State of Treason

by Paul Walker

  I feel a stiffening in Askham to my left at the mention of angels. This is no revelation to me. He had convinced Doctor Dee of his facility for scrying some years before and it was one of the reasons we parted.

  I say, ‘Nevertheless, I know you have a good understanding of the science of the stars. I ask if you believe that a natal chart can foretell a childbirth and the day of this event?’

  A shuffling in his seat suggests discomfort – is it physical or in his mind?

  ‘There is a complexity of alignments that must be accounted for. It is no simple task, but… I know of reputable philosophers who have undertaken commissions into this question.’

  ‘Would you accept work of this kind if the reward was sufficient?

  ‘No. I would offer the names of other competents.’ His reply is too definite. From my reading of his person, he would turn his mind to this task if the compensation in coin was worthwhile.

  ‘Not even if it was a royal commission?’

  ‘That would depend upon the royal person and the nature of the request.’

  How much information should I disclose in my questioning? I turn to Askham who meets my eye, then takes up the examination.

  ‘Have you travelled to France in recent months?’

  ‘No, not for ten years or more. My business has kept me active here.’

  ‘Do you know of other experts in the study of the heavens who have crossed the channel in the past year?’

  ‘No, I have but few connections with astrological philosophers. As I have said, my primary interest lies in scrying, but strictly within the confines allowed by our church. I am fixed and ardent in my Protestant belief.’

  Askham continues, ‘Have you ever had sight or intelligence of a star chart, falsely manufactured, that claims to pronounce on events concerning our monarch? You will swear your answer in the presence of God and the earthly witnesses here.’

  Kelley hesitates, looks at Askham and me in turn, places his right hand on his heart and states, ‘I swear that I have no hand in, or knowledge of, such a chart… save that drawn by Doctor Dee on Her Majesty’s order for the benefit of her coronation.’

  Askham stares fixedly at Kelley for a few moments, then rises from his seat, asks Kelley to remain and gestures for me to follow him to the edge of the arena. When we are away from his hearing, Askham begs my opinion of Kelley’s answers and demeanour. There is an awkwardness in my report. I cannot let my dislike of the man colour my judgement and the high importance of the affair weighs heavily. I do not believe that Kelley was directly concerned in the manufacture or interpretation of the chart, but I have a doubt that he declares the full truth. I am unsure whether he hides something from the matter in hand, or if he harbours guilt from another activity.

  Askham says, ‘I am in broad agreement with your summation. His manner is not of one with unblemished conscience… but then, who among us does not have misdeed or sinful thought from our past that may surface under close inspection.’ He folds his arms, then strokes his chin as if balancing the circumstances of our options. ‘He has influential friends he can call on to press his case and I do not consider that we have sufficient to take him for strong questioning. Do you agree, Doctor Constable?’

  I confirm that we are of one mind and with nothing further to keep me, I return to West Cheap with a two-man escort. If my visit to the Morton house is uneventful, as it surely will be, perhaps this will signal an end to my assistance in the work to uncover facts about the conspiracy and identity of the plotters. I should feel a straightforward sense of relief at this prospect, but my mind turns in more complex directions.

  Eight

  I take a deal of trouble and time to choose my dress for tonight. It rains heavily at midday, but clears in the afternoon, which is cold, but dry. I wear my finest doublet and hose and elect for shoes rather than boots as it is a short ride to Leadenhall. Hicks knows where I am going, but I have not disclosed my visit to Mother or John.

  The sun is near down when I arrive at my destination. Sir George’s residence is more a mansion than a mere house. The front is neatly kept and the entrance is ornamented with two marble figures. A man takes Cassius to the stables while another takes my cloak and guides me to a grand hallway with wide stairs and gallery around the first floor. He knocks on a door, checks inside and bids me enter with a flourish of his free hand. I recognise Sir George immediately. He is a large man, about my height, but with significant middle girth. He is dressed for his ease in white, loose, silk shirt and green hose. He opens both his arms to greet me.

  ‘Welcome to my house, William Constable. Your father was a fine man and good partner in trade, God rest his soul.’ His voice surprises as more of a whisper than the expected boom.

  I doff my cap and bow, thanking him for his kind invitation and good wishes for my mother. He introduces me to his two companions; a smaller, robust man with ruddy complexion; and a young woman. The man is Captain General Hawkins and the woman his daughter, Helen. Hawkins is friendly enough in his greeting, although his expression is made fierce by the deep-set wrinkles around his eyes and mouth.

  Sir George says, ‘I have a weakness for indulging my daughter. She will join us when we dine and we will discuss our business when she withdraws.’

  She is pretty – very pretty, with fine features that bear no similarity to her father. I am no authority on the estimation of age, but would hazard she has not yet reached twenty years.

  She says, ‘We have met before, William Constable.’

  ‘I… I am sorry lady, but I do not recall.’

  ‘No matter, I was at my mother’s skirts and you were too full of young men’s concerns to notice me. It was at your house in West Cheap.’ There is a teasing and lightness in her eyes as she speaks.

  Sir George shakes his head and says, ‘Forgive my daughter, William. She remembers not, but relies upon my telling for her mischief.’

  ‘I hear that you physik, Doctor,’ says Helen. ‘I have an interest in the wellbeing bestowed by herbs and other plants. Perhaps Father will allow me a little of your time here to show you my still and drying room.’

  Sir George sighs and spreads his hands. ‘If you are of a mind, William, please oblige my daughter. She is learned in this field and, as you have witnessed, full of conceit and too forward in her manner.’ He waggles a finger at his daughter. ‘You may go now before we dine, if Rosamund is with you.’

  Helen inclines her head towards a door and I follow.

  ‘Rosamund?’ I query.

  ‘She was my mother’s lady and now mine, although in truth, her influence is wider and she manages this house.’

  I am taken down a corridor to the end of the right wing of the house where she opens a door and bids me to enter. An old woman is bent over a bench with a pestle and mortar. She lifts her head to view us and returns to her work without any further acknowledgement.

  ‘Rosamund, this is William Constable, a doctor of astrology and physik from West Cheap.’

  She mutters something in return, which could be my name. Helen asks me to excuse the frailty in her hearing. She explains that Rosamund was her original teacher on herbal preparations and continues to assist with the tending and harvesting of their garden plot. The chamber is a large one and has two fires set. There are bundles of herbs hung from the beams and several rows of jars marked with their contents. It is a more generous display than I have seen in any apothecary, even in the Low Countries. I am about to comment on her handsome collection when she lifts a paper and presents it to me. The writing is small, tight and in a regular arrangement.

  She says, ‘I am observing the healing properties of various herbs from my own studies and those of goodwives with practice in their application. There is knowledge that lies uncollected, and in my judgement it is because the learned men who write their books have no regard for the female intellect or experience.’ She raises her chin and wrinkles her nose, as if challenging me to contradict her opinion.

  ‘I am sure
that there is truth in what you say. I have received much of my practical learning from my mother. I know that there is abundant wisdom on the application of herbal medicine in the hands of goodwives and healing women.’

  She does not respond, but clasps her hands in front of her skirts and adjusts her stance.

  I continue. ‘A balancing of the humors and lessons from the stars do not offer a complete answer for a physician. The body and soul form a complex mechanism that can relate to the plant world in ways that are of striking benefit.’ I pause and add, ‘Or their misuse can be harmful.’

  ‘You appear more open in your views than I had expected.’

  ‘Do you apply potions to the sick, yourself?’

  ‘Rosamund has a reputation and is often asked to aid those whose purse will not allow a physician. My father will not permit me to be the principal in these matters, but I attend, observe and advise.’

  ‘I am at the beginning of a study of herbal potions and no expert. I have two patients at my house who could benefit from your combined experience and plentiful resources.’ I wave my hand in admiration at the contents on display. ‘My mother has a painful swelling in her belly and an elderly guest has congestion of the lungs. In both cases, I fear that a cure may be beyond my capabilities.’

  She lowers her head and speaks quietly. ‘Your modesty becomes you, but…’

  I am too quick. ‘No, it is too much to ask.’ My motives are confused and I have spoken before collecting my thoughts. It is true that I hope she and Rosamund may assist in healing. I would also discover more about Helen to confirm the Morton family have no part in the conspiracy. She is pleasant company and comely. More – there is an attraction that goes beyond words and appearance. I must stop these foolish thoughts. I am not a giddy youth and have known her only for a few moments.

  She says, ‘I would like to help and will think on your request. Meanwhile father will expect our attendance at his table.’

  *

  It is no surprise that Sir George has a particular liking for his food and he presents an impressive supper table. We start with a pike garnished with apples, a half-barrel of oysters and follow with a half-dozen pheasants and two capons. Sir George has eaten four of the birds and bangs the table with delight when two large hams with a sweet glaze are brought in.

  ‘No meal is complete without a ham. Do you agree, William?’

  I answer that all the dishes have been excellent and I look forward to finishing with the sweet ham.

  ‘Finish?’ His soft voice becomes louder and urgent. ‘I will not be happy until we have tasted the sweetmeats and syllabub.’

  Our conversation until now has been largely monopolised by Sir George who recounts tales from his youth and early successes as a trader. He speaks with fondness of his wife, Anne, who died three years ago from the sweating sickness. Captain Hawkins has been quiet, but joins in enthusiastically when the subject of overpopulation in the city is broached. There is a natural fear of disease and general agreement that noxious breath from the masses is a hazard in our crowded streets. The solutions proposed range from forced expulsion beyond the city walls to the idea of a network of small waterways built to carry away the slurry and filth from roads and passageways. The latter suggestion is mine; meets with wholehearted approval from Helen and misgivings from the two men who question the funding for such a project.

  There is a lull in our conversation, then Sir George says, ‘You know that John has been appointed as Treasurer of the Navy?’

  ‘I had heard. My congratulations on an important recognition,’ I say.

  ‘The Captain is not only an unrivalled man of the sea and administrator, but is inventive in the design of ships,’ adds Sir George and I bow my head to the Captain in acknowledgement.

  Hawkins turns to me. ‘I attended your exposition with Doctor Dee some years ago at Whitehall. I was impressed with your methods and am eager to understand if you have an improvement that we may use on our venture. I would also value your opinion on certain modifications to our ships that I have in mind.’

  Hawkins is animated as he describes plans to lengthen the ships and cover the hulls with skins of elm planks coated and sealed with pitch and horsehair. He explains this is intended to guard against worms and other small underwater beasts in the tropics that eat away the wood. Most ingenious of all, he proposes to manufacture detachable topmasts which can be hoisted in fair weather and stowed when heavy seas direct caution. I commend his inventiveness and promise to inspect the work in progress on the quays of the North Bank in due course. I am genuinely surprised and enthused by Hawkins’ schemes. His reputation is that of a fearless military commander, but there are clearly wider concerns in an active mind.

  Our discourse has stretched beyond the last serving of food and Helen begins to weary of the topic. She excuses herself, bobs a graceful curtsey to each of us and retires. I must not forget that I am here to enquire into the date and nature of her birth.

  When she has left the room I say, ‘Your daughter is charming, Sir George, with learning and wit seldom found in one so young.’

  ‘Ah, Helen, she is a blessing.’ He pauses. ‘Would that her mother was here. At my age I am too soft in controlling her high spirit. I dote on her.’

  He is misty-eyed and I continue to gently probe. ‘But your ages are not too distant and she shows proper respect and love to her father.’

  ‘Hah, you flatter me, William. I am less than two years from my sixtieth and Helen is forty years behind me.’ He hesitates and would say more, but rouses himself, sits back in his chair and spreads his hands on the table. ‘Come now, we are here to discuss our great adventure and your interest, William.’

  The scheme is outlined by Hawkins. There are twelve ships in the quays here and ten in the West Country under the supervision of Sir Humphrey Gilbert. The fleet will assemble at Dartmouth early next year, then half will sail for the Africas to gather slaves and other supplies for trading at Santo Domingo and Venezuela. The remaining ships will sail later laden with supplies of cloth, livestock and other goods useful for settlements in the Indies. After trading for the return journey, the whole fleet will rendezvous off the east shores of Hispaniola and form a blockade for the capture of Spanish treasure ships. This last part of the operation is the one that excites both men. Hawkins recounts his intelligence of the fabulous wealth of gold and silver from Mexico and Peru destined for Castile. He describes the exotic and faraway lands in a way that brings the writing of their names on a map into vivid imagination. It is an extravagant plan and one that will bring riches and fame to the principals, if successful. I find myself sharing their eagerness.

  Sir George says, ‘Our financial interests are settled, William. The Captain General regards accurate navigation as a major influence in the achievement of our aims. Hence, it is your words on a navigational aid in your letter, rather than the depth of your purse, that concerns us.’

  I am relieved that I do not have to face the embarrassment in disclosing the small coinage that I can risk. My work on the measuring instrument is not fully formed, but I suspect it is the object I must offer to stir their curiosity. ‘I have updated my almanac with more accurate readings of the heavenly bodies and adjusted the mathematics for a more precise calculation.’ I pause to examine their expressions, which show that they hope for more. ‘I admit that these improvements are slight. My recent efforts focus on an improved instrument to measure the angle of the celestial bodies above the horizon.’

  Hawkins leans forward in anticipation. ‘I would be glad of this tool. Our cross-staffs are problematic on a rolling deck.’

  ‘My work is incomplete, but I understand that there will be a difficulty in using a cross-staff. I have only a small experience of its use on a ship, but even in steady seas it is a complex matter to take readings from the top and bottom of the transom at the same moment and in the full glare of the sun.’

  ‘Do you have a remedy?’ asks Hawkins.

  ‘I experimented
on the roof of my house with a staff that casts a shadow from the rear and a sighting vane that allows this and the horizon to coincide with a single sight. To this date my craftsmanship fails me and there is more to be done to perfect the method.’ I give no word that this was an unsatisfactory and rough handling of pieces of wood on a single night, and Hawkins appears to be encouraged.

  ‘Very good,’ says Sir George, ‘I am sure the Captain General will wish to observe your progress in this development and there are over one hundred days before the ships will sail; time enough.’ He presses his body back in his seat and meets my eye. ‘If your experiments prove to be of value then I am sure that the Captain will find a berth for you on his ships. You are a young man and this will offer you adventure and a share in its success.’

  It is an offer I had not envisaged or sought, but is some way in the future and I must not appear lukewarm, so I thank him for his kind offer and say that I will gladly accept, should my circumstances allow.

  It is the hour before midnight when we finish our discourse and Sir George commands two of his men to accompany me on my journey home. The Captain and Sir George are pleased with my words, but I am unsettled by my artifice in embellishing the description of a new navigation instrument. I must set to work on this problem with renewed vigour.

  As I retire, my thoughts turn to Helen. Sir George is forty years her senior and, although his wife may have been younger, it would be unusual to sire an only child at that stage in his life. Was his mention of Helen as a ‘blessing’ an indirect marker on the manner she came to be his daughter? Her features are much finer than her father’s. Does she resemble her late mother, or…? No, I must banish more thoughts of Helen now, or I will not sleep.

  Nine

  I rise early and pass a dark morning in the drawing of schematics for the navigation aid. I come to realise that I have taken on a task that is more suited to one who works with hands rather than their mind. When a grey light comes I adjourn to the kitchen to prepare potions for Mother and John. Elspeth and her girl are surprised to see me at this hour and I am quick in my work as I seem to fluster their activities.