by Neal Roberts
Noah glowers, and speaks softly. “Goodman Jailer, you must not remain inside the cell during the interview.”
The jailer smirks. “Sorry, sir. But I take my orders from the Queen.”
“So do I!” Noah shoots back, and thrusts the commission up to his view. “And here are your orders. It says ‘in strictest privacy.’”
The jailer turns sullen. “I dunno that’s how I read it, suh.”
“Shall we go to the Queen for an interpretation? Or, perhaps … we could simply double the Administrative Expense?”
“The Admin — ” The jailer’s eyebrows rise. “I’m sure that would be just fine, suh.”
“I’m pleased we see it the same way. Please wait down the hall. We’ll summon you when we’ve finished.”
“Certainly, suh!” says the jailer, who leaves with a spring in his step, shutting the door from outside this time. Noah feels satisfied, as he’s thus far given the jailer only half what he originally intended, anyway.
Lopez lies motionless on his cot, facing the stone wall, which glistens with moisture. Jonathan has already failed several times to persuade him to turn toward them.
“Doctor Lopez,” says Noah, “is this the greeting I deserve?”
Lopez turns and sits up at the sound of his voice. “Not at all, Master Ames. It is a relief to see you. Have you come to post bail?”
Noah shakes his head dolefully. “Alas, Doctor. No bail shall be set in this case. I’m afraid we have come bearing only our advice.”
Lopez regards him skeptically. “Are you sent here by Master Cecil?”
“After a fashion. Her Majesty has appointed us to assist you with legal advice. Although Lord Burghley has signed my commission, I shall not report to him … or anyone else, for that matter. I am your counsel. This is Master Hawking, whom you’ve met at Gray’s. I’ve known him for years and trust him implicitly.”
A gleam of hope shines in Lopez’s eyes. “I see. But why … why should Her Majesty appoint counsel to assist in my defense? Do you know what I stand accused of?”
“Not precisely, and we’ll get to that later. But you do understand, Doctor Lopez, that all communications between you, on one hand, and Master Hawking or myself, on the other, are privileged. That means we can never repeat what you have said, nor can we lawfully be compelled to do so. You understand?”
“Yes, I see.”
“And you understand that means that you must never lie to Master Hawking or me, or withhold any part of the truth from us?”
“Truth!” Lopez scoffs, but then nods. “Yes, I understand.”
“You have not been tortured, have you? Or threatened with torture?”
Lopez shakes his head unequivocally. “I have not. No.”
“Very well, Doctor Lopez. I have asked Master Hawking to interview you. For today, I will be mostly listening.”
“I understand.”
Jonathan already has his pen in hand, and his journal open on his lap. “Doctor Lopez, of what country are you a citizen?” Lopez appears not to understand. “Perhaps this would be a better phrasing: To what Sovereign are you subject?”
Lopez appears confused, and looks to Noah for help.
“Perhaps you should ask for the client’s birthplace,” says Noah, “and his residence since that time.”
“Oh,” says Lopez. “I see. I was born in Crato, in Portugal, in the Year of Our Lord 1525.”
“Is Portugal a country independent from Spain?” asks Jonathan. Lopez again appears not to understand. “What I’m trying to find out — ”
“No, no. Your question is clear,” Lopez assures him, “but the answer, I’m afraid, is not. When I was born in Portugal, it was an independent country. But, many years later, the king died, and there are now several different claimants to the Portuguese throne.”
Now it’s Jonathan’s turn to look confused.
Lopez resumes. “One claimant to the throne is Philip the Second of Spain. If he wins the throne, then perhaps Portugal is not an independent country. You see?”
Jonathan scribbles something, and nods. “I believe so. All right, then, when you were born, you were a subject of the King of Portugal. Correct?”
Lopez looks to Noah again, pleading mutely.
“Jonathan,” says Noah. “I do not wish to interrupt, but I must explain to you what it means to be born a Jew in Christendom.”
Jonathan waits expectantly.
“A Jew born in England, for example, is not an Englishman. In fact, he is not even a subject of the Crown. He stands in a strange, in some respects, unique relation to the Sovereign. For most purposes, he’s an alien, a kind of long-term visitor. Unlike Christianity, although Judaism is a religion, it is also a race, as its members are supposed to marry only other members of the race. In a sense, then, the Jews are a separate nation. You see?”
Jonathan nods uncertainly, and turns back to Lopez. “But you became a Christian in Portugal?”
“Not exactly. We were forcibly converted to papism. And we openly practiced it, but it did not really matter, because we were still regarded as Jews. And, inside, many of us were still believers in the Hebrew religion.”
“But, if you converted, then you became Portuguese?”
“If we professed to convert, yes. But then came the Inquisition, and we were not believed to be real Christians, so many of us were put to the sword as heretics, or expelled.”
“All right. Where did you go after leaving Portugal?”
“To Spain, to study medicine.”
“And did you become a subject of the Spanish … ?”
“No. Same as Portugal. Not a subject. A Jew. But I was a papist, really. I’d converted, and accepted Jesus Christ as my savior. I did not stay very long in Spain. I came to England shortly after Her Majesty … God save her … was crowned.”
“And you joined the reformed Church of England?”
“Yes, just as all you English did.”
Jonathan daubs perspiration from his brow. Evidently, this is proving much more difficult than he anticipated. “So, then, now you are a subject of the English Crown.”
“No, I am not. I am a Jew.”
“So, you’re not an Englishman?”
“How could I be?” replies Lopez. “I am an ambassador to Her Majesty from a foreign country.”
“From which country?”
“Portugal.”
Noah holds up his hand in exasperation. “Jonathan, stop!”
Noah’s head is spinning as wildly as Jonathan’s. This man is being accused of violating his natural loyalties. But how can a man be expected to know where his natural loyalties lie, if he never knows who he is? If he never knows his true relation to the country of his residence?
And worse, it’s beginning to dawn on Noah that this whole line of questioning is equally salient to him. If he had not been figuratively “adopted” by the Queen, how would he answer Jonathan’s questions about himself? What nationality is he? Polish? French? English? Jewish alien?
Even now, having been a lifelong beneficiary of the Queen’s largesse, what is his relation to the Crown? He has held himself out to be a loyal subject of the Queen all his life, and feels such loyalty deep within his bones. But is this sufficient to make him the Queen’s subject? What if his Jewishness were to become generally known? Would he still be taken as the Queen’s loyal subject? Or as a Jew? Or, worse, as a fraud?
Has he in fact become what he’s purported to be for so long? Or is his Englishness mere theater?
After all questions are put aside concerning citizenship and loyalty, as well as professed and actual religion, that day’s interview reveals a portion of Lopez’s story.
Besides being a practicing physician to the very poor and the very rich, Lopez worked for Walsingham in gathering intelligence for many years. After a time, Walsingham authorized him to act as a “projector,” that is, an agent who purports to be something he’s not, so that he may gather additional intelligence and ensnare foreign agents.
/>
Sometimes Lopez would pretend to act for a power other than England. Sometimes, he would pretend to be a double agent serving (and collecting fees from) two or more Sovereigns.
Once an agent becomes a projector, the number of permutations in his possible roles boggles the mind, as he might pretend to be more than one thing to different people at the same time. And he might be dealing with others who are themselves projectors doing likewise.
From such devious practices, a seductive world of shadow and illusion springs into existence, devoid of substance, in which a player never knows the truth about anyone but himself, and is often tempted to forget even that.
According to Lopez, one of the two principal hazards imposed by “projecting” is that one need always act consistently with the expectations of those being duped. One slip-up can, and often does, cost the projector his life.
The other main hazard of projecting is that, whether by need or greed, a projector can be tempted to “freelance,” interjecting his personal interest in an affair when, for a fee or personal advancement, he will mislead his real sponsors. He might secretly share his sponsors’ information with others, also for personal advantage. Such things as these Lopez did, and all because he wanted the money.
When the Portuguese monarch died without apparent heir, Lopez backed one of the contenders for the throne whom he had known most of his life, Don Antonio. Although Don Antonio’s claim was not unimpeachable, at Lopez’s urging Queen Elizabeth provided him a foothold in England. Lopez put him up at Eton along with his eldest son, Don Emanuel, who now wishes to capitulate to King Philip of Spain. These are the “dons” that Marie heard arguing from her carriage at Eton.
Lopez personally helped to organize and finance the disastrous English Armada that was intended to prevent King Philip from reconstituting the Spanish Armada and to install Don Antonio on the Portuguese throne, ensuring that Portugal would remain independent of Spain. This was the expedition which the Queen forbade Essex to join, but which Essex joined nevertheless, on which he had proven both his courage and his irrationality by challenging all denizens of the City of Lisbon to individual combat.
Lopez lost his entire considerable fortune in the expedition. Although he was getting old, he was eager to resume his life of espionage in order to regain some portion of his personal fortune for his family. But Walsingham died, and no one stepped into his shoes as Her Majesty’s spymaster. Lopez now had no wealth, no significant income, and no English sponsor. So, he became a freelance “projector.” This man without a country then became a spy without a country.
Riding away from the last interview with Lopez at the Tower, Noah contemplates the near futility of defending the man. The Cecils know that if they lose the battle for the Attorney Generalship and Essex’s man Francis Bacon is appointed, Bacon will be in the perfect position to prosecute them as accomplices to any crime committed by Lopez. Once they learn — as soon they must — that Lopez has committed treason, the only way they’ll be able to avoid a charge of treason at Essex’s hands will be to let Lopez die before he can be compelled to give testimony against them in court. The sooner he’s dispatched, the better for them.
When Noah and Jonathan leave the Tower that first day, they’ve learned only half the international part of the story. In the coming days, they learn the rest: how King Philip of Spain engaged in his own “projection,” ensnaring Lopez to participate in a plot to assassinate his former minister Perez, who’d betrayed Philip and come to live in England under Crown protection.
What Noah finds most astounding is Lopez’s utter failure to recognize the close in-fighting between factions of the English Privy Council, foolishly treating them as though they were warring sovereigns separated by great oceans.
Lopez stupidly began a projection with Essex as dupe, providing intelligence, bought and paid for by Essex, first to the Cecils. Once Essex saw that he was Lopez’s dupe, he realized he could easily prove to the Queen that Lopez was the Cecils’ man. After that, all he would need to show in order to disgrace the Cecils was that Lopez committed treason under their protection, which Lopez stupidly did by assisting in the plot to assassinate Perez.
This man without a country, who became a spy without a country, is now a treasonous spy, poisonous to his former sponsors. He has no constituents. He is a fatal liability to his erstwhile friends, and a disposable asset to his deadliest enemy.
Lopez is as good as dead.
And the only people who want him to receive a fair and public trial are Noah, Jonathan … and the Queen.
Chapter 25
BY THE TIME Noah is free to visit Jessica again, it’s already the last day of January. In the morning chill, he dons his robes, mounts Bucklebury, and rides toward Southwark. As he leaves London Bridge, the wind suddenly picks up, and The Rose comes into view in the distance. He’s heard it will be opening for the season tomorrow.
It occurs to him that February will begin tomorrow, and that it was late February last year that he and Henry went to see the debut of Marlowe’s Jew of Malta. That was the same day Marie’s husband was murdered, and Essex, having been roundly applauded by the crowd, lied to the constable about witnessing the murder.
So much has happened in the past year. Some things have come together. He has arrived at a new unspoken concord with Jessica, and fallen in love with Marie. He’s cemented his professional relationship with Jonathan, and his friendship with Henry. Yet many important matters remain out of joint. The murder of Marie’s husband Stephen remains unavenged, as does that of Jonathan’s father figure Graves. Marlowe is in the ground, too, with no one to mourn him, or even investigate the circumstances of his death. And, of course, the fight for Lopez’s life has barely begun.
In the distance, Noah espies workmen posting bills all around The Rose announcing the upcoming show, and he decides to pay the theater a short visit. Dismounting some distance away, he leads Bucklebury toward the entrance. As he watches work progress, the top bill flies off a pile carried by one workman, who lets it go lest he lose the rest while chasing the errant paper. It falls face down at Noah’s feet. He picks it up and turns it over.
“The Jew of Malta!” screams the headline, with the word “Jew” printed in a lurid typeface that appears to drip blood. Although the print is all in black, the intended effect is unmistakable. “Come see the heathen Jew!” says the bill, “Poisoner of good Christian souls!”
So, amidst newly sprung rumors of a real Jewish doctor plotting to poison the Queen, new life is breathed into Marlowe’s play about a Jew who takes pleasure in poisoning Christians. Although Marlowe may have hinted to the discriminating viewer that his play was intended to parody the very notion of the wicked Jew, in times of public fear and outcry such subtleties are bound to be washed over. On its face, the play is an indictment of all Jews, and that’s how it will be taken. And how satisfying it will be for the panting crowd to learn that the wicked Jewish plot has been foiled by its beloved Earl of Essex!
He folds the bill absentmindedly and puts it in his pocket. He wonders in passing whether Jessica might be in danger amidst such bigotry, and chides himself for taking comfort in her Christian guise.
Just then, a commotion breaks out across the lawn, mere paces from the spot where Stephen Rodriguez was murdered. A mother is trying to lead her two young children past a menacing crowd of perhaps a dozen people, although it appears to be growing rapidly.
The old fishwife at the head of the crowd brandishes a crooked switch at the children, a horrid glee on her wizened and toothless face.
“Pay no attention to them!” cries the mother to her children, and turns on the angry old fishwife. “What’s the matter with you? We’re your neighbors! We’ve lived here all our lives! Will you turn on us because of a foolish stage play?”
“Aaaohh! A foolish stage play, is it? When you Jew devils ’ave tried to poison the Queen? Oughta throw the ’ole lotta ye into the Thames, they ought!”
Noah runs over to stand by the moth
er, who acknowledges his assistance gratefully. The fishwife, even more decrepit than she seemed from across the lawn, looks him up and down skeptically.
“What are you doin’ round ’ere, Master Barrister? Come lookin’ fah clients, ’ave ye? Ye’ll find plenty criminals ’round ’ere, but none as can pay fees enough to satisfy your sort!”
The voice of another old woman comes from the rear of the crowd. “Mebbe ye can spring me old cadger outta Newgate Prison. Old sot oughta be dried out by now!” The crowd laughs broadly.
Noah holds up his hands. “What seems to be the problem with this woman and her children, madam?” he asks in his most dignified courtroom voice.
“She’s a Jew bitch, this one!” spits the fishwife angrily. “She’s probably teachin’ those little Jewlings ’ow to murder Our Lord again, next time he shows up!” The crowd cheers and applauds.
“Please, madam. Can’t you live peacefully alongside these people now, as you always have?”
“Whadda you? Some sorta Jew lover? Mebbe we oughta take a switch to you, too.” She swings the stick halfheartedly at his head. Although he draws back out of its reach, the way it whirs past him shows it to be much heavier than he thought.
A familiar male voice comes from a few feet behind him. “Now, Alice, I could take you in just for swingin’ yer switch at this gentleman’s ’ed. So calm down right now!” It’s Constable Barnstable, who looks curiously at the mother and her children, and then turns back to the fishwife. “What kinda bug ye got up yer arse about this one, Alice?”
Alice seems abashed at this inquiry by the constable, and by being singled out by name.
“She’s a heathen, Constable. A Jew devil.”
Barnstable looks the mother and her children up and down again. “Nope, Alice. Don’t see no ’orns. No devils ’ere.” He turns back to Alice. “I don’t suppose ye got some kinda commission to root out all the Jews in Her Majesty’s kingdom, do ye?”