by Iain Pears
‘So great is your reputation as the finest man in the world, that I was wondering whether you might share your knowledge.’
‘With whom?’
‘With all men of good will, who wish to bring the darkness into light, and ensure the peace of all Christendom.’
‘You mean I should write a book about it?’
‘Maybe you should,’ he said with a smile. ‘But that would be a long operation, and bring you little reward. More, I wondered whether you might travel to Brussels, and give instruction to some young men of my acquaintance, who would prove, I am sure, to be some of the finest pupils you have ever had. Naturally, this labour would be well rewarded.’
The audacity of the man was astonishing; he slipped so easily and readily into the suggestion, it fell from his lips so normally, that I did not even feel resentment at the proposal. There was, of course, not the slightest chance of my even considering the offer, perhaps he knew that. In my life I have had many such proposals; I have turned them all down. Even good Protestant states I have declined to aid in any way at all, most recently rejecting a hint that I should instruct Mr Leibniz in my art. I have always been determined that my skill should be my country’s alone, and should not be available to any who might become an antagonist.
‘Your offer is as generous as my worth is small,’ I replied. ‘But I fear my university duties are such that I would never be allowed leave to travel.’
‘A great pity,’ he replied, with no trace at all of surprise or disappointment. ‘If your circumstances ever change, the offer will undoubtedly be renewed.’
‘As you have done me a great honour, I feel obliged to repay your kindness instantly,’ I said. ‘For I must tell you that a plot is afoot by your enemies to besmirch your reputation, by spreading the most scurrilous rumours.’
‘And this comes from your work, does it?’
‘It comes from different places. I know many people of high standing, and converse frequently with them. Let me tell you frankly, sir, that I feel strongly you should be allowed to defend yourself against idle tittle-tattle. You have not been in this country long enough to understand the power of gossip in a country so ill-used to the discipline of strong and firm government.’
‘I am grateful for your concern. Tell me, then. What is this gossip I should concern myself with?’
‘It is said that you are no friends of our monarch, and that should misfortune befall him, people would not have to look far to find the source of his troubles.’
De Moledi nodded at these words. ‘Slander indeed,’ he said. ‘For it is known that our love for your king is complete. Did we not aid him in his exile, when he was cast out and penniless? Provide him and his friends with a home, and money? Risk war with Cromwell because we would not abandon our obligations to him?’
‘Few people’, I replied, ‘remember past goodness. It is in the nature of mankind to think the worst of their fellows.’
‘And does a man such as yourself harbour such suspicions?’
‘I cannot believe that any man of honour could intend harm to a man so manifestly loved by God,’ I said.
‘That is true. The great difficulty with lies is that they are hard to contradict, especially when others spread them with malicious intent.’
‘They must be contradicted,’ I said. ‘If I make speak plainly?’
He gave his assent.
‘Your interest at court, and your friends there, will be hurt by these stories if they are allowed to go unchecked.’
‘And you wish to assist me? Forgive me for saying so, but I did not expect such a kindness from a man such as you, whose opinions are well known.’
‘I freely admit I have no great love for your country. Many men within it I honour deeply, but your interests and ours must ever be in conflict. I can say the same for France, however. The well-being of England must always lie in ensuring that no foreign country ever attains a predominant position amongst us. That has been the policy of the wisest of our princes for generations, and must continue. When France is strong, we must look to the Habsburgs; when the Habsburgs are strong, we should bolster France.’
‘And do you speak for Mr Bennet as well?’
‘I speak for no man but myself. I am a mathematician, a priest and an Englishman. But I am sure you know the admiration Mr Bennet has for your country. His position, also, will not be aided by such talk.’
De Moledi stood up, and bowed graciously. ‘I understand well that you are the sort of man to whom thanks should only be offered in words, and so in words alone do I offer them. I will say only that a different man would go from this room very much the richer for his kindness.’
I wrapped up my warning to de Moledi in no bad advice and, as was my continual habit before my failing eyes made the practice impossible, I wrote down a short account of my meeting with him to aid my memory. I have the note still, and I see that the counsel I gave was practical and wise. I had little expectation that it would be taken, however. The state is like a large ship with a numerous crew; once set on a course, it is difficult to change tack with any speed, even when such an alteration is manifestly sensible.
De Moledi’s response to my conversation was swift, however; far faster and more determined than I had anticipated. The following evening, one of Mr Bennet’s men came to my house and handed me a letter which informed me that my presence was urgently required.
His standing had increased grandly since our previous meeting, and he wished all to know of his power as Secretary of State for the South. It is unwise even now to compare any man unfavourably with Cromwell, but there was a simplicity about that great bad man which was far more impressive for being totally unpractised and unfeigned. For Cromwell truly was a great man, the greatest, I believe, this country has ever known. His clarity of mind, his strength and certainty were such that, born to a gentleman’s estate, he made himself a kingdom; had he been born to a kingdom, he would have made himself an empire. He reduced three nations, which perfectly hated him, to entire obedience; governed by an army which wished his ruin, and inspired fear across a continent and beyond. He held the country in his palm yet would often greet a visitor himself, and pour wine with his own hands. He had no need of display, for there was no mistaking his authority. I said this once to Lord Clarendon, and he agreed with my account.
Mr Bennet was a lesser man, with smaller genius; all of his worth could have fitted into Cromwell’s thumbnail. And yet what pomp he had adopted. The progression through the ante-chambers had increased to positively Spanish proportions, and the obsequious behaviour of the servants had grown to such an extent that it was hard for a simple man such as myself to repress a certain sense of disgust at the display. It took a full fifteen minutes to make my way from the entrance to his chambers into his presence; King Louis in all his present magnificence, I think, cannot be more difficult to approach than was Mr Bennet then.
It was all for show, and in conversation he was as English as he was Spanish in manners. Indeed, his bluntness came close to discourtesy, and he kept me standing throughout the interview.
‘What, exactly, do you think you are doing, Dr Wallis?’ he shouted, waving a piece of paper at me, too far away for me to see. ‘Are you mad that you disobey my express orders?’
I told him I did not understand the question.
‘I have here a strongly worded note’, he said, breathing heavily that I might feel, see and hear his anger all at the same time, ‘from a very indignant Spanish ambassador. Is it true that you had the presumption yesterday evening to lecture him on the peace of Christendom, and tell him how his country’s foreign policy should be run?’
‘It most certainly is not,’ I replied, my curiosity at this turn of events overcoming my alarm at the evident anger my patron was demonstrating. I knew Mr Bennet well enough to know that he lost his temper very rarely, for he believed firmly that such demonstrations were inappropriate in a gentleman. False shows of rage were not tactics he used to overawe his clients, a
nd I came to the conclusion that, on this occasion, he was perfectly sincere and genuinely furious. This, of course, made my own situation the more perilous, since he was not a man whose favour I could afford to lose. But it also made the conversation more interesting, as I could not easily understand the source of his fury.
‘How do you explain the offence you have given him then?’ Bennet continued.
‘I do not know what the offence is. I conversed – I thought most pleasantly – with Señor de Moledi yesterday evening, and we parted with mutual expressions of regard. It may be that I angered him by refusing a large bribe, I do not know; I thought I had turned down the offer with the greatest of tact. Might I ask what is the complaint?’
‘He says you all but accused him of fomenting a plot to kill the king. Is that true?’
‘It is not. I never mentioned any such thing, nor would I ever have dreamt of doing so.’
‘What do you think you said?’
‘I merely told him that it was strongly held by many that his country wished England no good. It was not an important part of the conversation.’
‘But it was cautiously said,’ Bennet said. ‘You say nothing without deliberation. So now I want to know why. Your reports to me in the last few months have been so obviously full of half-truths and evasions that I am beginning to tire of them. Now I command you to tell me the exact truth. And I warn you that if I am not satisfied of your total candour I will be highly displeased.’
Faced with such an ultimatum, I could do no other. And it was the greatest mistake that ever I made. I do not blame Mr Bennet; I blame myself for my weakness, and I know that the punishment meted out to me for my error was so crushing a burden that I have suffered for it every day of my life since. I am graced in that I come from a hardy, long-living family on both my mother’s and my father’s side, and I live in full expectation of continuing in this world for many years yet. On innumerable occasions since that day I have prayed that this blessing be taken from me, so great is the remorse I suffer.
I told Mr Bennet of my suspicions. In full and, I now believe, in greater detail than I needed provide. I told him of Marco da Cola, and the threads of suspicion that had attached themselves to him. I told him of my understanding that he was, if not already here, then on his way to this country. And I told him of what I believed he planned to do when he arrived.
Bennet listened at first impatiently, then with becoming gravity, to my account. And when I had finished, he got up and stared for many minutes out of the window of the little chamber where he habitually carried on his business.
Eventually he turned to face me, and I could see from his expression that the anger had passed. I was not, however, to escape further reproof.
‘I must commend you’, he said, ‘for the diligence your love of His Majesty has produced. I do not doubt for a minute that you have acted with the very best of intentions, and that your desire was simply and wholly the safety of the realm. You are a most excellent servant.’
‘I thank you.’
‘But in this matter, you have made a serious error. You must know that in diplomacy nothing is ever at it seems, and what may appear as common sense is often the opposite. We cannot go to war. Who should we fight? The Spanish? The French? The Dutch? All together or in combination? And with what are we meant to pay an army? Parliament will barely provide to keep a roof over the king’s head as it is. You know, I am sure, that I am partial to the Spanish, that I regard the French as our greatest enemy. Even so, I will not countenance an alliance with them, any more than I could support a pact against them. For the foreseeable future, at least, we must steer a delicate course between these obstacles, and allow nothing to push the king into the arms of one side or the other.’
‘But you know as well, sir,’ I said, ‘that Spanish agents are operating freely, spending their gold to buy support.’
‘Of course they are. And so are the French and the Dutch. What of it? As long as all spend with the same enthusiasm, and none gains the upper hand, then no harm is done. Your comments in themselves do little harm, please do not think that. But if your suspicions become generally known, then the French interest will be strengthened. Young Louis has deep coffers. His Majesty is tempted already, even though it would be a disaster. It is imperative that nothing disturbs the balance which those who have the interest of the country at heart have created. Now, tell me, does anyone else know of this suspicion you have?’
‘Absolutely not,’ I said. ‘I am the only person with a full knowledge of it. My servant Matthew no doubt has some understanding, since he is an intelligent boy, but even he does not know the full story.’
‘And he is where?’
‘He is now back in England. But you need have no fears about him. He is totally bound to me.’
‘Good. Talk to him and make sure he understands.’
‘I am happy to obey your wishes in this matter,’ I continued, ‘but I must repeat that, as far as I can see, the matter is a serious one none the less. With the sanction of the Spanish crown or not, this man is coming to the country, and I believe him to be very dangerous to us. What am I to do about it? Surely you do not think that he should be left in peace.’
Bennet smiled. ‘I do not think you need have any concern on that score, sir,’ he said. ‘This is not the only tale of conspiracy, and I have finally persuaded His Majesty to increase the guard around him night and day. I see no chance of even the most desperate of assassins reaching him.’
‘This is no ordinary soldier, sir,’ I said. ‘He had a reputation for daring and ruthless murders against the Turks on Crete. He must not be underestimated.’
‘I understand your concerns,’ Bennet replied ‘But I must point out that, if you are correct – and I do not accept that you are so – the comments you made to de Moledi will have been noted. He will take infinite care to make sure nothing occurs which thrusts us into the arms of his greatest enemy. An alliance with France would surely follow any such event, for this scheme could only work if its true author never became known, and you have ensured that cannot be.’
There the interview ended. I left with my position badly, but not irrevocably, weakened. I had not lost his favour, and certainly had not been threatened with any sanction. Far more important was the fact that my confidence was shaken; I had not anticipated de Moledi’s reaction. He had, indeed, behaved as an innocent might well do in the circumstances, with surprise and protest. And what Mr Bennet said was true; an assassination made no sense, if its sole achievement was to deliver England into the hands of the French.
I did not realise, although I was beginning to suspect, that my conclusions were based on faulty propositions; this required more, and more terrible evidence, before all doubts were swept away.
Chapter Seven
* * *
I NEVER DISCOVERED precisely when Marco da Cola arrived in England, or by what means, although I am certain he had already stepped ashore before I spoke to the Spanish ambassador; this belief was later confirmed by Jack Prestcott when I interrogated him. By the third week of March, Cola was in London and I assume he was warned that something of his purpose had become known to me; he must also have learned that Matthew was my servant, and that the lad knew much that was dangerous.
I saw Matthew that morning; he came to my house in the greatest hurry, his face flushed with achievement, to say that he had found Cola in London, and planned to go and see him. Instantly I knew I had to prevent any such encounter.
‘You will not,’ I said. ‘I forbid it.’
His face fell, then turned dark with anger, an expression I had never before seen on his face. At once, all my fears returned after I had successfuly kept them at bay, hoping that all would be well once more now he was back by my side. ‘Why? What nonsense is this? You look for this man, and when I find him for you, you forbid me to discover where exactly he is.’
‘He is a killer, Matthew. A very dangerous man indeed.’
Matthew laughed in the
light-hearted way he had, and which had once given me such pleasure but did so no longer. ‘I do not think an Italian holds much danger for a child of London,’ he said. ‘Certainly not this one.’
‘Oh, but he does. You know the streets and the alleys, and all the ways across the town far better than he. But do not underrate him. Promise me you will leave him be.’
His laughter faded, and I could see I had wounded him once more. ‘Is that it? Or do you want to deny me a friend who might do me good, who might patronise me freely, without requiring so much in return? Who listens to me, and values my opinions instead of forever criticising and imposing his own? I tell you, Doctor, this man was kind and good to me; he did not beat me and always behaved well.’
‘Stop it,’ I cried, anguished that I should be compared to another in such a cruel way, and have this Cola’s success thrust at me merely to wound my heart. ‘It is true what I say. You must not go near him. I cannot bear the thought of him touching you, hurting you in any way. I wish to protect you.’
‘I can look after myself. And I will show you that I can. I have known thieves and murderers and fanatics since the day I was born. Yet here I am, unscratched and unharmed. And you think nothing of this, and talk to me as though I was a child.’
‘You owe me a great deal,’ I said, angry with his anger, and wounded by his words. ‘And I will have your respect and courtesy.’
‘But you will not give it, as I also deserve. You never have.’
‘That is enough. Get out of my room and come back when you are ready to apologise. I know why you wish to see him. I know what he is and what he wants of you; I see it better than you can. Why else would a man like him keep a boy like you by his side? Do you think it is for your wit? You have little. Your money? You have none. Your learning? You have what I gave you. Your breeding? I picked you up from the gutter. I tell you, if you go to him tonight, I will not have you in this house again. Do you understand?’