The rebel heart

'Sir,' said Gresham, 'it is true that once before I opened a letter from Robert Cecil that I was carrying while sailing with the expedition by Sir Francis Drake to Cadiz. I found that it ordered my death. Since then I have tried to avoid reading anything penned by him and placed in my trust.'

'Well, you clearly survived,' said James, 'unless it's a ghost I see before me now. But I guess you may have an inkling of what this second letter contains.'

'I believe it reassures Your… you, sir, that Robert Cecil is neither a sodomite nor a servant of the Devil.'

James's hand had started to rise to his chest, as if to make the sign of the cross, at the word 'Devil', before he corrected it.

'And am I right to accept that reassurance?'

Robert Cecil had tried to have Gresham killed on several occasions and was holding him to ransom even now. He loathed Gresham, had done so for years. Just as his father had been the strength behind Elizabeth's throne, so the son hoped to be the strength behind James's throne when he came to be King of England. A word now from Gresham that Cecil was either a sodomite or a Devil-worshipper could remove Cecil from the power he lusted after, do him irreparable damage.

But would it? Or would it damage Gresham more? Well, the truth had worked so far. Try it again.

'Sadly, sir,' Gresham said and watched James lean forward, as if desperate to hear the bad news, 'you are right to accept that reassurance. At least as far as I am in a position to judge.'

James rocked back, but the alert interest was clearly still there.

'Sadly? Why sadly? What is sad about clearing a man of two grievous accusations?'

'What is sad, sir, is that we are sworn enemies who yet work together. And I count myself as a friend to one who is a bitter enemy of Cecil, the Earl of Essex. It grieves me not to be able to confirm Robert Cecil in any accusation made against him, as it grieves me not to support my friend. Yet to convict him of sodomy or Devil-worship would be wrong, I believe.'

'And is this a man I should trust, this Cecil who is your enemy?' asked James. 'Or should I trust this man who is your friend, this Essex?'

In a few months this rather unprepossessing man might be Henry Gresham's King. It would not do, for purely practical reasons, to lie to him.

'If, sir, you become King of England with the support of Robert Cecil, he will do more than anyone eke to preserve you in that state. If you become King of England with the support of the Earl of Essex, you will reign far more dramatically. It would be two very different reigns.'

'But what of their different loyalty to me before I achieve that happy state?' In the bitter turmoil of Scottish politics, James had proved himself a survivor. He had good reason to know and to fear changing loyalties, shifting allegiances and fickle friendships.

'That, sir, is a matter between yourself and them. I can only state that I do not consider Cecil a sodomite or a Devil-worshipper, but that if I were to choose my company I would choose Essex over Cecil.'

James thought this over for a few seconds. He motioned to his servant, ordered him to bring drink.

'Tell me about the English Court,' said the King of Scotland. He had still not asked Gresham to be seated. 'Tell me about Essex,' prompted James. The servant returned with a decanter and two fine, cut-glass goblets, Venetian by the look of them. The King looked up at Gresham, motioned him to sit. He did not ask Gresham if he wished to drink, but ordered the servant to hand him a glass. Sweet white wine, by the look of it. Ironically, it was the monopoly on all sweet wines imported into England, granted from the Queen, that allowed Essex to lead the life that he did. Gresham preferred the drier, Alsace wines.

'Essex I know only as a social companion, a drinking partner if you will,' said Gresham, waiting for the King to take the first sip. Or rather, the first glass, Gresham saw, as the King knocked back the opening salvo and motioned for a refill. Was Gresham meant to do the same? He compromised by taking a large swig of the stuff. Was this to be trial by drink? 'He is a charismatic figure, glamorous and brave, foolhardy and moody, ambitious for military glory, highly intelligent but at times stubborn beyond belief, spoilt yet vulnerable. He is loyal, though taxed by the demands of loyalty. He is a leader, though a flawed one and in some strange sense a broken personality. He has a zest for life, and something of a desire to lose it.'

'You sum up a man well, Sir Henry,' said the King, taking his second glass slightly more slowly. 'But tell me, who does England want as its next King?'

'If you mean England as the country, sir, the truth is that it cares little who is King or Queen if there is peace and a chance for prosperity to flourish. If you mean England as the Court, there are as many factions as there are nobles. I believe that at present the majority would favour you. Spain has given too many painful memories to England, and as for Arbella Stuart, our country no longer wants to anoint a silly woman in order to make the throne the prize of the first man who wins her favours. We did that with Mary and King Philip of Spain.'

'Drink your drink, man,' said the King. 'There's truth in wine, as well as folly.' Gresham obediently knocked back what was left in his glass. Without a word, the servant filled it up to the brim. Gresham felt an obligation to take a significant sip from the refilled vessel. 'And will you tell me about the Queen?'

Gresham thought about that one for a split second.

'I would prefer not to, sir, if such were to be granted me. A man who gossips about one monarch to another is likely to gossip to everyone.'

James sat silent for a moment.

'Well, you've passed your first test. You've managed not to poison me against anyone, despite one of them being an enemy of yours. You'll wait in Leith for me to pen a reply to both these letters. They'll be delivered by Cameron Johnstone.' There was an ever so slight slurring of the King's words. 'Within twenty-four hours. You will know they are my letters by this seal.'

James snapped a finger, and the servant produced a candle and some sealing wax. The candle was lit from the sconce, and James melted wax onto the table, stamping his fist down on it. The ring on his finger left a clear seal imprinted in the wax. James made sure Gresham had seen the mark, and then the servant picked the still warm wax from off the table, broke it into pieces like communion wafers and threw the remnants into the cold fireplace.

James stood up. Giving a brief nod to Gresham, he left through the same door he had entered by. The servant followed, not repeating the acknowledgement to Gresham by even a nod.

And where did that little exchange leave him, thought Gresham? None the wiser was the truth. James had clearly been expecting a message from Elizabeth, looking forward to it even. He had not been expecting a message from Cecil, but had accepted it with relative equanimity. He wanted to know about the English Court; no surprise there. And having been handed a messenger, he wanted to make use of him to reply by return. Ail very reasonable. And he had been rather drunk at the same time as being very reasonable. What message was there in that for England's future prospects?

Jack and Dick had been ordered to go back to the Anna, once cleaning duties were complete, if only to keep an eye on the crew. The lugubrious Edward had been allocated as Jane and Mary's escort for a tour round Edinburgh. Jane had come back excited by her first sight of a new city. They were in Gresham's room now, the largest of those they had taken. It smelt of scrubbed stone and hay, copious quantities of which had been strewn across the floor once it had dried.