priest Benedict Angel. Sir Thomas suspects the young woman was up to her own pretty neck in conspiracy.’

‘I know nothing of that.’

‘Well, then I must accept what you say. Just as you must accept that I had no knowledge of this conspiracy against Mary Stuart.’

So this was how it would be, Shakespeare thought. A stand-off.

‘And with that settled,’ Mr Secretary went on, ‘let us now move to other matters. Tell me your thoughts regarding these disgraceful traitors, these Ardens. What are we to do about them?’

‘Edward Arden and Hugh Hall are returned to Warwickshire.’

‘Should we arrest them?’

‘On what charge?’

‘Conspiracy.’

‘It is possible, but then Harry Slide would have to give evidence against them. There is no one else. Would you like to see Slide in court testifying?’

Walsingham almost seemed to laugh at the thought, but there was no humour in his eyes. ‘You are right. Men like Slide must always be kept in the shadows. But there are other ways. With persuasion, Arden and Hall will confess. I am sure Mr Topcliffe could extract the truth from their lips.’