James Forrester: The Roots of Betrayal

“Where are you taking me?”

“Up the river. Mr. Clarenceux will meet us when he is sure it is safe.”

Cecil sat in the boat, apprehensive. He looked behind; no one was approaching-none of his men nor Clarenceux. He looked along the quays on both the south and north banks. There were men loading and unloading barges on the north; and smaller ferries, skiffs, and light boats all across the river, but no sign of Clarenceux. He looked at the timber-framed houses on the south side and the extraordinary mix of buildings on the north: quays, stone turrets and towers, staircases, jetties, half-timbered houses, platforms, and cranes. There were timber supports holding firm the banks of the river. Other timbers propped up the quays where boats were moored. But still no sign of Clarenceux.

Clarenceux, in fact, was just getting into a boat, a larger one with a black canopy that covered the rear half. It was manned by a young fellow called John Gotobed, whose uncle was the clerk of the Skinners’ Company. They were concealed around a corner of the dock that had been built up just south of the Strand, not far from Cecil House.

“There’s the boat,” Clarenceux said, seeing Tom Griffiths, the pelterer, rowing upstream.

“The watchers have signaled,” replied Gotobed, looking along the quay to where a man was holding his hand aloft steadily. The man on the opposite bank was similarly signaling. “There is no one following them.”

“Let’s go,” said Clarenceux, sitting back beneath the canopy. Gotobed pushed off from the side of the quay and started to row to a point upstream where he would meet Griffiths and Cecil.

Cecil saw the larger, half-covered boat approaching. He felt annoyed, defeated by Clarenceux’s stratagem. He consoled himself; when this was over, he would still be the queen’s Secretary and he could manage the eventual outcome of this episode much more to his liking. This was just something he had to do first.

Gotobed’s boat came alongside Griffiths’s. Cecil caught Clarenceux’s eye. “I suppose you want me to come across and join you.”

“We have important things to discuss, Sir William. And we need to discuss them now.”

Clarenceux and Gotobed did their best to steady the two boats while Cecil climbed over, but even so it was an ungainly operation for the queen’s Secretary. He was not as physically active as he had been in his youth. But he managed it and took a place on the covered bench to Clarenceux’s left. Griffiths also crossed and tethered his boat on a long rope to the rowlocks of Gotobed’s, so that it drifted along behind. Then the two oarsmen took their places and started to row the canopied boat back downstream.

Cecil noticed the change of direction and the purposefulness of their stroke. “Where are we going now?” he asked.

It began to rain. Clarenceux watched the droplets scatter themselves across the gray water. “Wapping,” he replied.

“Are you taking me to watch one of your pirate friends be hanged?”

Clarenceux looked at Cecil. “I know it was you. It took me a lot of time and pain to find out. You lied to me over and over again. You saw that letter to Lady Percy and you took action. Or, to put it another way, you panicked. You faked Rebecca Machyn’s theft of the document, and you sent her to Captain Parkinson.”

Cecil looked away. “It was for the best.”

“How can you say such a thing? How can you? Do you have any idea how many men have died as a result of you playing this game? Hundreds. Hundreds of men and women have died. Many others are wounded. You had a clever idea of how to fool me into thinking that a woman had stolen that document, thereby saving it from falling into the hands of Mrs. Barker. But what was the result?” Clarenceux held up his right hand, with the scar where Kahlu put his knife through it. “That is just one small result. The man who did that is now dead. So is the captain and almost all of the crew of the ship on which it happened. So are many of the crew members of the ships sent to blow us out of the water.”

“It was for the best,” repeated Cecil. “It was for the security of the State. I would do it again-and then ten times more.”

“It was a mistake,” replied Clarenceux. “When I make a mistake, only I suffer, and those who depend on me. It is forgivable. But when you make a mistake, hundreds die. It is unforgiveable. Powerful men cannot afford to make mistakes.”

“Listen to me. I meant well. I had to stop a rebellion-”

“You meant well? Ah, that makes everything fine. Those men did not really die-because you meant well. This wound never happened, and the young woman I saw blown in half aboard the Davy did not die in vain, because you meant well. Sir William, damn your meaning well, if this is what it does-and to hell with your good intentions. If hundreds die and many suffer, it does not really matter whether you meant well or not, does it? You failed us.”

“Clarenceux, a friendly warning: don’t make this worse for yourself.”

“Worse? How do you think this possibly could be any worse?”

“By insulting me. By threatening to send information to Dudley. By demeaning me-by dragging me into this miserable boat.”

Clarenceux shook his head. “I told you to come alone. You paid no attention. I watched you. Six men followed you to my house. More were already stationed around it. You demean me by thinking that I am so stupid I will allow you to arrest me. And then you insult me by thinking I will not notice your soldiers. If I seem threatening to you, perhaps you ought to ask yourself what you are afraid of. Of me? Of me telling the truth? Or of the truth itself?”

It was raining hard now, as they approached London Bridge again. Clarenceux looked across the water. Few boats were in use; most had taken shelter. One or two were still on the water, including one setting out from just this side of London Bridge. Clarenceux pointed to it. “You see what I mean? Row faster, Tom, John; there are men approaching from the north bank.”

A flash of lightning lit the sky for a moment. Thunder rolled across ten seconds later. The rain came down harder. Griffiths and Gotobed continued rowing. “Keep going,” Clarenceux shouted. “There is a bonus for both of you because of the inclement weather.”

Clarenceux turned back to Cecil. “It is the lies that disturb me most. You discovered the threat from the Catholics and you chose to deceive me. You never gave me the benefit of the doubt. You could have asked me for the document and that would-”

“You would never have given it to me,” snapped Cecil. “Besides, how was I to know you were not complicit? You favor the old religion. The Machyn woman was complicit, so why not you?”

“She was only playing for time,” said Clarenceux. “She was scared. For herself. For me and my family too.”

“Where is Awdrey?” asked Cecil.

“Safe. Where is Nicholas Denisot?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Someone I know wants to meet him.”

Cecil looked at the rain hitting the gray water of the river. “He is in Ireland. I sent him there so no one could connect Captain Gray and the Davy with me.” He put his hand to his face and rubbed his forehead. “I cannot apologize for taking measures. You understand that.”

“You could have taken measures that would safeguard more people, that would have at least protected me and my family, and Rebecca Machyn. I expect you to apologize for risking so many lives.” They were passing London Pool, the main docks just east of the Tower.

“How much do you want?” asked Cecil. “Every man has his price. You have reason to feel aggrieved. Tell me how much you want in compensation.”

“Sir William, you know me better than to ask such a thing. Every man may have his price, but a man’s beliefs are beyond purchase. If something I had done had hurt so many people, I would feel it a sin. A black stain on my soul. In your shoes, I would feel that what I had done was enough to damn me to hell. It would not matter what I had hoped to do or what my intentions had been. I would want to atone for my sin-not with money but with something more meaningful. If I have a price, it is your soul.”