In the hope that Marlowe might be lured into attending The Tempest, a full description of him, under the name he had chosen, had been circulated to all the Court.
Marlowe took one look around him and leaped into the river. Other boats had gathered as the King's boat had smashed up alongside. There were catcalls, whistles, shouts of support for the defenders. No one believed the owner of a boat so commandeered would ever see a penny this side of Armageddon. There was no love lost between the King's men and those who worked the river. Rough hands hauled Marlowe out of the water almost as soon as he landed in it.
The serjeant-at-arms wasted no time. Who cared about a man who had jumped overboard and been rescued? They were desperately short of craft for the King's display and desperately short of time to prepare the craft they had. As if in answer to his prayers, a. sudden wind got up after the fitful spasms they had had all day. He roared at his men to unfold the primitive sail, put four of his best rowers on the oars and set off to find more vessels. The river had emptied around him as word spread.
In the forward hold Jane and her two children lay half-crippled with the chains around them, eyes staring, the cloth cutting terribly into their mouths. An agonised grunt was the only noise they could manage. Jane had wriggled and squirmed so that her dress had fallen over the triangle between her legs, covering her shame from her children.
Young Tom had seen the encounter and his heart had lifted. He had yelled and screamed at the men in the distance but to no avail. He was too far away. Frantic, Young Tom saw the sail drop, bellow and fill with wind, and the boat holding his mistress turn upstream to join the gathering masses at Lambeth. With the wind in its favour, it picked up speed and was soon lost in the mess of traffic on the river.
It was late afternoon and nothing of any significance had been achieved at the Palace of Whitehall except further chaos. Gresham had resigned himself and was reading a-book, seated on the stone wall of a colonnade, when he sensed a bad smell.
It was Sir Thomas Overbury. There was a flushed look on his face, one of almost eager excitement.
'Good day, Gresham,' he said, halting before him, chin out.
Gresham said nothing, did not move from his stone seat, and gazed coolly back at Overbury. Overbury flushed. He seemed intent on walking away, but changed his mind.
'Look to your wife, Gresham!' he snarled.
A chill struck Gresham's heart.
He stood up and Overbury sneered at him, turning away. He walked straight into the bulk of Mannion, who had appeared silently from nowhere. Again Overbury appeared to be about to say something, but without warning he leaped from between Gresham and Mannion on to the balustrade of the stone archway, vaulted it and sped off across the grass. There had been something in his eyes. Triumphalist. Vindictive. Vicious.
Both men ran to the gatehouse without a word, to where their horses were. As they reached the place they heard a young man's voice, screaming. 'Let me in! Let me in! I must see my master!'
It was Young Tom, exhausted, frantic with fear and worry. Gresham reached for him, took him from between the two guards, nodding to them.
Betrayal.' Tom poured out his story. Never place your complete trust in anyone! The coach driver had served Gresham's family for over ten years, and his father before him.
Jane and his children were locked in the bow of a boat commandeered for this evening's mock battle. The boat could be one of hundreds on the river, hurriedly rigged now to look like galleasses, galleons, carricks and argosies, their appearance changed even further.
'Send to The House,' Gresham ordered, i want every boat and every man on the river. Tell them to break through the booms if they have to.' The battle area was protected by booms upstream and downstream. 'Stop at every boat, check if the forehatch is open and its contents known. Explain there's been a kidnap.'
What if Marlowe had followed the boat, re-boarded it? What had he done to Jane before he had been forced to leave?
Men were flocking past them now to take their seats in the specially rigged stands from which the battle would be watched. Night was beginning to settle and torches were being lit.
'Master,' said Mannion. 'They're using real cannon, some of them live-shotted. Some of the boats are being blown up.'
'You, Young Tom, any other of our men — go down to the shore, grab a vessel each, somehow, anyhow. Start to check the boats. We know the size, roughly. We know it had only one real mast. It must shorten the odds. Go!'
It took a lifetime for Gresham to find Sir Robert Mansell, the Treasurer of the Admiralty and the man in charge of the evening. He was sweating profusely, despite the cold. He was flustered, angry.
'No, damn you, no!' he was roaring at a group of men. 'We must have more Venetians! More Venetians, I tell you! The men will just have to change sides, whatever they've rehearsed!' The river was in chaos. Several of the watermen were drunk, a payment in advance having been given to many to draw them out in the first place. There was powder everywhere. Some of the barrels were open-topped and perilously near to torches. Brass cannons had been hurriedly lashed to the decks of the vessels, many of which were dangerously overloaded with guns, extra masts, mock rigging and armed militia men.
Mansell's plan was for the invading forces to set forth from the Whitehall bank to be met in mid-stream by the vessels of the defenders. After a battle at sea, the attacking vessels, with the majority of the militia on board, would land on the Lambeth side and storm the fort. At the climax a whole section of the fort would explode, and defenders would put out from the breach for a last pitched battle before the attackers won home.
'My lord! You must cancel the battle!' cried Gresham. 'My wife and children are on board one of these vessels! Kidnapped by an enemy of the King!'
Wild-eyed, Mansell looked at Gresham. 'Stop it? Stop it? My lord, it's already started — can't you see?' There was a flare of smoke and a thin rumble crossed the river. The first cannon had been fired. Speckles of light began to flower from the walls of the mock fortress opposite. Muskets — though what idiot would fire a musket when no men had yet landed on the shore was beyond Gresham.
'There must be some way you can call back the boats!' insisted Gresham, shouting to make himself heard above the increasing noise.
'My lord, I tell you -1 can do nothing to control this… this… chaos!' Mansell flung out his arms, embracing the anarchy around him. There was a crash and a scream and a newly rigged spar on one of the largest boats tore from its temporary mast, burying two men beneath it in a tangle of rope and canvas. The sail caught fire from the tub kept for lighting the cannon fuse and the crackle of flames was added to the noise as men rushed with canvas buckets to douse it. Gresham had to hold on to Mansell's arm as he went to turn away. 'If it is as you say, my lord, then there is every chance those who commandeered the boat will have found her,' Mansell continued, eyes already looking beyond Gresham. 'Half the boats commandeered never made it to Whitehall. Even if she is in one of the boats, the ones to be blown up have been in preparation for weeks. There's barriers round them. And the live shot, God help us! Only in a few guns, and those aimed at the lower section of the fort!'
He rushed off and was soon lost in the melee.
Gresham was ice cold. The time for recrimination would come later. All he could do now was focus his terror on action. Splitting his forces had been the only way. They had to achieve maximum cover of the Thames. He ran down to the river bank. He would seize a boat. If needs be, he would search every vessel before the night was out.
The battle was not going well. The wind had sunk again to virtually nothing, and what little there was, was in the face of the boats on the north bank, driving them back to shore when they sought to set out. The overloaded boats were setting out and, with no wind to aid them, being swept downstream too fast. The smaller boats on the far side were milling around with no enemy to fight. When a boat did make it to halfway across the river, five or ten of the defenders surrounded it. Embarrassed at what in a military battle would have been a sinking, the attacking boats then retreated. There was much popping of muskets and the increasing blast of badly loaded cannons. To the spectators in the stands, including the King and Queen, it was increasingly boring.