even that pirate Raleigh.'
'Surely a recipe for civil war?' blurted out Gresham.
'Quite,' said Walsingham. 'Yet Burghley hopes his second son, the cripple, Robert Cecil, will succeed him as the Queen's Chief Minister. The battle between Essex and Cecil is intriguing. Breeding against ability. Extreme physical beauty against a deformed body.'
Why was Walsingham telling him this? And whatever this unfathomable man's unfathomable reasons, Gresham's heart sank. Despite Robert Cecil being older than Gresham, they had crossed swords at Cambridge and at Court. Cecil, Gresham sensed, was not his natural ally, nor even a friend.
‘I’m not favoured by Robert Cecil,' he said.
'Cecil believes you were responsible for suggesting the nickname by which the Queen refers to him,' said Walsingham. 'Not a wise move, if it were true.'
A warning? Was this a warning? The Queen referred to Cecil as her pygmy. With a crooked back, short build and warped body, Cecil's smile when the Queen used the term was painful to behold.
'I swear I didn't do so,' said Gresham. It was true, though he might have done if he had thought of it. Yet out of such stupid misunderstandings came the hatreds and feuds that filled the tiny, claustrophobic world of the Court.
'In any event, we are ready to strike a second blow at the Catholics,' said Walsingham. ‘Despite my being in disfavour, I have managed to persuade her Majesty to authorise Drake to strike at Lisbon or Cadiz. It is our only hope. We have no army to resist Spain if they land the Duke of Parma and his forces on these shores. Our only strength is our ships, and we must strike at the Spanish vessels before they can launch an assault on us.'
Gresham loathed the sea. 'What role do I have in this?' he asked.
'I need eyes and ears abroad. I have booked you passage on Drake's expedition. He will land you ashore on some dark night so you can make your way to Lisbon, give me the information about Philip's fleet that we so desperately need. Yet after the attack, I want you also to report on the fighting qualities of our men and our ships. I need to hear at first-hand how they cope in battle. And how their leaders lead them.'
'It won't be easy to be an Englishman in Portugal, or Spain, at this time,' said Gresham.
'Few things that are easy are worthwhile,' Walsingham replied. 'And it is easier for you than for many. You speak Spanish like a native. And you have acquired Spanish friends. On my behalf, of course.' There was no expression in Walsingham's eyes. Was Walsingham becoming concerned about Gresham's links with Spain? 'Will you… accept this errand on my behalf?'
'My Lord.' Gresham bowed his head. Well, well, well. How nice to be treated like a package. Gresham was glad that he was not sensitive. He did not want to go to sea. He thought he was worth more than counting ships in a foreign harbour. It was dangerous, what was being asked of him, but without the glamour or excitement that made the danger palatable. And why the mention of Cecil? 'Yet our earlier conversation? About Robert Cecil…?'
'The matter on which you embark is sensitive. Too sensitive for your instructions to be entrusted to a messenger. Expect to be contacted by Robert Cecil in the near future. He will give you my final orders. While my illness persists, he is useful to me. You will forget your childish differences and take him as my representative.'
Robert Cecil was a man clawing his way up the ladder of preferment, helped by his father's great power but also sometimes hindered by the enemies his father had built up over his lifetime. Which side was Walsingham on? Did he see Robert Cecil as the new order, the order George had seen as imminent?
'We must return to await the Queen's entry. And by the way, restrain your vanity. It was not the Queen's lust for your fine legs and the rest of your body that made her summon you here. It was because I asked her to do so. I have that much influence left, it would seem.'
As Walsingham rose a staggering pain seemed to hit him in the gut, and he doubled up. If Gresham had not suddenly been there to support him he would have crashed to the floor. The old man's lips were drawn back in silent agony, his eyes screwed shut, hands clutching at his stomach.
'My Lord…!' Gresham was aghast, confused. He had never seen Walsingham express any sign of humanity, never mind physical weakness. 'Sit… sit…' Gresham sensed that Walsingham needed to be placed back in the chair. He lay there, gasping two or three times as spasms crashed through him. Then it seemed as if the pains were easing. Walsingham opened his eyes.
'Stones. There is nothing that can be done. The pain is acute, but it passes. Its cruelty is that it comes without warning. Go!' he said, eyes only half-open. 'Go now. It is important that the Queen sees you there when she appears to welcome the Ambassador. More important than if I remain here…'
As the door closed Walsingham stood up straight, all signs of pain gone. The real pain would come later, he knew. As it was, his knowledge of that pain allowed him to act it out with utter conviction when it was useful and he needed to rid himself of someone. The old man moved to the side of the room. 'We are alone,' he called out. 'You may safely emerge.'
Robert Cecil swung back the arras from behind which he had witnessed Walsingham's conversation with Gresham. A small, slightly hunched figure, he moved awkwardly to a chair, nodded his acknowledgement to Walsingham and received the old man's permission to sit.
‘Well, sir,' said Walsingham. 'Did you see what you wished to see?'
'I am grateful to you, Sir Francis,' said Cecil. 'I- ' 'I ask no questions, Robert Cecil,' said Walsingham, waving a hand to cut Cecil short. 'And, to be frank, I would not believe your answers. Your father asks me to repay a past favour by my seeing you. I agreed. You asked to be given the chance to view and to meet one of my… young men. It does not interfere with my plans for that young man. I agreed. My debt is paid. You have what you wished for. If only all life could be so simple.' There was silence for a moment.
'I confess to being surprised that you do not wish to know more of my reasons, my Lord,' said Cecil, finally.
'Why?' said Walsingham. 'You will certainly have a reason to give me, but quite frankly, it is as likely to be a lie as it is to be the truth.'
'Sir!' said Cecil, outrage in his surprisingly strong voice, a voice with a rasp in it as of something dragged over gravel, at odds with his slight frame. 'I take offence at the accusation of being a liar!'
Walsingham looked at Cecil, an ironic, humourless smile playing on his lips. 'Then you take offence too easily, and will not last long in the world of the Court! I know what you are,' said Walsingham. In those few words Walsingham had somehow crammed the experience of all his years, the idiocy of human life, its vanities, its foibles and its deceits.
'Sir?' Cecil was confused now.
'You were born into power, have grown up with power and expect power as your right. You drank in power at your mother's breast and at your father's table. And now the source of your power, your father, is failing, as I am failing, because time is the one enemy we cannot defeat, your father with his skills and me with mine.' 'I seek to serve Her Majesty in whatever humble capacity-' You are not humble, Master Cecil. And the god you serve is your own position and influence. Don't worry,' said Walsingham, holding up his hand to stop another outburst and speaking now almost in sympathetic tones, 'there is many a man who has given good service to his monarch when actually serving only himself. You are such, I suspect.'
Cecil had recovered now. There was ice in his reply. 'You seem to know a very great deal.'
'I know what you are. That you will twist and turn seeking every advantage, sniff the wind of favour like a beast in the field, scent where danger and advantage are. You are different from myself, from your father even. God knows I have ambition enough. Yet always I have known that I served first my God, second my country and third my Queen. You are the future, I fear. You may do good service to all three, yet the person you really serve is yourself.'
'The Queen might be interested to hear your order of priorities,' sneered Cecil.
'She is not ready to hear them from you, not yet’ said Walsingham. 'There are many rungs to climb on your ladder of success before you reach that level of confidence with her.'
There was silence between the two men.
'And in answer to the question you do not dare to ask, you will have reasons for getting to know Henry Gresham, reasons that I have no doubt will rebound to your own advantage. I see no obstruction to my plans for that young man in whatever you might wish of him, not yet at least. But you may find that he is a young man who has ideas of his own. So be it. And good day to you, Robert Cecil.'
