James rocked back, but the alert interest was clearly still there.
'Sadly? Why sadly? What is sad about clearing a man of two grievous accusations?'
'What is sad, sir, is that we are sworn enemies who yet work together. And I count myself as a friend to one who is a bitter enemy of Cecil, the Earl of Essex. It grieves me not to be able to confirm Robert Cecil in any accusation made against him, as it grieves me not to support my friend. Yet to convict him of sodomy or Devil- worship would be wrong, I believe.'
'And is this a man I should trust, this Cecil who is your enemy?' asked James. 'Or should I trust this man who is your friend, this Essex?'
In a few months this rather unprepossessing man might be Henry Gresham's King. It would not do, for purely practical reasons, to lie to him.
'If, sir, you become King of England with the support of Robert Cecil, he will do more than anyone eke to preserve you in that state. If you become King of England with the support of the Earl of Essex, you will reign far more dramatically. It would be two very different reigns.'
'But what of their different loyalty to me before I achieve that happy state?' In the bitter turmoil of Scottish politics, James had proved himself a survivor. He had good reason to know and to fear changing loyalties, shifting allegiances and fickle friendships.
'That, sir, is a matter between yourself and them. I can only state that I do not consider Cecil a sodomite or a Devil-worshipper, but that if I were to choose my company I would choose Essex over Cecil.'
James thought this over for a few seconds. He motioned to his servant, ordered him to bring drink.
'Tell me about the English Court,' said the King of Scotland. He had still not asked Gresham to be seated. 'Tell me about Essex,' prompted James. The servant returned with a decanter and two fine, cut-glass goblets, Venetian by the look of them. The King looked up at Gresham, motioned him to sit. He did not ask Gresham if he wished to drink, but ordered the servant to hand him a glass. Sweet white wine, by the look of it. Ironically, it was the monopoly on all sweet wines imported into England, granted from the Queen, that allowed Essex to lead the life that he did. Gresham preferred the drier, Alsace wines.
'Essex I know only as a social companion, a drinking partner if you will,' said Gresham, waiting for the King to take the first sip. Or rather, the first glass, Gresham saw, as the King knocked back the opening salvo and motioned for a refill. Was Gresham meant to do the same? He compromised by taking a large swig of the stuff. Was this to be trial by drink? 'He is a charismatic figure, glamorous and brave, foolhardy and moody, ambitious for military glory, highly intelligent but at times stubborn beyond belief, spoilt yet vulnerable. He is loyal, though taxed by the demands of loyalty. He is a leader, though a flawed one and in some strange sense a broken personality. He has a zest for life, and something of a desire to lose it.'
'You sum up a man well, Sir Henry,' said the King, taking his second glass slightly more slowly. 'But tell me, who does England want as its next King?'
'If you mean England as the country, sir, the truth is that it cares little who is King or Queen if there is peace and a chance for prosperity to flourish. If you mean England as the Court, there are as many factions as there are nobles. I believe that at present the majority would favour you. Spain has given too many painful memories to England, and as for Arbella Stuart, our country no longer wants to anoint a silly woman in order to make the throne the prize of the first man who wins her favours. We did that with Mary and King Philip of Spain.'
'Drink your drink, man,' said the King. 'There's truth in wine, as well as folly.' Gresham obediently knocked back what was left in his glass. Without a word, the servant filled it up to the brim. Gresham felt an obligation to take a significant sip from the refilled vessel. 'And will you tell me about the Queen?'
Gresham thought about that one for a split second.
'I would prefer not to, sir, if such were to be granted me. A man who gossips about one monarch to another is likely to gossip to everyone.'
James sat silent for a moment.
'Well, you've passed your first test. You've managed not to poison me against anyone, despite one of them being an enemy of yours. You'll wait in Leith for me to pen a reply to both these letters. They'll be delivered by Cameron Johnstone.' There was an ever so slight slurring of the King's words. 'Within twenty-four hours. You will know they are my letters by this seal.'
James snapped a finger, and the servant produced a candle and some sealing wax. The candle was lit from the sconce, and James melted wax onto the table, stamping his fist down on it. The ring on his finger left a clear seal imprinted in the wax. James made sure Gresham had seen the mark, and then the servant picked the still warm wax from off the table, broke it into pieces like communion wafers and threw the remnants into the cold fireplace.
James stood up. Giving a brief nod to Gresham, he left through the same door he had entered by. The servant followed, not repeating the acknowledgement to Gresham by even a nod.
And where did that little exchange leave him, thought Gresham? None the wiser was the truth. James had clearly been expecting a message from Elizabeth, looking forward to it even. He had not been expecting a message from Cecil, but had accepted it with relative equanimity. He wanted to know about the English Court; no surprise there. And having been handed a messenger, he wanted to make use of him to reply by return. Ail very reasonable. And he had been rather drunk at the same time as being very reasonable. What message was there in that for England's future prospects?
Jack and Dick had been ordered to go back to the Anna, once cleaning duties were complete, if only to keep an eye on the crew. The lugubrious Edward had been allocated as Jane and Mary's escort for a tour round Edinburgh. Jane had come back excited by her first sight of a new city. They were in Gresham's room now, the largest of those they had taken. It smelt of scrubbed stone and hay, copious quantities of which had been strewn across the floor once it had dried.
'Do you know,' Jane said to Mannion, finding it easier to confide her excitement to him rather than Gresham, 'they don't live like we do in London with separate areas for the rich and for the poor. Oh, the rich have town houses, but a lot of them here, they all live on top of one another, quite literally — the higher up the building you go, the better class you are.'
She turned to Gresham. 'And do you know what a lot of the lawyers are called?'
'Tell me,' said Gresham, who knew he was going to be told whatever he answered.
'Bonnet-lairds!' Jane exclaimed, who for today had decided to be a young seventeen-year-old, rather than any of the other things Gresham had seen her be. A shrieking fish-wife; a cool matron, seventeen rising fifty; a sulky seductress; a chief librarian… that was only the start. 'A laird is a noble around here, what we might call a gentleman. Apparently a lot of the lawyers buy small estates just outside Edinburgh, and call themselves landowners. The people call them bonnet-lairds. 'Bonnet' means… not quite real. Something you put on and off too easily. When do we ride out to find the parents I'm meant to have had?'
Her capacity to change the subject was not the least infuriating of her mannerisms.
'We have to wait the arrival of a package from Cameron Johnstone,' said Gresham. 'We can't make any plans until then.'
Early next morning there was a rattling at the door of Gresham's room, and the Scots lawyer fell rather than walked through it. His left sleeve was torn and there were blood streaks all the way down his arm. He had a livid bruise on the side of his head. He was gritting his teeth with pain.
'What happened?' asked Gresham, rising to his feet, sword out, peering through the door to see if Cameron's attackers had followed him.
'In the street!' muttered Cameron. 'In full view! That's what caught me out. I was expecting something in a back alley, not in the full glare of public approval.'
'Did they try to kill you?'
'I think it was this they wanted.' He grimaced as he brought out two sealed packages. It was James's seal, the one he had stamped into the table. Three of them, great lumps of offal that they were.' 'How did you escape?'
Mannion had come in and, without a word pushed Cameron into a seat. He was expertly stripping the man's jacket off. A bowl and the cleanest cloth they could find were soon sending red streaks into the clear water. Mannion had initially scorned Gresham when on campaign he had always insisted on the water being boiled before it was used to treat wounds. It was advice given to Gresham by Dr Stephen Perse at Cambridge, and Mannion's view of academics was equivalent to his view of Spaniards and Scotsmen. Yet even he had come round when the
