without warning, to take charge of the Armada, he knew it would fail. Too much damage had already been done, and his intelligence told him that this outwardly great fleet was like a child damaged beyond repair in the mother's womb. His King had given him binding orders that crippled his freedom of action.'
'So he served an ungrateful monarch,' breathed Essex, 'and yet he still took the duty on?'
'Of course he did!' said Gresham, scornfully and stung for once into an entirely open response. 'He was a grandee of Spain, wasn't he? In Spain, nobility justifies itself by sacrifice. He knew he would lose his honour by leading a fleet that was destined to fail. And his honour is the only thing a Spanish nobleman has that matters. Our poor noblemen…'
Careful! Essex was poor, his extravagance paid for by a monopoly on sweet wines.
'… our poor noblemen hang round like hungry dogs outside the doors of the Court, destroyed if they cannot don a new doublet. In Spain the poorest noble thinks himself rich if he has his honour. Yet his King had called for Sidonia to do something that he knew would lose him his honour if he accepted and lose if he refused. He knew he would lose. Yet still he sailed, because he had sworn his fealty to his King. He knew that when he lost he would lose his own honour and reputation, the things more important to him and his ancient family than life itself. Yet in losing his own honour he would ensure that the real villain, his King, preserved his. It was a conscious choice, don't you see?' Gresham was getting carried away. He decided to let it happen. 'Forgive me, my Lord Earl. Do you know how many times he led his own flagship into the heat of the battle, exposed himself to every sharpshooter in England? A cannon ball does not stop in mid-air and bow to noble blood. So I sink a little when I hear you bemoan your own lack of advancement. The noblest commander I've ever met sacrificed his own reputation for a higher end, the reputation of his monarch. In my mind, true nobility consists of sacrifice as much as self-advancement.'
'And do I have that quality of true nobility?' For a moment, Essex was like a child before his father, seeking approval.
Gresham ran through the facts in his mind. Essex's boat master had tried to ram his way into a berth to which he had no right by brute force. Yet in the aftermath of a battle he had clearly lost, the Earl had shown no rancour, and rather put himself out to be generous to his erstwhile opponent.
'You may have, my Lord,' said Gresham simply. 'Or you may not. The jury has yet to return a verdict.'
'And you, Henry Gresham? What is your verdict?'
Why was the greatest nobleman in the country asking a mere Sir Henry Gresham what he thought of him? 'I don't give verdicts,' he said. 'And I trust only two people on this earth, and view that as a major weakness.' A weakness Cecil had been able to exploit. 'My personal jury is likely to stay out for the rest of both our lives, give no judgement on your standing or on my own. But it's a little better than that. I can tell you one verdict it won't be uttering.'
'And that is?' Essex, for short periods, had phenomenal power of concentration, bringing such intensity to an issue that he threatened to burn it out.
'I won't be telling you to, 'Fuck off, mister!''
Essex rocked back, a great guffaw coming from him. 'I think the level of gratitude shown to you by that street urchin is an emblem for the Court, as it happens, a measure of the reward we who haunt this place get for our sycophancy.'
A servant had brought some wine and some sweetmeats in on a silver tray, emblazoned with the Devereux arms, and left as silently as he came.
'Have you been sent to spy on me?' asked Essex casually, as he reached for the wine. 'I understand Cecil summoned you last week.'
There are defining moments in our lives, usually ones we have not prepared for, often ones where we think afterwards what we should have said or done. Was this what it had all been leading up to? Had Essex planned the invasion of the berth simply to meet Gresham intimately, lure him into a false sense of companionship and then find out the truth about him? Gresham had less than a second to decide. If he hesitated, he was declaring his guilt. If he owned up to being Cecil's creature, a man with the vast resources of Essex could have Gresham dead within the hour. If he denied it and Essex believed him, all it would take was a disloyal and bribed servant in Cecil's household and Gresham would find a dagger in his back. Gresham had no illusions that Essex would put his own interests and survival on a far higher priority than that of a convenient and amusing drinking companion. And he had no time to think!
'Yes,' said Gresham simply. 'Of course I have. In a manner of speaking. Cecil uses me to clean up some of his rubbish, and I fear that's how he sees you at present. But we ought to be clear on one thing. Cecil thinks I work for him. I don't. I work for the Queen, and for peace and stability in England.'
'And for yourself?' asked Essex.
'If by that you mean will I put my own survival before yours, yes. As you will undoubtedly put your survival before mine.'
'True,' said Essex, as if this went without saying. 'And you are willing to tell me that you will put your personal feelings aside, and work for Cecil and the Queen even if by so doing you harm me?'
Essex was gazing directly into Gresham's eyes now, and Gresham returned his gaze. Essex had his sword belt by his side, while Gresham's had been rescued from the jetty and was now presumably in the hands of one of his men somewhere distant in the Palace. Gresham had stripped naked in front of Essex, who knew there was no dagger hidden on his person. Gresham was as defenceless as he would ever be, his servant outside the room, and he had just confessed to being in Cecil's employ.
'Of course I am, my Lord,' said Gresham, seeming immensely relaxed. 'If that situation were to arise. Better the spy you know. It gives us both so much more control over the quality of the information.'
'Is this… normal? In your line of business, I mean. To be so open?' asked Essex, the merest hint of a laugh in his voice.
'Well, no, actually,' said Gresham. 'Come to think on it, this is the first time I've told someone I quite like that if the need arises I'll shaft them with the government. But somehow it doesn't seem unreasonable, given the circumstances. Indeed, it seems rather a good idea. I'm surprised I haven't thought of it before. It takes so much of the tension out of things. And, of course, I hate Cecil, and in a strange, drunken sort of way I really am quite fond of you.'
'They said you were a very, very strange man,' said Essex. 'When
I asked my own spies about you. I've never known whether you shared my company because it interested you, or whether you were being paid to do it.'
'I did so because you interested me. And because life quickens when you are there. Was it deliberate on your part to force an encounter earlier?'
‘No. There was no plan. But I could have stopped my boatman heading for your berth. I chose not to do so.'
'Why?'
'It was more fun that way. And the Queen has enough money left to build some more boats.'
'And why this sudden questioning about my motives? Our conversation today has taken rather a new turn.'
'I've become suspicious of everyone,' said Essex. 'Of necessity. The times are very… tense. My position with the Queen is not secure.' It was probably the truth. 'You're known to work for Cecil, and to hate him. And he you, so they tell me. Wasn't it you who gave the Queen his nickname? 'My little pygmy' she calls him, to his evident distress.'
Cecil hated and despised references to his warped body. Gresham sighed.
'So the story goes, but alas it's untrue. Everyone believes it was me, but in fact the name was suggested to her by Cecil's father. It's more comfortable for Cecil to believe that it was me.'
'I can't understand how two people who loathe each other can work together as you and the pygmy appear to do. Or why a man as wealthy as you evidently are needs to do such work.'
'Yet you, my Lord, agreed a truce with Cecil when he was away on his ill-fated embassy for the Queen to the King of France. A truce which you honoured.'
'That was politics,' responded Essex airily. 'It suited him to be in France, and it suited me for that time not to be plotting. Simple mutual convenience.'
Gresham decided this particular conversation was going nowhere. 'Are we going to see the play, my Lord? Oh, and by the way, if you are going to kill me, would you mind starting now, while I'm wearing your clothes? It's so
