Rory Clements - The Heretics

He found his daughter, Mary, and his adopted daughter, Grace, in the schoolroom with their tutor. Grace was growing into a fine girl. She was twelve years of age, tall like her brother, Andrew, but slender. She held little Mary’s hand and stroked her hair, as if she were the smaller girl’s mother.

Shakespeare gazed on them for a few moments and said a silent prayer of thanks to God for this calm sanity and kindness at the centre of his life. Then he kissed them and left for his meeting with Cecil.

Cecil’s mood had not improved. The Queen had kept him with her until the early hours and when, at last, he had been freed to go to bed, he had plainly not slept well. This morning he had risen with the dawn to ride for London.

‘You will make the obvious inquiries, John,’ he said to Shakespeare, waving him irritably to a chair. They were in the high-ceilinged meeting room of Sir Robert’s small mansion in the Strand. ‘Talk to the Countess of Kent, find the others who were subjected to these exorcism rituals, find any priests who were at Denham House. Go through it by rote. Take two days, no more. If you have not discovered the fate or whereabouts of this Thomasyn Jade within forty-eight hours, then you will say she is believed dead and the investigation will be forgotten. Dropped like a stone into a well, never to be seen or heard of again. Is that understood?’

Shakespeare nodded.

‘And you, Frank.’ Cecil turned to Francis Mills, the other senior member of his intelligence staff. ‘Take a close look at this.’ He slid a paper across the table. ‘I do not pretend to understand what this is about, but, in John’s absence, you will put your mind to it. Is that understood?’

Mills took the paper. Shakespeare watched the tall, hunched figure as he read the document. Preoccupied by his wife’s infidelity, Mills seemed thinner and more haunted than ever. Word had it that his neighbours had taken to jeering at him. Cuckold’s horns had been nailed up above his front door; Mills had not even had the energy to tear them down.

‘That letter was seized by a searcher at Gravesend,’ Cecil said. ‘It was among the belongings of a mariner who died of the bloody flux aboard a carrack named The Ruth , returned from Bordeaux. No one knows for whom it was intended. The letter was concealed and would not have been found, had the courier not died. You look at it, too, John.’

Shakespeare took the paper from Mills. It was written in English.

‘ Be strong in faith, Father. The plan is advanced, and you must only be patient. We will come to you, that between us we may rid England of Satan’s seed for ever. With the love and righteous vengeance of God, the demons will be cast down with raging tempests and torrents of rain. Like the flood of old, we shall sweep away the rotten House of Tudor and all that dwell there. Be ready to play your part. Yours, in the love of Christ our only saviour and Gregory, great England’s truest friend, this twenty-third day. ’

‘It is the hand of Robert Persons,’ Shakespeare said without hesitation. ‘I have seen enough of his letters and writings.’

Suddenly, Cecil was alert. ‘Persons? You are certain?’

‘Never more so. And the reference to Gregory might suggest Seville, the Jesuit college of St Gregory.’ As he spoke, a hot shiver seared into Shakespeare’s blood. Garrick Loake had mentioned the College of St Gregory.

‘And from what we know, Persons has been in Seville much in recent months,’ Cecil continued.

Mills took the paper back and cast his eyes over it again, but Shakespeare was not sure he took in what he saw. The man appeared to have little enough mind left to don doublet and hose of a morning, let alone inquire into important matters of state. This letter should be Shakespeare’s task. The Thomasyn Jade affair had arrived at a most inopportune time.

‘Frank, are you with us?’ Cecil said sharply. ‘It is as if you were in another county!’

Mills closed his eyes, then opened them and nodded to his master.

‘You understand what the missive is saying?’

‘Yes. . I agree with John that this is the hand of Persons. But the implication is not clear. Perhaps it is encoded.’

‘That is possible, of course, but even without encryption, we can see murderous intent: “sweep away the House of Tudor”. There is no ambiguity there. Are they talking about another Armada? Is this a call to the Catholic faithful to be ready to rise up when the invasion starts? We know King Philip is preparing a new war fleet. Or is this something else, something more specific and yet more sinister?’

‘What could be worse than invasion, Sir Robert?’

‘I don’t know, Frank. That is for you to discover.’

‘We can see that it is intended for a priest,’ Shakespeare said. ‘It is addressed Father .’

‘There is Jesuit conspiracy here,’ Cecil said abruptly.

Shakespeare grimaced. Cecil’s surmise seemed not only possible, but highly probable. ‘The number twenty-three, at the end, is interesting. That could be code. Why would Persons mark down the date of writing? I think he is revealing a date when something will happen. But which month? As for the mention of Gregory, that is exceedingly interesting. A man came to me last night, one Garrick Loake. He spoke of a plot emanating from the seminaries of Spain and mentioned the Gregory college. This is no coincidence. I will seek him out today.’

‘Seek him out? Why is he not in custody?’

‘On what charge? He was bringing me information, Sir Robert. He wants money — a great deal of money.’

Cecil rubbed his neck to ease the stiffness of his hunch. ‘Well, we must hope and pray that he returns with the information. Promise him what he wants, then when he has told what he knows, give him its worth.’

‘Very well.’

‘And remember, the Jesuit college in Seville is a very hornets’ nest of intrigue. The whole of that coast east of Cadiz is awash with traitors. . The English trading community in Jerez and Sanlucar, those men who stayed behind when the war began. Catholics to a man, many married to Spanish women.’

Shakespeare was thinking hard. ‘One thing is clear, both from the hints Garrick Loake gave — if we are to believe him — and from the letter: the plan, whatever it is, is already known to somebody in England. This letter is merely to say that it is now confirmed and imminent, and that those involved should be prepared. Perhaps it was intended for Henry Garnett. He is the Jesuit superior in England — and he is still at large.’

‘Keep an open mind.’ Cecil scowled with exasperation. ‘But are we getting ahead of ourselves?’ He stabbed the paper with his right index finger. ‘Perhaps there is some hidden code there. In God’s name, John, I wish you had never mentioned the Jade girl to Her Royal Majesty. You must talk with this Garrick Loake before all else.’

Shakespeare said nothing. He had given his word to a condemned man. He would not break such an oath.

Cecil read his thoughts. ‘As for giving your word to a Jesuit traitor. . sometimes, I do wonder whether you are seduced by the devilish nature of these hellhounds. They call themselves the Society of Jesus, clothing themselves in Jesus’s name, and yet they carry beneath their cloaks most unholy weapons of murder and treachery. They are all traitors, every one.’

Shakespeare said nothing.

Cecil did not press the point. ‘The matter with Southwell is done and, soon, so will be the affair of Thomasyn Jade. In two days’ time, John, you will take over the inquiry into this letter and follow up any leads that Garrick Loake gives you. Two days. That is the limit I will allow you. In the meantime, Frank, I desire you to make rapid progress. Examine the letter in great detail. Is there secret writing there? A code we cannot see? Do this, but also find out all you can about the dead sailor in whose box the letter was found. Is he linked in any way to Loake? Someone must know who he was. The captain of The Ruth is here in my hall, awaiting you. He will escort you downriver to his vessel. The crew has been held aboard. Get someone to help you, if necessary. Robert Poley perhaps — no, Anthony Friday would be better. He knows everyone. Get him into the Catholic cells and houses. Have him listen for whisperings. But no more than two marks a week. Is that understood? And you, John.’