far less complicated. And deep in his soul, he was beginning to think that he would never set foot on land again.
The girl ignored him.
'Why are you going to build a raft?'
Gresham sighed, deeply and long.
'Because this ship is sinking. And because unless we're to sink along with it, we need something on which we can float. Can we carry on now?'
'Certainly,' she said. 'But it would be easier, would it not, to go to wherever we're going on that very big boat that's been in sight for nearly ten minutes now?'
The men turned, their jaws dropping. The Merchant Royal, one of the London ships that had separated from Drake's fleet what seemed a lifetime earlier. Scouring the ocean for Drake, blown off course in the same storm that had nearly killed them. The wonderful sight of the ship bore down on them, the two little flapping sails having let her see them before even Anna's sharp young eyes had picked out her bulk on the ocean.
Chapter 6
July, 1587 London
‘I came as soon as I received your message,' said Robert Cecil. Well, that was true at least, thought Walsingham. Cecil had come by boat to Barnes from Whitehall, against the tide if the sheen of sweat on his boatmen was anything to go by. The journey would have pained Cecil, Walsingham knew. His warped back made no travel easy, not even by boat. It was intentional, of course. The more pain Cecil underwent before their interview the more Walsingham might catch him off guard.
The room was small, but overlooked the garden at Barnes through a long, latticed window that was disproportionately large. Walsingham had avoided the garish decoration that was suddenly the fashion, and stayed with sombre, dark panelling, while a feeble fire gagged in the grate and gave out no heat.
'How may I be of assistance?' asked Cecil. He was young still, thought Walsingham. In a few years he would shear his last comment of the slight note of ingratiation it now contained, but in his inexperience, he managed to make a straightforward comment ever so slightly patronising.
His family had no breeding. Walsingham was sure that in some way this was Cecil's weak spot. He needed to know for certain.
Insurance. Knowing where this man was vulnerable was important if Walsingham was to be allowed to bow out of power, instead of being kicked out The vicious battle for power that was taking place at Court was between breeding and ability. Men like Cecil had wits enough for ten, and a supreme sense of politics derived from always having to guard their backs. Their opponents, Essex in particular, had breeding, charm and the easy nonchalance of those bred to power.
'It is possible that I might be of assistance to you' said Walsingham, with a smile neither of them believed. 'I learned long ago that men of sense acknowledge debt, and ensure that it is always repaid. I am a poor man.' Well, that was true. What money he once had had gone into financing his network of agents. Therefore I can give only knowledge, in the hope that one day those to whom I give it might be in a position to return something I need in payment back to me.'
Cecil had to think about that one. Undoubtedly he was thinking that he should beware the Devil bringing gifts. Yet he was a young man, and the curiosity and rashness was there in him, even if it was not vented in wine, women or gambling like most young men. Cecil would take the bait.
'What knowledge is it that you have, and think might be of interest to me?' asked Cecil carefully.
There! He would swallow the bait! 'I can hardly help but be aware of your interest in the young man Henry Gresham,' said Walsingham. Was there a slight colour come into Cecil's face? A slight tightening of the skin round the lips? Only the most suspicious person would have thought so. 'I wonder if you are aware of a most amusing story regarding that young man?'
Cecil shook his head, his leaning forward betraying his interest.
'You know his background?' asked Walsingham.
'I believe so,' said Cecil, on firmer ground now. 'His father was immensely rich, a fortune made largely through moneylending. He apparently conceived a bastard. It was not until quite late in the bastard's life that it was realised his father had left him a vast fortune, having neglected him while he was alive.'
True, as far as it goes,' said Walsingham. 'But have you ever wondered why such a highly respected man should acknowledge a by-blow at all? A bastard may be a… a regrettable fact of life for such a man. Yet we both know the river hides many such secrets. I wonder why Gresham's father took the trouble to acknowledge him? And, moreover, why he chose to make him such a wealthy bastard?'
'I had assumed… a sense of duty,' said Cecil. 'And the father died childless, after a boy born in wedlock departed this life, did he not? Perhaps the father felt it preferable that the line continue, even from such flawed seed, rather than it die out…'
'It may well be so,' said Walsingham. 'It may well be so indeed. Yet the birth of a bastard was not the only extraordinary thing to happen in the life of Sir Thomas Gresham. You are too young to remember, yet some years ago, he was made guardian to a young lady. A quite extraordinary young lady. The reasons are lost in time. Perhaps they were as simple as a young woman needing a guardian and an old, wealthy man being deemed the most suitable candidate.'
'And the outcome?' asked Cecil, engrossed.
'The young lady in question was a nightmare. Beautiful, independent, possessed of a will entirely of her own. And of very bad judgement. They clashed, violently, from the outset. The servants recollect him complaining that unlike most men he had been made to suffer Hell here on earth by this woman placed in his care, instead of waiting until after his death. In any event, the lady left his household after a period of time.'
'Is that all?' asked Cecil, disappointed.
'In public?' said Walsingham. 'Yes. Except if one listens to the servants, a very different story emerges. A story of a wild young girl deciding to make an old man rather happier than he claims to have been. Of a child born some six months after the lady I have mentioned left Sir Thomas Gresham's house. Born, I might add, in conditions of strictest secrecy. A child later acknowledged by Sir Thomas as his own, and named Henry Gresham. With no mention, now or then, of the mother, her origins, her background or who she was.'
'And are you sure of this?' asked Cecil.
'Yes,' said Walsingham. 'I am.'
'And who was the girl?' asked Cecil.
'Lady Mary Keys,' said Walsingham flatly.
The colour drained from Cecil's face. Interesting, thought Walsingham, very interesting.
'Lady Mary Keys… the sister of Lady Jane Grey?' asked Cecil, his voice almost a whisper.
'The same,' said Walsingham. 'Lady Jane Grey, whose blood-claim to the throne of England was sufficient for her to be declared Queen for nine days, placed there by unscrupulous relatives before being removed by Queen Mary and executed for her folly. So you see, the blood of Tudor Kings flowed through Lady Mary Keys, enough of it to make her sister Queen for nine days. In that sense, if in no other, I suspect Henry Gresham's first name was chosen with some care.'
'And why have you told me this, Sir Francis?' asked Cecil, his eyes staring now.
Why, thought Walsingham? Because breeding is the one thing you will never have, and the lack of it frightens you. Because I do not know if you are acting for your father, for yourself, for the Queen, for Leicester, for Essex or for someone whose existence I am not yet aware. All I know is that Henry Gresham features in your plans, and that this news will make you fear him that little more, and in your youth and inexperience that fear might make you reveal just a little more.
'I have told you,' said Walsingham, 'because men of our position should trust each other. Were you to find out from other sources what I have just told you, you might consider that I had been withholding information from you. You are a rising star. I would wish to have your complete trust.'
'Does Gresham know who his mother is? That he is… distantly related to monarchy?'
