Down: Trilogy Box Set

by Glenn Cooper

  “Is this enough?” she asked.

  Martin shrugged. “I hope so. Not an exact science at this point. We’ll aim to give him a glassful every four hours. You’ve got enough for a few days but to be safe you should start another batch.”

  They coaxed the liquid down Henry’s throat little by little, encouraging him to stifle his gags, until the glass was empty.

  “Now, we wait,” Martin said.

  Emily made her way to Cromwell who was speaking with the Duke of Suffolk in one corner.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  Cromwell looked at her wearily. “I have no news for you, m’lady.”

  “Were you able to see her?”

  “I was not. She is not receiving visitors.”

  “Surely you must know what is going on inside your own palace.”

  “It is not my palace.”

  “I want to see her then,” Emily insisted.

  “I will pass along your request.”

  “You have to insist.”

  “M’lady, we are talking about the queen.”

  The transformation was remarkable. When Martin, John, and Emily came to see him the next morning the king was seated bolt upright in bed loudly slurping at a bowl of soup.

  “You’re not going to give me more of that foul tea, are you?” Henry demanded.

  “You’ll need to continue with it for a full week at least,” Martin said, shifting the bedclothes to get at his leg. “It’s looking much improved,” he declared. “I’ll just pull some of the packing out to allow the wound to close behind it. It shouldn’t hurt much.”

  Henry hardly looked up from his soup bowl while Martin performed the maneuver. While Martin washed his hands at a sideboard, Henry beckoned Cromwell and whispered something to him.

  Cromwell stood up straighter and announced ceremoniously, “As the king is feeling much improved, he believes it is high time to have John Camp explain to his person his actions with respect to the commandeering of his ship, Hellfire, and his aiding the king’s enemies in Francia.”

  Emily was too impatient to succumb to Henry’s agenda. “Excuse me,” she said. “I want to see the children now. I insist that the queen allow us to see them.”

  “Where is Matilda?” Henry said, looking around the chamber as if he’d forgotten her existence. “Has she been to my bedside?”

  “She has not, Your Majesty,” Cromwell said.

  “Why has she not? Did you not tell her that her good husband was ailing?”

  “I endeavored to speak with her but I was told she is not seeing visitors or receiving messages.”

  “Is she not well? Perhaps this modern physician should be sent to her.”

  “I will attempt to speak with her presently,” Cromwell said. “I will relay to her your request for her company.”

  “It is not a request, it is a demand. Do not keep me waiting any longer,” Henry shouted, his mood turning black. “Now Mr. Camp, I demand an explanation for your transgressions. You would know that neither my illness, nor my expeditious recovery, would allow you to escape my wrath. Men who cross me do so only once. Explain yourself so I may determine your punishment.”

  John let Emily know with a thin-lipped shake of his head that they’d pushed Henry as far as they could for the moment. It was time to use Malcolm Gough’s brain droppings. He hoped the professor’s stellar reputation as a Henry scholar was justified; he was about to find out.

  “What would I do if I were face-to-face with a living, breathing Henry and had to convince him I had a just reason for betraying him?” the professor had asked with a bemused expression. “Well, I would probably have gotten my affairs in order prior to the audience, because Henry was not one to forgive and forget when he believed he had been deceived or crossed. He had tens of thousands put to death as a testament to his iron will. He wasn’t only a fan of execution, but of what he called, dreadful execution—slow, painful methods intended to serve as a warning against any future interference with his religious and secular agendas. But, if I were going to try to save my skin, I suppose I would appeal to his vanity. I would remind him of the greatness of his accomplishments as a king and, for the purpose of this fanciful exercise, I would describe to this reincarnated Henry, the durability of his legacy. When it was clear that this tact was going to fail—and fail it probably would—I would endeavor to use whatever leverage I might possess to make some kind of a deal. Henry was, after all, a pragmatist. He was a megalomaniac but a pragmatic one.”

  John assumed a posture suggesting penitence, fingers interlaced at his waist, head ever so slightly bowed. “First of all, Your Majesty, I think that I failed to properly express my awe in meeting you a month ago. I was very much a stranger in a strange land and it was difficult for me to fully appreciate the enormity of meeting the greatest king that England has ever known.”

  Henry nodded and called for some watered-down wine.

  “I hope you’ve been told by new arrivals to your realm over the years,” John continued, “that your legacy is unrivaled by other monarchs. You singlehandedly reshaped the religious landscape of your empire and established a uniquely English church, neither a slave to Rome or to Luther. You singlehandedly bestowed on English kingship a profound new dignity and unified your country as never before, giving your people pride. Your singular vision established England as a force to be reckoned with throughout Europe. Your campaigns in France are still admired by military men. You, with the able assistance of Thomas Cromwell, established a central legal and administrative structure for governing your diverse realm, which brought peace and stability to what had previously been large areas of lawlessness and violence.”

  He paused to read the room. Henry was hanging on every word and Cromwell looked extremely pleased at his mention. He kept piling it on, recalling the professor’s advice. “You established the English navy as the greatest force on the high seas and that naval supremacy shaped the history of England for centuries to come. You were the ablest builder of all the kings and queens of England and your palaces and fortifications still stand today. And incredibly you were also a scholar, a writer, and an artist. Your books are still read five hundred years on, your music is still sung. You were a king, who by exercise of your mastery of all of the affairs of the state and the soul, was not only feared for your might but also loved by your subjects for your spirit and pride.”

  He stopped long enough to let the king fill the vacuum.

  Henry waved at a retainer to fill his cup and had another few gulps. “These are fine words, Mr. Camp, chosen, I presume to defang the beast. I have heard these songs of praise over the full span of my interminable residence in this foul land, and by and large, I cannot and will not argue with the inherent truthfulness you now impart. Yet, I have also heard loathsome judgments of my person. Tyrant. Betrayer. Usurper. I have even been told I am best known, not for the fine things of which you have spoken, but for having six wives and beheading two. But I say this in my defense of the harsh judgments under which my reputation labors. Was I cruel? Yes! Did this cruelty condemn me to Hell? Yes again, though the fact of this wholly unfair and irrational condemnation has led me to forsake the faith for which I fought my entire earthly life. My cruelty had a purpose, sir. A fine and noble purpose. Moving a country is nearly as difficult a task as moving a mountain. Love can move a country but a little. Fear can move it much further and much faster. I could not have achieved what I had to achieve without an iron will and an iron fist.”

  “I imagine that philosophy serves you here as well,” John said.

  “It does, sir, though in Hell, there is no need to bother with love which is a meaningless thing. Fear is the king of emotions in this realm.”

  Cromwell asked the king if he might speak and he was given permission.

  “Mr. Camp has voiced his admiration for the character and deeds of his majesty, yet he has nonetheless engaged in exploits which have harmed the crown. How does he reconcile thought and deed?”

  Jo
hn was ready to use the next arrow in his quiver. “In order to survive and achieve my goals I had to quickly learn the lay of the land of your world. I only had a month to find this good woman and bring her home. The doorway between our worlds was going to be open for only a short time and I knew I had to quickly get to Francia. I needed a ship.”

  “I believe I promised you passage if you fashioned me these singing cannon,” Henry said, his voice rising.

  “We both know the Duke of Norfolk wasn’t going to let that happen. As soon as the battle with the Iberians was over, he was going to take me prisoner or kill me.”

  “If he had, this would not have been my undertaking,” the king said.

  “Perhaps not, but it would have happened,” John insisted.

  “Yet once you reached Francia, you made allegiances with the French and the Italians to do war against King Henry,” Cromwell said. “You cannot deny this. You were seen on the battlefield opposing us at Argenteuil. As a result, Brittania has been weakened and our enemies grow stronger. We have heard that the Great Bear of Russia, Czar Joseph, senses our weakness in defeat and is making plans to sail for our shores with his armies. You have wounded Brittania as if you had, by your very own hand, pierced the thigh of King Henry. How will you explain your treachery?”

  The analogy was ironic but it wouldn’t have helped matters to smile at it. “Like I said,” John protested, “I had to learn how to survive here. I needed help to rescue Emily. The Italians and their new king provided that help.”

  “This new monarch,” Henry growled, “this man called Garibaldi. He is not of noble birth. He is a commoner and yet he would be a king. You betrayed me to a common criminal and now you must pay. I have a certain fondness for you, John Camp, but I cannot let that interfere with what I must do and the example I must send to all who are answerable to the crown. I was fond of Thomas More. I was fond of Anne Boleyn. I was even fond of our good friend, Cromwell, but I did to them what I must do to you.”

  Emily looked panicky and was about to say something but John raised a hand to quiet her. He wasn’t altogether surprised at the failure of his first two arrows. He confidently reached for the third.

  “All right. I understand you’re angry at what I did and I appreciate that you’ve got to keep up appearances. You don’t stay king for five hundred years by being a soft touch.”

  “What does this mean: soft touch?”

  “Forgiving. Nice. Easy. Weak. All those things. But here’s something else I know about you, Your Majesty. You’re also very intelligent, very shrewd. You know a good bargain when you see it and I’d like to offer you a very good bargain.”

  Henry handed his wine to a servant then propped himself higher on his pillows and demanded that the cushion under his wounded thigh be repositioned.

  “What bargain do you propose?”

  “I want you to give us the children and the woman your queen purchased from Solomon Wisdom. I want free and safe passage back to Dartford for them, myself, Emily, and the five other living persons who are now guests in your palace. And in exchange, I will give you something that no other ruler in Hell has, something that will give you unimaginable power and superiority.”

  Henry betrayed himself with a fleeting, greedy smile. “And what, pray tell, is this, Mr. Camp?”

  “I will give you books. I will give you some very important books.”

  John and Emily sailed the great river alone. Henry had given his assurances that they would not be followed and they felt certain no one was as they navigated the swift downstream currents to the spot, about four miles away, where they had hidden the books.

  The landmark John had chosen to mark the spot was a rotting pier with just enough substance to tie up their barge and support their weight. The crumbling foundation of a stone house, a few yards from the riverbank, was the spot they’d chosen as they made their way from Greenwich. John had transferred all the books to Emily’s pack after ripping out the first few pages from one set. At the king’s bedside, John had produced the pages as proof of the goods and an astonished Henry had read them, passing page by page to Cromwell to inspect, and had declared that a deal would be done.

  “Bring me these books,” he had said, “and I will have the queen relinquish these children, if indeed she has them, and I will give you all free and unfettered passage and my guarantee of safety until such time as you may be able to return to your own realm.”

  “We’ll need to see the children first,” John had said.

  Henry had laughed. “I am well versed in the art of the trade,” he had said. “You will receive what you require and I will receive what I desire. You have the word of this king and that is a sure currency even in Hell.”

  The books, wrapped in cloth, were concealed in a shallow hole he had dug, covered by rubble. John unwrapped the cloth revealing two copies of six books, a total of twelve. He removed the five he’d ripped pages from.

  “I’m glad you decided against giving him a copy of the sixth,” Emily said. “As it is, it bothers me that three of the five can be used for cruelty.”

  “Technology’s always been a double-edged sword,” he said, hiding the books again. “Even with supercolliders.”

  He wished he hadn’t made the remark but she let him off the hook by saying, “At least we can be certain that only good can come from the other two.”

  A whippy westerly wind picked up in intensity and it began to rain. A flock of jays following the river eastward seemed to be almost stationary against the dull sky. A large sailing barge came into view from the west, sped by three masts of full black sails and a contingent of men putting their backs into twenty pairs of oars.

  “They’re really hauling ass,” John said, as the barge disappeared around a river bend. “Too bad we’re going the opposite direction.”

  The strong, unfavorable wind and the heavy current conspired to make their return journey to Hampton Court arduous. John shouted into the wind more than once that it would have been faster to walk, and after several painful hours they arrived back at the palace soaked to the skin.

  Cromwell met them in the great hall and asked if they had been successful.

  “We’re wet but the books are dry,” John said.

  “May I lay my eyes upon them?” the chancellor asked anxiously.

  “Let’s not waste time,” John said. “Let’s see the king and let’s see the children.”

  “Have you seen them?” Emily asked.

  “I have not but the queen has received a message from the king and I am assured they are well,” Cromwell said, turning his back to them and taking off through the hall. “Follow me. The king is most impatient.”

  Henry was eating again. He raised a greasy hand and used the joint of meat to beckon them into his bedchamber. “You have taken an intolerably long while to return. Do you have them?” he called out as they approached.

  Emily answered. “We do. May we please see the children now?”

  Henry shouted to the column of retainers lined up against the wall. “You heard the woman. Fetch the queen and the children.” He called for a cloth to wipe his hands and said, “They will arrive forthwith. Now the books, if you please.”

  John and Emily were still dripping wet but Henry took no notice of their plight.

  “What order would you like to see them?” John asked.

  Henry had the look of a young lad about to receive presents. “Surprise me,” he said. “Delight me.”

  John looked into his pack, pulled out the first volume, and held it up to Henry’s eyes.

  “Excellent!” the king exclaimed. “I was just reading its frontispiece again.” He fished through his bedclothes for the torn sheets and read out loud, “The blast furnace is the key which unlocks Nature’s stores of iron for our use. It is unique in having been unchanged in principle for several centuries, and in having no substitute. If the blast furnace were taken from us civilization would be halted.’ Did you hear that, Cromwell? Civilization would be halted. W
ell, methinks that our civilization has indeed been halted. We must have improved furnaces. Now show me this book.”

  The book John handed him was Blast Furnace Construction in America by Joseph Esrey Johnson, written in 1917. Henry avidly thumbed through it murmuring and cooing like a happy songbird.

  “Look at these behemoths! These furnaces dwarf my largest forges. This tome is filled with fine illustrations and construction plans. Cromwell, summon my master forger, William, and have him come to the palace this very day. I wish him to study this text and study it well. I would have him build me my own behemoth. Think of the cannon we can forge with iron from the Norselands and behemoth furnaces!”

  “It’s not only cannon you can build,” Emily said. “You can make rails for railway tracks and locomotive engines to ride on them. You can make bridges and stronger buildings. You can make a better life for your people.”

  “My subjects will have worse lives if they are conquered by Russians, that I can tell you. We need finer weapons first and foremost. If the ranks of those who are condemned to Hell weren’t swollen with imbeciles and ruffians then we would have learned how to make these furnaces already. The only thing a murderer or a rapist is good for is murdering and raping. Give me the next book.”

  John reached into the bag and produced, Steam Boilers, Engines and Turbines, a 1908 book by Sydney Walker.

  “Blast furnaces are one leg of the stool,” John said, holding it up. “The second is being able to make the large steam engines and turbines to power them and make them hot enough. Water wheels can only go so far. We saw small steam engines in Europa used to power automobiles but larger ones don’t exist here as far as we know. This book teaches how to build them.”

  Henry leafed through the book and marveled at the illustrations. Then he said, “Show me the third leg of the stool.”

  That was Bessemer Steel, Ores and Methods, a book published in 1882 by Thomas Fitch. John explained, “You want to be able to produce more than just large amounts of steel. You want to produce high quality steel that’s consistently strong and won’t rupture. Remember the singing cannon that exploded the day the Iberians attacked?”