They were the words that had brought him to this pass. There were times he would have liked to have wielded the axe himself, so sick was he of the family’s beatification of a man he had never even met.
His aunt was still talking. Her tongue so sharp and precise she could slice bacon with it.
‘Send your man to court with his pistol and you go to Chartley. If there were but two of you, it could be done.’
‘Savage? I am sure I can trust Goodfellow not to betray us
– but will he do the deed? And what of Gifford? What manner of man is he? He was at Rheims, ordained deacon. Surely he must be true. John Shakespeare? No, I do not trust him. Too close to Walsingham. Poley was right; they should never have had anything to do with a man like that. Oh, but Shakespeare had seemed useful at the time, bringing tidbits of information from the very office of the devil. And what of sweet Robin himself ? Some say he is sly, but I must trust him for he has my love. What of Ballard?’
‘Anthony, you are babbling. I know none of these names.’
‘Ballard. Why did he ever come to me with this plot? Why did I ever listen, for now I am damned; and I have damned my beloved friends. Without Ballard I would have lived my life in quiet comfort. Then there was Ballard’s friend Maude. Yet another traitor to our cause. Aunt, I believe there is no man I can trust. This was always Walsingham’s plot, not ours. He owned us and used us for his foul purpose. To what ends? Oh sweet Mary of Scots, I fear I know what ends . . .’
His aunt slapped his face. Hard. ‘Are you a man, Anthony? Be a man.’
Babington held his face where her palm had stung him. He looked into his aunt’s cold eyes. She had more courage than he could ever have. But it was not she who would be laid out on the scaffold to have her belly sliced open and her heart torn out.
‘I will go now, Aunt. I should not have come.’
As Babington left Lady Darcy’s house and walked eastwards past Ely Place, he did not note the two men following him on horseback, at a slow walk.
‘He knows not what he does, Mr Shakespeare.’
‘He sees danger at every turn, and yet he does not see for want of looking, Mr Scudamore.’
‘He is a traitor, yet a man could almost feel sorry for him.’
‘Indeed. And yet we have both seen the words he wrote. He would kill Her Majesty, smooth the way for England’s enemies to invade and put a foreign princess upon the throne. These are not the words of an innocent.’
Babington, for all his languor, had lethal ambition and ruthless arrogance.
Chapter 40
How many do we have? Babington was back at Poley’s home, though there was no sign of Poley yet. Why had he not returned from court? Even with the long river journey to Richmond he should surely be here.
How many do we have? Babington was scraping names on a sheet of paper, placing forth all those who might be counted on: Tom Salisbury, Chidiock Tichbourne (if his leg were to heal), Goodfellow Savage, Robert Barnwell, Henry Dunn, Edward Windsor, Edward Abingdon, John Travers, John Charnock, Dominic de Warre, Charles Tilney, Edward Jones, Gilbert Gifford, Robin Poley, Robert Gage, Sir Thomas Gerard, Jerome Bellamy, Katherine Bellamy. No, not Mistress Bellamy. This was no work for women.
All had been at the meetings in his rooms and at the tavern feasts. All had heard at least part of the plans. All had agreed that the Queen of Scotland must be set free, but few had spoken of assassination. Indeed, he knew that even Tom Salisbury had great reservations about such a course of action.
He cursed. There were simply not enough committed men. Where was Gifford? Where was Poley and why had he not come home from Richmond? Chidiock was wounded. Edward Windsor was gone to the country. During their meetings, it had seemed there were so many like-minded men willing to lay down their lives for the Holy Father. But now, looking at this scrap of paper, the total seemed paltry.
There was a soft knocking at the door. Babington tensed, then relaxed. Pursuivants did not tap at doors. They hammered them down with battering logs and announced their arrival with shouts and stamping and the clatter of arms.
‘Come in. Whoever you are, come in.’
There were two of them. Goodfellow Savage and young Dominic de Warre.
‘Thank God. I feared . . .’
‘Anthony, we have just heard about Father Ballard.’
‘Oh, Goodfellow, Dominic, this is a bad day. Robin has gone to court to find a way to have him released. And yet he has been gone a long time. Perhaps he, too, has been taken.’
‘We must act now.’ It was de Warre who spoke. ‘If we do not take the initiative, we will all die – and for nothing. At least let us bring down the tyrants first.’
‘He is right,’ Savage said.
‘Then we are all agreed.’ Babington handed a flagon of brandy to his two visitors. ‘Be seated, take the warming spirit, let us discuss our plan.’
‘It must be now,’ Savage said. ‘I will go to Richmond and find her. I am told by our Irish friend, Barnwell, how easily she might be surprised there – that she walks alone and unguarded in the gardens. I will do it though I die in the doing.’
‘Will Barnwell join you in the enterprise?’
‘He is with his master, the Earl of Kildare. I do not know if we will find him in time.’
‘I will go with you,’ de Warre said.
Savage gazed at him without expression. ‘What use will you be?’
The slender young man shrugged. ‘Whatever you wish. You are my captain, so I will do what I am told. I will fire the bullet if you desire, or hold the horses in preparation for your escape.
Command me and I will obey.’
‘He has courage, Goodfellow. You may need assistance.’
‘Very well. Come with me. But first I need weapons; and I need court attire.’ He held wide his arms to indicate his poor costume, a tattered remnant of a black suit of clothes begged from a lawyer at the inns of court. ‘I will never be allowed near the Queen in this.’
‘Is that truly all the apparel you own?’
‘I am destitute, Anthony.’ All the money from Shakespeare had gone in settling debts.
Babington drank his brandy. ‘Stand up, sir.’
Savage stood from the settle and raised himself to his full height. Babington shook his head in despair. ‘Clearly, you will fit no clothes of mine.’ He wrenched a gold ring from his finger and found a purse, emptying the few gold and silver coins into his palm. ‘This is all I have. Take it. Go to Tredger’s in Cheapside. He will have something, I am certain. If he demands more than I have given you, charge it to me. What weapons do you need?’
‘Two wheel-lock pistols. As small and as finely wrought as possible, for I must needs hide them within a bag or sleeve. They must be of the highest quality, for I will have to be sure that both will fire. If it is to be done, the end must be certain.’
‘And do you know where to acquire these dags?’
‘Yes, indeed. But the gunsmith will charge a great deal.’
‘Then use all the money and my ring to pay for them. Charge the whole of the apparel to my account, though it cost you fifty pounds. It matters not, for if God grants us success, then we will be repaid a thousandfold, both in this world and the next.’ He had a sudden thought. ‘What of John Charnock? What of Edward Abingdon and Roarer Tilney? Will they join you? It was always supposed to be six, but five will surely suffice. Edward and Charles are members of the Queen’s Guard – they must have access to her person.’
Savage looked doubtful.
‘Goodfellow?’
‘Abingdon and Tilney do not have the mettle for it. If John Charnock can be found, I think he would strike the blow with me, for he is a soldier. Can we find him?’
‘He keeps company by St Paul’s.’