You could be a pawn in a much bigger game. He could be a pawn in a much bigger game. No. It's not conclusive.'
‘Few things ever are in my world,' said Gresham, 'but let's move on.'
'Walsingham has to be a suspect,' said George. He revelled in this politicking, thought Gresham,
'How so?' said Gresham. The thought had occurred to him, but it seemed less blasphemous coming from someone else's mouth.
'Walsingham was Mary Queen of Scots' enemy as much as Burghley and Cecil. He's out of favour because of the execution. Perhaps he set you up as the villain to get himself off the rack of the Queen's disfavour?'
'It's possible,' said Gresham, 'but I doubt it. He's survived far worse than this, and anyway, I think he's dying. I doubt if killing me to speed up the end of the Queen's displeasure would be a priority in his present frame of mind.
'There's something you 'aven't thought of,' said Mannion. He had acquired a shoulder of lamb and a tankard from somewhere, but was sufficiently impressed by what he wanted to say to put them down, though only momentarily. 'Walsingham's been setting you up as a spy for Spain, 'asn't 'e? Getting you to go to Mass, letting you give bits of information to them as what we know works for Spain?'
'Has he?' asked George, aghast. 'I didn't know that!'
'You weren't meant to,' said Gresham, looking meaningfully at Mannion. He waved the objection away, with a hand that had magically repossessed the leg of lamb.
'S'no matter,' he said with his mouthful. 'You can trust 'im. I'll lay my life on it.'
'You lay your life where you want. Just leave me to decide where I lay mine!' said Gresham ruefully.
'Well, don't you see?' said Mannion. 'Suppose word got out that you're a spy for Spain? Nothing stays a secret for very long in London! Walsingham could always try and explain that he set you up as a double agent, but at best 'e's goin' to appear a bloody fool — one of his spies working for Spain, sent by Walsingham as a crewman on Drake's bloody expedition to Cadiz no less! At worst they might think old Walsingham was trying to ride two horses at the same time, and set 'imself up with a nice pension if Spain did invade and take over, with one of 'is men on the inside track. Easiest thing is to have you knocked off, safely out at sea, and claim the credit for giving rough justice to a bloody spy. Alright, he loses a good agent, but maybe he saves his own bacon.'
Gresham had stopped pacing now. The first light of dawn was flooding London, sunlight falling through the latticed window lighting half of his face, leaving the other in deepest shadow. Could it be true? Could Walsingham have sacrificed him because one of his men was about to be revealed as working for Spain?
'Next suspect, then,' said Gresham firmly, starting to pace up and down again. He had reached a conclusion himself, but clearly was not going to share it.
'The Queen,' said George flatly.
'The Queen?' Gresham laughed. 'Come off it! I didn't trip her up, I didn't let on that her breath smelled like a latrine pit, and I didn't ask her for money. Why would-'
'You're a very rich man,' said George.
Gresham sighed. He was fed up with people telling him how rich he was. It got boring. 'Yes, I am,' he said tiredly. 'And what's more, I'm even richer than I was when my father died, meaning I haven't run through my inheritance like wild young men are meant to do — and, yes, I do have a business brain in my head despite the business of growing the fortune being even more boring than being told by people like you how rich I am!'
'Who are your relations asked George quietly, ignoring the tirade.
'Why… there are none,' said Gresham. Something was starting to tighten in his stomach as he began to perceive George's point. George carried on, relentlessly.
'What happens to the estate of very rich men who die with no family, intestate. I bet you haven't even thought about a will…'
'Leave it all to me, if yer like,' muttered Mannion. 'God knows, I could use a bit extra…'
'… and what happens to a vast estate when a man dies as a traitor!' George continued.
'The Crown inherits,' said Gresham, turning to sit down. Suddenly he felt very tired. The Crown inherits.'
'The Crown is about to face an invasion, and is fighting a draining war in the Netherlands… how many ships could your estate buy the Queen? How many soldiers could it equip to fight the all-powerful Duke of Parma?'
'And no one, except a poor fool like you, would mourn the death of the young upstart Henry Gresham,' mused Gresham.
'The Queen's never been under more pressure for money,' insisted George.
'Possible,' said Gresham. 'It's such a terrifying prospect, and for this reason it has more credibility than it should have, as distinct from when it's looked at logically. So I'm going to rank it as a possible. No more.' The Queen was ruthless enough to do what was suggested, that was certain. But was she desperate enough?' 'Well, let's see where we stand,' he said. 'I've warned off Cecil. If he is involved he knows I suspect him, so at least he'll be more careful than he might have been. If Burghley's behind this he should get slowed a little by his baby boy; I'm damned sure if Cecil thinks his bride-to-be is in danger he'll have cautionary words with Daddy. Walsingham… well, I'd better see Walsingham and scout out the lay of the land. And if it's the Queen…'
'And if it's the Queen, we're fucked,' said Mannion morosely.
'Until she gets bored, or thinks of something else,' said Gresham. 'Or does actually get dealt with as you suggested with your usual subtlety, in which case it might take her mind off us.'
'Female spiders let the men do 'em,' said Mannion, 'and then they kill them. I've seen it. In the garden,' he added ominously.
'You are a little sprig of cheerfulness, aren't you?' said Gresham. 'I've got a great idea: shut up.'
Mannion subsided, though words like 'ignorant' and 'can't face truth' passed just on the edge of hearing.
'I think it's time for some sleep,' said George, yawning and rubbing his eyes like a baby. 'And a bath for both of you, if you don't mind my saying so. It's taken me three days to get clean, and both of you are seriously anti- social.'
Gresham could have washed in his friend's house, borrowed some clothes and ridden off to his own house in a semi-decent state. Instead he decided to ride to The House in his salt-stained, ship-wrecked and stinking clothes.
'I can't understand,' said George to Mannion. 'He's normally so… fastidious.' George usually complained about this obsession with cleanliness, believing that too much water took away the skin's natural oils and preferring to drench himself with perfume. Yet the change, even if only this once, was so extraordinary as to be alarming.
Mannion grinned, but kept silent. He knew why Gresham wanted to ride through the streets of London as he did. Those filthy clothes, and even the ripe scent of a man who had been at sea for three months were a badge of honour for a young man, a symbol of someone who had taken part and fought in a great adventure. Just for once Henry Gresham was simply behaving like a normal young man. He wanted to show the world that he had been in battle. He let Anna sleep for a couple of hours, then led her, side-saddle of course, draped in a huge cloak unearthed at George's house that must have been made originally for either a woman carrying triplets or a refugee from a freak show, but which hid adequately for the moment her ship's boy's tunic and breeches.
He gained his admiration. Four of his own servants from The House had brought horses over for him, for Anna and for Mannion. Mannion stationed two of them in front, ostensibly to clear the way through the crowded streets. He also made it clear to the servants that they were free to tell passers-by that here was a hero of Cadiz, returned ahead of the victorious and glorious Sir Francis Drake. Let him enjoy his moment of glory, thought Mannion. He had fought well, shown hardly a flicker of fear despite what he must have felt, and kept his spirits when many a good man would have given in to despair. He deserved to be cheered through the streets, cheered by a populace dreading the sound of Spanish cavalry riding up Cheapside and only too pleased to celebrate an English triumph.
Gresham enjoyed the cheering, but also became embarrassed by it. What was a man to do? Wave like the Queen distributing the largesse of her approval to her loyal subjects? Or ride on through haughtily, ignoring the crowds disdainfully and being very proud? At a loss, instead he let himself draw alongside Anna, with whom he had hardly exchanged a word since disembarking. She was still extraordinarily beautiful; the perfect oval of her face, her dark eyes and full lips, high cheekbones and the glorious mass of blonde hair. Yet there were shadows under her eyes. Was another reason why the crowds were cheering that they were thinking in this superb pair they must be seeing a Prince and a Princess? She held herself proudly on the horse — she had a superb seat, her head held high Gresham noticed — but he had spent enough time with her now to know that she was totally exhausted.
