Prophecy - Страница 73

I try to reply but I am so cold I cannot stop the violent convulsions shaking my frame. Walsingham smiles, and gives my shoulder a fatherly squeeze.

‘Oh, I know you don’t believe in the Devil any more than you believe in God,’ he whispers. ‘You’ve done well, Bruno, once again. I will put you into the care of the Earl of Leicester, and when you are warm and rested, I’ll hear this story.’

He rises to his feet; I tug at his cloak and draw him back.

‘I believe in evil,’ I manage, through my teeth, when his face is level with mine.

He nods once; stands, turns and is gone. A guard with a torch holds out his hand to help me up, crooks my numb arm around his shoulders, and leads me into the palace.

Chapter Eighteen

Mortlake

1st November, Year of Our Lord 1583

In Mortlake, the trees and hedgerows stand silvered with frost along the riverbank, motionless as painted backgrounds from a playhouse under the hard blue sky. The path from the river stairs is brittle underfoot, where the night frost has turned the pitted mud track rigid as if all its markings were carved from sparkling granite. The sun hangs low but bright, brushing the landscape and the crooked roof of Dee’s house with a sheen of pale gold. But my heart is heavy as I open the garden gate, and when Jane Dee opens the front door to me, I see she has been crying. She embraces me briefly, then gestures over her shoulder.

‘You talk sense to him, Bruno, because I cannot.’ Her words come out clipped with pent emotion.

I hesitate, but decide it is probably better not to ask her any questions yet.

The laboratory looks denuded; today nothing breathes or bubbles or stinks or smokes, and a number of the stills have been emptied and dismantled. Dee stands by his work bench, haphazardly throwing books into an open trunk. I clear my throat and he looks up, then his face creases into a wide smile in the depths of his whiskers.

‘Bruno!’ He hops over a crate packed with glass bottles, which clinks alarmingly as he catches it with his foot, and enfolds me in a bear hug.

‘You’re in good spirits,’ I observe. I hope I don’t sound too bitter.

‘How could I not be, my friend?’ He grips me by the shoulders and looks me in the face, his eyes gleaming. ‘Bohemia, Bruno. Can you picture it? Prague! Even you have not seen Prague in your travels. The court of a philosopher emperor, himself a seeker of hidden truths, where those of us who pursue ancient knowledge not written in the books of the church fathers are not persecuted and condemned but revered and encouraged!’ He gives my shoulders a little shake, as if this will clarify his vision. ‘The Emperor Rudolf is the most enlightened ruler in Europe. They say his court is filled with rare marvels. Wooden doves that really fly, and —‘

‘You don’t have to go, you know,’ I break in. ‘Henry Howard is under house arrest and shortly to be removed to the Fleet Prison. Fowler is arrested on suspicion of the court murders. Your name is clear now.’

‘It is not so simple as that, as you must know.’ He looks down, regretful. ‘I had a visit yesterday from the Earl of Leicester’s secretary.’

‘What did he want?’

‘He brought me a gift from the queen. Forty gold angels, if you can believe it.’

‘Then you are still in her favour!’ I say, brightening.

‘Hers, yes.’ He pulls at his beard. ‘But not the Privy Council’s. It was a going-away present, Bruno, and I would be a fool to regard it otherwise. A token of her esteem, yes, but also a way of thanking me for making her course simpler by leaving quietly. After this recent business at court, Burghley will draft yet more laws against astrologers and those who lay claim to prophecy and revelations — she could not continue to show me favour publicly. She has offered me a way out and I accept it with gratitude. I am fifty-six years old — is this not an extraordinary opportunity for me?’ He forces the enthusiasm back into his voice.

‘But what about —?’ I wave a hand vaguely around the room. What about me, is what I really want to say, and chide myself for being so selfish. The prospect of London without Dee, now that Sidney has also become so distant, is a bleak one for a foreign heretic in exile. Seeing his laboratory stripped down like this, his books in the chest, I realise how much I will miss him. ‘All your books,’ I finish, unconvincingly.

‘Jane’s brother will live here and take care of the library,’ he says airily. ‘Of course, you must use it whenever you wish, Bruno, don’t worry about that.’

I am tempted to ask him whether Jane sees this as an extraordinary opportunity, the chance to uproot her family and travel halfway across Europe with two small children. From her face I know the answer — but I do not know what she expects me to say. Dee is right; the rumours that still persist about the murders at court, the unrest over the prophecies — all this must be quashed by the government if order is to be restored. What other choice has he? My friend would automatically find himself on the wrong side of the new laws; Elizabeth is subtly banishing him to save his life and his reputation. It is to his credit that he has determined to embrace this banishment as a new beginning. It is what I have tried to do for the past seven years, but it becomes harder with each year. Age and distance bring a yearning for home that all the freedom I enjoy in England — to read, to write and to publish without fear of the Inquisition — cannot quite outweigh.

‘Come,’ Dee says, beckoning me through to his private study, where I had once stood by and watched Ned Kelley invent the apocalyptic words of spirits. Here too, Dee’s magical paraphernalia is in the course of being packed up and boxed for travel. The showing-stone and wax seals lie in a decorated casket wrapped in the square of crimson silk; the notebooks and diaries are stacked beside it.

‘Tell me, then,’ he says, patting the lid of one of the chests and motioning for me to sit down. ‘Have they charged Howard?’

‘He is still being questioned. All they have against him is the map of safe harbours and the list of Catholic nobles they found on Throckmorton when he was intercepted on the road. They want to claim these are in Howard’s hand, but he denies it, of course. And the queen is anxious to proceed carefully with him.’ Elizabeth’s caution is a source of great anxiety to me, though I do not tell Dee this. Her refusal to allow what she pleases to call ‘hard questioning’ of Howard has left him and the Privy Council at an impasse, and if he is not formally charged with offences of treason there is every chance she may choose to free him to appease her Catholic subjects. If that were to happen, I have no doubt that he would waste no time in looking for me.

‘But they must have searched Arundel House?’ Dee continues to potter about, lifting objects, replacing them, seemingly disconcerted among his half-packed belongings.

‘Top to bottom, Walsingham told me.’ I hesitate. ‘They didn’t find the book, John. He would have mentioned it if they had, I’m sure.’

Dee shakes his head in sorrow.

‘To think you held it in your hands. Listen, while I am in Bohemia, Bruno, I will seek out every treatise, every last manuscript and antiquarian tract on cryptography that I can find. I will consult the Emperor Rudolf’s most celebrated scholars. And in the meantime you must get the book back.’ He points a finger at me.

‘There was no evidence to incriminate Philip Howard when they searched Throckmorton’s house,’ I say. ‘The earl and his wife have wisely retired from court until his uncle’s fate is decided. I would wager any money Henry gave him the book for safe-keeping before his arrest.’

Dee tilts his head and considers this. ‘Well — there is a task for you while I am gone.’ He smiles sadly. ‘Throckmorton will hang, I suppose? And Fowler?’

‘When they have finished with them in the Tower,’ I say, and we both fall silent. Fowler, true to his word, has confessed nothing; the Tower’s most skilled interrogators could not persuade him to repeat the boast he made to me in the back room of that Southwark tavern. As a precaution, Walsingham is to undertake a diplomatic mission to Scotland after Accession Day, in the hope of prising the young King James away from the vying factions of advisers and persuading him that peaceful relations with Elizabeth will serve his kingdom best. For now, all the Privy Council’s energies are bent on discovering whether anyone else might have taken up the supposed Accession Day assassination plot.

‘This country,’ Dee begins, and then spreads his hands as if he cannot find the words. ‘When I was your age, Bruno, I believed that Elizabeth Tudor would make us truly free from the superstitions and the tyranny of Rome. But when I see what they are willing to do to preserve that freedom, I must question what we have gained. Walsingham would say you cannot defend the good of the many without spilling blood, but I don’t know.’ He sighs. ‘I can only say I will not be sorry to leave this island behind me for a while. Except that I shall miss our conversations, Bruno.’

‘And I,’ I reply, with feeling. I want to say more, to let him know how he has become the nearest thing to a father in my exile, but at this moment I catch a movement behind me and see his gaze flicker over my shoulder to the doorway; he nods in recognition. I turn, and for a moment I doubt the evidence of my eyes, for there is Ned Kelley, a fraying red scarf tied around his neck and a crate of books in his arms.