He wrote again to Essex. The rejection came by return.
So Gresham did what he should probably have done in the first place, and went with Mannion and knocked at the door of Essex House. The surly servant seemed willing enough to let him or anyone else in, and after that it took only a very little money indeed to be admitted into Essex's presence.
Gresham's alarm bells sounded from the moment he stood at the door. The yard was full of carousing men, the worst type of soldier, and there was no shortage of beer, though precious little bread and cheese. The story was repeated as Gresham mounted to Essex's private rooms: drunken men, filthy corridors, Essex House stinking of piss, vomit and worse.
'Stay out here and guard me,' said Gresham to Mannion, as a man with a raddled whore in tow ran past them in the narrow corridor, the woman shrieking in mock terror.
'From the whores or from the dirt?' asked Mannion.
Essex was still gloriously good-looking, thin, but not disastrously so. He did not seem at all surprised to see Gresham, and ignored all formal greetings, his face strangely vacant and empty.
'You represent my past,' said Essex, rudely, in high aristocratic mood. It clashed awkwardly with the bare floor and lack of furnishings. The sombre, unadorned black of his dress. 'It is a past I truly repent of. All of it.' He did not mention the child. Perhaps he was regretting his confession.
There was a Bible on the small desk, and a crucifix on the wall. This was a darker person now, one whom Gresham had only ever half known.
'Yet in my prayers I heard a voice telling me that if you came, despite my refusals, it would be a sign. A sign that God has chosen even a weak vessel such as you. To know the truth and to prove it.'
Gresham was deeply regretting coming. Was Essex about to tell him some great religious truth? The man who had sold his soul to Satan?
'If the truth concerns God, I doubt I'm the right person to tell about it,' said Gresham.
There was no hint of humour in Essex's eyes.
'The truth concerns Robert Cecil. And the clear proof I have of his plot to place the Spanish Infanta on the throne of England.'
Gresham's brain reeled for a moment. Was he going to believe the Earl, fascinating drinking companion that he had been, but also a man blessed with the worst judgement of anyone Gresham had known?
'Are you sure confinement and recent disappointments haven't turned your head?' asked Gresham.
'Quite possibly,' said Essex. 'Or possibly God's taken the time to talk to me at last. You concede that the Infanta has a blood link with the Tudors that goes back to John of Gaunt? I have it on direct evidence that Cecil was heard saying to William Knollys that the Infanta of Spain had the best claim to the throne of England.'
'Evidence?' asked Gresham. There was a stark certainty in Essex's voice.
'Categorical evidence,' said Essex. 'The conversation was overheard. And you know, as does any member of the Court, how persistent the rumours have been that Cecil was taking Spanish money.'
Well, that was true. As were the rumours about half the Court taking Spanish money.
'I have done many things,' said the Earl, 'many evil and selfish things. But I have never sold my country to a foreign power.'
'Apart from one overheard conversation, what other evidence do you have?'
'The evidence that stares you and everyone eke in the face. I am ruined because I allowed Cecil the ear of the Queen. And now he is so firmly in command, Elizabeth asks for leniency towards Jesuits and Catholics.'
'That in itself proves nothing. She's never liked burning people.' 'No? But how is it that Raleigh is appointed Governor of Jersey? I detest Raleigh as much as you admire him. How convenient to rid the Court of a hothead and put a professed member of the Spanish faction in charge of England's western defences? One of Cecil's cronies is appointed Warden of the Cinque ports. Nottingham and Buckhurst control the Treasury and the navy between them — two more of Cecil's sycophants. Cecil has made sure his men control the access to England, and its gold. Lord Burghley, Cecil's brother, is now Lord President of the North, suitably poised to cut off any intervention from Scotland. My friend Mountjoy is to be called back from Ireland, and Carew put there in charge of the largest group of armed men in the country's control.' The Earl paused for breath. Despite an outwardly healthy appearance, Gresham saw the weakness and weariness underneath it.
'And the only man with the standing among the people to resist Cecil is ruined and locked up in his own house!'
'My Lord, I'm deeply sorry to see you reduced to your present state.'
You have no money, no prospects, and the Queen who was your sun has put impenetrable clouds between you and her, he thought. What an appalling end for such a man, like locking him in a deep, dark hole but allowing him just enough dried bread and stale water to survive.
'But all that you list can be denied. Witnesses can change their stories, depending on what the listener wishes to hear. Raleigh is a hothead indeed, but many see his new post as banishment from a Queen who tires of him. The other appointments are all in the way of patronage, not abnormal. When men are in the ascendant at Court, it is their friends who gain promotion.'
What Gresham could not say was that Mountjoy had made the success of taming the rebels in Ireland that Essex should have achieved, and being replaced was widely seen as reward for a job well done.
But what if Essex was right? Who would be easier for Cecil to control? The Infanta? Or an older, male King of Scotland who had already proved himself a consummate survivor? And what power and wealth would come to Cecil from Spain if it was he who set up its heir as Queen of England?
Cecil's smell had hung over London for months. What if Cecil had set up Essex for his fall, for no other reason than to divert attention away from his plan to get the Spanish Infanta on the throne of England? Not only had he rid himself of Essex for the summer Essex was in Ireland, and allowed his poison to seep into the heart of the Queen, but he had also rid himself of Gresham, the one man who might have seen through his plottings. Had Gresham allowed himself to be out-manoeuvred again? He made a sudden resolution.
'I'll research your fears,' said Gresham. 'I'll do it as loyally and as committedly as I would if tasked by the Queen — or by Cecil. If there's truth in what you allege, I'll find it out. It's all I can promise.'
'God tells me to give you something in exchange. A measure of my trust in you. You see this, round my neck?'
Gresham was getting rather tired of God telling them what to do. A. small, black bag lay almost invisible against the black velvet of Essex's doublet.
'I have been in communication with King James of Scotland,' said Essex. Is there anyone in this forsaken country who has not been in touch with the King of Scotland, thought Gresham? 'He has written to me. He believes that Cecil is intriguing against him. He will send an embassy to the Queen to ask her intentions regarding her heir, but the real reason for that embassy will be to meet me and hear the truth of who England has allowed to rule it in reality. The letter is here. Around my neck.'
'Precisely where the axe will fall if you let anyone else know what's in that purse!' said Gresham. 'You never did believe in prudence as a virtue, did you?' He sighed. He not only hated it when people claimed that God was speaking to them. He hated when he felt incomparably older and wiser than one of his friends. Gresham much preferred being the young and foolish one.
A number of suspicious glances were directed at them by the men carousing in Essex House as they left, the wild groups in stark contrast to the saintly manner being adopted by Essex.
'They're forcing him to rebellion,' Gresham said to Mannion. 'I'm told that he's been incited more and more by his closest friends. I believe him when he says he's communicating with James. James and Elizabeth are a real match for each other — they juggle people like balls in the air.' They were walking in the bitter winter air away from Essex House, their boots crunching through frozen puddles. Two more pamphlets had been pinned on the wall since they had come, Gresham saw. 'They tried it once before in Ireland, and they failed. Now they're doing it again. But who are they?'
' 'E could be right,' muttered Mannion, eyeing two figures who slunk away to the other side of the road under his gaze. 'Typical o' Cecil to put all the attention on someone like Essex, while 'e's doin' the dirty work all the time in the background.'
'I must know what Essex is doing,' said Gresham. 'I need to know if he's actually got the strength to mount a rebellion and make it succeed.'
No one living in London could be ignorant of the popular discontent running through the streets like storm
