men, dressed like militia but Spanish. Trained marksmen.'
'How can so few men make a difference?' asked George in desperation.
'You still can't see it, can you?' said Gresham. 'If Essex has any sense, he'll take Smith's men straight to Whitehall. He secures the Queen, takes her prisoner, calls Parliament together and declares a protectorate. London's fed up enough with the Queen and Cecil to rise up in support of him. Particularly if the Queen's kept alive.'
'So… so how does Spain come into all this?'
'So unbeknown to Essex, to Cecil and to anyone else except King Philip of Spain, there's fifty trained marksmen in that troop of bloody militia. Fifty Spanish marksmen smuggled in by bloody Cameron. Fifty trained marksmen who'll make sure they're in the forefront of those who go to drag the Queen from her bedchamber, who'll then calmly put a musket ball in her head or in her breast.'
'Oh God,' said George in a quiet voice, the enormity of it all suddenly dawning on him.
'Oh God, indeed,' said Gresham. He was sitting with his back to a wall. 'Are you starting to see it now? I'll bet half the Spaniards are English speakers, renegade Catholics who think they'll get to heaven by killing the heretic Queen. A few of them might be Scots too. No shortage of Scotsmen in the mercenary trade. When they've shot the Queen, they'll find and kill Cecil. He never leaves any Palace where the Queen is staying. Then they'll shoot Essex, and probably Meyrick and Davies if they get a chance.'
'And Cameron Johnstone will stand up with his Scottish accent,' said George, 'and declare the rebellion is in the name of King James of Scotland, soon to be King James of England.'
'And for good measure probably say as well that James is poised with an army just north of the border, poised to invade England to reinforce his point that he's our next King. It's very clever, isn't it?' said Gresham who was tiring of saying important things in a whisper. George's head was bowed. 'Both of James's greatest supporters, Cecil and Essex, are dead. A Scots King has not only killed his allies in Court, but has also killed our Queen. The English have gone off Elizabeth recently, but if anyone's going to kill her the average Englishman wants it to be one of us, not some hunchbacked sodomite from Scotland. And he's killed Essex as well, who they really do like. They're going to love James, aren't they? Raleigh will be the only survivor with any real clout. And guess what? For some strange reason they won't seek him out and kill him. He'll be the only figure with power in Court who's allowed to escape. He'll go berserk if he thinks James killed Elizabeth, he'll be galvanised into action. He'll have ambassadors off to Spain pleading for the Infanta to take over the throne before dawn's risen, and by evening he'll have an army marching to block the border. For once, everyone in England'll be on his side. And dear old James, who thought he had it all sewn up — Elizabeth seeing him as the least worse choice, Cecil gunning for him, Cameron Johnstone orchestrating it all beautifully, even Essex on his side — suddenly finds himself high and dry, the most hated man in England, his greatest ally proving to be a traitor, his other so-called allies all dead.'
'How could Cameron do that?' asked George, needing no concentration now to speak in a whisper. 'And how could I have been such a fool?'
'Same answer,' said Gresham.*You see, a fox doesn't worry about killing a chicken. It doesn't invent a God, or morality, to tell it what to do. It doesn't give meaning to things, try to work out reasons. It just goes for the kill, because that's how it survives. Most humans aren't like that. They aren't animals, they have all these weaknesses: goodness, morality, feelings, a conscience, all that rubbish on the road to survival. Sometimes you meet people who've none of it: Cecil's one; Cameron's another. They have one, simple instinct, and no morality. Used in the right way, it gives you tremendous strength. And a huge advantage over the rest of us. By the way, he'll be here to kill me before long.' 'What?' said George.
'Think about it,' said Gresham. 'Cameron laid me out because I was about to tell Essex the truth. He'd have shot or stabbed me if he'd had the chance, but he didn't have a pistol and Essex had stopped everyone drawing their swords. What did he lay me out with? A stool? Or was it a complete table?' Gresham felt gingerly at the edges of his wound. 'Anyway, he can't let me live.'
'So what do we do?' asked George desperately.
'If I vanish and he comes in, he'll simply raise a hue and cry. You stay awake,' said Gresham, 'and keep my arms free, and lay your sword down here, by me where it won't alarm one of these men if they wake, but where Cameron can see it. And if you can grab a pistol, and point it at him, so much the better. But resist him because you're a friend of mine. Don't let him know what I've told you.'
'I thought we weren't friends any more,' said George.
'Irony comes back before friendship,' said Gresham. 'Stay awake.'
'But what about the fifty men?' asked George.
'As it happens,' said Gresham tiredly. It was going to be a real struggle to stay awake, never mind what dawn brought. 'High tide was about half an hour before sunset today. They can't land the men until nightfall. Take an hour, maybe a bit less to get them to the City. So by night the ebb tide would be positively ripping along. My men should have cut the mooring ropes just after dark. If it was windy they'll have had to board. But I don't think there's been any wind, so simply cutting the ropes should be enough. They'll only have one spare anchor at most, and it won't hold on that bottom, not with a full tide. There's no point in trying to sail up against the tide, not without wind. My men'll follow them down, give them a shooting party if they try to leave the ship. It'll be enough to make sure they're not where they need to be when they're needed. And Smith won't be there either. I saw to him this morning. It's amazing what an intimate description of what it's like to be hung, drawn and quartered does to a man.'
Cameron came in the hour before dawn. Gresham was still propped up against the wall, one arm conveniently near George's sword. George stared at Cameron, unblinking, a pistol surprisingly steady in his hand.
There was nothing in Cameron's eyes. No expression. No feeling. He looked directly at George.
'Your lands and your life, or your so-called friend? The choice is yours. But don't think you can have both! If I leave here with Gresham, you're safe. If I leave here without him, I'll make sure you're one of the first to be hung, drawn and quartered when Spain takes over the Crown!'
Gresham looked at George, not seeing a man worn down by failure, jealousy and bad decisions. Instead he saw the burly figure who had waded into the boys in the playground when Gresham was being beaten to a pulp, losing his senses and his dignity when a group of boys who had decided that to be a bastard was a crime had set on him.
'My so-called friend has scuppered your and Spain's chances. I hope even if I didn't know that, I'd choose my friend.'
Cameron was weighing up his chances, Gresham could see. Yet the pistol did not waver, and Gresham's capacity to resist was an unknown quantity. Cameron looked straight into Gresham's eyes.
'Perhaps not now. But later: you and your woman and your servant.'
'You realise the worst of it?' Gresham asked after Cameron had left, radiating malevolent hatred. 'If Essex turns to Whitehall, we might still have him as King. I've no way of knowing if Spain has other men suborned at Whitehall, other men who might kill the Queen. It's possible.' It was the thought that had helped keep him awake through the dreadful night.
'So what's the answer?' asked George.
'I'm thinking,' said Gresham.
Essex House awoke before dawn, the atmosphere as frenzied as it had been the night before. Men were hoping to see their leader. They were disappointed.
'Bundle me in a corner,' said Gresham to George. 'Half hide me in that tapestry! And put some rope loosely round my wrists, so it looks as if I'm tied up still.'
Where was Essex? There were 300 armed men in the yard now, and more men coming in and out of the dining hall, not least because food was being prepared and handed out there. They could hear the noise of men riding out from the yard an hour or more before dawn, calling to Essex's supporters, gathering the clan. The men who came in to feed, gossip and look for their leader talked wildly. Raleigh had called to see his kinsman Sir Ferdinando Gorges at first light. Essex was so suspicious that he demanded the meeting take place on a boat in the middle of the Thames, in full view of Essex House. Discussion had been cut short when Essex had ordered four musketeers to set out from the river gate, and his bitter enemy Raleigh had rowed away. A consignment of arms ordered by Rutland from Europe had not arrived. Too many of the Welsh had not come to London yet. Where was Essex? Every minute that went by allowed the Privy Council to muster its forces.
It was late now, long past dawn, and the sense of frustration in the dining hall was getting greater by the
