S Parris - Prophecy

‘But what about —?’ I wave a hand vaguely around the room. What about me , is what I really want to say, and chide myself for being so selfish. The prospect of London without Dee, now that Sidney has also become so distant, is a bleak one for a foreign heretic in exile. Seeing his laboratory stripped down like this, his books in the chest, I realise how much I will miss him. ‘All your books,’ I finish, unconvincingly.

‘Jane’s brother will live here and take care of the library,’ he says airily. ‘Of course, you must use it whenever you wish, Bruno, don’t worry about that.’

I am tempted to ask him whether Jane sees this as an extraordinary opportunity, the chance to uproot her family and travel halfway across Europe with two small children. From her face I know the answer — but I do not know what she expects me to say. Dee is right; the rumours that still persist about the murders at court, the unrest over the prophecies — all this must be quashed by the government if order is to be restored. What other choice has he? My friend would automatically find himself on the wrong side of the new laws; Elizabeth is subtly banishing him to save his life and his reputation. It is to his credit that he has determined to embrace this banishment as a new beginning. It is what I have tried to do for the past seven years, but it becomes harder with each year. Age and distance bring a yearning for home that all the freedom I enjoy in England — to read, to write and to publish without fear of the Inquisition — cannot quite outweigh.

‘Come,’ Dee says, beckoning me through to his private study, where I had once stood by and watched Ned Kelley invent the apocalyptic words of spirits. Here too, Dee’s magical paraphernalia is in the course of being packed up and boxed for travel. The showing-stone and wax seals lie in a decorated casket wrapped in the square of crimson silk; the notebooks and diaries are stacked beside it.

‘Tell me, then,’ he says, patting the lid of one of the chests and motioning for me to sit down. ‘Have they charged Howard?’

‘He is still being questioned. All they have against him is the map of safe harbours and the list of Catholic nobles they found on Throckmorton when he was intercepted on the road. They want to claim these are in Howard’s hand, but he denies it, of course. And the queen is anxious to proceed carefully with him.’ Elizabeth’s caution is a source of great anxiety to me, though I do not tell Dee this. Her refusal to allow what she pleases to call ‘hard questioning’ of Howard has left him and the Privy Council at an impasse, and if he is not formally charged with offences of treason there is every chance she may choose to free him to appease her Catholic subjects. If that were to happen, I have no doubt that he would waste no time in looking for me.

‘But they must have searched Arundel House?’ Dee continues to potter about, lifting objects, replacing them, seemingly disconcerted among his half-packed belongings.

‘Top to bottom, Walsingham told me.’ I hesitate. ‘They didn’t find the book, John. He would have mentioned it if they had, I’m sure.’

Dee shakes his head in sorrow.

‘To think you held it in your hands. Listen, while I am in Bohemia, Bruno, I will seek out every treatise, every last manuscript and antiquarian tract on cryptography that I can find. I will consult the Emperor Rudolf’s most celebrated scholars. And in the meantime you must get the book back.’ He points a finger at me.

‘There was no evidence to incriminate Philip Howard when they searched Throckmorton’s house,’ I say. ‘The earl and his wife have wisely retired from court until his uncle’s fate is decided. I would wager any money Henry gave him the book for safe-keeping before his arrest.’

Dee tilts his head and considers this. ‘Well — there is a task for you while I am gone.’ He smiles sadly. ‘Throckmorton will hang, I suppose? And Fowler?’

‘When they have finished with them in the Tower,’ I say, and we both fall silent. Fowler, true to his word, has confessed nothing; the Tower’s most skilled interrogators could not persuade him to repeat the boast he made to me in the back room of that Southwark tavern. As a precaution, Walsingham is to undertake a diplomatic mission to Scotland after Accession Day, in the hope of prising the young King James away from the vying factions of advisers and persuading him that peaceful relations with Elizabeth will serve his kingdom best. For now, all the Privy Council’s energies are bent on discovering whether anyone else might have taken up the supposed Accession Day assassination plot.

‘This country,’ Dee begins, and then spreads his hands as if he cannot find the words. ‘When I was your age, Bruno, I believed that Elizabeth Tudor would make us truly free from the superstitions and the tyranny of Rome. But when I see what they are willing to do to preserve that freedom, I must question what we have gained. Walsingham would say you cannot defend the good of the many without spilling blood, but I don’t know.’ He sighs. ‘I can only say I will not be sorry to leave this island behind me for a while. Except that I shall miss our conversations, Bruno.’

‘And I,’ I reply, with feeling. I want to say more, to let him know how he has become the nearest thing to a father in my exile, but at this moment I catch a movement behind me and see his gaze flicker over my shoulder to the doorway; he nods in recognition. I turn, and for a moment I doubt the evidence of my eyes, for there is Ned Kelley, a fraying red scarf tied around his neck and a crate of books in his arms.

‘This one’s ready to go,’ he says. ‘Oh, hello, Doctor Bruno. How’s your head? I heard you took quite a blow.’ He breaks into a sly grin, showing his crooked teeth.

‘You little shit.’ My anger boils over; I rush at him, grabbing him by the shirt front so that he drops his box and the books tumble to the floor. I swing my right arm back; Kelley bleats something, but it is Dee’s hand that closes over my clenched fist before I can land it in the scryer’s mocking face.

‘Now, Bruno. I understand your feelings. But Ned and I have spent long hours dissecting everything that has passed between us, and he has repented.’

‘Repented?’ I drop Kelley and turn to Dee, incredulous. ‘He sold you! He took money from Henry Howard to destroy you — and you still let him into your house? In God’s name, John — have you lost your mind?’

‘Bruno.’ His voice is sad and gentle as ever; he lays a hand on my arm. ‘Ned was too much under the influence of that woman. Now she is gone, he is returned to himself, and I have forgiven him, as I would a prodigal son. I think you can understand as well as anyone how a man might be diverted from his good conscience by the charms of a woman?’

‘It was the charms of Henry Howard’s purse and you know it.’ I shake his hand from my arm. So this is what Jane meant about talking sense. All the affection I felt for Dee a moment ago seems strangled by my fury at his obstinate faith in Kelley. ‘And he tried to kill me, while you were at the palace. He threw a rock at my head.’ I rub my temple, now healed but for a crooked red scar.

‘That’s slander, that is,’ Kelley says, stepping back out of my reach. ‘You’ve got no proof.’

‘Are you really so deluded?’ I say, turning back to Dee. ‘He has no gift, John. He has no special language to speak to spirits. He is no more than a sideshow charlatan — I see it, your wife sees it, why cannot you?’

I had not meant to raise my voice to him; he looks hurt, and I am both remorseful and glad. I do not want to make this my farewell, but I cannot apologise for what I know to be true.

Kelley stoops to pick up his fallen books and dusts them off. ‘Are we taking all of these, sir?’