S. Parris - Execution

‘And this Babington group – they trust him too?’

‘Implicitly. He came with personal letters of recommendation from Charles Paget in Paris, and Mary has vouched for him.’

‘Forgive me, Your Honour, but you have said yourself that these men are not stupid. They are in regular correspondence with Paget, who keeps a close eye on me. It will not take him long to notice I have left Paris. And what happens when the real Jesuit priest turns up?’

He chuckled. ‘He will not make it past the searchers, trust me. While you were resting, Thomas and I dispatched fast riders to all the southern ports giving them warning – the Jesuit must be expected any day now, posing as the son of a cloth merchant, according to Paget. The minute they have him, he will be brought safely to Barn Elms, where we can count his limbs and he can tell us everything we need to know to make your performance convincing. I assume you have Spanish among your languages, growing up in Naples?’

‘Of course. It was the language of the nobility when I was educated at San Domenico. A Spaniard might detect a Neapolitan accent, though I am fluent enough to convince Englishmen. But—’

‘Excellent.’ The smile crept back. ‘Don’t worry about Paget. We will put the word out in Paris that you have taken a trip to Wittenberg.’

‘What will you do with this Jesuit while I am impersonating him? You will not kill him?’ I tried not to think about how the Spaniard would be persuaded to share his information. It was said that any prisoner suspected of possessing intelligence too sensitive to be heard even by the torturers at the Tower was taken under cover of darkness to Walsingham’s country house near Mortlake, where he would conduct the interrogations himself in his cellar.

‘The Jesuit will be my concern,’ he said, with a snap of finality. He folded his hands together and leaned closer. ‘But you must tell me now if the business makes you squeamish. Once it is begun, once you are in with them, you must see it through to the end. If you waver, if you hesitate even once and they suspect you, they will kill you. They have too much at stake. We have already seen what they will do to a woman.’ He held my gaze, unblinking. ‘And you have a tender conscience, Bruno – I have noted this in you before. As a man, it is a virtue that does you credit. As an agent, it could be your undoing. In this occupation, one is sometimes required to override conscience with duty, just as a soldier on the battlefield must.’

‘I have watched a man die a traitor’s death, Your Honour,’ I said quietly. ‘What you are asking of me – to befriend these men, eat with them, earn their trust, all to bring them to the scaffold – it is no small thing. Anyone with a conscience would think twice.’

‘I expect you to think twice. But remind yourself that these men want to kill an anointed queen.’

‘So do you.’

I saw his fingers flex, but his voice remained level. ‘I wish to convict a traitor who conspires against England on the side of foreign invaders. What title she claims is not at issue. These people do not deserve your sympathy, Bruno. But if you need further convincing, I am happy to oblige. Marston!’ He scraped back his chair and stood as he called out. The steward appeared with remarkable speed, leading me to suspect he had remained right outside the door. It was not my concern if Walsingham’s servants eavesdropped, I tried to tell myself, but there was no avoiding the knowledge that, if I accepted this commission, everything surrounding it could mean the thin sliver of difference between life and death. I had seen before what could happen when a man trusted his servants unquestioningly.

‘Prepare the carriage with no livery,’ Walsingham said. ‘Fetch my cloak too, and tell the servants to bring Bruno’s bags.’

Marston nodded and left the room. Walsingham turned to me. ‘You can stay with Thomas tonight in Leadenhall. Best you keep away from my house, in case you are seen. We will take you there on the way back.’

‘Back from where?’

‘You will see.’ He set his mouth in a grim line. ‘I want you to know the men you are dealing with, before you make your decision. I would also value your shrewd eye.’

I could barely keep my shrewd eyes open by this point, but I rose, gave a small bow and followed Phelippes along the corridor to a back door that gave on to a neat courtyard and kitchen garden. Cloaks and bags were brought, and we were led out to the tart chill of the summer night, the light almost gone, a fading scent of roses and woodsmoke on the air. I breathed in; I guessed at what Walsingham meant to show me, and I wanted to inhale the freshness of the night and hold it deep in my lungs against what was to come.

‘There is one thing I do not understand,’ I said, bracing myself against the seat as the carriage jolted along a rutted track. Black cloth hung at the windows so I had no idea of where we were; only that we had been travelling for more than half an hour and had passed outside the city walls – we had made a brief stop while Phelippes descended and I had caught the exchange of voices before the scrape and creak of gates opening. But no one had offered any further information and we had bumped along in silence until now, Walsingham’s brooding expression forbidding unnecessary questions.

He raised his head from his thoughts and nodded for me to continue.

‘You’ve had Mary Stuart in custody for nearly twenty years. If you want so badly to be rid of her, why don’t you slip something into her food? She could die quietly of an unexplained illness, without all this need for elaborate trickery and conspiracies and the spectacle of a trial with all of Europe watching.’

His shoulders slumped as a sigh escaped him and I saw him exchange a glance with Phelippes.

‘Do you suppose this has not been considered?’ He sat back. ‘You tell him, Thomas – I am weary of making this argument. I have it with the Queen at least once a week. She favours your method, Bruno. If she could have Mary dead without sullying her own hands or her conscience, she would sleep easier than she has in two decades. So she claims.’

‘Then why does she not do it?’ I turned to Phelippes.

‘It is more complicated than that,’ he said. ‘Lord Burghley wants to remake the constitution of England.’

‘It has become a stand-off between the Queen and Burghley.’ Walsingham leaned in again. ‘You remember him, of course. England’s greatest statesman, stubborn as a donkey.’

Even in the dark of the carriage, I noted the faint gleam of his teeth, a smile of affection, not mockery. I had encountered William Cecil, Lord Burghley, the last time Walsingham had asked me to investigate the murder of a young woman at court, and knew something of his reputation. He was now Lord High Treasurer, and Elizabeth’s most senior and trusted advisor. He was also the man who had raised Master Secretary to his present position, and Walsingham’s loyalty to him was second only to that he showed the Queen. I would need to be careful of my response.

‘The very concept of the divine right of kings hangs on Mary Stuart’s fate, as Queen Elizabeth knows all too well,’ Walsingham continued. ‘Once precedent has been established that an anointed queen may be tried and condemned by a jury like any other private citizen, part of the monarch’s power will have been ceded to Parliament for good. This is Burghley’s goal.’ He tapped his thumbnail against his teeth. ‘Her Majesty the Queen would love nothing more than a silent assassin in the night to do the job for her. But we must ensure that Mary is shown publicly – before all the kings of Europe – to have been the architect of her own downfall, else her death will always be surrounded by the suspicion of foul play. The last thing we want is to make a martyr of her. The whole point is to prove that, when it comes to treason, no one can be above the law.’