attempts at intrigue, caught out for what he was, he stood exposed and shivering. He appeared a simple but a genuine man. He was not trying to fight Gresham's rapier thrusts, had not sought to do so: it takes strength to face up to one's total foolishness.
'So what you said when I first made an appearance here was true,' said Gresham. 'You were coming to see me. You were going to stick to me like glue, and I bet you've wasted days and a lot of money buying powders to put in my drink from every quack in London.'
'What happens now?' asked George. 'To you and me, I mean.'
'What happens to you? That's your business. If you don't fulfil your obligation, Cameron will crawl out of some rotten woodwork and demand repayment. You'll have to explain to him that unfortunately you can't repay him, at least in terms of any contact with me. Because there won't be any contact. We no longer know each other. Don't bother to call, here or in Cambridge because you won't be let in. Ever again.'
Gresham stood up, yanked his dagger out from the table, and turned away. There was a chasm where his heart used to be, and an aching blackness.
'Henry.'
Gresham did not want to stop. He did so, for a moment, in the doorway, his back to George.
'I'm truly sorry, for the insignificance that's worth.' Gresham said nothing, but nodded briefly as if acknowledging a passing comment. The door closed behind him.
Mannion had always had the knack of knowing when to say nothing, and he exercised it now. He was the only silent person, apart from Gresham in the inn. Something had obviously excited the clientele, and groups of them were gathered in huddles of heated discussion. As they reached the door to the street, Mannion halted, and said to Gresham, 'I knows as you don't want to stay 'ere any longer than you 'as to. But 'ave you 'eard what they're talkin' about? I think we ought to get the story.'
Gresham turned and gave a nod to Mannion as brief as that he had given to George. Mannion looked for a moment round the room, and picked on an elderly man who looked as if his tankard might be permanently wedged to his face judging by the ferocity with which he was ramming it there to drain the last dregs. As the tankard finally dropped it was to reveal Mannion beckoning him, a coin held between his finger and thumb.
The man came over, and Mannion flipped him the coin.
'What's the'news then?' he asked, as the man raised the coin in the air and a tap boy came over to take the order.
'Ain't you 'eard?' said the old man. 'Southampton — Earl of Southampton, that is — were riding by Raleigh's house this afternoon, and Grey, Lord Grey, rode at him wi' 'is sword, tried to kill 'im, 'e did. One o' Southampton's pages, 'e 'ad 'is 'and lopped right ‘orf, he did. Cut off clean as a whistle.'
Grey and Southampton had a long-standing hatred for each other, and the Privy Council had been spending much of its time forbidding them to have a duel. Grey was Cecil's man.
'Well,' said Mannion, 'that'll put the cat among the pigeons.' There was no answer from Gresham. 'Look,' said Mannion, 'I don't want to intrude-'
'I wouldn't,' said Gresham, still locked in his own world. How could George have betrayed him? How could he have been so stupid?
'About all it needs,' said Mannion remorselessly, 'for your friend the Earl to go pop is for one of Cecil's cronies to ride full pelt at 'is closest friend. Which, 'as it 'appens, is exactly what 'as 'appened. I'm sorry about George, I really am. I thought 'e were a good man. But get your arse in order, will you? 'Cos if Essex takes off, we could 'ave your pal as King by mornin'!'
Chapter 12
February, 1601 London
The scenes at Essex House were ugly. Half an army was camped in the yard, but there were no orderly lines, no bread and cheese. Instead, there was vomit over the cobbles, half-drunk men shouting and cheering, at least two men lying unconscious in a corner, heeded by no one.
It was harder to get in to see Essex. There were guards at the entrance to the house, and armed men outside the room he was in. A group of men emerged from it as Gresham and Mannion mounted the stairs, including Gelli Meyrick and the small, wiry figure of John Davies. Both men drew back, hands on their swords. Before either of them could get their swords more than half out of their scabbards Gresham's blade was in the air between them. Mannion had turned round instantly and was back to back with him, having drawn from somewhere on his person a strange, flat, heavy blade like a Roman sword.
Gresham appeared entirely calm, his sword blade rock steady at eye height.
'I'm rather tired of people trying to stop me seeing my friend,' he said, and despite the quietness of his tone, his voice carried down the stairwell. 'And I do so tend to lose control when I'm tired. Now let me through.'
Suddenly his blade was resting on the side of Davies's neck, right where the vein pulsed.
'What if your friend doesn't want to see you?' asked Davies, tense but not cowed.
'Well, let's find out, shall we? If you and the rest of the crew back into the hallway there, you can let us through, can't you?' Essex's room was at the top of the stairs, with a small corridor outside, a corridor that led to a hallway with a view over the yard.
'You've drawn your sword on me,' hissed Davies, motioning the others behind him to move back. Southampton was there, Gresham could now see, standing on tip-toe to peer over the shoulders of those in front.
'I had noticed,' said Gresham mildly.
'You'll pay!' said Davies.
'One of us might,' said Gresham. His reputation as a swordsman was fearsome. Davies dropped his gaze for a moment.
Essex was agitated, the quasi-religious calm of their previous meeting gone. He was sweating, in his shirt despite the cold weather, tugging at the fine lace on his sleeves. His beard was straggly, untrimmed, his eyes red- rimmed and his pupils pin-points. An awful thought crossed Gresham's mind. Had Essex drunk human blood more than once?
'Has Cecil sent you to attack me? He seems willing enough to-order one of his closest allies to attack my friend, in public, in full view of the world?'
'If Cecil is the biggest shit in the land, then Grey is certainly a major and steaming turd. In that sense at least I'm smelling rather clean at present.'
'Who sent you this time? Which of my enemies?'
'Your biggest enemy is yourself,' said Gresham brutally. 'You're being set up, you idiot, and you can't see it. And as for who I'm working for, I've just uncovered a spy who has tried to have me killed, all because I try to keep an eye on you. If you want to kill yourself, go ahead. You always were a pig-headed fool who listened either to himself or to the wrong people. But this is personal. You're in danger of getting me killed, and that takes friendship too far.'
'You spin a fine tale, but what value is there in friendship that comes out of a glass?' Essex was speaking fast, as if he had somewhere else to go in a hurry. 'Do you think I don't know how much I'm being pushed into a situation I don't want! It's like Ireland all over again, in case you hadn't noticed. I had to go over to that God- forsaken country because my reputation and my honour gave me no option. The worst mistake of my life! I've lost access to the Court, I'm ruined — a passive victim for the next time Cecil wants to set me up in some invented plot against the Queen. Do you think I don't know what happens to disgraced nobles? Even if they don't plot themselves, they become a centre for everyone who does. Look in that yard if you want to know how many unhappy sword-bearers there are in England!'
'Are you really telling me you've no option but to rebel?' asked Gresham, incredulous. 'Or is that what that bunch of brainless hotheads I just met coming out of your room tell you?'
Essex looked Gresham full in the face for the first time since they had met.
'I have friends other than you. Other advisers. Men who have contact with my future, not my past.' As if on cue, the door opened.
