Martin Stephen - The rebel heart

Jane had been silent until now. She was wrapped in a vast cloak, and had seemed wrapped in her own thoughts.

'There's been talk of a thousand men at Essex's command, for months now. In St Paul's, that is.'

Gresham looked at her, and for a moment his astonishment defeated his self-control.

'You've known about this rumour? Why didn't you tell me?'

'Because I assumed if a stupid girl hanging round the bookstalls heard it, you, who've made it your job to pick up these rumours, were bound to have heard it too. And I didn't want to look a fool.'

'What else have you heard?' There was real urgency in his tone. 'This could be really important. This isn't a time for dignity, yours or mine. London's going to blow up any minute, and we're on the edge of civil war. I do know about the rumours. But what else had you heard?'

She was frightened by the intensity in his voice, the tension in his body.

'Only that people keep mentioning a man called Smith. A sheriff", someone meant to be very friendly with Essex. Is it militia he's meant to control? Something like that?'

'Sheriff Smith,' said Gresham. 'In theory he can call out a thousand militia men, though it's doubtful if the real figure he can call on is more than five hundred. And, yes, he's been seen visiting Essex House by night, and so people assume secretly. Though how anyone can think anything taking place in that house is a secret is beyond me.'

'And Essex will make him call out these men?'

'I think Essex will think he can call out these men. It's not quite the same thing.'

'This makes my head ache,' said Jane rather pathetically. 'Is nothing as it seems in your world? Is nothing ever what it seems to be on the surface? Is there always a double or a treble meaning?'

'It's usually not that simple,' said Gresham, looking at her fondly. Welcome to the real world, he thought. A world where after a time you may well yearn for the safety, security and above all the predictability of making preserves that need to be stored for winter and the supply of sheets and linen.

'So why won't you tell us?' They were within sight of the private jetty at The House. One of the other boats would go in first to land men to act as a guard if The House had been infiltrated or taken over.

'Because I believe Essex is about to be forced into a rebellion. And I believe he thinks he may have an extra thousand men to call on. But I don't believe, never have believed it's as simple as that. Yet what I believe is so fantastical, so much in the face of any evidence, so much my own invention based simply on a feeling I have… Do you know,' he said in the tone of a man facing a sudden revelation, 'I think I can't tell you for the same reason you didn't tell me about the thousand men. For fear of being laughed at. For fear of being proven wrong. Now isn't that strange?'

'I'd call it normal,' muttered Mannion.' 'Bout the only normal thing there is with you, I 'ave to say. Ever considered bein' normal? Might make a change for all of us.'

'So,' said Jane, snuggling down rather fearfully into the depths of her cloak, like a mouse burrowing down in cut straw and hoping the hawk had not seen her, 'civil war's about to be unleashed from a house a few yards along our street. We're facing pandemonium, chaos, a collapse of all civil order, bloodshed on the streets and probably rape, loot and pillage for those stupid enough to be caught out in it, and some of those trying to hide from it. What are you going to do about it?'

'I'm going to get captured by Essex, probably,' said Gresham.

'No you fuckin' ain't — beggin' your pardon, miss!' exploded Mannion.

'Essex is like a lit fuse. I can't stop that. I've just got this sense that he's finally going to blow. If that fuse reaches the powder, the country could be blown apart. And if my theory is correct, some-thing even more shameful may happen. And it'll mean I'll have broken my word. I have to see Essex! Even if I can't stop him, I have to try and limit the damage. To him, and to everyone.'

'You can't do that!' said Jane aghast. 'They'll kill you before you get to Essex! You saw them tonight. They'd have cheerfully ripped the flesh from our bones and eaten it as talk to us if you hadn't out-thought them!'

'She's right,' said Mannion. 'Least they'll do is rough you up, mebbe bad. Might get to Essex and find you ain't got a mouth or a tongue to speak to him with.', 'I know,' said Gresham. 'But sometimes you don't get choices.'

February, 1601 London

Gresham had chosen to wear a nondescript cloak, and ride on a nag that was like countless hundreds of others in London. His hat was pulled low down over his brow.

Essex House was lit up like the Court on Twelfth Night, and among the noise and turmoil emanating from it there was the occasional ominous clang of metal on metal. The front entrance was heavily guarded, the back one as well and the river gate sealed.

On a whim, Gresham made Mannion ride with him west up the Strand. The Queen was at Whitehall, the proximity of the Palace as much a feature in the popularity of the Strand as London's prevailing wind direction.

'Nothing,' said Gresham. There were no extra guards, no sign in the far distance of any extra activity in the Palace. As they were turning round, there was a clatter of hooves behind them. The rider was in a hurry, four men in the Queen's livery with him. He had lost his hat, and his face was covered in mud.

'John! John Herbert!' Gresham called into the darkness. The man reined in, peering through the gloom. Secretary John Herbert was a prime administrator for the Privy Council. A decent man, he was typical of the hundreds who slaved away quietly and without much evident ambition to service the workings of government. Why was Secretary Herbert riding out at this time of night, when all decent men were tucked up in bed? It must be approaching midnight.

'Sir Henry!' Herbert was nervous, and his escort drew round him. 'What business have you riding in town on this of all nights?'

'I might ask the same of you,' said Gresham, 'except to say that I serve the Queen to whom I remain loyal. And you have nothing to fear from me.'

'I have never thought I had,' the man answered simply, 'unlike many others. But excuse me, I must about my business.'

'I would caution you against Essex House this night,' said Gresham. 'It's a wild place.'

'I have no option, Sir Henry,' said Herbert. 'There is no reason why you should not know. The Privy Council summoned the Earl of Essex to their presence late this afternoon. He returned no answer. I am sent to demand his presence. Now.'

'He won't come,' said Gresham. 'You know that.'

'On a night when my family are on their knees praying for my safety, I know only that I have my duty to do. Will you let me pass?'

'Of course. I'm not your enemy.'

Strange how bravery and courage showed themselves. There was the bravery of the great general, the great leader. And there was the bravery of the ordinary man, the man with just a little courage and a sense of duty, the man who would go where duty drove him, quietly and without fuss. History would discard him and his name without a moment's thought if he fell foul of a drunken rebel or Gelli Meyrick's knife, something John Herbert knew as well as history.

The two men let Herbert have a decent start, and then followed after him to where a glow in the sky showed London and the burning lights of Essex House. They had lit a vast fire in the courtyard to warm the men who were gathered there. Two hundred? Three hundred? It was difficult to say.

They stopped in the darkness that lay like a cloak around the great house, and Gresham dismounted, handing the reins of his nag to Mannion. Mannion was awkward, troubled. 'You shouldn't be doin' this,' he said.