He closed the door behind him while the man by the hearth looked Thomas over with keen eyes before he nodded a respectful greeting and turned his attention back to building up the fire. When he had finished he brushed his hands together and eased himself down on to a small bench next to the fireplace. To his side was the room’s only other door. Thomas removed his cloak, gloves and hat and set them down beside him as he settled on a bench opposite. For a moment he relished the rosy atmosphere and let the warmth gradually penetrate his garments and take the chill off his flesh.
At length he looked up to examine the young man more closely and was surprised to find him staring back at him. Far from being discomforted by having this scrutiny discovered and lowering his gaze, the man continued to study Thomas in a manner he found overfamiliar.
‘Do I know you?’ asked Thomas.
‘No.’
‘Then do you know me?’
‘This is the first time I have ever seen you.’ His voice was cultured and Thomas could not quite place the accent. But before he could pursue the conversation, the door beside the young man opened and a frail-looking clerk in blue livery stepped into the room. He cleared his throat and looked towards Thomas.
‘Sir Thomas Barrett?’
‘Yes.’
‘The master will see you now.’
‘So early? I was supposed to see him after six.’
‘He is ready for you now, sir.’
‘Very well.’ Thomas rose from his bench and cast a final glance towards the young man, who inclined his head slightly in response.
The door gave way to a small room with a window overlooking the courtyard at the back of the house. A desk and stool stood beneath the window, with a large document chest on either side. The clerk scurried past Thomas and rapped lightly on a door on the far side of his office. There was a brief pause before he reached for the latch and gently pushed the door open and stepped across the threshold.
‘Sir Thomas, master.’
‘Pray show him in,’ a deep voice responded.
The clerk backed out and gestured to Thomas to enter. The Secretary of State’s domestic office was in proportion to his importance. The room stretched from the courtyard at the back of the house to Drury Lane, which a series of leaded windows overlooked. The walls were lined with filled bookcases, more books than Thomas had ever seen in one place. He estimated there must be at least four or five hundred of them. A truly magnificent private library, he marvelled with a touch of envy. There were two fireplaces in the study to heat each end, and chairs were positioned between the bookcases, enough of them to seat perhaps thirty or forty guests. Between the two fireplaces was a large desk upon which rested a wooden tray with documents piled within it. A pair of inkwells and a handful of pens lay neatly beside them. Behind the desk sat a large man with a silk cap. His hair was trimmed in a neat line about his scalp and his beard formed a tidy point above a double chin. He appeared to be a few years younger than Thomas. There was only one other man in the room, thin and clothed in a black gown that reached almost to the floor. He stood close to one of the fires, warming his back. Both of them regarded Thomas briefly before the man seated behind the desk gestured to him impatiently.
‘Come, sit down, Sir Thomas. There.’ He indicated one of a handful of cushioned chairs on the other side of his desk, arranged in a shallow arc. ‘You too, my dear Francis.’
Thomas did as he was bid and sat in the middle of the chairs so that the other man would be displaced from the centre, the implicit position of most importance. Once they were settled Sir Robert leaned forward and fixed Thomas with a steady gaze. His expression was good-natured and he spoke in a pleasant tone. ‘I trust your journey was not too troubling?’
‘Not at all, sir. The roads were safe and the snow was only light. I made good time.’
‘So I see. You reached London earlier than I thought you would.’ Thomas smiled faintly. ‘A man who is summoned by the Secretary of State does not tarry a moment longer than he can help it, Sir Robert. And so here I am, at your pleasure.’
‘Indeed, and I dare say that the cause of my request is uppermost in your mind.’
‘Of course.’
‘Then let me say that your being here is due to the delicacy of the task I have in mind for you. Even though our blessed sovereign has been on the throne for five years, there are still many who take exception to her elevation to the throne and not just because of her espousal of the Protestant faith. I take it you know of John Knox?’
‘I have heard the name.’
‘And you are no doubt aware that he cries out against the very principle of a woman succeeding to the throne. Perhaps you have read some of his pamphlets on the matter.’
‘It would be a foolish man who dared to read his arguments, Sir Robert. His pamphlets are banned. It is a capital offence to be discovered in possession of them, I believe.’
‘Quite so. But you are familiar with his thoughts.’
‘I have heard of them,’ Thomas replied carefully, aware that he was being watched closely by the other man in the room, who no doubt served as a witness. ‘Though I cannot recall who was speaking at the time.’
‘Naturally.’ Sir Robert smiled. ‘And it would be pointless for me to press you on the matter, still less to subject you to the pains in order to encourage your memory of the names of those involved.’ He chuckled as if to underscore the levity of the comment, but Thomas understood the threat of torture well enough. He was completely in this man’s power, regardless of his views of Knox or any of those who opposed Queen Elizabeth. As a Catholic his jeopardy was doubled. He returned Sir Robert’s gaze without expression. There was an uncomfortable silence before Sir Robert eased himself back a short distance and raised his hands slightly.
‘Ah! Pardon me, I forget my manners. I should have introduced you two gentlemen. Sir Thomas, it is my pleasure to acquaint you with Sir Francis Walsingham, the partner of my labours in the service of our sovereign. I trust him implicitly,’ Sir Robert added with emphasis.
Thomas turned towards him and nodded. ‘Walsingham.’
The other man stared back and responded coldly, ‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Sir Thomas.’
‘You must forgive Sir Francis,’ the host laughed. ‘He is no lover of the Church of Rome and sometimes that causes him to forget certain social niceties. But come now, let us not dance about the point any longer. I can assure you, Sir Thomas, that you have not been asked here for the sake of persecution. I have a task for you. One that will be an opportunity to serve your sovereign and your country and put the question of your loyalty to both beyond reproach.’
‘I do not consider my loyalty to either to be in doubt,’ Thomas countered evenly.
‘Of course not. You know your own heart and I would not have asked you here if I had any doubts. Let us take that as settled. Agreed?’ He shot Walsingham a warning glance. The latter nodded.
‘There. Which brings us to the first question I have to put to you, Sir Thomas. I believe that you were visited two days ago by a French knight who belongs to the rather select Holy Order of the Hospitaller Knights of St John.’ He turned to Walsingham. ‘That is their title, is it not?’
‘More or less.’
Cecil’s eyes fixed on Thomas and the good-natured wrinkles that spread out at their corners eased into a cold, heartless stare. ‘Would you be so good as to tell us why a French knight from a Catholic military order might travel across Europe to pay a visit to you, Sir Thomas?’
CHAPTER TEN
So, as he had suspected, Philippe de Nanterre’s visit was the reason he was here, Thomas thought wryly. For twenty years he had done all that was in his power to avoid attention or attract suspicion and now it was all undone by the young knight and his masters on Malta. His abiding feeling was resentment rather than fear and he returned Cecil’s gaze without flinching as he replied. ‘He came to deliver a letter.’
‘What letter?’ Walsingham cut in. ‘Where is it?’
‘At home. In my study.’
‘And what did it say?’
‘The letter was addressed to me, Sir Francis. I do not see why I should share its contents with you.’
‘Really?’ For the first time Walsingham smiled, his thin lips parting to reveal neat but stained teeth. ‘I wonder what you have to hide.’
‘Nothing.’
‘Then tell us.’
Thomas gritted his teeth and felt the first surge of anger ripple through his veins as he stared at Walsingham. The man was perhaps ten years his junior and in the prime of life, but he had lived in London too long and the pallor of his complexion told of lack of fitness and strength. In a fight, Thomas knew that he could break the man into pieces and the mere thought of it fired the taste for violence he had long suppressed. There was the true danger and he forced himself to edge back from the temptation. He closed his eyes for a moment and drew a steady breath. There was nothing to be gained from this confrontation.
‘The letter was from Sir Oliver Stokely, in Malta,’ he began. ‘He has requested that I honour my oath to the Order and return to defend the island against the host that the Turkish Sultan is gathering to hurl upon Malta. That is the substance of it.’
‘Sir Oliver Stokely,’ Cecil mused with a faint smile. ‘A distant cousin of mine, as it happens. We were close as children, until he let his faith lead him astray. More than a little astray in the end, as his presence in Malta eloquently demonstrates. But I digress. I assume your guest required a response from you before continuing with his travels.’
‘He did.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘I accepted.’
Cecil and Walsingham exchanged a brief glance and Thomas thought he sensed their disappointment with his reply. The former returned his gaze to Thomas.
‘Why did you accept?’
‘I swore an oath that is still binding. The Grand Master has summoned me and I must go.’
‘You still consider you are bound by an oath taken so many years ago?’
‘A man is only as good as his word,’ Thomas replied. ‘Even so, it is a long time since I shared the aims and beliefs of the Order.’
‘Then you disagree with defending Christendom from the Turks?’
‘No. I believe in self-defence. I have lived long and seen enough to know that only a fool turns the other cheek. What I wish for is peace between men and their faiths. What has the war with Islam ever given us but bloodshed, sorrow and destruction? Do you know how many years the Order has been waging its war against the enemy? Over five centuries.’ For a brief moment Thomas sensed the terrible burden of such a length of time devoted to unremitting hatred and violence. Generation upon generation steeped in the gore of innocents. He shook his head slowly. ‘I would rather the struggle came to an end and there was peace between Christendom and the Sultan.’
‘Peace with the Sultan?’ Walsingham laughed harshly. ‘Did you ever hear of such a thing?’
Thomas looked at him. ‘If I have to kill again then it will not be in the name of religion.’
‘Yet you were happy to become a mercenary and to kill for money for many years,’ Walsingham sneered, and was about to speak again when his superior raised a hand to stop him.
Cecil folded his hands together and regarded Thomas thoughtfully. ‘It is an admirable sentiment, Sir Thomas, truly. In a better world than this I would share your convictions. However, the world is filled with sinners going about their mischief and we must do what we can to obstruct them. The Sultan is one such man who must be stopped. Your former comrade, Sir Oliver, was correct to write that your Order is in peril on Malta. We have heard the same from our own sources.’
Thomas’s eyes narrowed. ‘Pardon me, Sir Robert, but how would you know what Sir Oliver wrote to me?’
‘Ah.’ A pained look crossed Cecil’s face. ‘I had hoped to return this to you a bit later on.’ He fished a hand into his robe and extracted a folded piece of paper with a familiar broken seal, and slid it across the table towards Thomas. He stared at the letter in frank surprise.
‘How did you get this?’
‘Do you imagine that we would permit a foreign soldier free passage across England without ensuring that his every movement was observed?’
‘You had him followed to my house?’
‘Of course.’
Then it struck Thomas. ‘But this letter was in my study this morning. I placed it there, in my desk. I am certain of it.’
‘Yes, you did. But one of my agents called at your house after you had left. He managed to persuade a servant to relate all that had passed and it was a simple matter to search your study. The letter was found and brought to me as swiftly as possible. Sir Francis and I were able to read it a good two hours before you arrived.’
‘Did your man harm any of my servants in order to get your information?’ Thomas asked quietly.
‘He didn’t have to.’ Cecil smiled. ‘Your servants are Catholics, like yourself. It was a simple matter to remind them of the fate that befalls those accused of heresy, and a somewhat lower standard of proof is required to charge a servant than a man of status like yourself, Sir Thomas.’
‘Although that can be arranged,’ Walsingham added darkly.
‘Sir Francis, if you please, there’s no need to threaten our guest.’ Cecil turned back to Thomas. ‘There, the letter is your property. Please take it. I regret that we had to read it, but in my position I have to guard against any potential threat to Her Majesty. You must understand that.’
‘I understand perfectly,’ Thomas replied as he retrieved the letter, holding it by the tips of his fingers as if it had been sullied. ‘There is no base behaviour or abuse of common law that you will not use to bend people to your will.’
Cecil shrugged easily. ‘I do what I must.’
‘And was it necessary to steal this letter? Why ask me about the purpose of Sir Philippe’s mission if you knew all this from reading the message?’
‘We had to know that you were telling the truth. We had to know if you were hiding anything from us. As it is you have passed the test.’
‘How gratifying,’ Thomas replied sourly. ‘Then I think it is time for you to explain this task which you mentioned earlier. Although you should know that I will not help you to persecute my fellow Catholics here in England.’
‘I would hardly expect a man of your integrity to do that, Sir Thomas. Well then, let us get down to brass tacks. As you know, the Turks are preparing to strike a blow against one of the cornerstones of Christian influence in the Mediterranean. If they take Malta, Sicily will be next. Then Italy and Rome itself. If Rome falls then it will be as if the death knell of our faith, Protestant as well as Catholic, has sounded. Suleiman has made no secret of his aim to be master of the known world and impose Islam on all his subjects. He has chosen a good time to unleash his forces against us. Europe is divided by war and religious faction. Spain and France are snapping at each other’s throats and the great fleet that Venice might have sent against the Turks has been decommissioned following the cowardly alliance they signed with Suleiman to safeguard their interests. So you see, your brothers in the Order can expect little help from outside in their stand against the Turks. Only Spain has promised to send what aid she can.’ Cecil paused to lend his next words emphasis. ‘If you agree to return to Malta you will be in the vanguard of the fight to save Europe from the infidel. Save Malta and save us all.’
Thomas could not resist a cynical smile. ‘So you have called me here to ask me to join the fight against Islam.’
‘That, and for one other purpose.’ Cecil sat back and wagged a finger at Walsingham. ‘You explain, Sir Francis.’
The other man collected his thoughts before he addressed Thomas. ‘Since you have elected to return to Malta you will have a chance to serve England’s interests in a more direct fashion. Earlier, you upbraided Sir Robert and myself over the measures we are obliged to pursue in order to preserve order in England.’