The Coming of the King: Henry Gresham and James I (The Henry Gresham Series Book 3)

by Martin Stephen

  Gresham and Jane were in London, or had been until the plague count started to rise and Gresham had insisted Jane go back to The Merchant’s House and the cleaner air, with a small army to accompany her. Gresham and Mannion had scooped meat out of the same pot as ten other men, all bar one of whom had died days later of the plague, and that and other experiences had persuaded Gresham that in some way he was immune. Strange, because a servant had told him that as a small child he had been given up for dead from the plague. James’ coronation was postponed, and what little gloss the new King had had was already wearing thin. He disliked crowds, and had either hidden away from the thousands who wished to see their new King, or shown his anger. On one occasion he had threatened to drop his ‘breeks’ and show the crowds his arse. His coarseness, his rank favouritism to his Scottish hangers-on and his incessant drinking of undiluted wine were making waves. And then the rumours had started, the rumours of a Catholic uprising.

  Gresham looked at the boy whose words could condemn his master to a traitor’s death. Had he ever been as wide-eyed and innocent as this creature, with his flawless skin, fledgling beard and youthful vigour? He made a sudden decision.

  ‘Ben,’ he said softly, ‘you’re in danger.’

  Alarm flashed across the boy’s face.

  ‘No, not from me,’ Gresham said. ‘From what you know. You’re a threat to your Master and to Sir Walter, a threat to their very lives.’

  ‘But I’ve told …’ the boy stammered.

  ‘You’ve told no-one,’ said Gresham. ‘Really? No-one? Not even the little darling in the kitchens you’d love to take to bed? Or your best friend from school?’

  The flicker of a different type of alarm across the boy’s face told Gresham everything he needed to know. The boy had blabbed to someone, probably pillow talk.

  Gresham talked carefully, as if explaining something to a child which, in a way, he was.

  ‘You heard your Master discuss treason. You realised your knowledge could be sold for a lot of money ...’ Gresham pushed a lot of money over to the boy in a purse, ‘... but you made the mistake of telling somebody else. Most likely that someone else will realise that you heard treason talked of, and were willing to tell someone else, is worth an awful lot of money.’

  ‘Who to?’ stuttered the boy.

  ‘Why, either to the people your Master intends to betray, or to your Master himself.’

  ‘So ...?’ said the boy. He looked like he was about to burst into tears.

  ‘So you’re dead,’ said Gresham. ‘I suggest you take this money ...’ he shoved another purse across the table, ‘and don’t go home. Instead, go to the Port of London and buy passage on a ship bound for France tomorrow. Go in what you stand in. Make your way to Paris.’

  Gresham gave him the name of a mid-ranking Parisian nobleman.

  ‘Introduce yourself to him, using my name.’ The man was paid a healthy pension by Gresham, to keep Gresham aware of what was happening in France.

  ‘Why are you doing this for me?’ asked the boy. Because you are young, innocent and born to be a victim, thought Gresham. And because you remind me of a vision conjured up by the Earl of Essex, a vision of a much younger blue-eyed, blonde-haired and fair-limbed boy. But he did not say that. Instead, he said, ‘Because in exchange for your life and this money you will swear never to tell anyone that you disclosed what you have just done to Mannion and myself.’

  The boy nodded, and left. He might keep his word.

  ‘True story?’ asked Gresham.

  ‘Rings true,’ said Mannion. ‘Kidnap the King? Surprisingly easy, if you’ve got trained men. Put Harebell on the throne?’ For some reason, Arbella Stuart had become ‘Harebell’ to Mannion. ‘Easy. Whoever puts her there gives her loads of money, tells her to buy her own dresses and gets on with governing the country themselves. Ideal for your mate Raleigh. Don’t quite see how Jersey fits into it, though. Safe place for Raleigh with ’is links there, but it’s a small place. People likely to talk. And a helluvva way from the action.’

  ‘Jersey? It’s insurance,’ said Gresham. ‘I don’t think the others in this plot could kill a cow in a barn. Raleigh’s in it for all the wrong reasons …’

  Raleigh had been losing preferment and positions on a daily basis, and was effectively ruined. The final straw came when his fine house in the Strand, on which he had spent a literal fortune, was taken away from him to be given to a lackey of James’s. His anger was extraordinary.

  ‘… and the others I think he’s in with aren’t much better. They’ve all lost preferment, and they’re all boiling. It’s not a good way to make a conspiracy a success. Angry men lose judgement, act too fast, assume others share their anger … Cecil never plotted in anger.’

  ‘So why Jersey?’ asked Mannion.

  ‘In case the plot looks a lost cause. If it’s cartwheeling out of control he can bring Cobham to Jersey, take the money and betray the plot, claiming he was acting on the King’s behalf all the time. James gets the money, and Raleigh can claim he killed the plot before it hit the mainland.’

  ‘Bastard!’ said Mannion. ‘Would ‘e do that?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Gresham. ‘And there’s worse.’

  Mannion raised his arm, and within seconds his tankard had been refilled. He waited until the tapster had gone.

  ‘Raleigh invited me round to his house twice. He asked me to join a plot against James. I said no. Yet I didn’t get the sense he heard, or believed, me. In that infuriating way he has he’s convinced himself I’m going to join in his damn-fool escapade.’

  ‘So what’s the problem?’ asked Mannion.

  ‘Problems, as in plural. Firstly, I’ve no doubt that he’s bragged he’s got me on his side. Secondly, I now know at least three of the conspirators, unbeknown to me, were in Raleigh’s house when I visited. If I know, it’s a fair bet Cecil knows. Are you telling me he isn’t watching Raleigh like a hawk? So how many slaves will he have willing to testify I was present at a conspirators’ meeting?’

  ‘But Raleigh’s your friend! Why should he land you in it?’

  ‘Raleigh has no money. Not any more. Conspiracies need money, for weapons, for bribery, for keeping people drunk so they don’t realise how stupid they are to be involved. I suspect he plans to blackmail me. He’ll point out that he can implicate me as easy as sneeze, so I might as well make the plot work. In effect he’ll be saying you die if you don’t join the plot, but at least if you join it and it succeeds you give yourself a chance of life. If, of course, you pay for the conspiracy.’

  Mannion was stunned to silence. ‘So what do you do?’

  ‘I wait for a summons.’

  ‘Who from?’

  ‘From Cecil.’

  ‘Cecil?’ said Mannion. ‘Why him? I thought all he wanted was to see you dead? Sounds as if Raleigh’s doing the job for him.’

  ‘Understand how Cecil works. He lets plots simmer, then catches them just before they boil. That way, people convict themselves. My guess is that he sees a role for me …’

  The summons came, as it happened, the next day.

  Cecil was still working by choice at Whitehall, a throwback to the days of Elizabeth, who favoured the riverside sequence of palaces. James was showing a different colour, preferring palaces with extensive hunting on the doorstep. Gresham wondered how long it would be before Cecil was forced to follow his master more closely.

  The room was damp, the hangings not aired and smelling musty. Or perhaps it was Cecil? His small frame seemed even more frail wrapped as it was in a huge, fur-collared robe. He had narrow eyes, and they were locked on to Gresham. Even Cecil, master of self-control, seemed unable to resist a triumphal gleam in those gimlet eyes.

  ‘Sir Henry,’ he said in a reedy voice, ‘I will not beat around the bush. I am informed that you
have been familiar on a number of occasions with known traitors. I …’

  ‘Known traitors?’ asked Gresham politely. He had been left to stand at the end of a rough oak table, Cecil sitting in a high-back chair at the head. Gresham nonchalantly perched on the table-end, and flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his doublet. ‘Have I missed a trial?’

  Cecil flushed. ‘The traitors have not yet been unmasked, but shortly …’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Gresham. ‘You decide who is guilty, and then the courts confirm your judgement. Could you share with me the name of these villains? Do they know themselves they are guilty? Could I be of help in telling them, perhaps?’

  ‘Sir Henry! This is a matter of life and death! Your life and death!’ Cecil was near to squeaking.

  ‘How interesting,’ said Gresham. ‘Please do carry on.’

  ‘Let us be clear. There are conspirators at work, the Crown does know who they are and you have been seen in their company. I am offering you a choice.’ Cecil was enjoying himself now. ‘You will agree to help the Crown track this conspiracy down and you may hope your life will be spared. Ignore my … request, Sir Henry, and your fine looks and your fortune will do you no good.’

  ‘And now, my Lord,’ said Gresham, standing up so sharply that Cecil jumped in shock. ‘It is time you listened to me. For whatever reason, you have for several months been paying out a small fortune to have me killed and my College brought into disrepute, hence open to any bidder. I know what it is you want out of Granville College …’

  There was a flicker round Cecil’s eyes.

  ‘… and I have taken steps to ensure that its survival is dependent on mine. Kill me, and you destroy what you want and need so much.’

  ‘Secondly,’ Gresham’s voice was like a drill cutting through iron, ‘the conspirators you refer to are small-time underlings, aggrieved lackeys who are snarling because their jaws have been taken out of the pot. You do not need me to inform on them! They inform on themselves! No, it is Raleigh you fear, the one man who might perhaps, with the military skill you so badly lack, mastermind the physical side of a rebellion, and the one man who might, perhaps, be able to sway a mob with the power of language you also so singularly lack. And there is only one person who Raleigh trusts who you might hope to suborn and have as your spy – me! Well, you must think again.’

  ‘But I have evidence …’

  ‘Evidence? You have the word of paid servants! And would it surprise you to hear I have two noble lords willing to swear I was with them on any evening you care to implicate me with Raleigh?’

  Clearly, it did not surprise Cecil, or at least not nearly as much as it surprised Gresham, who had no such Lords. Not that they would be hard to come by, given the money at Gresham’s disposal and the increasing drift of patronage to Scottish Lords and out of the pockets of the English. Even Carey, who Gresham had helped to bring the news of his anointment to James, had been stripped of his new-found honours.

  ‘I will not betray Raleigh!’ hissed Gresham, in a voice that stripped flesh off bone. Should he deny Raleigh was plotting? Hardly. Gresham and Cecil knew the truth, and the lie would ring hollow. Tonight Gresham need all he said to have a ring of truth.

  It seemed to have worked. Gresham had called Cecil’s bluff, and Cecil had nothing to respond with. Except one thing. Right at the end, as Gresham cockily assured, was leaving.

  ‘Beware one thing, Sir Henry,’ said Cecil. Gresham simply turned and looked.

  ‘Beware any man who can implicate you. Implicate you beyond even the power of noble lords to rescue you!’

  Raleigh. Cecil could only mean Raleigh. Would Raleigh accuse Gresham, to save his skin?

  As a child, Gresham had thought being brave meant not feeling fear. As a result, fear was a luxury he had sworn he denied himself. Yet as time went on he realised more and more that true courage rested in facing fear, not denying it. Apart of him had been terrified when faced with the raw ambition and power of his arch-enemy. It made him even more pleased to share the conversation with Jane, Mannion and tankard a silent companion in the room.

  ‘So what is it that Cecil wants from the College?’ she asked excitedly. ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘I haven’t found out, and I don’t know what it is,’ said Gresham, failing to banish a hint of smugness from his voice. He is like a little boy again, thought Jane, a little boy who has brought home his first fish. ‘But I worked out it has to be something that anyone who refounded the College could take, that it had to be physical or Cecil could simply have us burnt down and that it had to be money or wealth, because they’re all Cecil cares about. So I chose my words carefully round those assumptions, and saw and heard nothing that suggested I was wrong.’

  Jane’s heart turned at the thought of Gresham with his head in the lion’s mouth.

  ‘What if he had just got someone to slit your throat on the way out of the Palace? No-one need ever know ...’ she said.

  ‘Firstly, I’d insured myself by suggesting whatever he wanted would be destroyed if I was killed.’

  ‘Did he really believe you?’

  ‘Probably not,’ said Gresham, ‘but enough for him not to take the risk. And there’s also the fact that this time, unlike in an alley in Cambridge, I was armed and had an escort.’

  ‘So what did you achieve?’ said Jane, desperate to be reassured but strangely fearful.

  ‘I suspect there will be no more overt attacks on the College, or me, for a while. Cecil will rethink his strategy.’

  ‘And that of Raleigh?’ asked Jane. ‘If he is brought to trial, are there reasons that might lead him to implicate you?’

  The question hung in silence, and Jane knew the source of the dread in her heart.

  Chapter Nine

  July to August 1603

  The messenger arrived from London.

  ‘They’ve arrested Raleigh,’ Mannion said. ‘First they put ’im under house arrest, but now he’s gone to The Tower.’

  It needed every ounce of self-control Gresham had, but he showed no emotion.

  The fool!

  ‘You warned him ...’ said Jane.

  He had indeed. Gresham’s spies had provided him with a flood of information on Raleigh’s meetings with a wealth of unsuitable people, and talk of at least two plots to unseat James, while post after post was stripped from Raleigh. He was even kicked out of his house on the Strand after having spent a fortune on it. Gresham had no Queen to pass information on to, and was unwilling to swing the weight of his network behind James as it would simply empower Cecil. But if Gresham knew of the plotting, so did Cecil, as witnessed by his threatening of Gresham by exposure. Gresham had saved himself by bluffing. Raleigh had no such bluff. He was building a scaffold for himself, and tying the noose round his own neck. Yet he blundered and blustered on, simply telling Gresham that he knew what he was doing.

  ‘And?’ Gresham asked. That there was something more was written all over Mannion’s troubled face.

  ‘’E tried to commit suicide. Stabbed himself in the chest. But the knife bounced off a rib. He’s all right, ’parently. But he’s asked to see you.’

  ‘The suicide makes sense,’ said Gresham.

  ‘Sense?’ said Mannion, who had made the mistake of thinking that Gresham could no longer shock him.

  ‘Sense in two ways,’ said Gresham. ‘If he kills himself, his wife still inherits, whereas if he’s convicted as a traitor the Crown takes his estate. But I doubt it was a real attempt. My guess is he gave into his sense of the dramatic, hoping news of an attempt would generate sympathy for him. He’s too arrogant to realise that in all probability most people would see it as a sign of guilt. Do we know what he’s charged with?’

  Mannion scratched his head.

  ‘It’s all a bit confused. Apparently that fu
ckwit Cobham’s been involved in plotting with anyone who’s ever told a joke about the Scots, and he’s confessed that Raleigh was behind it all. ’Cept there’s a story goin’ the rounds saying ’e’s taken it all back, and was forced into namin’ Raleigh.’

  What was going on? Gresham thought Raleigh’s plan had been to win his way back into the favour of the monarch by exposing Cobham. It was deeply flawed. The deep insecurity that any Scottish King imbibed with his nurse’s milk would ask why a leading member of the Court would seek to involve himself with plotters in the first place, even if his intention all along was to expose them? How could you prove that? Was it not easier to assume a genuine plot, with the chief protagonist getting cold feet at the last moment? Most of all, Raleigh had put himself into a position whereby Cecil could expose Raleigh and close the trap on him before Raleigh could do the same for Cobham. Raleigh had been blown up by his own bomb. Instead of Raleigh exposing a plot against James, it was Cecil who had got there first and done so, and Cecil who would gain all the credit.

  ‘Just when things were starting to settle down ...’ said Jane wistfully. It was true. Gresham’s confrontation with Cecil had seen the end of the incessant attempts on Gresham’s life or the standing of the College. Life had been restricted to its normal dangers. The plague had infested London, and Gresham and Jane had spent the early summer journeying round their friends’ country houses, or in Cambridge, mercifully free of students over the harvest time.

  ‘I must go to see Raleigh,’ said Gresham, ‘in The Tower.’