State of Treason

by Paul Walker

  The fire is out, but I will not wait for its spark to life as I intend only a short stay in these chill, stone walls. I unlock the box and remove the chart, placing it to one side. I take the chest in my hands and rotate it, admiring the craft and artistry of its maker. I move the box closer to a candle to inspect the locking mechanism. John’s glass of magnification would be useful for this and perhaps I should wait for a better light before… ah, no… the box slips from my grasp and hits the stone floor.

  My breathing is stilled as I imagine the Walsingham’s disapproval for my clumsiness. The sound was harsh, but perhaps the chest is not beyond repair. I pick it up and, to my relief, I see that it is still whole, although the light is too dull to assess any damage. I lift it to the table and bring two candles near. The lid and hinges are intact and the only injury I can identify is a looseness in the bottom section. I pull and push gently in an attempt to see what might be amiss when the entire base of the chest appears to slide out smoothly in one piece. I alarm myself with an unplanned, loud exhalation and quickly look around the room to ensure that I am alone. I lift the chest carefully to the light and observe a small glint of metal, which on closer inspection is a spring. It has a false underside. There must be some hidden mischief behind this manufacture and I am instantly overcome by a sense of bewilderment and menace.

  There is a folded paper within the secret compartment. My instinct tells me to replace the base of the chest and examine it in the presence of John Foxe, Walsingham, or perhaps to feign ignorance and let it remain undiscovered. But I am intrigued and a close examination of the paper is surely a part of the obligation placed on me.

  Curiosity wins out. I lift the paper and with great caution, unfold it and lay it on the table. I move a candle closer to a page filled with characters written in tabular form, in a square hand and with no flourishes or swirls. I recognise the individual letters, but none of the words. It is code. The lack of spaces on the page and the unusual design of the writings are part of the scheme to confuse. I have some knowledge of ciphers, but only those created as a form of entertainment and diversion from academic studies.

  I cannot resist the challenge. I pull up a chair and sit with the paper promising myself that I will stay here no longer than a half hour. A full exploration can wait until the morning when the light is good and two minds can focus their attention on the riddle. I begin with a method to identify the three most frequent letters in the code, translate to those that present similar positions in common prose and identify a pattern of difference. It cannot be that simple, but I will eliminate the possibility…

  … There appears to be a regularity in the correspondence of characters and yet, there is no sense to the words… and what is the language: Italian; Latin; French?

  There is a mathematical riddle at the heart of this code and if I transpose certain letters then a word in the French language appears… That may be coincidental and more work is needed to identify a pattern in transposition.

  … But this not the end of the puzzle. Some characters are present simply to confuse, their regularity has no simple pattern and may be the subject of a more complex formulation.

  … I think I may have solved at least a part of this riddle. The transposition of characters may not be subject to a system of mathematics after all, but instead conform to an image on the grid of letters. It is both intriguing and maddening.

  I have been too long at this and should be in my bed. The message is in French. I have decoded all I can and translated into English. Some words are unclear or obscure and in some of these cases I have conjectured on words that fit with the general sense of their neighbours. The general intent, however, is evident and speaks of a grand and dreadful scheme to take the throne of England.

  my lords and true friends - cabinet - chart disclosing the intimate circumstances of a bastard heir will be joined with -- transit chart foretelling the death of the witch q - our p prepares for the printing -- promulgation --- this diversion to the masses -- movements of m and his unknowing maid are close watched -- will be safe until her time - great burning at d -- gathering planned for the early days of February --- our ships and men wait the call to d comforted by p attestation of the poor state of defence - ready yourselves and your followers --- time draws near g

  Four

  I did not sleep well. My eyes closed, but my mind was too active to allow an escape from nagging wakefulness. Images of Godfrey’s wounds mingled with the cabinet and its secrets. The first grey hints of light appeared some time past and the hesitant shufflings and creaks of early dawn have grown to the bolder sounds of an industrious household. It is time to dress and break my fast. I hope that I will have occasion to confer with John before Walsingham arrives. No doubt he will wish to question us closely on our findings from yesterday.

  I enter the parlour to find John seated in a chair by a roaring fire and the table laden with food and drink. The draught of warm air as I enter the room serves as a reminder of a cold, sleepless night, and that I must try to dispel a dullness of spirit and the grainy itch in my eyes. I will need sharp wits for Walsingham’s questioning.

  ‘God bestow a good morning on you, William,’ says John, clearing his throat. His speech and the grey colour around his eyes tell me that his congestion has not improved overnight.

  I return his greeting and enquire after his health. He replies that he feels much the same and he would welcome another dose of the mixture I prepared for him yesterday evening. I make for the kitchens to seek out the same maid who delivered the ingredients yesterday. I encounter Mistress Goodrich on the way and she begs to assist. I explain what I am looking for and she offers to make the soother herself, if I will provide instructions. We return to the parlour where I write a few simple lines on ingredients and method of preparation, then hand it to her. She scans the formula, confirms her understanding and advises that she will ensure we have the result with the hour. Clearly, she is an educated woman with an air of competence. I trust her to make the potion well and there will be no harm if she strays a little from my writings.

  ‘I see you are not eating, John.’

  ‘I find that I am not hungry and generally I do not eat until midday.’

  ‘Would you like a cup of ale to freshen your mouth?’

  He nods his assent. I pour his ale, some for myself and move a chair near to his so that we can talk.

  ‘Mistress Goodrich is preparing your potion and I hope that will have a reviving effect on your troublesome ailment. Meantime, are you content to discuss our findings from yesterday before Sir Francis arrives?’

  He is about to speak when he splutters and bursts into a bout of coughing. I pass him the spittoon and rub his back gently with circular movement. I feel his bony spine and ribs through his vestments with some alarm. I must urge him to eat more and regain his strength. I move to the table and load two plates with smoked eel, pike and manchet. Fish – I had forgotten that this is a Friday.

  ‘Come, John, let us eat a little while we talk. Good food will aid your recovery and shrewd reasoning is never accomplished on an empty belly.’

  He appears reluctant to move from his chair, but I lift under his arm and, in a few moments, feel his body submit to my urgings and we both take a seat at the table. I push his plate in front of him, he stares with little interest and then picks at a piece of eel with his knife. Eventually he speaks.

  ‘I have thought on your views about the intricate presentation of the message in the box and chart. Rumours about Her Majesty’s intimate relations have been spread before and without evidence or attribution these were easily dismissed and forgotten. The chart and ancient script are intended to lend weight to the supposition, but on their own will serve to produce only a ripple of discomfort. I must therefore agree with you, William that the extravagance and care taken to construct this mischief must be linked to a deeper Romish plot.’

  He takes a piece of eel to his mouth. I follow his lead, hoping this will encourage him to take more
food. He points his knife in the air, seeming to give thought to his next statement while he chews. He swallows, then continues. ‘I trust that we are both firm on the opinion that the assertion about a royal bastard is absolutely false?’

  I hear the sound of raised voices nearby. Someone shouts. I cannot distinguish the words, but the angry tone is unmistakeable. The door opens and Walsingham brushes past the outstretched arm and bowed head of a servant without waiting to be announced. His eyes shine with sharp intensity and the atmosphere in the room is changed. A quiet conversation with a leisurely breakfast has gone; the air crackles with urgency and menace.

  ‘Gentlemen, I beg your pardon for my brusqueness.’ He eyes the table and our plates of fish. ‘I will join with your refreshment. Good food and drink will improve my humor.’ He takes a knife, fills a plate, pours a cup of wine and takes a seat across the table. I watch him as he eats in silence for some minutes, his eyes firmly fixed on the business of easing his hunger. The settlement in his mood is visible and eventually, he lifts his head, smiles at John and me in turn and pushes his plate away.

  ‘I trust that you have both had a comfortable night? I am eager to hear what you have learned from your examinations.’ His eyes narrow as he looks at John. ‘Doctor Foxe, are you quite well? Your colour suggests that you may require some warmth and rest.’

  ‘Thank you for your consideration, Mister Secretary. I regret that an old infirmity of the lungs has returned to trouble me, as it often does in the winter months. William has been most thoughtful and attentive to my needs and I hope that I shall return to full health shortly.’

  Walsingham turns to me. ‘So, William, the main burden of this task has fallen on you. Have you made progress?’

  ‘John and I examined the box and chart. The Aramaic script on the box and the natal chart together conspire to suggest harm and disruption to Her Majesty.’ Walsingham’s face is set hard and it is impossible to determine if he has foreknowledge of the message. ‘The insinuation is that Her Majesty had a hidden or stillborn child in August of 1560.’ I hesitate, unsure of how much detail to offer and John continues after a brief pause.

  ‘The translation of the Aramaic script is unfinished and somewhat cryptic. It is recently cut, but masquerades as an ancient Judean prophecy referring to deliverance from the queen of a faraway land by Rome through a hidden or bastard daughter. The star chart is plain in its assertion of character flaws in Queen Elizabeth and her delivery of a bastard child. Although the box was captured in France, the chart was prepared in England.’ He clears his throat before adding, ‘We are of one mind. The implication is manifestly false and we suspect that this is part of a larger conspiracy.’

  A silence follows. The effort in making his statement seems to have taken its toll on John and his body sags into his chair. The door opens and Mistress Goodrich enters carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of what must be John’s soother. She bobs a curtsey to Walsingham, bows her head to me and sets the tray down in front of John. She asks John if the potion might be to his liking. He cups the bowl in his hands, takes a sip and confirms his deep satisfaction to her. She colours a little at his praise, smiles and departs after another brief curtsey to Walsingham. I remark on Mistress Goodrich’s efficiency and John murmurs his agreement.

  ‘She keeps an orderly house and she has a good mind,’ says Walsingham. ‘She has been in my service for over fifteen years and I have come to rely on her management and shrewd observations.’ I assume that last part of his statement refers to her watchfulness and reports to Walsingham on his house guests. I cannot think that I have erred in her presence, but must take care with… the box and the papers; was she spying on me? I feel the heat rise in my neck and must hope that this does not show to excess in my face. Walsingham continues. ‘I thank you both for your enquiries. The date and scribblings on the chart suggested a similar mischief to me, but it is satisfying to have your confirmation. You should know that this is a matter of extreme sensitivity to Her Majesty. She takes any intimation of an improper liaison and childbirth to heart. I should be grateful if you would pen me detailed notes on your findings before leaving this house.’ Walsingham adjusts his seat and shifts his gaze towards me. ‘Meanwhile, I should be interested to learn why you consider that this may be an element in a wider scheme against our state.’

  Does he know? Why has he turned his attention to me? I must disclose the unwelcome news of my night discovery, but it is of such great consequence that I find my throat has tightened and a brief mewing sound has already escaped me. I cough and beg their pardon. ‘John does not know this as I have not yet had time to inform him. While he was resting last night, I returned to the keep for a further examination of the objects. What I found leaves no room for conjecture; there is indeed a deep and malign plot in progress.’ I pause and gather my thoughts. ‘There is a false bottom to the box, artfully manufactured and almost invisible to the eye. In there, was a paper with letters written in an unusual fashion. It was code. I confess that curiosity overcame caution and I endeavoured to decipher the note.’

  I glance at John and Walsingham in turn. John’s expression is neutral while Walsingham’s eyes betray intense concentration. He nods, encouraging me to continue.

  ‘I am no expert on ciphers, but I did manage to unravel the message save for a few words which I have approximated on this.’ I hand my translated note to Walsingham, which he takes quickly. I add that, ‘The deciphered message is in the French language and I have taken the liberty of translating to English.’ He scans the note several times making tutting noises and twice banging his fist on the table. Finally, he takes the note, folds it carefully and inserts it into a pocket inside his gown.

  ‘Well William, your talents are even greater than I had suspected. You have the makings of a useful intelligencer. I knew of the hidden drawer in the box and the coded message. I hoped that you might discover the drawer, but the deciphering in short time is beyond my expectation. The intelligencer I would have used in this case cannot be here for some days, so you have done a great service. I will need your advice on the words of approximation, but meanwhile, why don’t you summarise the essence of the note for Doctor Foxe.’

  ‘Very well, Mr Secretary.’ I take a seat next to John and quickly gather my thoughts about the note. ‘John, we were correct in our assumption of a greater plot. It seems there is another chart in unknown hands – a transit chart claiming to foretell the date of death of our sovereign. There is a plan to print and distribute pamphlets detailing the untruths from both charts in order to sow discord. There is mention of an “unknowing maid” and persons of significance are designated only by the single letters, “p” and “m”. The climax of the plot appears to be a planned invasion by an enemy fleet. There is mention of a “great burning” at a “gathering” and the meaning of this is unclear to me. The use of the word “diversion” is also confusing and may suggest some greater purpose, but I confess that my decryption and translation to English may be inexact and obscure the finer intentions. The note is signed by a singular, “g”.’

  Walsingham growls a word which I take to be, ‘Guise.’

  John purses his lips, nods his head slowly and pats me on the arm in the same way a master might offer congratulation to a student who has succeeded in completing a moderately difficult task. I cannot help a creeping sense of pride in the approbation of these two notable men, but this is mixed with unease at the thought that my role in this affair may not be finished. Is my connection with Godfrey unknown, or is it lying quiet to be used at some later date? Walsingham is bent over the table with his fists balled and knuckles showing white as if in a state of intense, concentrated anger. He lifts his head, surveys us in turn and breathes deeply a few times before speaking.

  ‘You sum it up neatly, William. I have a strong notion that the “g” in question is Henry, Duke of Guise, head of the Catholic League and the evil force behind the infamy on the day of St Bartholomew in France. I was there and witnessed such sce
nes…’ His voice trails away as he gazes past us as if recalling the horror of the massacres of Huguenots in Paris six years past. The room stills and I find that I am holding my breath in case I disturb the moment. Eventually, he shakes his head and returns to the present. ‘Come, I am grateful to you both for your diligence. You will have other business requiring your attention and I will detain you here no longer than it takes to write the account of your work. I may wish to call on your advice on this matter at some future time. My business takes me to France on the morrow and I expect a return within the fortnight. You may hear from my assistant, Francis Mylles, in the coming days and if you should have any further intelligence or opinion for me, then please send word to Captain Askham at Whitehall. He will know how to handle your enquiries.’ He gestures towards the door with his hand. ‘Now, gentlemen, I will arrange for an escort to your lodgings or place of business.’

  I offer to help John rise from his chair. He ignores my hand, clears his throat and addresses Walsingham. ‘I regret that I no longer have my house in Grub Street. I had planned to visit a friend who has a living at St Mildred, Tenterden, but…’ His wheezing descends into a rasping cough and he cups his hands around his face to soften the hurt to our ears.

  Walsingham takes me by the arm and leads me to a side of the room away from John. He beckons me close and speaks in a low voice. ‘I see that Doctor Foxe is unwell and I am loth to see him undertake a journey to Tenterden in Kent at this time. You should know that he is unworldly and cares nought for his money and comforts. I had heard that his house had been sold to cover debts from his travels. He is too trusting in matters of property and it will take me some weeks to recover his position. I would record it as a great favour if you could arrange for him to lodge at your house in West Cheap until the New Year, or such time as his health recovers.’

  ‘I would be very happy to have John as my guest, Mister Secretary. I share your concern about his ailment and I have grown to admire him in our short time together.’