by S. J. Parris
Whatever his involvement, I knew I should tell Phelippes and Walsingham immediately that Douglas was in town. If they knew that I had seen him, they would almost certainly want to pull me out of the conspiracy, knowing my identity was compromised. A couple of days ago, that might have come as a relief; now I felt I was too deeply enmeshed. Call it pride, stubbornness, curiosity; I could not simply give up now without untangling all the threads. Though there were moments – like the one earlier that had driven me to seek respite behind the bear pit – when I felt overwhelmed by the demands of being Prado, Walsingham had been right from the beginning, damn him: I was feeling more alive than I had in months, and the thought of returning to the daily grind of my life in Paris before Clara’s death was resolved filled me with dread.
When the baiting was over and the torn corpses dragged out of the ring, we pushed through the crowds and gathered again outside the entrance; I was relieved to escape the smell of blood and meat. Sophia studiously avoided my eye and I had to force myself not to keep stealing glances at her. As a distraction, I cast around for Douglas in the crowds leaving the arena, but he seemed to have vanished, for the time being.
‘Prado?’
I jerked my attention back to my companions; Ballard was looking at me expectantly.
‘I said – you will send word to Mendoza urgently that we mean to proceed in the next few days. Anthony will write to Mary tonight telling her that our plans have changed and the hour is at hand, but saying nothing of why – we must not alarm her at all costs, since she will need a clear head and steady nerve in the next few days. Gilbert will ride with the letter tomorrow, with all haste, and should be with her by Saturday. I will procure the necessary means and by Monday, when Mistress Pierrepont is back on duty, she will look for an opportunity to dispatch the usurper. In the meantime, Anthony and Titch will ride north to liberate the Queen, and meet Gilbert in Staffordshire.’
‘If we ever find Titch,’ Babington said, chewing his thumb again.
‘He’ll turn up,’ Ballard said. He seemed galvanised by the evening’s entertainment. ‘Is that clear enough, Prado? You can code all that into a dispatch to send tomorrow? Tell Mendoza to ready troops and we will send the list of landing places as soon as we have it. And make sure you don’t alert the French.’
‘I will put all this into a dispatch the moment I get back to my chamber,’ I said. That, at least, was true. ‘In fact, perhaps I should go now, to make a start.’
I looked up at the sky; the light had almost faded behind drifts of cloud touched with lilac and orange. The river gleamed like beaten silver. I had not been paying attention to the bells, but I guessed it must be near half past nine. I hoped that if I could be excused from priestly duties that night, I might make some excuse to slip away from the group now into the back streets of Southwark and find Leila, to ask her about the opium, and quiz Joe about whatever he had done that made him fear the fires of Hell.
‘Not yet.’ Ballard took me by the elbow and steered me a few feet away from the others; Savage followed. ‘Listen, Prado – I’ve decided it’s best if you don’t come with me to the faithful tonight. You are quite conspicuous, and I don’t want to draw unwelcome attention from the pursuivants. Besides…’ he paused, seeming uncomfortable, ‘some people have said they don’t want a foreigner ministering to them, even if you are a priest.’
I did my best to look disappointed.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, a hand on my arm. ‘I know from this morning how keen you are to continue God’s work.’
I met his eye; it was impossible to tell whether he was being sarcastic. ‘God has other purposes for me, I’m sure,’ I said.
‘Well, I do, certainly. I want you to go with Jack to see if you can find Titch.’
I glanced at Savage. ‘You think something has happened to him?’
‘I don’t like his absence. I played it down in front of the others because I fear Babington is losing heart, and I don’t want to make him more skittish. But Chidiock has been a faithful member of our group – it’s unlike him not to turn up with no explanation. Go to his lodgings and make discreet enquiries. If Clara Poole gave names under interrogation, they may be picking us up one by one, starting with those they think will be easiest to break.’
‘Then – the authorities may be waiting for us?’ I asked. It seemed that Ballard still believed Clara was murdered by Walsingham’s agents. Unless it was an elaborate trap, and he intended Savage to kill me on the way and throw me in the river. I darted a quick glance around; there were link-boys milling around the yard outside the bear garden, waiting to escort the wealthier patrons home, but no sign of Ben among them.
‘That’s why I’m sending my best fighters,’ Ballard said with a smile, though his eyes looked tired. I wondered how much he had slept the previous night. ‘If anyone can get the better of the pursuivants and escape, it’s the two of you. Titch lodges at the sign of the Blue Boar in Crooked Lane, off New Fish Street. I’m going to dine at the Unicorn now with Anthony and Robin. They both need encouragement, in their different ways. You can bring me word there when you have news. And no punching each other – save that for our enemies.’ He looked from me to Savage with something like affection, as if he were a benevolent father reprimanding squabbling brothers.
Savage began walking without looking back. I hastened after him, when I felt a hand catch at my sleeve.
‘Father.’ Babington sidled up to me, his voice low. As always, there was a moment – the space of a heartbeat – when the title jarred, and I almost found myself looking around for a priest.
‘What is it, son?’ I asked. His face was agitated.
‘Tonight, when you return to Herne’s Rents. Will you come to my room? I need to speak to you alone.’ He flicked a glance over his shoulder as he spoke, as if afraid one of the others might hear.
‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yes.’ He lowered his gaze. ‘I want to make my confession. Will you hear it?’
‘Of course. But – I thought Father Ballard was your confessor?’
‘He has been. But there are things I have not told him. This time I would rather speak to you. Don’t mention it to him, he wouldn’t like it.’
‘I won’t say a word. But I don’t know what time I’ll be back tonight.’
‘Doesn’t matter. Come whenever. I don’t sleep well these days.’
‘I’ll be there.’ I patted him reassuringly on the arm, though my heart was pounding: was it going to be this easy? There was clearly something weighing on his mind and I wondered if it was about Clara; the thought that he might simply deliver it up to me was too good to be true.
‘Gentlemen, I will meet you at the Unicorn shortly,’ Ballard was saying. ‘Ladies, alas, I cannot take you there – Madam Rosa is territorial. But we shall meet again as soon as I have the means to proceed.’ He bowed low and kissed Bessie’s hand. ‘You will find your way home safely? Southwark is no place for nice young ladies.’
‘Oh, but we are not nice young ladies,’ she said, giggling, with a toss of her hair. Sophia caught my eye and flashed me a secret smile.
‘I can escort the ladies home,’ Gifford piped up, eager as a puppy.
‘No, I don’t think so, Gilbert.’ Ballard hooked an arm around his shoulder. ‘You and I need to have a little talk. In private. Walk with me along the river a while. Robin, you can see the girls home. Perhaps you could put them on my grey mare, if you can remember where you left her.’
Poole blanched. ‘About the mare—’ he began. Ballard held a hand up with an indulgent laugh.
‘Don’t worry, my friend – I know you have a great deal on your mind at present. We can discuss the horse some other time. Look to the ladies, now.’
Poole gave him a curt nod and bobbed a brief bow to the women, who set off with him along the bank.
Gifford wrenched his head around as he was led away eastwards along the bank, to shoot me a look of pure terror over Ballard’s shoulder. I stared
back at him, helpless; I could hardly volunteer to accompany them. As I watched them walk away, a terrible foreboding gripped me; I had been a fool to underestimate Ballard. Gifford was right; he had seen through us, and was separating us to dispatch us. Even if all he had were suspicions, the present state of Gifford – half-drunk and panicked – would be enough to confirm them, and we were both dead men. Further along the bank, Savage had slowed his pace, but I would have to run to catch up with him; he was not going to make any concessions to me. As Robin Poole offered her his arm, Sophia threw a quick glance back at me and winked.
NINETEEN
‘When this is all over,’ Savage said, speculatively, looking up as we passed under the Drawbridge Gate on London Bridge, ‘I’m going to beat seven shades of shit out of you.’
‘Fair enough.’
He seemed disappointed. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me why?’
‘Because you don’t like me, I assume,’ I said. ‘No great mystery. Because I made you look weak in front of Ballard. So, if beating me helps you prove something, go ahead. But I don’t think it will make him admire you more, if that’s your aim.’
‘That’s not it,’ he said, though I could see I had needled him.
‘Because I’m foreign, then.’
He continued walking in silence, purposefully not looking at me. I would have taken it as bluster, except for his words the previous night, which continued to trouble me.
‘Yesterday,’ I said, my hand straying to the knife at my belt, ‘you said you knew what I was. What did you mean by that?’
He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘You might have fooled Ballard, but you haven’t fooled me. You can let go of that dagger – what are you going to do, run me through in the middle of the bridge?’
I let my hand fall to my side. There were plenty of people crossing the river at this hour, mostly groups of young gallants, already drunk, arms slung around one another’s shoulders and singing bawdy catches, heading south for the stews of Southwark.
‘I’ve met your kind before,’ he said, in a low voice, from the side of his mouth. I felt my throat tighten; if he had seen through me, had he told any of the others? He was right that we couldn’t fight here on the bridge without drawing attention, but could I outrun him if he turned on me? I kept an eye on his hands; they were bunched at his sides, nowhere near his weapon, but I knew his reflexes were fast.
‘You don’t care about our cause. I see the way you look at us,’ he continued. ‘You think you’re cleverer than us. Because you can argue in Latin and Greek, you think God put you above us.’
‘I’m a priest,’ I said mildly. ‘I think God sent me to serve.’
‘You don’t really believe that, though, do you? I saw you last night. You didn’t want to be there, ministering to those people, it was written all over your face. I’d wager it’s a while since you’ve given anyone the sacraments, you sounded like you were struggling to remember them half the time. You’d rather have been in some seminary debating chamber arguing about Aristotle.’
My arms and legs turned cold at the mention of Aristotle; he knew me, for certain.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘That’s what you Jesuits like, isn’t it?’
‘If that were the case, I would not have risked my life coming to England undercover,’ I said, a little haughty, to disguise my relief at the fact that he apparently still thought I was a Jesuit.
‘I know exactly why you’re here. So Spain can swoop in and take all the spoils once we’ve done the dirty work. I never wanted John to go to France, so you know.’ He stole a look at me, his mouth set hard. ‘I said this was English business and we should not involve foreign powers, or they would end up taking everything, but the others felt we could not manage without. They imagine your King Philip will respect English sovereignty, when the Tudor is dead, but they are fantasists.’ He shook his head with a bitter laugh. ‘You may be a priest, but that’s nothing to me. I don’t think it gives you magical powers.’
‘I wonder why you are here, if you hold the Catholic Church in such contempt.’
‘Not for love of the Pope or Mary Stuart, put it that way.’
‘Then why? Why risk your life if you don’t believe it’s God’s will?’
He snorted. ‘God’s will. I marvel at the arrogance of any man who claims to know that. I’m here for John, that’s all.’
‘You must think very highly of him.’
‘I owe him,’ he said simply. ‘He saved my life, and I pledged him my loyalty. I’m a man of my word.’
We walked on in silence. He had retreated into his thoughts; I sensed he disliked talking about himself.
‘How did he save your life?’ I asked, after a while.
‘None of your fucking business, Jesuit.’
The sentiment didn’t matter; when I heard him call me Jesuit, even as an insult, I wanted to embrace him. As long as he believed that’s what I was, I could put up with any amount of resentment. But as we approached the end of the bridge, he seemed to relent.
‘My daughter died,’ he said, in a different tone. ‘Four years back.’
‘I’m sorry.’ A priest should probably commend her soul to God, but I didn’t think Savage would appreciate that.
He shrugged, as if to say that my condolences were meaningless. ‘Sweating sickness. It took a lot of people that summer. She was nine. Our only child. My wife lost her wits with the grief of it. She had her faith in the old Church – she went looking to priests for comfort, much good it did her. They were happy to take her offerings though. Then one day she disappeared.’
‘Where?’
‘No idea. Just – pfft.’ He mimed a puff of smoke with his fingers. ‘I walk around London looking in the face of every beggar woman I see. When I go around those houses at night with John, in the poor neighbourhoods, I hope every time for a sight of her.’ He shook his head. ‘Even though I know in my heart she’s at the bottom of the river or in a common pit by now. After she left, I drank.’
We passed under the wide gatehouse on the north bank. He turned to look at me, gauging my response, and in the light from the torches, his mismatched eyes were strange and sad.
‘I’d worked as a legal clerk, but I couldn’t keep my job. So I fought for money – I always had a talent for that. Illegal fistfights in the Southwark inn yards, with crowds egging us on as if we were cocks or dogs. I beat men for money, and when I got paid I drank it. I kept that up for a few months – I was good, people made a profit on me. But the drink took the edge off. One night I drank before the fight instead of after, I lost badly, and so did the men who’d expected me to win. I was told not to come back. So I found myself on the riverbank, just back there.’ He indicated with his thumb as we began to walk up New Fish Street. ‘I knew if you went in right by the bridge, the current between the arches would pull you under before anyone could try to drag you out. I was standing there, screwing up my nerve, and I felt a hand on my shoulder.’
‘Ballard.’
‘Yup. He said, “Come on, son – you’re a fighter, aren’t you? Then fight.”’ He broke off, a catch in his voice. ‘So that’s the story,’ he said briskly, when he had recovered himself.
‘Do the others know your history?’ I asked.
‘No. Only John. So don’t you say anything.’
‘I wouldn’t. Why did you tell me?’
‘I don’t know. I suppose because I see that you look down on John, and I wanted you to understand what kind of man he is. Why people are drawn to him.’
I nodded. We walked on in silence for a while.
‘What was her name?’ I asked. ‘Your daughter.’
‘Lucy,’ he said, without hesitation, his face softening. ‘My wife was Sarah.’
‘Ballard was right,’ I murmured, ‘you are a fighter. I don’t know that I could have suffered so much, and go on putting one foot in front of the other.’
‘Sometimes I think it would have been better to have chosen your life, be a pr
iest and have no family, to have avoided the pain of it.’
‘But then you would have missed the rest too. I have never held a child of my own. I could envy you that.’
He slowed his pace and turned to me, and in that look something frank was exchanged, because in that moment I was not lying.
‘True. I had nine years with her. I would not have missed that for anything.’
‘You must feel for Robin Poole, in his grief,’ I said carefully.
‘I don’t know if murder is better or worse,’ he said, after some thought. ‘At least you’d have someone to blame, you could look for vengeance. But then you’d always feel it could have turned out different. With sickness, all you can do is blame God, and He doesn’t listen. I do feel for Robin – it’s a hard hand to be dealt.’
‘Babington said it was especially cruel for him to go through this again. What did he mean?’