'A dangerous word to use in front of a king who has shown his power so recently to the person in question. But if commanded, as I have been, I would add a fourth word. A saint, a sinner, a solicitor and a survivor. Which, Your Majesty, might perhaps make two of that latter kind present here tonight.'
The fire crackled in the grate and a log collapsed down, throwing up a series of sparks.
'Be warned, Henry Gresham.' The King spoke in level tones, looking directly at Gresham. 'You push things to their limit. And sometimes the survivor survives only at terrible cost to himself.'
'I know,' said Gresham simply. He let the silence work, then spoke again. 'I despise Sir Edward as much as he despises me. He was wrong when he said he agreed with me on nothing except one thing. There are two things on which we, as sworn enemies, agree.'
'And what is the second?' asked the King.
'It relates to the subject of your first question. Sir Thomas Overbury. You have a Privy Council, Your Majesty. On it sit the highest in the land.' And Robert Carr, thought Gresham scathingly. 'Yet will you accept the advice of this, your extraordinary private council, tonight?
'I will hear it,' said the King. 'For this once.'
'We are united in one thing, other than loyalty to Your Highness,' said Gresham. 'We think it a wonderful thing for those in Your Majesty's court to have experience of serving Your Majesty abroad. Thus does a man prove himself. Sir Thomas Overbury is ripe for advancement. Yet he lacks something in the skills of diplomacy.' Something like a snort escaped from Coke. Bacon merely smiled, as if at a huge joke. 'A wise king might well seek to school such a man in these skills, as well as bind him even further in loyalty to His Majesty. What better answer than to appoint him as ambassador for His Majesty. Ambassador to a foreign country. A very far distant foreign country.'
There was silence from the fireplace. It was followed by another deep chuckle. 'You have another work in my hand that you must find, do you not, Baron Granville?'
'I do, Your Majesty.'
'Then find it,' said the King, with a sharpness that stung the air. 'Reward my largesse, as so few seem to do. And be my hawk, Baron Granville, as Cecil was my beagle.' The King had often referred familiarly to Cecil as his 'little beagle'. 'As for the rest, I have heard. I am a king, beset by more quandaries than ever a mere mortal conceived of. Yet still I listen.'
He stood, and the others stood with him.
'My saint.' His gaze lingered on Andrewes. 'The problem with sainthood is the trials those who receive it have to endure in order to earn it. They become too good, too divorced from the politics of power. My sinner? Well, all of those here are that.' He gazed at Bacon. 'Sin can be forgiven, if the quality of service merits the forgiveness. My solicitor? Well, there are two of those, are there not?' His gaze flicked between Bacon and Coke. 'And my survivor?' He looked directly at Gresham. 'There is a bond between those whose gospel it is to survive. And a special bond between those who believe that mere survival is not enough, and that to survive with honour is all that matters. Do you wish that bond to be cemented, Henry Gresham, First Baron Granville? I doubt it. Your survival has always been linked to your independence. Yet if my hawk is to return to my gloved hand, it needs to know I am its master. Perhaps the best way is to ensure that our survival is linked.' He paused for a moment. 'Thank you,' he said. His eyes were on Gresham. 'We will reconvene, I hope. My private council. When the business is concluded.'
He swept out of the room. The fears of those present were rep-resented by the depth of the bows they offered to the departing monarch.
Later that night, Gresham lay with Jane. The house was silent, the flames dying in the hearth, the light that of one single candle.
'So the letters are destroyed…' She breathed, feeling easy in her mind for the first time in months. She lay with her head on his chest, arm flung over him, unconsciously seeming both to clutch and protect. She was naked. He could feel her breast pressing against his side, and the first signs of arousal.
'Well… sort of,' replied Gresham, shifting his body.
'Sort of? Sort of? What do you mean "sort of?'" The alarm was clear in her voice and the stiffening of her body.
'Well, the King and two of the country's leading lawyers saw them burned by one of its most respected bishops,' said Gresham meekly, fearing the storm to come.
'But?' said Jane.
'That's why the meeting took so long. I needed to slow the timing for the work to be done properly. It was so important for James not to hold the letters close, which is why we needed to meet in the Combination Room after nightfall. The light in there is always bad.'
'Why did you need bad light?' asked Jane darkly.
'The letters that were burned were forgeries. Brilliant forgeries, I might add. I doubt the King would have seen them for what they were even in broad daylight, but I wanted to lessen the risk.'
'But why burn forged letters?' asked Jane, confused now beyond all belief.
'So that I can retain the originals, merely as a bargaining counter, should the King decide to set his hounds upon his hawk. One never knows when such things might become useful.'
Was there no end to the lengths this man would go? Exasperated, Jane rolled on to her stomach and hit her pillow. Unwittingly it revealed more of the length of her body to her husband.
'Are they safe?'
You are not, he thought, looking at the sweep of her back and the tantalising hint of what lay beneath. Out loud, he said, 'They're safe. Where they can never be found, and where they'll be destroyed instantly if any hand other than my own turns the key.'
'Isn't this betraying the King? The King who's ennobled you, given you his trust?'
'I'll serve the King better than any,' said Gresham, 'and I'll give him my total loyalty. I'll risk my life in his affairs, if needs be. But what one must never do with kings or queens is give them your trust. Never. Not to them or to anyone, as it happens, if you wish to live. The only person to hold complete trust is oneself. His Majesty knows that of me, as I know it of him.'
'And do I have your complete trust? Am I the breaking of the golden rule? Or is there a part of you that's withheld from me?'
He swung round to face her, eyes taking in the glorious curve of her body. 'I intend to prove conclusively in a moment that I withhold no part of me from you,' he said, grinning. 'And the answer to your question, damn you, is yes. I've weakened myself in the way I swore I would never do. By allowing you into my heart. Now, enough of this prattling! Will you allow me to weaken myself a little more?
She shivered as his hands began to move. 'Well,' she said, gazing at him with the innocence of a child and her eyes half closed, 'I don't suppose it'll do me very great harm.'
21
December 1612-13th February, 1613 The River Thames
'the story of my life,
From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes,… moving accident by flood and field, hair-breadth 'scapes…'
As Gresham had long ago ceased to believe in Christ, the feast of his birth meant precious little to him. Yet he enjoyed the entertainments laid on for his two households, seeing them not merely as a duty but as a way of thanking his servants. The excitement in the faces of Walter and Anna was something new for him. Unconsciously, he began to enjoy the twelve days of Christmas through the eyes, ears and stomachs of his children.
Destroy the King's letters. Done, to all intents and purposes. Determine the manner of Prince Henry's death. Done. Neutralise Overbury. Not quite done, but well on the way, Gresham thought. The King's response to his idea regarding Overbury suggested the ambassadorship would flower and flourish in its own good time.