Gulden was desperate to tell his tale. He had been at Antwerp in ’85, had helped the clockmaker who set the timing device for the Hope. ‘When Parma captured the city I fled, thinking the Spanish would hear of my part in the deaths of so many of their soldiers. My wife and children remained and I told them I would send for them. I had thought they would be safe, for Parma had pledged free passage to all Protestants. That was a terrible error on my part, for I fell into the hands of two English soldiers — soldiers who had already sold their honour to Spain.’
Shakespeare could see, even in this poor lantern light, that tears were streaming down the Dutchman’s face. ‘My wife and children were taken hostage and I was told to seek refuge in England. I would have to perform certain tasks for the Spanish and my family would be safe. If I did as I was told, I would, in time, be reunited with them. And so I came here and met up again with Signor Giambelli and worked with him on the English hellburners plan, all the while giving details of our progress to the Spanish. I must say that Giambelli knew nothing of my double-dealing. I kept begging the Spanish to let my wife and children join me, but to no avail. And now… now I have destroyed your family, Mr Shakespeare, with my infernal clocks, and I fear I will soon have aided and abetted in a plan to kill many, many more. I would take my life, hurl myself into this river. I have thought of such a course of action often enough, but I do nothing. I am a coward.’
‘You spoke of two English soldiers?’
‘Yes.’
‘What became of them?’
‘They are here in England. They were my contacts. They are the ones who gave me my orders and made me work for Laveroke and Curl.’
‘Their names?’
‘William Sarjent and Jeremiah Quincesmith. In the Low Countries, they were armourers and gunpowder men with Captain-General Norris and the Earl of Leicester. But they dealt treacherously, communicating secrets to Parma and others on the Spanish side. I always believed their motive was gold, not religion.’
‘Did you say Sarjent?’
Gulden nodded grimly and wiped a sleeve across his bloody, tear-stained face. In the distance, directly ahead of them, Shakespeare caught the first glint of the rising sun. He felt a cold knotting in his entrails. Sarjent — the man the Cecils believed to be their intelligencer. Boltfoot had been handed to him, like a tethered sacrifice in an arena of lions.
Chapter 34
A flock of seabirds, waking with the dawn, drifted across the bows. The dirty, off-white canvas of the sail billowed in the following breeze. The cloud had gone, and it was becoming a bright, sun-filled morning.
The river narrowed as they passed the ferry port and shipyard of Gravesend, bustling with dozens of great vessels. Tall cranes of oak and elm reached out their arms across the wharves. Dominating it all were the battlements of Gravesend fort, built earlier in the century by Elizabeth’s father, to deter any enemy who might think of attacking London from the Thames. Then the river broadened out again and the signs of humanity ashore diminished, though the waterway was still decorated by the slow-changing scape of dozens of sails. On another day, a man might have found himself captivated by the raw beauty of this wild stretch.
Shakespeare saw none of it and wished to hear no more of Peter Gulden’s treachery. He turned to the fisher. ‘How far have we come?’
‘Twenty-five miles, but the tide is turning.’
‘Do you recognise any landmarks, Mr Gulden?’
‘Only the Gravesend docks. I have been this way twice before. I would say there is an hour to go if this current holds, perhaps less.’
‘No, we have had the best of the tide,’ the fisher said. ‘It’ll be slow going now.’
The Thames began to curve northwards in the last great bend of the river before its gaping mouth opened into the North Sea. The waters were becoming rougher as the tide turned. A swell of waves pushed hard against the bows of the fishing boat. The turbulence and the stench of fish began to turn Shakespeare’s stomach, but he refused to submit to nausea, unlike Gulden, who puked over the side. The fisher had to use all his experience and knowledge of the wind to keep the craft on its downriver course.
‘There will be islands soon,’ the fisher said. ‘Canvey, Two Tree and Incular to the north, in Essex. A few others, too. Then Grain and Sheppey to the south, in Kent. Bleak, inhospitable places all of them, fit for nothing but sheep and outlaws.’
A high-masted square-rigger rode the tide past them, on its way upriver. From the poor state of its sails and rigging, a man might have deduced it was returning from a voyage halfway around the world.
‘There,’ Gulden said tersely, pointing northwards as the vessel finally straightened out eastward once more. ‘The tree.’
Shakespeare scanned the northern bank. He saw a few squat trees dotted along the land a mile or so up ahead, but none that stood out in any way. ‘Mr Gulden?’
‘The dead tree. It has the shape of a bull’s head. The two branches stick up like horns. I noted it before. That is the island.’
‘Canvey,’ the fisher said.
‘There is a series of creeks on its northern shore. The hellburner is moored in one of them. At low tide it will be stranded in the mud; but with this tide coming in it won’t be long before she floats.’
‘When were you last here?’
‘Two days since. It was not fully prepared; they were still loading the powder. They had men working on it, Scottish men. Carting aboard bricks and slabs of stone and rusted iron tools. It must be near completion. My work on the clock is finished. It is my best work
… I was told its success would bring my family to me. Now I pray you will destroy it before more harm is done.’
‘What are they planning for it?’
Gulden seemed about to speak, but then shook his head. ‘I do not know.’
‘You were about to say something, Mr Gulden. I suggest you say it before I spill your blood in the Thames.’
‘I did hear something… something I do not think I was meant to hear.’
‘Yes?’
‘Laveroke was with Sarjent. I heard them talk of a bridge. That is all. I straightway thought of the great London bridge…’
London Bridge. What better target for an enemy of England. Shakespeare shuddered. If a hellburner had killed a thousand men aboard a boom of wooden ships across the Scheldt, what might one of similar size do to this bridge, the greatest such structure in the world? Countless numbers would die and it would blow London in two, cutting the city off from Southwark for months or years to come. If true, it was a plot of nightmares.
London Bridge. The glory of England, a spectacle that men and women travelled from the far corners of the globe to set eyes on. Less a bridge than a small town. Many of the city’s greatest houses, some seven storeys high, were supported by its nineteen stone arches. More than a hundred and thirty of the finest shops lined its nine-hundred-foot span. It had once even had its own church, the chapel of St Thomas Becket, standing atop the central section, but the Protestants had closed it and turned it into a fine dwelling for a merchant. And at the southern end, the gatehouse with its piked heads of traitors, a symbol of unforgiving power to all who harboured treasonous thoughts about their monarch. The irony of that was not lost on Shakespeare.
London Bridge. Above all, it was a thoroughfare that carried the lifeblood of the city, the beating heart of England. Constantly in use, throughout the day. At its busiest times, it might bear the weight of two to three thousand people, along with their wagons, horses and driven farm beasts. How many men, women and children would die if a hellburner wrought its malign work there, blowing them to pieces or sweeping them into the river’s flood? It was enough to make any man quake with fear and anger.
As they tacked into an inlet to the east of the island, Shakespeare was thinking fast. He had little idea what to expect at this place. Gulden said there had been men here when last he came. But who would be here this day, and how would they be armed? He had two wheel-lock pistols and a pouch of a dozen balls and a horn of powder. Apart from that, he had his sword and poniard. It was little enough.