The Borgia Ring (24 page)

London, March 1589

I was extremely tired, but Edward Perch insisted we talk right away and draw up plans. He led me out of Edmund’s room and I followed him into a small office at the end of a corridor. The room was sparsely furnished, containing a large desk strewn with papers and, along the far wall, a pair of old chairs. A servant was sent to fetch wine and some bread. It was only at the mention of food I realised how hungry I was.

The office was at the back of the Bear Garden, away from the stands and the noise of the crowds. Edward was businesslike. He cleared his desk and directed me to a chair.

‘I have been aware of your mission for some time,’ he began. ‘I have people working for me in France. A lot of our business is conducted between Paris and London, but you need not concern yourself with that.’ He waved one hand dismissively. ‘My people have infiltrated Walsingham’s network. I’m confident that we know a great deal more about the dealings and schemes of the Principal Secretary than he knows of ours.’

‘So you only heard of my work through your spies in Paris?’

‘Of course not. I have also had personal correspondence with Roberto Bellarmino himself. I have helped others before you – men sent to England simply as missionaries. I am aware of the recent shift in Vatican policy, however. His
Holiness has been losing too many good men. As much as I despise Francis Walsingham, his methods are extremely effective. It is clear we must pull the plant up by its roots. The Queen must die.’

There was a heavy silence, broken by a barely audible roar from the crowd around the arena in the main part of the building. Then Edward said, ‘May I see the ring?’

I lifted my hand. He brought over a candle. ‘How remarkable to see something that once graced the hand of Lucrezia Borgia,’ he said quietly. Then he quickly returned to his chair behind the desk. ‘To business. Ann has brought the poison from her house.’

He must have seen the relief on my face. ‘She is a good girl,’ he confirmed. ‘Now, I have given much thought to how we should proceed. The Queen is at Hampton Court but will be leaving the day after tomorrow, to travel to York. If we are to strike, it must be tomorrow night. We are now some five hours from sunrise. You must lie low until sunset. I have arranged everything. This is what you must do.’

It was quiet in the little room they gave me under the now empty spectator stand of the Bear Garden. The noise of the slaughter and the braying had ceased but nothing could mask the stink. Over long years, the smell of fear and death had permeated these walls. It would hang here for ever, I thought to myself, or at least until the building was razed.

I had no idea of the time, and little sense of the passing minutes and hours. I lay on a bier, staring up at a sloping white ceiling. But gradually a small window close to the door began to take shape in the darkness and the black sky gave way to the grey wash of pre-dawn. I must have drifted off to sleep, for the next thing I was aware of was the sound of a cock crowing. I pulled myself up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

There came a gentle tap at the door and Ann walked in, carrying a bowl of steaming water and a length of cloth.

‘This is becoming a habit,’ I said as I watched her place the bowl on a side table and drape the cloth over the end of the bier.

‘It is my pleasure, Father,’ she answered gravely.

She turned to go, then hesitated.

‘What is it, Ann? Stay, talk to me.’

She sat down on the end of the bier, hands in her lap. ‘You know, you do not have to carry on with your mission,’ she began. ‘No one would think ill of you if you …’

‘Maybe that is so,’ I interrupted, smiling. ‘But I would think ill of myself, and I know the Lord would be disappointed in me.’

‘But …’

‘But nothing, Ann. I have no fear. I know I’m doing the Lord’s work. I know that if I die in my attempt, then that is God’s will. That it is His plan for me.’

‘But things have changed, Father. Sebastian is dead.’ She crossed herself as she said it. ‘And the Pursuivants … they have destroyed our circle. Two of my friends have been taken and Master Byrd only escaped by a miracle. Father Garnet is also in custody.’

‘I heard about Father Garnet,’ I replied. ‘Edward told me. But I knew nothing of your friends. I’m sorry.’

‘Do not be. We all know the risks.’

‘Then you must also know that I am aware of the dangers I face, Ann. I’ve known of them since I first began training in the Vatican. I believe my purpose is to serve God in the best way I may.’

‘Then I can say nothing more.’

‘You could wish me luck,’ I said.

She smiled. ‘I will do better than that, Father John. You will be constantly in my prayers. And you will need this.’ She handed me the small glass vial of poison.

‘And what will you do?’

‘Me? I shall continue with my own work. The Pursuivants have their suspicions, of course, but no proof. I’m sure that one day I shall be trapped or betrayed, and will suffer the consequences. But I will go to the scaffold with a clear conscience and a proud heart.’

I moved closer and held Ann’s hands in mine. ‘You are a brave woman,’ I told her. ‘May the Lord bless you and keep you.’

I looked down at her hands for a moment. When I met her gaze, I could not hide the tears brimming in my eyes.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘Sebastian,’ I said. ‘It seems it is only now I am able to believe he is dead.’

My anxiety grew as the day wore on. For most of the time I was left to my own thoughts, with only past pain and future fears to dwell upon. Ann brought me meals, and in the late-afternoon Edward Perch arrived with a piece of paper containing a detailed plan of Hampton Court Palace.

After he had gone, I thought through the plan he had conceived and could not help slipping into self-doubt. I prayed for long hours, asking the Lord to give me the strength I needed to fulfil my task. But worse than the self-doubt were the times I questioned my faith in those helping me. How could I be sure, for instance, that Edward Perch would not betray me? He spoke of his faith, his commitment to the Holy Father in Rome, but how was I to know he was not also receiving financial reward for his work? Men like him did nothing except for gold. He would have me believe his reward was surety of Heaven, and perhaps this was true. Perhaps I was being unfair to the man. But, just as I had questioned the morals of Cornelius Agrippa, I found it hard to eradicate the doubts I felt about a man who, by all
accounts, made his living from extortion, gambling and supplying prostitutes. Would he not view assassination – nay, regicide – in the same way? Simply another means of making money.

I was praying so hard, I did not notice the light fail in the room as the little window near the door framed a dark blue sky streaked with the red of sunset. I was pulling myself to my feet when the door opened and Edward Perch was revealed. ‘It is time,’ he said, and searched my face with the alert eyes of a man who lived each day on the fragile margins of society, relying solely upon his wits.

He handed me a small bag and some clothes: a black tunic, black hose, a dark cap. ‘Put these on,’ he said. ‘It will help you remain concealed. In the bag is a change of clothing and a dagger. It is the only weapon we can risk you carrying en route to the palace, but it should be enough. You have prepared the ring?’

I nodded and handed him the vial Sebastian had brought from Paris. ‘I shall need but one dose,’ I said.

‘Then it only remains for me to wish you luck.’

‘I do not need luck,’ I said curtly. ‘I have God on my side.’ Then, thinking I sounded like an ingrate, added, ‘But I thank you, sir. I could not have proceeded thus far without you.’ I withdrew a folded paper from my tunic. ‘Here is your drawing of the palace. I have committed it to memory as best I can.’

A man in black attire was waiting for us outside the room. He was holding a torch to illuminate the corridor.

‘This is Martin Fairweather,’ Edward Perch told me. ‘He may be trusted. He has suffered the tortures so favoured by the Principal Secretary.’

Perch then shook my hand, crossed himself and walked away.

‘Follow me,’ Martin Fairweather instructed.

It was a cloudy night with no moon to light the shrouded alleyways and overhung passages of Southwark. The Bear Garden stood very close to the bank of the Thames. We left through a back door as crowds began to gather at the front for the evening’s entertainment. I followed Martin Fairweather in silence down to the river, placing my trust in God.

A short flight of worn stone steps took us close to the water’s edge. In the gloom, I could just make out a small boat bobbing on the swell. A man whose face was obscured by shadow helped us into the boat and indicated that we should lie down and cover ourselves with a pair of large sacks. I felt the vessel move off into the stream as it began to rain, heavy drops pelting the surface of the water and soaking the sackcloth.

Although I knew it was no more than four leagues to the Queen’s palace at Hampton, it felt as though we were on the river for an eternity. The rain was unrelenting, and the knot of anxiety in the pit of my stomach made me feel nauseous. It was freezing, but I was lathered in sweat and the rough wet sacking irritated my face and hands. I could feel fleas biting me all over. At last, the little boat slowed and I heard the scrape of reeds against its hull and a dull thump as we knocked against the bank. I risked pulling the sack away from my face and peered out over the side into the blackness.

Crouching low, the boatman took the few steps back to where we lay. ‘I go no further,’ he whispered. Throwing our bags on to the bank, Martin Fairweather and I slipped over the side into the water. It came up to our chests and I gasped as the freezing shock cut through me. It took me several attempts to scramble up the muddy bank. I only made it thanks to a shove from Martin.

The boatman waited to ensure we were safely on dry land, and then, without a word, turned his boat for Southwark and vanished into the night. We quickly changed into fresh
clothes, put our soaking wet garments into the bags, then tied these to a large stone before lowering them among the reeds. We were now dressed as guards in red hose, leather tunic and white ruff.

‘We are a short distance downriver from the palace,’ Martin said in a hush. ‘I’ll lead the way. There is a concealed iron gate in the outer wall, to the east of the main buildings. If Edward’s boys have earned their keep we should find it unlocked. Once inside the perimeter we should have little difficulty in finding access to the palace itself. No one will notice two more anonymous guards.’

The terrain was rough. Snow had settled and been only partly thawed by the recent rain. The mud beneath had been frozen solid for weeks. Across a field and through an avenue of trees we saw the palace for the first time. I had marked it from the river before, but never at such close quarters. It seemed larger than life: brick walls rising from snow-powdered gardens, great rectangular chimneys rearing up into the cloud-smudged night. There were a few yellowy lights showing in the upper windows on the eastern side of the building. These, I knew from the diagram Edward Perch had given me, were the Queen’s private quarters.

We kept to the shadows of trees as best we could until we reached the flint outer wall. In the gloom, it looked quite featureless but Martin led us east and soon we found the gate he had described. It looked as if it had not been used in many a year. The metalwork was a rusted lattice and the hinges groaned as Martin pushed against it. A few inches in it stuck fast, but there was just enough room for us to squeeze between the edge of the gate and the stone wall.

A long hedge ran parallel to the wall. We could see through its intertwined branches that on the other side a grass parterre stretched ahead as far as a gravel footpath. Beyond that lay a flower bed, and then the wall of the palace itself.

Martin was searching the ground beneath the hedge. Kneeling on the hard earth, he chipped away at a patch with his dagger. I heard him curse, saw him shake his head. Then I caught a glimmer of metal in the faint light. He leaned forward and chopped at the ground with renewed enthusiasm. Pulling on something just under the surface, he straightened and held up in both hands a guard’s pike. He handed this to me and scrabbled away at the earth again until he found a second weapon – a sheathed sword and belt. ‘The boys have done well,’ he told me. ‘Our uniforms are now complete. Come, this way.’

Martin slipped out from under the hedge first, beckoning me to follow. We carefully scraped away fragments of hard soil that had clung to our boots and rubbed any residue from our knees. Stepping on to the footpath, we marched with all the authority we could muster towards the first entrance into the building we could see, a heavy oak door that swung open on to a dark corridor.

We could hear voices coming from the end of the passage and a pale light spilled from a door left ajar. The rooms leading from the corridor were kitchens. Beyond them, a servants’ staircase led up to the main dining hall.

We passed the kitchens at a fast walk. Running would have drawn attention to us and we had already made good time. Some drama was unfolding nearby. I could hear one of the cooks screaming at a subordinate, and then the crash of pans, curses and a yelp. A short, very plump man slammed open the door into the corridor and almost bowled me over. I managed to step to one side just in time to avoid a collision. He seemed to be almost totally oblivious to our presence and stamped off, swearing and mumbling curses.