by Peter Tonkin
‘But if we do move,’ said Gelly Meyrick, ‘and move too soon. What then?’
‘Either way, it rests in the hands of Fortune,’ said Cuffe. ‘If the Fates are with us, we snatch great power in the land and become masters of the present and the future. If they are against us, then our heads will roll.’
‘That’s not very encouraging,’ said Gelly Meyrick.
‘But still,’ said Poley, ‘it’s true. If we wish to progress, we must put the matter to the Earl himself and place ourselves in his hands as well as in Fate’s.’
But the Earl was still hesitant. Nothing any of them could say would push him into making a decision and taking action. Skeres had brought the news to the meeting at Drury House on Monday, February 2nd, the day Poley had passed his information to Lady Janet for the ears of Master Secretary and the Council. But, like The Earl himself, they seemed hesitant to act. As the week passed, more and more discontented knights, penniless minor aristocrats and disaffected Catholic recusants flocked to Essex House. By the end of the week Poley calculated that there must be approaching two hundred of them. Their swords were sharp. Their pistols and firelocks were loaded. Their patience was running out. And still nothing. Nothing from either side.
Until the Percy brothers came up with an idea. Poley got wind of it when they approached Sir Christopher Blount for a loan of one hundred shillings and he offered to join in whatever enterprise they were planning. Whither he went, thither went Cuffe. They ended up talking to the least destitute of the recusants who came and went through Essex House, William Parker, Baron Monteagle, who advanced them one hundred shillings on condition that he too went with them to see how they proposed to spend such a sizeable sum.
And so, early the next morning, they all wrapped themselves in their warmest cloaks and walked through the slush of the garden down to Essex House steps where they hailed a wherry. The river had not frozen, despite the cold, and within a matter of fifteen minutes, they were climbing up the Falcon Stairs onto Bankside. As they slogged through the freezing mud, Poley for a wild moment thought they must be heading for the Bear Baiting or the Bull Baiting pits. ‘We cannot claim all the credit,’ Jocelyn Percy was saying. ‘Our cousin Lady Janet suggested that we might see whether doing what we propose might move matters forward.’
*
Poley’s ears pricked up at this and his mind began to race at once. If Lady Janet had made the suggestion, then it might as well have been proposed by Master Secretary Cecil.
Charles and Jocelyn Percy suddenly turned aside and the secret intelligence realised they were heading, of all places, for the Globe Theatre. Despite keeping company with some of the most avid playgoers among the aristocracy, Poley had seen nothing staged in a year or more and had no idea what was playing at the Globe now. But this early in the day, the flag was down and the takings booth at the entry was unmanned. Nothing daunted, the Percys strode through the pit where the groundlings stood during performances and ran up the steps that led onto the stage, thrusting past some stage hands and carpenters no doubt preparing things for the next performance. They pushed through backstage as though they owned the place and here they found a small office where a man was seated, a ledger in front of him and a box of takings at his elbow.
He looked up in surprise at the invasion, but before he could speak, Jocelyn Percy said, ‘Master Phillips?’
‘Aye,’ said the stranger. ‘Augustine Phillips, at your service.’ He tried to make the closing of the takings box casual and unremarkable. He failed, thought Poley with some amusement; not much of an actor, then. ‘How can I be of service, gentles?’
‘Our cousin Lady Janet Percy, one of Her Majesty’s Ladies in Waiting, suggested we talk to you. We wish to commission a performance of an old play by your company,’ said Charles Percy. ‘Just one performance. This afternoon. Here, at the Globe. Open to all comers.’
‘An old play? What old play, masters?’
‘I believe it is properly called The Life and Death of King Richard the Second.’
Poley gasped. The scales fell from his eyes. He realised what was afoot here; what Lady Janet was up to. It took his breath away.
‘It is so called. But we have not enacted it in several years,’ said Phillips.
‘Could you do so? Today?’ insisted Charles Percy. ‘Perhaps in place of your play as proposed this afternoon after dinner?’
‘Well, we are due to play Twelfth Night as we played so recently before Her Majesty…’
‘How much?’ snapped Percy. ‘How much to replace Twelfth Night with Richard the Second for one performance?’
‘Well,’ Phillips’s eyes narrowed. He glanced down at his ledger then up again. ‘Our usual fee for a private performance would be twenty shillings. I suppose we could…’
‘We’ll double it,’ snapped Percy. ‘Your usual fee plus forty shillings and you keep whatever you take at the gate.’
Augustine Phillips gaped at the red-headed northerner. ‘Usual fee plus forty shillings,’ he said. ‘Done!’
Poley could hardly contain himself on the way back. ‘Have you discussed this with The Earl?’ he asked. ‘No matter what audience comes or what they see within the play itself, Hayward is still under close questioning in The Tower for his book about the same matter. The Queen herself has admitted that she is seen as Richard II, ripe to be toppled by the Earl as Bolingbroke.’
‘Aye,’ agreed Jocelyn Percy without the shadow of any regret. ‘Lady Janet said as much. But there’s no guarantee it will do more than stir the cauldron of events a little. There’s no need as yet to warn the Earl, Sir John Davis and Sir Fernando Gorges.’
‘I agree,’ said Poley at once. ‘Take my advice and let matters rest for a little time at least. It is an old play as Master Phillips said. One licensed long ago and played to great effect if I remember rightly. But because of changing circumstance it has gained a hitherto unsuspected relevance. Mayhap it will come to the Council’s notice. But then again maybe not. Think on it, Jocelyn. You and Charles would look foolish to put it mildly if you warned everyone that some great danger threatened and nothing happened at all.’
‘True enough,’ said Jocelyn, not a bit dashed. ‘But I’d hazard that something will come of it!’
And I’d hazard the same, thought Poley.
*
Poley would have liked to attend the performance. Quite apart from anything else, he reckoned that Lady Janet, having originated the idea, would almost certainly be there herself. But things at Essex House called him away. Sir John Davis and Sir Fernando Gorges had almost come to blows over the plan and had managed to split the group of the Earl’s closest advisors into two camps. As supper proceeded that evening, some middle ground was established as everyone agreed that taking The Tower was out of the question. Poley listened, distracted – as were some others – by the thought that the flag on the Globe was being raised and the trumpet blown to summon in the audience to the unexpected performance of a suddenly dangerous drama.
But when his full attention returned to what was being said, he realised that half of the counsellors maintained that the first action should be the overwhelming of Whitehall Palace, the securing of the Queen and the arrest of Cecil and Raleigh. The rest argued that it would be better to rouse the City. ‘You are still the hero of Rouen, Cadiz, the Azores campaign. You defeated an Armada with the aid of Heaven and only failed in Ireland because you were betrayed by the men you are seeking to depose. The people worship you,’ insisted Sir Christopher Blount.
‘Very well,’ capitulated the Earl. ‘Let us retire to discuss the detail of how such a thing could be done – and when would be the best time to do it. Gelly, Sir John, Sir Fernando and Sir Christopher may all attend me in my private chamber.’
The Earl rose and everyone rose with him. The majority, however, sat down once more when he and his named friends had left the room. Only the ladies remained standing and then, led by Lady Frances, they too left. The remaining men fell to eating, drinking and d
iscussing what the immediate future might bring. But, as it turned out, not even Poley, who knew most about the truth of the current situation, could have foreseen what was actually to happen next.
There came a great banging on the outer gate as though some giant stood in the Strand demanding entry. Fitzherbert ran to answer it, followed by half a dozen sizeable servants. Poley heard the commotion even over the chatter in the Great Hall and saw the major domo hurry past the open door. He was up and out at once, following Fitzherbert and his men out of the front door, down the steps and across the chilly courtyard. As he did so, he became aware of a considerable press of bodies behind him. Fitzherbert opened the small postern in the great gate and stepped back. A group of men wrapped in cloaks with hats pulled low, entered. ‘I am here to see the Earl,’ said the leader of the group.
‘Of course. May I tell my master who is requesting an audience with him?’
The stranger looked up, little more than eyes and nose visible in the flickering light of the blazing torches. ‘Tell him Sir John Herbert, Secretary to the Council, has been sent to summon him to appear before them. At once.’
Herbert strode forward. The major domo walked at his side, the house servants forming up beside Herbert’s guards. Poley stepped back as they came up the steps towards him and he felt the press of men at his back falling away as well. They all crowded into the entrance hall as Fitzherbert led the Council’s emissary into a side room where there was a fire and sufficient seating for the unexpected, most unwelcome arrivals. Then, leaving the door ajar with his men standing guard outside it, he hurried off to warn the Earl what was happening.
It had to be the play, thought Poley. The performance of Richard II at the Globe had indeed stirred the Council. Like a stick thrust into a hornets’ nest. He looked around, seeking amongst the assembled faces for the Percy brothers but he couldn’t see them. What he could see, however, was a combination of outrage and suspicion. Both of these emotions grew so swiftly and so widely amongst the assembled knights that he abruptly began to wonder whether the canny Fitzherbert had left his men there not to make sure that none of the visitors got out but that none of the Earl’s outraged friends got in.
*
Fitzherbert returned, not with the Earl but with his steward. He showed Sir Gelly into the room and once again he left the door ajar. ‘Well, Sir John?’ said the Welshman. ‘You have a message for the Earl?’
‘Not a message,’ snapped Herbert. ‘A summons. The Council has noted several things of late that have disturbed them. The meetings at Drury House. The arrival of increasing numbers of armed man here in Essex House which seems to us to be in process of being fortified. Perhaps as the base for some sort of military action.’
He stopped to draw breath and Poley glanced around at his companions. To a man, they were frowning angrily. The short silence before Herbert began to speak again was underpinned by a sort of communal growl which began to build as he resumed, ‘The continuing communications between Essex House and Edinburgh which in our opinion have led directly to certain movements by the Earl of Marr on behalf of King James. And, lately, the privately financed performance by the Lord Chamberlain’s Men of the play of Richard the Second at the Globe Theatre. A play which chimes all too closely with the book for which Thomas Hayward is currently close confined in the Tower.’
He paused again. The atmosphere in the hall was growing dangerous and Poley began to wonder whether the arrogant John Herbert was going to make it out of Essex House alive. Or, indeed, any of his cloaked companions. But, seemingly unaware of the growing danger, Herbert concluded, ‘The Council is assembled at the house of the Lord Treasurer Lord Buckhurst and we require the Earl to present himself there forthwith to explain himself and his doings.’
‘But, Sir John,’ answered Sir Gelly coldly, and the growl in the hall quietened as the men strained to hear his soft Welsh tones, ‘the Earl knows the truth you are refusing to reveal. Namely that you and other members of your Council are conspiring with Sir Walter Raleigh and his friends in the matter of a planned assassination. My Lord of Essex knows that the moment he sets foot outside this house, especially were he escorted by you and your men instead of me and mine, he would be dead in a matter of yards. How the deed would be done, by dagger or by gun or by garrotte he does not know. But he does know that it would be done.’ The atmosphere around Poley became almost feral.
‘You do realise, Sir Gelly, that such suspicions, leave aside the aspersions they cast upon the Council, Master Secretary and the Captain of the Guard, are very close to madness?’
‘I fear not, Sir John. I suspect that they are all too well-founded. I have heard reports, and repeated them to the Earl, that Sir Walter has personally suggested murder as the swiftest and surest way to solve the Council’s problems with the Earl. And I understand he has even offered to undertake the task himself. Something he is more than qualified to do, judging from the reputation he left behind in Ireland. Specifically in a place called Smerwick. Along with six hundred headless corpses.’
‘That’s as it may be, sir. But you are wasting my time. I am here for the Earl. I must see the Earl. And I must take the Earl. I speak with the voice of the Council and Her Majesty. I may not be denied.’
‘You will be denied should the Earl choose to deny you. You and your men will also die here and now should the Earl choose to call for it to be so.’
‘Then my death would only be a pre-cursor to the Earl’s. Nor would the Earl die alone. A finger laid upon me or my men is an act of outright treason. As though violent hands had been laid upon the Queen herself. The man or men who acted so are guilty. The man who ordered it so is guilty. Every man who saw it and did not intervene is guilty. Even the men who knew it might happen and did nothing to prevent it are guilty. Hardly a man in this house, indeed, would escape the noose or the axe. Now go and fetch My Lord of Essex before I run out of patience.’
But before Sir Gelly could say or do anything, Essex appeared. Poley sensed his arrival first in the sudden stirring of the angry crowd around him. In the change in timbre of the noise that they were making. A path parted and the Earl strode forward. His doublet and waistcoat were gone. His shirt clung to him like a second skin, so wet with sweat it was possible to see the pale flesh it clothed. He reached the door. Fitzherbert’s guards stood back, wide-eyed. The Earl tore the door wide and stood framed in the doorway, large enough to hide all the other occupants of the room. All hesitation gone, thought Poley. All uncertainty put aside. Here at last was the hero of Cadiz reborn. ‘I am sick!’ he bellowed. ‘Feverish, sweating, as you see and on my way to bed while my men summon the physician to me. I cannot see the Council! I am too sick even to see the Queen! Get you gone Sir John. You and your lackeys. Get you back to the Council and tell them I will see them when I am recovered. I will see them when I am good and ready. And by God, when I am ready, the Council will certainly see me!’
10
Poley followed Fernando Gorges down the length of the Essex House gardens. Both men were wrapped in cloaks against the early-morning chill and had hats pulled low. They seemed to be little more than animated versions of the pollarded trees and tall bushes through which they were moving so carefully and silently. Poley was keeping as far back as he dared, given that he didn’t want to lose track of his man in the icy fog that hung over the river and the banks beside it. And also because he had a disturbing feeling that he and Sir Fernando were not alone.
Gorges was being careful too. He was clearly a little nervous about what he was doing; and Poley could hardly be surprised at that. He was certain that Gorges was going to secretly meet someone – someone on the water therefore, brought to the meeting-place by boat. And the likeliest candidate to be Gorges’ contact was his cousin Walter Raleigh. They had been close friends as well as kin and the only thing that had ever come between them was Robert Devereux, the Earl of Essex and their opposing views of the man. Poley was very much of Sir Anthony Bacon’s opinion regarding the likelihood
of Sir Fernando being Sir Walter’s spy – much as Poley himself was Cecil’s. But if the pair were ever to risk a face-to-face meeting, then this was the time to do it. For, Sabbath Day or not, this day, Sunday 8th February, was the day that the Essex had to take decisive action or offer ignominious submission. Sir John Herbert’s visit last night had simply left him no other options.
The Earl had dropped his pretence of sickness the moment Sir John Herbert and his men had left and, instead of retiring to bed, had thrown himself into preparations for the morning, guaranteeing everyone in Essex House a sleepless night. But, despite Sir John Davis’s meticulous planning, confident in his own standing with London’s citizenry and his friends in the Palace alike, the Earl could settle on nothing concrete. Like his advisors, the only thing he was certain of was that the Tower of London was beyond their grasp. But the City was his for the taking. Then again, Whitehall and the Court were little more than a mile distant. And could effectively be invaded either by land from Whitehall and the Court Gate into which it led, or by water from the River, up the Court Stairs or the Privy Stairs just beside them. The Earl had friends and allies in place who would smooth his passage to the Royal Chambers as surely as the Fates had done at Nonsuch.
All through the hours of darkness, as yet more men came secretly in through the postern gate from the Strand, he strode around the rooms that seethed with impatient allies, muttering to himself, rehearsing what he would say to the Queen when he confronted her. The fawning tenor of his words interspersed with his best commanding tones as he practised what he would say to the adoring citizenry if he chose to go into the City instead of the Palace.
It all made sense to the Earl, thought Poley. But it must look distressingly like the ravings of a man who was losing his grip to some of the more recent arrivals. Lady Frances begged and begged him to think again. Lady Lettice advised him to pay close attention to her husband Sir Christopher Blount’s advice, which added further complications to the plans outlined by Sir John Davis and Sir Fernando Gorges. But Penelope Rich simply took Sir Charles Davers aside and Poley overheard her ordering the knight to go out in the first dim light of dawn and bring back an assessment of how things stood at Whitehall Palace.