'Educated in England wasn't he?' asked George, trying to gather his thoughts. His knowledge of Irish history was sketchy. George had spent most of his time in Dublin writing letters home. Whatever the problem was with his estates, it was taking up more and more of his time.
'Not only educated there, but seen as an Irish lord friendly to England. Even had some of his troops trained by us, knows our military tactics inside out. Fell out with Elizabeth when he was made one of Ireland's top chiefs and had to choose between supporting one of his family arrested by us or sticking with us. He chose family — not that he had much choice. His own lot would have skewered him if he hadn't. But everyone who knows him speaks of his charm, his intelligence — and his total and utter unreliability. This man lies like you and I have a piss — it's the most natural thing we do, and something would go wrong with our day if we don't do it regularly and frequently.'
'So?' said George.
'So we're being outmanoeuvred,' said Gresham, 'by someone who's as much English as Irish. Tyrone's sending us exactly where he wants us to go.'
'Will Tyrone kill Essex? If Cecil can do it, surely Tyrone can,' asked George.
'He won't 'ave to, at this rate,' muttered Mannion. 'If Essex goes off gallivanting all over Ireland in the opposite direction to this bastard Tyrone, 'e'll either kill 'imself or make the fuckin' Queen do it for 'im. I reckon if she don't get Tyrone's head, she'll want the Earl's.'
In early May Essex marched out with 300 horse and 3,000 foot. It was all he had left after reinforcing garrisons and positions in the rest of Ireland. The rather tawdry little castle at Athy had surrendered after firing a few token musket shots, and the old Earl of Ormonde had arrived at last bringing 700 foot and 200 Irish cavalry along with him, as well as the Lords Cahir and Mountgarret, both of whom had dabbled with the rebels, and now, in the most theatrical manner possible, begged forgiveness of Essex, who loved every minute of it.
Gervase Markham, one of Essex's young bloods, rode up to the head of the column, where Gresham was riding with Mannion and George at the head of seventy of his men and twenty-five of his horse.
'Sir Henry!' Markham called out. 'My Lord of Essex seeks your company!'
'Does he want me to write a victory sonnet?' asked Gresham.
Essex was sitting on a glorious grey, looking for all the world like a young god. Southampton rode by his side, instead of with the horse he was meant to be master of, looking like a sour lemon with mould on its skin.
‘I see you copy my horse,' said Essex. Gresham was riding a fine grey.
In London, Gresham would have replied that Essex copied his horse. Here, in Ireland, on campaign, he said nothing to his Commander in Chief.
'I need to draw the enemy out, give them a challenge they can't back away from,' Essex said. 'How many men do you have with you?'
'Seventy foot, my Lord, and twenty-five horse.'
'I am heading to the Pass of Cashel. You know of it?'
'I know it on a map,' said Gresham.
'It's ready made for ambush, I'm told. There are rough woods and bogs on either side of the roadway, excellent cover for the enemy yet providing a barrier on either side that we'd be ill-advised to try and cross.'
Essex reined in and looked at Gresham.
'I propose to invite the Irish to ambush us at the Pass of Cashel. I'll swing the army round with much noise and sounding of trumpets, take the road that leads only to Cashel. We'll delay subtly in our advance, so that those who're undoubtedly spying on us even now can ride or run ahead and gather a suitable force, if such a one exists.'
Gresham said nothing.
'Do you understand?' asked Essex. His horse was restless, as if sensing his rider's mood. 'I must see how great a force the enemy can muster, see how they fight, draw them into conflict.'
'And if they muster a large force, as at Yellow Ford? If they fight as well as the Irish appear to have fought there, beating over three thousand English troops?'
'That's where I need you.'
'Sir?'
'You've some of the best-trained and equipped troops in the army. I wish you to act as an advance party. Go to the pass ahead of the main army. Draw the enemy fire, allow me to gauge their strength, so that I know whether to attack with all my force or, if the enemy are too strong, retire before any proper ambush can be enacted.'
'What if the Irish read your mind,' asked Gresham, 'and hold their fire?'
'You're the experienced soldier,' said Essex. 'You must ensure they don't do so. Your force is large and threatening enough, I believe, to draw them out to reveal their full strength. Of course, if you're afraid I shall ask someone else. Or do it myself.'
It was the crowning insult, the one no gentleman could forgive. It had come out of the blue, shocking, unexpected and above all, unfair. The only saving grace was that none of Essex's other commanders were near enough to hear. Essex and Gresham had drawn away from the column and the slow-moving army moved on ponderously by their side. 'Of course I'm afraid,' said Gresham witheringly. 'Only fools feel no fear, and brave men are those who carry on despite it. But, my Lord, if you call me coward again, I'll kill you.'
He said it so simply that for a moment a listener might have let it pass by, before he realised not only that Gresham meant every word, but that Essex believed him.
'So be it,' said Essex. 'But if I call you it again, it'll be because you've failed me at Cashel, and if you've failed me there the Irish will have killed you long before you can kill me.'
Mannion was less than enthusiastic at the news Gresham brought.
"'Act as an advance party"?' exclaimed Mannion. 'Fuck me! This ain't no advance party! This is a fuckin' suicide party!'
'Is he testing you?' asked George, worried more for his friend than for himself. 'Is this him seeing whether, when the crunch comes, you'll fight for him, or whether your priority here is to stay alive and spy on him for Cecil?'
'It could be,' said Gresham, 'or it could be that he wants me dead.'
'What?' said George.
'I didn't just come here to protect Essex. I came here because I sensed, have sensed for months that terrible things are brewing, plots within plots, wheels within wheels, twistings and turnings. And that in some way I still don't understand, Essex is at the heart of it all. It's entirely possible I've misread the whole situation. Suppose Essex just wants a few easy victories to boost his image. Then he'll return to England and either blackmail Elizabeth into giving him Chief Secretary on the back of his popularity, or go for broke, lead a rebellion and either make himself King or marry one of his sycophants off to Arbella Stuart. In either case he either rules himself or rules by proxy, and he knows I'll stop him. This is a brilliant way to kill me with no blame attaching to him at all, and no suspicion.'
'I read the Bible once,' said Mannion. The interjection was so unexpected that George gaped at him. 'Bloody difficult it was, too. King David fancied this woman, didn't he, and sent out 'er husband — Uriah the Hittite, warn't it? Daft name — to the front line so 'e'd get killed and King David could 'ave the wife.'
'The difference,' said Gresham patiently, 'is that I'm not married.'
'No, but 'e don't half fancy Jane, don't 'e?' said Mannion. 'With you out of the way, she might be best off 'opping into bed wi' 'im. Better than bein' out on the streets.'
'I've left her money,' said Gresham, 'if I die. Leave the thinking to me, will you? If Essex wants me dead, it's not because he wants to bed Jane. It's because I might stop him doing what he wants to do.'
'Or it might be that we've got the best bloody company in the army to do it,' said Mannion.
'Well,' said Gresham, 'let's get them together and see if that's true.'
'We've got a little job to do,' said Gresham with the men gathered round him.