Little more needs saying about Robert Poley than I have told you already save that you needed to feel his charm to comprehend his success. Charm takes you a long way – the earls of Leicester and Essex had it in plenty, both favourites of the old Queen – but if you are to go on rising in the world you need something more. You need luck, judgement and determination. Robert Poley had all three. His was the quiet charm that strokes and calms, making whoever he spoke to feel they had all his attention – as indeed they did, while he wanted something of them. There was nothing brash or declamatory about him, no drawing attention to himself like an actor or clown or those who love to preach. He did not seek to impress you with his own importance, but with yours – at least, with the illusion of it. He had regular features and large grey eyes which twinkled with humour when he had a mind to amuse. Women found him attractive. I believe I mentioned before that while in the gaol during a temporary sojourn on our behalf – it being necessary to preserve his reputation as an enemy of the state – he contrived to seduce a comely goodwife, and may later have married her.
But all the time he hummed with ambition, the ceaseless calculation of his own interests, masked by ease of manner and the balm of plausible lies. Had he not been lowly born he would surely have been a great statesman, an assiduous and successful courtier, as Christopher said. I could imagine him a favourite of the Queen’s. Among the few who were not taken in by him were Mr Secretary and – heeding his example – myself, although also Christopher. I have told you already what Christopher said about him. I think he saw straightaway that Poley always carried with him something hidden and I suspect he thought the same of Christopher, because they fenced each other as if in play, neither seeking seriously to stab. But neither letting down his guard. What he thought Christopher might be hiding, I am not sure. I am not sure that he himself would have known, but he sensed something.
A mark of Poley’s charm and persuasion was that Anthony Babington, even when fleeing for his life, could not credit how greatly he was betrayed by the man who had shared his room. His farewell to this earth, his very last letter, was written to Poley. He said, ‘Robin… I am ready to endure whatsoever shall be inflicted… I am the same I always pretended, I pray God you be and ever so remain towards me… Thine how far thou knowest.’ It was never delivered. I found it among his papers when gathering evidence for his trial.
But when we talked in the orchard that morning, amid the dappled sunlight and the buzzing of bees, all this was ahead of us. Men united by common purpose are generally agreeable while things go forward. Christopher and Ingram Frizer greeted each other with rough jocularity, a manner I never saw Christopher deploy with anyone else. Frizer said, ‘Aye, we had an encounter in Berkshire, I recall,’ to which Christopher responded, ‘Followed by an understanding, I trust,’ at which they clapped each other on the shoulder like old soldiers reunited.
With Poley Christopher was more circumspect. They nodded and shook hands. ‘We met in Paris,’ said Christopher, ‘and escaped unharmed.’
‘So far,’ said Poley, smiling.
Christopher and Skeres were introduced, we were offered ale and all sat to await Mr Secretary. Until he came, which fortunately was not long, we talked of anything but the matter we were gathered for. Poley asked Christopher about the theatre, what was on, who was playing, Skeres and Frizer discussed a court case they were embroiled in, I asked Poley about matters in Scotland, knowing he travelled there on Mr Secretary’s behalf. He said that most of the Scottish nobility would be pleased if Mary’s head should roll, her presence in England being almost as great a problem for them as for the English. Only the French and Spanish stood to gain by it.
Mr Secretary joined us, striding through the long grass like an avenging angel, dark with purpose. He got down to business immediately, with no preliminaries. ‘There are three essentials. Firstly, we must keep the plotters in play so that we may net them when they are all fully committed. They must believe their game is going forward, otherwise they will disperse and we shall lose them. Secondly, we must keep them all under observation in case they decide to act precipitously against Her Majesty, in which case we must be on hand to prevent them. Thirdly, we must catch Ballard the priest – Captain Fortescue as he now calls himself – as soon as possible. Although he may have just joined them – or may be just about to – he is the engine of the plot, the man to make it happen. But he is also the only one we can arrest without compromising it, because priests in hiding can be arrested at any time. We must make his arrest seem like a routine discovery. But first we must find him.’
‘He was last heard of in Kent,’ said Poley.
‘That was days ago. He is on the move but so long as he believes his presence is unknown he is unlikely to flee the kingdom. Where then will he go?’ He glanced at us all but resumed too soon for anyone to respond. ‘He will go where he can most swiftly bring his plot to a conclusion. He will seek the man best placed to make it happen. Ballard is the trout which will rise to the fly, Babington. Babington is our fly.’ He turned to Poley. ‘You are still lodging with him?’
‘I am, Sir Francis. That is, I was when I left this morning. But he hourly speaks of moving, of running
