by Iain Pears
‘You have in the past,’ Mr Bennet said.
‘Rarely; and I will not in this case. Lord Bristol has been at the king’s side, and his father’s side before that, for more than twenty years, and I have been with him. We shared exile, despair and deprivation together. I loved him as a brother, and do still. I cannot harm him.’
The discourse which passed between the two men continued in such a way; moderation, subtlety and regret being the only emotions and feelings they expressed. This is the way of the courtier, who talks in a code more deep and impenetrable than any of the petty conspirators who were my daily antagonists. I do not even doubt that they meant everything that they said; but left unsaid, and understood by each other beneath the words, a more pitiless conversation was taking place, with each man bargaining and plotting how to turn the situation I had created to their own advantage.
I do not despise them for this; each man believed, I am sure, that the triumph of him and his was for the general good. Nor do I think such flexibility an error; in the past few years England had suffered greatly at the hands of rigid men of principle, who would not bend and could not change. That Clarendon and Mr Bennet competed for the king’s favour added lustre to His Majesty’s glory. Forcing that favour, taking away his right to choose, was the sin of Parliament in the past and Lord Bristol in the present. That was why both had to be opposed.
Nor was I surprised that both men wished to comprehend fully the potential damage to themselves of Bristol’s fall. For the consequences would be great, as they are whenever a mighty interest collapses. The Digby family, which he headed, had a strong following in the House of Commons and in the West Country; many of his friends and family had been placed at court and in offices of state. Removing Lord Bristol was one thing; rooting out his family was another.
‘I hope we may take it that this Italian must be stopped,’ the Chancellor said, with the first glimmerings of a smile I had seen since I had told him my information. ‘That is the beginning. The more serious problem, if I may put it so, is Lord Bristol. I do not wish to accuse him, let alone bring articles of impeachment against him myself. Will you do so, Mr Bennet?’
He shook his head. ‘I cannot. Too many of his people are my people as well. It would tear us apart, and I would not be trusted again. I will not support him, but cannot plunge a knife into his back.’
They both fell silent, willing the end, yet shrinking from the deed. Eventually I ventured to speak, somewhat abashed at offering counsel to such people without being asked, but confident that my skills matched theirs.
‘Perhaps he can bring about his own fall,’ I said.
Both men looked at me gravely, wondering whether to upbraid me for having spoken, or encourage me to continue. Eventually Clarendon nodded that I had his permission to speak.
‘Lord Bristol is foolhardy, easily wounded in vanity and honour and excessively fond of grand gestures. This he has demonstrated. He must be forced to act in a way which is so intemperate and foolish that even the king becomes exasperated with him.’
‘And how do you suggest we accomplish this?’
‘He has made an attempt, I think, through this young man called Prestcott, which has now failed. Then Cola must also be stopped. Afterwards he must be goaded and provoked until he loses all reason. It would take some considerable time to hire another killer, many months, at least. You must whittle away at his position quickly before he can try again.’
‘For example?’
‘There are many things you might do. He is steward of my university; you might suggest he be relieved of the post on the grounds of his Catholicism. Eject some of his supporters from their positions.’
‘That will not provoke; merely irritate.’
‘My Lord, may I speak plainly?’
Clarendon nodded.
‘Your daughter married the Duke of York against your will and without your knowledge.’
Clarendon nodded slowly, ready to anger. Mr Bennet sat absolutely still, watching me as I spoke the most dangerous words I had ever uttered. Even to mention the notorious match to the Chancellor could end a man’s career, for it had nearly ended his when it became known. It was rash even to allude to it.
And even rasher to bring it up as I was about to do. As best I could, I ignored the cold and stony look from the Chancellor, and pretended not to notice that Mr Bennet’s support was manifestly absent.
‘I hesitate to recommend such a course, but my Lord Bristol must be made to think that Her Majesty the Queen is barren, and that you were well aware of this when you advocated the match.’
There was dead, total silence after I uttered the words, and I feared that I would bring his wrath upon me. Again he surprised me; rather than erupting in fury, he merely asked in a cold, frigid voice: ‘And how would that serve?’
‘Lord Bristol is jealous of your ascendancy; if he believes for certain that you connived to place your own daughter on the throne by exploiting the Queen’s incapacity, he will be consumed with jealousy at your prospects, and could be persuaded to try and impeach you in the House of Commons. If Mr Bennet refuses to support such a move at the crucial moment, it will fail, and the king will have to deal with a man who has tried publicly to usurp his authority by forcing his chief minister out. He would have to act to preserve the crown’s reputation.’
‘How would this tale be put into circulation?’
‘A young colleague of mine at Oxford, Dr Lower, is greatly desirous of making his way in London. Were you to favour him, I am sure he would allow it to be said that he had been called in secret to examine the queen and found clear evidence of her barrenness. Naturally, if put on oath, Mr Lower would tell the truth, and deny he had performed any such examination.’
‘Of course,’ Mr Bennet intervened, ‘you have no choice, if you accept this proposition, but to trust that I will come out in your support at that crucial moment. I am happy to give you my word, but on such a matter as this, do not expect it will be enough.’
‘I think, sir, that ways can be found to make it in your interest to keep your word.’
Bennet nodded. ‘That is all I ask.’
‘You agree to this idea?’ I said in astonishment that it should meet with so little resistance or objection.
‘I believe so. I will endeavour to use the fall of Lord Bristol to bolster my position as the king’s chief minister; Mr Bennet will use it to strengthen his so that he might pull me down in due course. That comes afterwards, however; for the time being we must consider ourselves allies in a common, and necessary, purpose.’
‘And the Italian must not cause any trouble,’ Bennet said. ‘He cannot be arrested, nor brought to any account where he can speak. The government cannot afford to be shaken by tales of treason so close in amongst the king’s friends.’
‘He must be killed,’ I said. ‘Lend me some soldiers, and I will ensure it is done.’
And this too was agreed. I left the meeting some time later, confident that my duty was complete, and that now I could concentrate on my personal vengeance.
Chapter Thirteen
* * *
AFTER THIS ENCOUNTER Clarendon kept to his house, surrounded by guards, and put it out that his gout (a real complaint, for he was tormented by the disease mercilessly, and had been for many years past) was upon him again. His visit to Cornbury was cancelled and he cowered at home, leaving only to make the short journey from Piccadilly to Whitehall to wait on the king.
And I hunted for Cola, using all the powers I had been given to search out his whereabouts. I had fifty soldiers ready for use, and every informer was pressed into service. All the radicals I could lay my hands on were arrested, in case the Italian had taken refuge with them; the Spanish ambassador’s house was discreetly watched, back and front, and I had people going around nearly every tavern, inn and hostel asking for information. The docks were watched as well, and I asked my merchant friend Mr Williams to put it abroad that any foreigner asking for a passage was to be reporte
d to me immediately.
The French, I believe, do these things more effectively, as they can call on what they term a police to ensure order in their towns. After the experience of searching for Cola, I came to think that such a body might be of some use in London as well, although there seems no chance of it ever being established. Perhaps with such a force, Cola might have been found more quickly; perhaps he might not have come so close to accomplishing his aim. All I knew was that, for three days of disappointment, I searched in vain. There was not even a whisper of the man, which I considered incredible for one normally so noticeable. That he was in London was certain, there was nowhere else for him to go. But it was as if he had dissolved into the air like a spirit.
I had, of course, to make regular reports to Lord Clarendon and Mr Bennet about my progress, and I could sense their ebbing confidence as, day after day, I told them of my failure. Mr Bennet said nothing directly, but I knew him well enough to see that my own position was now at stake as well, and that I had to find the Italian speedily if I was not to lose his support. The visit on the fourth day of my search was the worst, for I had to stand throughout the interview once more and suffer his ever-growing coldness, which bore heavily on me as I walked afterwards across the courtyards of the palace to the river.
Then I stopped, for I knew that I had detected something of the utmost importance, but could not instantly place in my mind what it could be. But I had a presentiment of the greatest danger which would not leave me, however much I thought and tried to discover what idea had been raised in my mind. It was a beautiful morning, I remember, and I had decided to revive my spirits by walking from Mr Bennet’s quarters across Cotton Garden then through a small passageway into St Stephen’s Court to get to Westminster Stairs. It was in this little passageway, enclosed by heavy oak doors at either end, that the worry came upon me first, but I shrugged it off and continued to walk. Only as I stood on the quayside and about to get into my boat did the understanding come to me, and I immediately made my way as swiftly as possible back to the nearest guards.
‘Sound the alarm,’ I said, once I had established with him my authority. ‘There is an assassin in the building.’
I gave him a swift description of the Italian, then returned to Mr Bennet, and burst in on him without, this time, waiting for any formalities. ‘He is here,’ I said. ‘He is in the palace.’
Mr Bennet looked sceptical. ‘You have seen him?’
‘No. I smelt him.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I smelt him. In the corridor. He wears a particular perfume, which is quite unmistakable, and which no Englishman would ever use. I smelt it. Believe me, sir, he is here.’
Bennet grunted. ‘And what have you done about it?’
‘I have alerted the guards, and they are beginning to search. Where is the king? And the chancellor?’
‘The king is at his prayers, and the chancellor is not here.’
‘You must place extra guards.’
Mr Bennet nodded, and straight away summoned some officials and began giving orders. For the first time, I think, I understood why His Majesty held him in such high regard, for he acted calmly and without any show of disturbance, but moved with the greatest dispatch. Within minutes, guards were surrounding the king, the prayers were brought to an early conclusion – although not so hastily that any alarm was given to the attending courtiers – and small parties of soldiers fanned out across the palace, with its hundreds of rooms and courtyards and corridors, searching for the intruder.
‘I hope you are right, sir,’ Mr Bennet said, as we watched a small party of officials being stopped and scrutinised. ‘If you are not, then you will not have to answer to me.’
Then I saw the man I had sought for so many days. Mr Bennet occupied a set of rooms on the corner, with one pair of windows giving out on to the Thames, the other on to the alleyway leading to Parliament Stairs. And down this, walking calmly from Old Palace Yard past the Prince’s Lodgings, I saw a familiar figure. Without any shadow of a doubt, it was Cola, as cool as ever, though dressed less conspicuously, looking for all the world as though he had a perfect right to be there.
‘There,’ I shouted, grabbing Mr Bennet by the shoulder. It took him a long time to forgive the action. ‘There he is. Quickly now!’
Without waiting, I ran from the room, down the stairs, shouting for guards to follow me as swiftly as possible. And I stood, like Horatius Cocles himself, barring the way to Parliament Stairs, the waiting boats and Cola’s only chance of escape.
I had no notion of what to do next. I was quite unarmed, perfectly alone and without any means of defending myself against a man whose murderous skills were well attested. But my desire and my duty impelled me forward, for I was determined he should not escape me, and the revenge I was bound to seek.
Had Cola pulled his weapon, and lunged at me the moment he saw me standing in front of him, his escape would have been certain and my death equally assured. I had only surprise in my armoury, and I was quite aware that it was but a feeble weapon.
It worked, none the less, for when Cola did see me, he was so astonished that he did not know how to react.
‘Dr Wallis!’ he said, and even managed a smile of what could almost have passed as pleasure. ‘You were the last person I expected to see here.’
‘I am aware of that. Might I enquire what you are doing?’
‘I am seeing the sights, sir,’ he replied, ‘before beginning my journey home, which I plan to do tomorrow.’
‘I think not,’ I said with relief, for I could see soldiers approaching over the courtyard. ‘I think your journey is already at an end.’
He turned round to see what I was looking at, then his face frowned with puzzlement and dismay.
‘I am betrayed, I see,’ he said, and I breathed a great sigh of relief.
He was taken, with no fuss or disturbance, to a room off Fish Yard, and I went with him. Mr Bennet went to find His Majesty that he might be informed of events and also, I believe, to inform Lord Clarendon that the danger was at an end. For my part, I felt dizzy with my success and gave thanks that I had discovered the man before, rather than after, he had caused any damage. I saw him locked in, then began to question him closely, although for all the information I collected, I might as well have saved my breath.
Cola’s bravado amazed me, for he affected to be delighted at the sight of me, despite the circumstances. He was pleased, he said, to see an old face.
‘I have felt myself very solitary since I left your fine town, Dr Wallis,’ he said. ‘I do not find the people of London greatly welcoming.’
‘I cannot imagine why. But you were hardly a popular figure in Oxford when you left, either.’
He looked distressed at the comment. ‘It seems not. Although I am quite unaware of what I did to deserve such churlishness. You have heard of my dispute with Mr Lower, I imagine? He mistreated me very badly, I do not mind telling you, and I am at a loss to explain why. I shared all my ideas with him and was sorely treated in return.’
‘Maybe he learned more about you than your ideas and was not pleased to be harbouring such a person. No man likes to be deceived, and if he was too gentlemanly to challenge you openly, it is not discourteous to indicate annoyance.’
A crafty look of caution came over his bland, wide face as he sat down opposite and studied me with what seemed to be vague amusement.
‘I suppose I have to thank you for that, do I? Mr Lower told me you were forever burrowing your nose in other people’s business, and occupying yourself with matters that were none of your affair.’
‘I may claim that honour,’ I said, determined not to be drawn by his offensive tone. ‘I act for the good of the country and its legitimate government.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. So should all men do. I like to think of myself as equally loyal.’
‘I believe you are. You proved that in Candia, did you not?’
His eyes narrowed at my demonstration
of knowledge. ‘I was not aware that my fame had spread so far.’
‘And you knew Sir James Prestcott as well?’
‘Oh, I see,’ he replied, a false understanding dawning. ‘You had it from that strange son of his. You must not believe everything you hear from that young man. He has the most bizarre of delusions about anything and anyone connected to his honoured father. He is quite capable of inventing any tale about me in order to reflect glory on that poor man.’
‘I can hardly think of Sir James as a poor man.’
‘Can you not? I met him under different circumstances, when he was reduced to selling his sword for hire, and with scarcely a penny to his name. A sad fall, that, when no one of his fellows would reach out a hand to help him. Can you really condemn him so much? What loyalty did he owe anyone by then? He was the bravest of men, the most courageous of comrades, and I honour his memory as much as I lament his end.’
‘And so you come to England yourself, and tell no one of your own bravery?’
‘A period of my life which is entirely at an end. I do not wish to recall it.’
‘You associate with the king’s enemies wherever you go.’
‘They are not my enemies. I associate with whomever pleases me, and whom I find good company.’
‘Tell me about my Lord Bristol.’
‘I must say I am not acquainted with the gentleman.’
His face was entirely passive, and he looked me evenly and unflinchingly in the eye as he came out with this denial.
‘Of course not,’ I said. ‘Nor have you heard of Lord Clarendon.’
‘He? Oh indeed. Who could not have heard of the Lord Chancellor? Naturally I have heard of him. Although I do not know what the question signifies.’