Текст книги "The Enterprise of England"
Автор книги: Ann Swinfen
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‘How can you find your way in this place?’ I said.
‘I’ve spent some time here,’ Berden answered, speaking over his shoulder, for it was too narrow for us to ride abreast. ‘There is talk that someday they will rebuild the town, or at least straighten out some of the meandering waterways.’ This as we rode over yet another hump-backed bridge. ‘But the town will need to become a good deal richer, and the Hollanders free of the Spanish, before they can undertake so large a building project.’
We crossed an open square with a public well in the middle and turned into a wider street, so that I was able to bring Hector up beside him.
‘Nicholas, before we see the Earl – is he to be told what our real mission is, here in the Low Countries, besides carrying despatches?’
‘No,’ he said, ‘Sir Francis has decided we should behave as if we were nothing more than messengers. It is not that he does not trust the Earl, for they have been close friends for many years, but sometimes the Earl is a little careless in his talk. And the loyalty of some of those about him on these foreign shores may be doubtful. Remember, there have been English traitors who have deserted to Spain. And recently things have become strained between the Earl and the Dutch leaders. Although he is no longer called Governor General, they find many of his actions high-handed. He is a poor diplomat and does not consult them as he should. If there is a traitor close to the Earl’s own person, such a man might catch a whisper of our mission, or even guess from the way the Earl conducts himself towards us. Our wisest course is discretion.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘That seems best to me too. Though knowing that we work for Walsingham, and knowing what he wrote to the Queen in his recent letter, the Earl may himself guess why we have come.’
‘That is a risk, of course,’ Berden conceded, ‘that we must take. Here, this is the house where the Earl and his immediate entourage are lodging.’
I looked where he pointed. The house was built in what I was coming to recognise as a typical Dutch style as we rode through Amsterdam. It was tall. Four regular storeys with an attic storey above, behind the characteristic fluted gable high above the street. Most of the houses had an opening here, much like the hatch in an English hay barn, through which the hay can pitched down, except that here there was usually a hoist extending out over the street. The houses, I assumed, must also serve as places of business for the merchants of Amsterdam. The house Berden pointed out had the opening in the high gable end, but there was no hoist and the opening was shuttered. Three shallow steps led up to the front door and there was an archway to the left which appeared to lead through to outbuildings or a garden to the rear of the building.
We dismounted and secured our horses to tethering rings set into the front wall of the house. By the time I had slung my satchel over my shoulder and Berden had removed his wallet of papers from his pack, the door was opened by a serving man in the Earl’s livery. Someone must have been watching from a window.
‘Messengers from the Queen’s Principal Secretary,’ Berden said, ‘with private despatches for his Lordship.’ He held out his official pass and jerked his head at me to do the same.
The servant studied them, then nodded and held the door wider. We entered a central hallway with doors leading off on either side and at the far end a graceful curved staircase, up which the servant led us, still without a word. On the first floor he stopped in front of a door and knocked.
‘Enter,’ a voice called from within. The servant opened the door, stood back to allow us to pass, then withdrew, closing the door quietly behind him.
The Earl of Leicester was sitting in a large cushioned chair beside the window, with his legs sprawled out and a flagon of wine at his elbow. Two younger men were sitting with him, one in military uniform, one not. A table in the centre of the room showed where they had recently dined. It still held plates and goblets of silver gilt, an epergne heaped high with exotic fruits, and a solid gold salt the size of a small bucket, shaped like a clam shell held aloft by a Triton. The walls were hung with rich tapestries depicting scenes from classical myth, and a fire burned within a carved marble fireplace. The curtains at the window were of eastern damask. Everything spoke of comfort, the kind of comfort provided by an ample fortune.
I studied the Earl, while trying to appear not to do so. Perhaps two years before this I had seen him ride in procession with the Queen at the celebrations to mark the anniversary of her succession. I had not been very close to him on that occasion, but even so I was sure he had since been marked by age in the intervening years. His hair and beard were grown quite grey, whereas they had been dark brown before. He must be in his middle fifties, but it seemed a rapid change in so short a period, so that I wondered if what I had heard was true, that the courtiers had their hair dyed in order that they might still appear young. It was said that the Queen liked to have young men about her. As her favourite, perhaps the Earl strove to maintain the look of perpetual youth, to please her or to satisfy his own vanity. Here on campaign in the Low Countries it might be that he had given up the practice.
His skin was dry and faded with age and his face was lined. Above all, I noticed his eyes. They looked both anxious and exhausted. Here was a man who knew himself to be out of his depth, risen to a position beyond his abilities, whatever might be the boast to his peers at court. Suddenly I felt a stab of pity for him. For a year I had been despising him, blaming him for Sidney’s death and most certainly for the disaster at Sluys. Yet I realised with unexpected clarity that this was a man who was expected by the Queen to be a hero, a military champion in the mould of Alexander, though he was in truth a man more suited to the frivolous chatter of the palace or the undemanding exercise of the tennis court or the bowling green than to the rigours of warfare.
These thoughts flashed through my head in the time it took us to cross the room and bow deeply before the Earl.
‘So, Nicholas,’ he said, affably enough, ‘have you brought papers from Sir Francis?’
I had not realised that Leicester would know Berden by sight, but presumably he had come on similar errands before.
‘We have, my lord. May I present Christoval Alvarez, who is a physician as well as serving Sir Francis?’
I bowed again.
‘Ah, the code-breaker,’ the Earl said, ‘we have heard of your talents, and of the good service you did Her Majesty last year.’
My bow nearly ended in a tumble to the floor. Leicester had heard of me?
‘My lord,’ I said, straightened up and seeing those tired eyes scrutinising me carefully. Perhaps I should not pity him after all.
Berden stepped forward and handed Leicester his wallet of despatches. Leicester took them, but did not open the wallet. He laid it on the table next to the wine flagon.
‘Mine are but duplicates, my lord,’ I said, placing them on the table. ‘Sir Francis sent them in case of accidents on the way.’
‘You must have had a rough crossing of it,’ Leicester said. ‘Yesterday, was it?’
‘It was, my lord.’ Berden looked slightly queasy at the memory. ‘After the worst of the blizzard, but still it was . . . rough.’
Leicester threw back his head and laughed. ‘I can see that you are not a good sailor, Nicholas. And what of you, Dr Alvarez?’
‘I am not troubled by seasickness, my lord. Happily.’ I risked a smile and the Earl smiled back.
‘Come,’ he said, ‘you must eat. We have dined, but I will send for more.’
He merely clapped his hands and the servant who had shown us upstairs appeared in the doorway. He must have been standing just outside. I opened my mouth to make a polite refusal but Berden gave a tiny shake of his head. It seemed we must accept, though I would much have preferred to have found an inn and settled in there.
Servants swiftly cleared the remains of the meal from the table and laid fresh dishes, then carried in grilled fish and roasted meats and a salad composed of out-of-season greens, which must have been grown in a hot house, like the fruits on the epergne. Apart from these, and the ostentatious golden salt, the meal and the dishes were not very different from dinners at our home in Coimbra, though no doubt both Berden and Leicester expected me to be overawed by it all.
While we ate, the Earl plied Berden with questions about the current state of affairs in London, particularly the progress in building up the navy. I merely listened quietly as I ate. Berden himself put a few questions about matters here in the Low Countries, which the Earl answered readily enough. There was little to report. Parma was strengthening defences around his coastal positions and had not made any recent advances against the Dutch. We were already well aware of the English Catholic traitors in the army – Sir William Stanley and Rowland York. Earlier in the year, when Leicester was in England, he had left them in command of the city of Deventer and the Sconce of Zutphen. In the Earl’s absence they had both defected to the Spanish and handed over their commands and their armies to Parma in return for bribes. This treason on the part of English officers had aggravated the tension between the Earl and the Hollanders, though his responsibility for their defection could probably be set down to incompetence, rather than treachery.
During all this discussion, and indeed ever since we had come in, the two younger men had sat in silence, though I noticed that they listened intently. As though finally recalling their presence, Leicester introduced them.
‘Sir John Worthington, one of my cavalry captains, and Mijnheer van Leyden, who acts as liaison between our forces and those of the United Provinces.’
Both men rose and bowed; Berden and I did the same. Worthington was a very sleek, elegant officer, whose immaculate uniform had clearly never seen a battlefield. His glance passed over me indolently. I noticed he paid closer attention to Berden, although I did not gain the impression they had ever met. I could not quite make out van Leyden. A little older than Worthington, even in civilian clothes he carried much more distinctly the air of an army officer, or perhaps simply of a man accustomed to commanding others. It was something in the way he held himself. By contrast, he studied me more closely than Berden. From the corner of my eye I had caught something pass between Berden and van Leyden – a glance, a tiny movement of the head – which I read as a sign that they knew each other, but would not acknowledge it openly.
At last it seemed we were free to leave. Berden bowed again to Leicester.
‘We must find ourselves an inn, your Lordship. We thank you for an excellent dinner.’
I murmured agreement.
‘You may stay here, if you wish,’ Leicester said. ‘I am sure there are rooms enough.’
‘That is most kind,’ Berden said, ‘but we would not wish to trouble you or your staff further. We may not stay in Amsterdam after this night. Dr Alvarez and I have some further errands to undertake for Sir Francis,’ he said, ‘before we return to England. Our ship will fetch us home in three weeks. If there should be any letters you wish to send with us, shall we call before we leave?’
‘Aye. There is sure to be something. I wish you good fortune in your “errands” for Sir Francis.’ He smiled somewhat wolfishly, so that I wondered how much he had guessed of our real purpose in coming here.
With more bows and courtesies we left the room, to find the same liveried servant waiting to show us out. Our horses were stamping impatiently in the cold outside. I was concerned that they had been left so long unprotected, for the wind was rising again and an aura of damp rose from the canal which ran along the street. I shivered. It had been warm in the Earl’s room, with that large fire blazing, and we had not been invited to shed our cloaks, so the cold damp air struck us now all the more forcibly.
We set off back towards the square with the public well, where Berden said there was a comfortable inn called the Prins Willem.
‘They do not forget their William of Orange,’ he said, ‘so wickedly assassinated.’
‘I think it was that assassination which has made Sir Francis all the more vigilant over the Queen’s safety,’ I said. ‘Phelippes told me that she took it very badly, saw her danger as all the greater.’
‘Well, if the Spanish can succeed in murdering one prince, it will convince them that they have a good chance of succeeding again.’
‘Nicholas,’ I said, ‘did you know either of those men? The ones with Leicester?’
‘Worthington – I have heard his name but know nothing more about him. As for van Leyden, yes. We have met in the past, when he was acting as an interpreter.’
‘He is to be trusted?’
‘As much as any of the Hollanders, I suppose. They are beginning to lose their trust in us.’
‘They have some cause.’
‘There are arguments on both sides, Kit. This war against Spain here in the Low Countries seems like to go on for ever and Sir Francis has told me that the Queen has become very impatient with all it has cost us in money and men’s lives. She thinks the Dutch leaders do not show sufficient gratitude for our aid. On the other hand, they are our loyal allies. If we abandon them and Spain overruns this country, it will be child’s play for Spain to attack England, and almost certainly conquer us. Spain’s troops – their battle-hardened troops – will no longer be tied down here. They can easily be carried across the Channel, where there is no hope that we can resist them.’
‘I understood from Phelippes that the Hollanders once welcomed Leicester and nominated him Governor General.’
Berden grinned. ‘Her Majesty did not care for that. It gave the Earl too much power. She forced him to resign the position. And now they have fallen out of love with him. We would have far greater success here with Sir John Norreys in command, but Leicester hates him.’
‘Because he is a gifted soldier?’
‘Aye, almost certainly. Amongst other reasons. And when it comes to appointing a commander for the army in England, next year, when the Spaniards attack, who do you think the Queen will choose?’
‘Not Norreys?’
‘Not Norreys.’
‘But Leicester’s history in command of armies is but one disaster after another!’
Berden smiled and shook his head. ‘Who are we, to question the judgement of monarchs?’
The Prins Willem had a room for us and stabling for our horses. I was glad to see Hector safely into a warm stall that did not toss under his feet like the ship and was protected against the rising winter wind by brick walls rather than thin canvas. When the horses were fed and watered, and buckled into their blankets, we made our way back to the inn.
‘Nicholas,’ I said, remembering, ‘you have not taught me how to vault on to a horse from the rear, as you promised.’
‘There has been no opportunity,’ he protested, ‘and here in the middle of the town is not the place. When we travel south and are out in the countryside, then there will be a chance.’
‘We are going down to the Spanish lines, then?’ I hoped my fear did not show in my voice.
‘That is what Sir Francis wants, so that is what we must do, if we can. Before that, however, we must part company for a while. I have business in Den Haag. I think you should stay here in Amsterdam and, as Sir Francis said, keep your eyes and ears open amongst the troops. Stay inconspicuous, but find out what you can. I’ll return here when I have finished in Den Haag.’
‘How long will that be?’ I asked, as we opened the door into the warmth and light of the inn.
‘At least a week. Perhaps ten days. That will leave us a week to head down towards Parma’s army, then three or four days to come back to Amsterdam or make for the coast if the canal is frozen.’
As we had already dined at the Earl’s residence, we told the inn keeper, who spoke good English, that we did not need food, but made our way to our room. It was comfortable and very clean, much cleaner than most of the English inns I had encountered in my rather limited experience. Berden dropped his pack on one of the beds.
‘I’m going down for a drink and to listen to the men drinking here. I noticed that most of them were English soldiers.’
I nodded. I too had noticed. ‘I shall go to bed. I am tired.’
He laughed. ‘Somewhat uncomfortable with the horses last night, was it?’
‘Not really.’ I did not tell him that I had been kept awake by fear of what the next stage of our mission entailed.
When he had gone, I seized my chance to use the pisspot in privacy, then shed my boots and lay down on my bed. The straw mattress was topped with one stuffed with goose feathers, and there was another goose feather mattress for a cover. For the first time in several days I was truly warm. Within minutes I was asleep.
The next morning as we broke our fast in the inn parlour with cold meats and cheeses, Berden told me he had paid for the room for the next week.
‘I have told the inn keeper that you will be remaining in Amsterdam, while I will be travelling about. It is unlikely that I will return in less than a week, but no need to tell him that.’
‘You said you know the town well,’ I said. ‘Do you know Reiger Straat?’
‘It’s not far from here. Go back to the Earl’s house, then follow the canal until it flows into another one. Reiger Straat runs off to the left, along that canal. Why do you ask?’
‘A friend of mine told me her cousin lives there. If I had the chance, she asked me to take him news of her family.’
He considered this for a moment, frowning. ‘You had best tell me the name of your friend and her cousin.’
This annoyed me somewhat, for I felt it was no concern of his, but I was in some sense under his direction, so I said, ‘It is Sara Lopez, the wife of Ruy Lopez, the Queen’s personal physician. Her cousin is Ettore Añez, a merchant dealing in precious stones, the nephew of Dunstan Añez, the Queen’s Purveyor of Spices.’ I laid a good deal of emphasis on these links to the Queen.
His face cleared. ‘Ah, that is quite permissible. Dr Lopez has been of service to Sir Francis, and so has Senhor Añez.’
I wasn’t sure which Senhor Añez he meant, but I let that pass. ‘So you will have no objection if I call on Senhor Añez?’ I said, with an edge of false humility in my tone.
He looked at me sharply. ‘These are dangerous times, Kit. You should realise that. And in a foreign country one must be particularly careful to watch every step. Take care that you do so while you are alone in the town. I know that you are new to this . . . business. Caution and discretion are often the only shield for an intelligencer from arrest or even death, and don’t forget it.’
I felt my cheeks burning as I said, ‘I’ll not forget.’
‘Good.’ He dismissed the subject and instead explained the route he would be following and said again that he was unlikely to return in less than a week.
I saw him out to the stables and waited while he saddled Redknoll. Then he was on his way.
When he had disappeared around a corner of the narrow street, I felt, suddenly, curiously, alone. Berden was not exactly a friend, but he was a steady companion, totally to be trusted, and much more experienced than I. I realised now how much I had depended on him ever since we had left Seething Lane. Now that I was on my own, I was uncertain what I should do. It was all very well for both Sir Francis and Berden to tell me to keep my eyes and ears open, but I could not sit all day in an inn, hoping that I would be fortunate enough to overhear some careless talk. What should I do with all the rest of my time? The soldiers were certain to have military duties during the day and were most likely to frequent the inns in the evenings. It was still early morning and a whole day stretched ahead of me.
I decided that the best way to occupy this first day was to start finding my way about the town. Such knowledge might be useful later. It seemed a confusing maze of twisting streets and unexpected waterways, but Berden had learned to find his way about it and so could I.
For the rest of the day I made forays out from the square in which the Prins Willem stood, building up a map of the town in my head. I went on foot, not on horseback, partly because I found that an easier way to memorise the streets and partly because, mingling in with those on foot, I was less likely to draw attention to myself. Indeed I found that there were fewer horsemen than in London. Even most of the carts were either pushed by men or hauled by large dogs, something I had not seen either in Portugal or England. A few coaches and heavier carts were drawn by horses, and the occasional nobleman or official rode past, but few ordinary men went mounted. As I did when in London, I walked everywhere, though I decided that in a day or two, when Hector had rested from the journey, I would ride out into the countryside, perhaps to the English camp, where most of the troops were billeted.
Amsterdam seemed a clean and tidy small town. The people were well though not richly clothed and I saw only one beggar, a man who had lost both legs, so I took him for a former soldier. He sat on a little wheeled platform beside the steps up to one of the severely plain Dutch churches, with one of those large dogs at his side, occasionally playing simple melodies on a pipe. Berden had explained the Dutch coins to me before he left, so I picked out a small one from my purse and dropped it into the man’s upturned cap, where there were few others. He nodded his thanks, still playing.
‘You shouldn’t encourage him.’
The voice, an English voice, came from behind me and I spun quickly on my heel.
It was a fat man, in rude good health, who shook his head disparagingly.
‘We don’t like beggars in Amsterdam.’
‘But you are English.’
‘English father, Dutch mother. I bestride the Channel, and have lived in both countries.’ He laughed heartily at his own image, spreading his arms wide. Then his face darkened. ‘And as I say, we do not like beggars in Amsterdam.’
‘And how is that poor fellow to live, having lost both legs?’ I was furious, thinking of William Baker and his great good fortune in having a family and an occupation. ‘I assume he lost them fighting the Spanish.’
‘Aye, I did that.’ The beggar spoke in English, though with a noticeable accent. ‘Blown off by a cannon ball at Zutphen.’
‘A year ago?’ I said. ‘Where Sir Philip Sidney died?’
‘Aye. He was a good man.’
‘You see.’ I turned back to the fat man who had accosted me. ‘An old soldier. We should be grateful to him and his kind.’
The fat man shrugged, which brought his chest up to meet his cascading chins. ‘You have no proof. He may be lying.’
The beggar’s dog gave a low growl and the hairs stood up on his neck, but the beggar smoothed them down and whispered some words in Dutch.
‘I think not. I am a physician and I have seen such injuries before, some from Sluys.’
Why should he assume the beggar was lying? There must be many maimed soldiers in the Low Countries after the long years of fighting. Something stirred in my memory. I was sure I had seen the fat man before. Then I remembered. The previous evening in the Prins Willem, he had been at the far side of the parlour when Berden and I had been arranging our room with the inn keeper. He had been with a group of similar men, all large and well fed, drinking heartily and, I was sure, speaking Dutch. I had not noticed him this morning, when Berden and I had been breaking our fast in that same parlour, but it had been early and not many people were about.
As if he caught some sign of recognition in my eyes, the fat man held out his hand.
‘Cornelius Parker, at your service.’ He bowed.
I shook his hand and returned the bow.
‘You are here with the army?’ he said. ‘One of our young officers?’
‘No, no. Merely a messenger, and here in Amsterdam for a short time only, before I return to England.’
‘Well, if I can be of any service to you while you are here, Master . . .?’
‘Alvarez,’ I said, trapped by the habit of courtesy into giving my name.
His eyes widened. ‘Spanish?’
‘No.’ I would not elaborate to this importunate stranger.
‘I am a merchant here in Amsterdam. Fine fabrics, many imported from the east, Constantinople, Ragusa, even silk from China. I would be happy to oblige you in any way I can. I have the entrée to many fine houses, and amusements of every sort.’ He leered and winked at this, which distorted his superficially amiable features and made it plain exactly what kind of entertainments he had in mind.
I simply bowed, and since it was clear I would say no more, he bowed yet again and walked off, surprisingly briskly for a man of his bulk. I realised that the maimed soldier had been listening to every word of this exchange. Exasperated, I looked down at him, smiled and shrugged.
‘He will not get any custom from me.’ I dropped another coin into the hat, a larger one.
The soldier did not return my smile but looked at me seriously, then reached up and laid a hand on my arm.
‘Be careful,’ he said. ‘That is a bad man.’
