In the final count, it might all depend on his throw of the dice with Parma. Walsingham was well aware that the prize was not just the sovereignty of England, not just his own life, which would soon be forfeit anyway, but his honour, perhaps even his place in history.
Chapter 7
September, 1587 London; Lisbon
Has it crossed your mind how dangerous this jaunt you're planning to Lisbon is?' asked George. 'And just how many games do you think you can play at the same time? Agent, double agent, dammit, even triple agent? At times even I don't know what side you're on!'
Gresham chose to respond only to the first part of the question. 'I'm on my own side. And is it more dangerous than being in a rowing boat fired at by cannon from a Spanish galley?'
'About the same, I reckon,' said George. 'In fact, I'm starting to think I'd rather be back on the boat. At least there we knew who the enemy was.'
'There's an invasion coming,' said Gresham almost dreamily. 'I can feel it in my bones. And that invasion, once it touches these shores, could act like a fuse and trigger every sect, every family and every person who's ever lusted after power… and all we have between us and chaos are a few ships who've never worked as a fleet… wouldn't the real danger be to do nothing?'
They were walking in the Long Gallery of The House, an expanse of polished panelling hung with the very best of Sir Thomas Gresham's paintings and tapestries. It was cool there, despite the long line of windows and the slanting, late-summer sunlight streaming through, creating alternate pools of light and dark along its length. The Queen had demanded a price for licensing Henry Gresham to travel to Lisbon: that he formally present Anna to her at Court. It was unusual for the Queen to be in London in the summer. She preferred to go on progress then, bankrupting her nobles and saving herself a small fortune in the upkeep of the Court. It was the continuing uncertainty surrounding the Armada, which some said was ready to sail despite the damage of Cadiz, that kept the Queen in London. Old fox that she was, she knew perfectly well that if Philip came knocking on her door London was the place for her to be, not out in the sticks being fawned on by an ageing Lord presenting her with endless poems written by someone else praising her eternal beauty.
'I don't know what it is with you,' said George. 'You just can't keep it simple, can you? What do you do with a young man who gets caught up in all this spying business! This double and treble agent stuff! When you should have been doing normal things like chasing girls and drinking yourself stupid!' He paused for a moment. 'Mind, to be fair, you have done those as well. Anyway, my guess is you'll get a knife in your gut the minute we land in Lisbon. From one side or the other.'
There was a crash from a room nearby, a wail and a torrent of rapid English. Gresham flinched, confused. Anna was telling her maid to hurry up, and doing so by hurling a rather fine ceramic pot of pins at the nearest wall. Pots cost money. So did maids, for that matter. He hoped it was only the pot that was broken. In front of him, apart from her obvious excitement in the stables, he had never seen anything except cool control. Had he missed something? Whatever was going on next door was from a very different person to the one he thought he knew.
'Well,' said Gresham, wrenching his mind back to his conversation with George, 'You know the argument. You disguise yourself one of two ways — you hide what you are, or you tell everyone what you are. The girl's fiancй is based in Lisbon. I'm her guardian. It's perfectly reasonable for me to want to fulfil my word to her dying mother. And by getting permission from the Governor General and the Queen to make the visit, by doing it in the highest possible profile, they'll think only a madman would make such a noise about a visit when he's actually come to spy.'
'I agree with the madman bit,' said Mannion.
'And I'm coming with you,' said George..
'You!' said Gresham. 'You can't…'
'Shut up,' said George. 'Firstly, you can't stop me. I've got my licence from the Queen — and a pretty sum" father had to pay for it — and secondly, I'm superb cover for you, second only to the girl. People think I'm just a big buffoon, and they'd think Walsingham had lost his roof timbers and his slates if he was using me as a spy.'
He had a point, Gresham conceded reluctantly, though he was not prepared to concede just yet. He knew his real objection; he was fearful that George would come to harm. Why was it so much easier to contemplate risk for oneself than contemplate it for those one loved? It was another reason for loving no one. They waited for Anna to appear.
Gresham was dressed in a deep, lustrous black doublet, slashed through to reveal the silver silk lining, the black finely embroidered in raised stitching. Some people wore a ruff as if it were a simple irritant; Gresham wore his as if it were simply an extension of his beard. The doublet seemed to emphasise the broad shoulders, the narrow hips, while any young male courtier would have died for the line of his leg and calf in the superb silken hose. Many of the other young men there would have extravagant, high hats, in the full flush of fashion. Gresham's was flatter than the fashion, a thin brim and small top no higher than his head cut from the same material as his doublet. He wore little jewellery; the single diamond on his ring finger, set in a simple setting, alone was worth all the gold and jewels worn by three or four of the wealthiest courtiers. It had been one of the few luxuries his father had allowed himself, and had never left his hand. It reassured the bankers and money lenders with whom he negotiated, he had used to say, to know that he had collateral at his finger tips.
There was another rattle of English from deep within, another crash.
'Should I go and sort it out?' asked Gresham.
'No,' said George, 'leave 'em to fight it out. Women have their own ways of doing these things. You wait. She and that maid'll come out in a minute or two as if they were best friends.'
Minutes later the maid flung a door open as if the Queen had come to The House. In some respects she had. The vision that was Anna stepped forth, and even Mannion wondered where his breath had gone for a fleeting moment. The deep blue of her eyes seemed to be echoed in the equally deep, vivid royal blue of her dress, picked out with so many pearls that at least one ocean must have felt denuded. Her hair had clearly been done by some goddess temporarily on loan from Olympus, the cap not containing but rather complementing it. Her perfect figure was somehow emphasised by the huge sweep of the dress out from her hips, the glorious billows of the sleeves done in some lighter, dancing material that still man-aged to match the colouring of the whole. God knows how they had got the dress ready in time. It could take a year for a good dressmaker to produce such a work of art, and the cost of a Court dress was staggering. But money talked, a fact Gresham recognised as much as sometimes he felt revolted by it, he who had carefully been deprived of money at a crucial time in his youth, left to fend without it and so learn its value.
'I think your goods have packaged well, is it not so?' asked Anna, making a polite curtsey to Gresham. It was the same cool, infuriating creature, but there was an excitement to her that even her self-control could not hide.
'Did you break all of Mary's limbs, or just selected ones?' asked Gresham cuttingly. She bridled, stifling the movement halfway through and instead drawing herself up to her full height.