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Authors: Rory Clements
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pleasure. And as you must know, Topcliffe would happily take every last Papist and s-sodomite to Tyburn and nail them to a cross.’
‘And he might have known of Walsingham’s dealings with Giovanni?’
‘Most likely. Topcliffe was very useful and close to Mr S-s-secretary in those days. At the time he tried to persuade him that the Earl of Oxford was a traitor and that he was Mendoza’s man. He urged Walsingham to arrest him, but there was no proof. Topcliffe tried everything he could to find evidence against the earl. The question was put to every man and woman he interrogated and tortured, but he could find nothing. Nothing at all.’
Shakespeare listened intently and thought hard. This was the clue to it. But where exactly did it lead? If Topcliffe had killed Giovanni, why initiate an inquiry by sending the body to the Searcher of the Dead? What of Oxford? He was certainly capable of murder. Might he have discovered that Giovanni had spied on him and killed him in revenge?
Or perhaps the world of spying had nothing to do with it at all. Was this a crime of passion? There was at least one man within the manor at Stoke Newington suffused with enough jealousy and hatred to commit murder. Perhaps it was a simple falling-out of thieves. If Giovanni was clipping coins on a large scale, then he must have been involved with others. Clipping was a crime so profitable that men thought nothing of killing to control it. Shakespeare sighed. This was all far from done with.
Arthur Gregory made his guests sit down, glad of a chance to talk about old times. He asked about life in the service of Sir Robert Cecil.
‘He is a very different man from Mr Secretary,’ said Shakespeare. ‘And you must know that we still have Frank Mills with us.’
‘Ah, poor Frank. St-st-still being cuckolded by his harlot of a wife?’
‘It is worse than ever. I tell him he should leave her and find himself someone new, but he won’t have it. He says he loves her.’ Shakespeare laughed. ‘What is the use? There is nothing any man can do to help another’s marriage.’
‘And in the meantime you have a war of s-s-secrets to wage.’
‘I do. And now it is all Ireland.’
‘My sp-special interest.’
Of course. No one in Walsingham’s office had known more about the conflicts and alliances of the principal Irish clans than Arthur Gregory. ‘Are you happy in your retirement, Arthur?’
‘Yes ... yes, I am happy. Why sh-should I not be?’
‘No moments of tedium when you find yourself wishing to use your razor brain once more in the service of Queen and country?’ Shakespeare laughed. ‘The truth is, I could do with some little help over Ireland.’
‘You wish me to work for you?’
‘As a drudge, nothing more.’ Shakespeare laughed again and looked around the well-appointed hall. Arthur Gregory clearly did not want for money. ‘There would be gold, of course. A little gold.’
‘I confess there are moments of tedium and languor in my life. What do you wish of me?’
‘To find me an Irishman – no, two Irishmen, unconnected to each other, to inveigle themselves into the clan of Tyrone. It is vital that they are not connected.’
‘Now that is a challenge.’
‘Will you do it?’
‘Indeed, Mr Sh-shakespeare. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to dust off my wit – or what little of it remains – and put it to some useful work. Knowledge, as we all know, is everything.’
Knowledge is everything. That was the first lesson that all who worked for Walsingham learned. And knowledge was always gleaned by having someone trustworthy in the enemy camp. Suddenly, Shakespeare felt hot. Knowledge. Of course. Not Giovanni Jesu. He was merely the messenger, the go-between. There was another traitor within the household of the Earl of Oxford, one of far greater importance to England’s foes.
Shakespeare had to leave at once. The heat rushed up the
‘And he might have known of Walsingham’s dealings with Giovanni?’
‘Most likely. Topcliffe was very useful and close to Mr S-s-secretary in those days. At the time he tried to persuade him that the Earl of Oxford was a traitor and that he was Mendoza’s man. He urged Walsingham to arrest him, but there was no proof. Topcliffe tried everything he could to find evidence against the earl. The question was put to every man and woman he interrogated and tortured, but he could find nothing. Nothing at all.’
Shakespeare listened intently and thought hard. This was the clue to it. But where exactly did it lead? If Topcliffe had killed Giovanni, why initiate an inquiry by sending the body to the Searcher of the Dead? What of Oxford? He was certainly capable of murder. Might he have discovered that Giovanni had spied on him and killed him in revenge?
Or perhaps the world of spying had nothing to do with it at all. Was this a crime of passion? There was at least one man within the manor at Stoke Newington suffused with enough jealousy and hatred to commit murder. Perhaps it was a simple falling-out of thieves. If Giovanni was clipping coins on a large scale, then he must have been involved with others. Clipping was a crime so profitable that men thought nothing of killing to control it. Shakespeare sighed. This was all far from done with.
Arthur Gregory made his guests sit down, glad of a chance to talk about old times. He asked about life in the service of Sir Robert Cecil.
‘He is a very different man from Mr Secretary,’ said Shakespeare. ‘And you must know that we still have Frank Mills with us.’
‘Ah, poor Frank. St-st-still being cuckolded by his harlot of a wife?’
‘It is worse than ever. I tell him he should leave her and find himself someone new, but he won’t have it. He says he loves her.’ Shakespeare laughed. ‘What is the use? There is nothing any man can do to help another’s marriage.’
‘And in the meantime you have a war of s-s-secrets to wage.’
‘I do. And now it is all Ireland.’
‘My sp-special interest.’
Of course. No one in Walsingham’s office had known more about the conflicts and alliances of the principal Irish clans than Arthur Gregory. ‘Are you happy in your retirement, Arthur?’
‘Yes ... yes, I am happy. Why sh-should I not be?’
‘No moments of tedium when you find yourself wishing to use your razor brain once more in the service of Queen and country?’ Shakespeare laughed. ‘The truth is, I could do with some little help over Ireland.’
‘You wish me to work for you?’
‘As a drudge, nothing more.’ Shakespeare laughed again and looked around the well-appointed hall. Arthur Gregory clearly did not want for money. ‘There would be gold, of course. A little gold.’
‘I confess there are moments of tedium and languor in my life. What do you wish of me?’
‘To find me an Irishman – no, two Irishmen, unconnected to each other, to inveigle themselves into the clan of Tyrone. It is vital that they are not connected.’
‘Now that is a challenge.’
‘Will you do it?’
‘Indeed, Mr Sh-shakespeare. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to dust off my wit – or what little of it remains – and put it to some useful work. Knowledge, as we all know, is everything.’
Knowledge is everything. That was the first lesson that all who worked for Walsingham learned. And knowledge was always gleaned by having someone trustworthy in the enemy camp. Suddenly, Shakespeare felt hot. Knowledge. Of course. Not Giovanni Jesu. He was merely the messenger, the go-between. There was another traitor within the household of the Earl of Oxford, one of far greater importance to England’s foes.
Shakespeare had to leave at once. The heat rushed up the
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