S Parris - Prophecy

When the meal is over, Castelnau motions to me as the servants bring him a bowl of water and a linen towel.

‘Join me in my office when you have washed your hands, will you, Bruno? I would speak with you. Alone,’ he adds, with a nod at Courcelles. His chair scrapes back with a brusque movement and he strides from the room without a word to his wife.

The outer door is closed by the time I reach his study, so I knock for the sake of formality, and turn the latch as I hear his barked ‘ Entrez! ‘ from within. The ambassador is already seated at his desk; he gestures for me to close the door and draw up a chair opposite him, as he purposefully lays down his quill and turns over the paper he has been writing. I note that Dumas’s desk is unoccupied, his chair still pushed back as if he left in a hurry.

‘Bruno.’ Castelnau folds his hands together on the desk. There is a weariness in the gesture that is mirrored in his face; he looks drawn and pale, bruised shadows heavy under his eyes. ‘I have been worrying about this attack on you last night.’

‘It was my own folly, really. A lesson learned.’ I touch my finger to my brow and smile ruefully, in the hope that he will let the matter drop; I would prefer not to be questioned too closely on the events of the previous day.

‘But can you be sure this was not a personal attack?’ he says, his frown deepening. ‘I mean, aimed at us? At the embassy?’

I take a deep breath.

‘They were strangers, my lord. A gaggle of London apprentices after a day’s drinking. They didn’t know me — they saw a foreigner and a target for abuse to amuse one another, that’s all. I was called a Spanish whoreson,’ I add, to bolster the tale. ‘I should have let it pass, but instead I insulted them back, and they set upon me.’

He gives me a long look, then shakes his head sadly.

‘This city,’ he says, as if it were responsible for the weight of all his burdens. ‘My fears are getting the better of me, Bruno, I begin to see enemies where there are none. I worry that these preparations for war will be discovered. It makes me anxious when people inside this embassy are attacked in the street for no good reason. Where did you say you were?’

‘Some tavern near Mortlake. You know, my lord, that I go there to use the library of John Dee. He welcomes visiting scholars, and he has many books that I would not find elsewhere.’

‘Yes, yes.’ He dismisses this with a wave of his hand. ‘His library is renowned. But perhaps you should not go there for a while, Bruno. I have enough to worry about without fearing for your safety.’

‘I will stay away from taverns, that much is certain,’ I say, rubbing the side of my face. ‘But my lord, the English drink too much and they hate foreigners — this is true of every corner of London. And every street now buzzes with talk of prophecies and planets and the end of days — all these fears are compounded and they turn on anyone who looks different, because they are afraid.’

Castelnau smiles weakly.

‘And these are the people Henry Howard and my wife think will rise up gladly and join with French and Spanish troops to overthrow their queen.’ He shakes his head again.

‘You are losing faith in the invasion plan?’

‘I never had faith in it, Bruno, you know this. And the Spanish involvement makes me deeply unquiet.’

‘You think they mean to use it to advance their own power?’

‘Philip of Spain believes himself to be the chief defender of the Catholic faith in Europe. But he also believes he has a claim on the English throne, through his late wife, Elizabeth’s half-sister. You may be sure he’s not committing money and men just to hand Mary Stuart the crown.’ He grimaces. ‘And if the Spanish support for Guise and his followers goes beyond this invasion …’ His voice trails off.

‘You mean he might fund a Guise coup in Paris.’ I finish the sentence for him. It is not a question. A silence unfolds as our thoughts follow the same path: the Duke of Guise could take the French throne with Spanish support, creating a formidable alliance of hardline Catholics to rise up, united, against the weaker countries of Protestant Europe.

‘Exactly. Listen,’ Castelnau says, after we have taken a moment to consider the implications of this: ‘I need you to do something for me.’

I hold out my palms to either side.

‘However I may be of service, my lord ambassador.’

‘Go to this supper tonight at Arundel House in my place, will you?’

‘In your place? Are you ill, my lord?’

An almost silent sigh escapes him, making his shoulders tremble.

‘Yes. I feel a shadow of myself these past days. I do not sleep any more, Bruno. I don’t remember the last time I slept an untroubled night. It must have been before my wife returned from Paris.’ He lets this fall with unmistakable bitterness.

‘The rapid progress of this invasion plot has placed a great deal of strain on you, my lord,’ I say, with a degree of genuine sympathy. ‘You should rest.’

‘How can I rest, Bruno?’ he cries, raising his hands. ‘The Duke of Guise is a fanatic for the Catholic cause. He would slaughter every last Protestant in Europe with his bare hands if he had the time, singing hymns to God as he did it and believing he was carving himself a place in heaven. Henry Howard is of the same mind, except that he also wants revenge against the House of Tudor. And now, Mendoza and Philip of Spain have joined the party because they sniff the chance for Spain to take the spoils at minimal cost, with France so divided. And here am I in the middle of them all, trying to represent my king’s interests, to argue for clemency and moderation, while my wife throws her lot in firmly with Guise.’ He shakes his head.

‘I am not surprised you don’t sleep, my lord.’

He knits his fingers together again and leans forward, pointing his two forefingers straight at me.

‘There is more. Henry Howard is concerned that his correspondence with Mary is being tampered with.’

‘What makes him say that?’ Sweat prickles under my arms but I keep my face clear.

‘Mary is supposed to have sent him something that he never received.’ He frowns in concentration as his fingers pluck ceaselessly at the strands of his quill. ‘Naturally, his suspicions fall on Salisbury Court.’

‘But those letters pass through many hands on their journey,’ I say.

‘Precisely. Young Throckmorton’s, for a start. But it troubles me greatly that Howard now looks at us with mistrust. His influence among the English Catholics cannot be underestimated, Bruno. It is he who will galvanise them, persuade them to risk their lives and estates to help this invasion succeed. If he decides to shut me out by sending his letters via Mendoza, we lose any influence we may have over this plot and any hope of arguing for a moderate response.’

He pauses to take a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb as he lowers his eyes to the desk. He has plucked the quill almost bald. When he speaks again, he drops his voice until it is barely more than a whisper. ‘But we must not exclude the possibility that this invasion plot will fail. The Spanish may not come up with the promised funds or troops. The English Catholics may prove harder to rouse than Howard hopes. Or someone among their number may betray them. These things happen,’ he says, as if he thinks I am about to protest.

‘And if the plot should be discovered, for any of those reasons …’ I say, thinking aloud.

‘Then King Henri must not be seen to have any association with it,’ Castelnau finishes the sentence for me. ‘Or any future alliance with Elizabeth would be untenable. But neither should he oppose it outright, just in case it should succeed, or he will lose any support from the French Catholics and Guise will topple him easily.’ He swears an oath, softly, under his breath. ‘In any case, Bruno, if there is to be a Catholic reconquest of England, it must be done with as little violence as can be managed, and for that reason you and I must hold on to the trust of those who are directing it for as long as we can.’ He places his hands flat on the desk and straightens up, with some effort. ‘I do not feel well enough to face Howard and Mendoza tonight. I will send my apologies, and you will go to Arundel House in my place. Scrutinise everything that is said and report it back to me. Put forward on my behalf the arguments in favour of a moderate, respectful approach, but be sure never to sound less than positive about the idea of putting Mary back on the throne. Howard will be left in no doubt as to my faith in you.’