A Column of Fire (110 page)

Rollo had already recruited a co-conspirator, the courtier Thomas Percy. As a Catholic, Percy would never be an advisor to the king, but James had made him one of the Gentlemen Pensioners, a group of ceremonial royal bodyguards. Percy’s support was a mixed blessing, for he was a mercurial character, alternately full of manic energy or paralysed by gloom, not unlike his ancestor Hotspur in a popular play about the youth of Henry V; but now he proved useful. At Rollo’s suggestion, Percy claimed he needed the Wardrobe Keeper’s rooms for his wife to live in while he was at court and – after a prolonged negotiation – he rented the apartment.

That was a big step forward.

Officially, Rollo was in London for a long-drawn-out lawsuit between the earl of Tyne and a neighbour about the ownership of a watermill. This was a cover story. His real purpose was to kill the king. For that, he needed more men.

Guy Fawkes was just the type he was looking for. Fawkes’s staunchly Protestant father had died when little Guy was eight, and he had been raised by a Catholic mother and stepfather. As a wealthy young man Fawkes had rejected a life of idleness, sold the estate he had inherited from his father, and set out to look for adventure. He had left England and fought for Spain against the Protestant rebels in the Netherlands, where he had learned about engineering during sieges. Now he was back in London, at a loose end, ready for excitement.

Unfortunately, Fawkes was under surveillance.

This afternoon he was at the Globe Theatre, on the south side of the river Thames, watching a new play called
Measure for Measure
. Two places along the bench from him was Nick Bellows, an unobtrusive man in drab clothes, whom Rollo knew to be one of Ned Willard’s street stalkers.

Rollo was in the crowd of groundlings without seats. He followed the play with disapproval. Its story of a strong ruler who hypocritically breaks his own laws was blatantly designed to encourage disrespect for authority. Rollo was looking for an opportunity to speak to Fawkes without attracting the notice of Bellows, but it was proving difficult. Bellows discreetly followed when Fawkes left his seat, once to buy a cup of wine and once to piss in the river.

Rollo still had not spoken to him when the play came to an end and the audience began to leave. The crowd choked the exit and the people shuffled along slowly. Rollo manoeuvred himself behind Fawkes and spoke in a low voice directly into his ear. ‘Don’t look around, whatever you do, just listen,’ he said.

Perhaps Fawkes had been involved in clandestine activity before, for he did as Rollo said, only giving an almost imperceptible nod to show that he had understood.

‘His Holiness the Pope has work for you to do,’ Rollo said in the same low tone. ‘But you’re being followed by one of King James’s spies, so first you have to shake him off. Go to a tavern and drink a cup of wine, to give me a chance to get ahead of you. Then walk west along the river, away from the bridge. Wait until there is only one boat at the beach, then hire it to take you across, leaving your tail behind. On the other side, walk quickly to Fleet Street and meet me at the York tavern.’

Fawkes nodded again once.

Rollo moved away. He went over London Bridge and walked briskly through the city and beyond its walls to Fleet Street. He stood across the street from the York, wondering whether Fawkes would come. He guessed that Fawkes would be unable to resist the call of adventure, and he was right. Fawkes appeared, walking with the characteristic swagger that made Rollo think of a prize fighter. Rollo watched for another minute or two, but neither Bellows nor anyone else was following.

He went inside.

Fawkes was in a corner with a jug of wine and two goblets. Rollo sat opposite him, with his back to the room; hiding his face was now an ingrained habit. Fawkes said: ‘Who was following me?’

‘Nick Bellows. Small man in a brown coat, sitting next but two to you.’

‘I didn’t notice him.’

‘He goes to a certain amount of trouble not to be noticed.’

‘Of course. What do you want with me?’

‘I have a simple question for you,’ Rollo said. ‘Do you have the courage to kill the king?’

Fawkes looked at him hard, weighing him up. His stare would have intimidated many men, but Rollo was his equal in self-regard, and stared right back.

At last Fawkes said: ‘Yes.’

Rollo nodded, satisfied. This was the kind of plain speaking he wanted. ‘You’ve been a soldier, you understand discipline,’ he said.

Again Fawkes just said: ‘Yes.’

‘Your new name is John Johnson.’

‘Isn’t that a bit obvious?’

‘Don’t argue. You’re going to be the caretaker of a small apartment that we’ve rented. I’ll take you there now. You can’t go back to your lodging, it may be watched.’

‘There’s a pair of pistols in my room that I’d be sorry to leave behind.’

‘I’ll send someone to collect your belongings when I’m sure the coast is clear.’

‘All right.’

‘We should go now.’

‘Where is this apartment?’

‘At Westminster,’ said Rollo. ‘In the House of Lords.’

*

I
T WAS ALREADY
dark on a rainy evening, but the London taverns and shops were lit up with lanterns and blazing torches, and Margery knew she was not mistaken when she saw her brother across the street. He was standing outside a tavern called the White Swan, apparently saying goodbye to a tall man who Margery thought she recognized.

Margery had not seen her brother for years. That suited her: she did not like to be reminded of the fact that he was Jean Langlais. Because of this terrible secret she had almost turned down Ned’s proposal of marriage fifteen years ago. But if she had done so, she would never have been able to tell him why. She loved him so much, but in the end what tipped the balance was not her love for him but his for her. He longed for her, she knew, and if she had turned him down, without plausible explanation, he would have spent the rest of his life being mystified and wounded. She had power over his life and she was unable to resist the temptation to make him happy.

She could not be comfortable with her secret, but it was like the backache that had afflicted her ever since the birth of Roger: it never ceased to hurt, but she learned to live with it.

She crossed the street. As she did so the second man left, and Rollo turned to go back into the tavern. ‘Rollo!’ she said.

He stopped suddenly at the door, startled, and for a moment he looked so fearful that she felt concerned; then he recognized her. ‘It’s you,’ he said warily.

‘I didn’t know you were in London!’ she said. ‘Wasn’t that Thomas Percy you were talking to?’

‘Yes, it was.’

‘I thought so. I recognized his prematurely grey hair.’ Margery did not know what religion Percy adhered to, but some of his famous family were Catholic, and Margery was suspicious. ‘You’re not up to your old tricks, are you, Rollo?’

‘Certainly not. All that is over.’

‘I hope so.’ Margery was not fully reassured. ‘So what are you doing here?’

‘I’m handling a protracted lawsuit for the earl of Tyne. He’s in dispute with a neighbour over the ownership of a watermill.’

That was true, Margery knew. Her son Roger had mentioned it. ‘Roger says the legal fees and bribes have already cost more than three watermills.’

‘My clever nephew is right. But the earl is obstinate. Come inside.’

They went in and sat down. A man with a big red nose brought Rollo a cup of wine without asking. His proprietorial air suggested to Margery that he was the landlord. Rollo said: ‘Thank you, Hodgkinson.’

‘Something for the lady?’ the man asked.

‘A small glass of ale, please,’ Margery said.

Hodgkinson went away, and Margery said to Rollo: ‘Are you lodging here?’

‘Yes.’

She was puzzled. ‘Doesn’t the earl of Tyne have a London house?’

‘No, he just rents one when Parliament is sitting.’

‘You should use Shiring House. Bartlet would be happy for you to stay there.’

‘There are no servants there, just a janitor, except when Bartlet comes to London.’

‘Bartlet would gladly send a couple of people up here from New Castle to look after you, if you asked him.’

Rollo looked peeved. ‘Then they would spend his money on beef and wine for themselves and feed me bacon and beer, and if I complained, they’d tell Bartlet I was too high-handed and demanding. Frankly, I prefer a tavern.’

Margery was not sure whether he was irritated by her or by the thought of dishonest servants, but she decided to drop the question. If he wanted to stay in a tavern, he could. ‘How are you, anyway?’ she said.

‘The same as ever. The earl of Tyne is a good master. How about you? Is Ned well?’

‘He’s in Paris right now.’

‘Really?’ said Rollo, interested. ‘What’s he doing there?’

‘His work,’ she said vaguely. ‘I’m not really sure.’

Rollo knew she was lying. ‘Spying on Catholics, I assume. That’s his work, as everyone knows.’

‘Come on, Rollo, it’s your fault for trying to murder his queen. Don’t pretend to be indignant.’

‘Are you happy with Ned?’

‘Yes. God in his wisdom has given me a strange life, but for the last fifteen years I have been truly happy.’ She noticed that his shoes and stockings were covered with mud. ‘How on earth did you get so dirty?’

‘I had to walk along the foreshore.’

‘Why?’

‘Long story. And I have an appointment.’ Rollo stood up.

Margery realized she was being dismissed. She kissed her brother’s cheek and left. She had not asked him what his appointment was about, and as she walked away from the tavern she asked herself why. The answer came immediately: she did not think he would tell her the truth.

*

R
OLLO IMPOSED STRICT
security at the Wardrobe Keeper’s apartment. Everyone arrived before dawn, so that they would not be seen entering. Each man brought his own food, and they did not go outside in daylight. They left again after dark.

Rollo was almost seventy, so he left the harder work to younger men such as Fawkes and Percy, but even they struggled. All were the sons of noble and wealthy families, and none of them had previously done much digging.

They had first to demolish the brick wall of the cellar, then scoop out the earth behind it. The tunnel needed to be large enough for a number of thirty-two-gallon barrels of gunpowder to be dragged inside. They saved time by making it no larger, but the disadvantage of that was that they had to work bent double, or lying down; and the confined space grew hot.

During the day they lived on salted fish, dried meat and raisins. Rollo would not let them send out for the kind of meal they were used to, fearing that they would draw attention to themselves.

It was muddy work, which was why Rollo had been embarrassingly dirty when he unexpectedly ran into Margery. The soil they removed from the tunnel had to be lugged up to ground level, then taken outside after dark and carried along Parliament Passage and down Parliament Stairs, from where it could be thrown into the river. Rollo had been unnerved when Margery asked about his filthy stockings, but she had seemed to accept his explanation.

The tunnellers were discreet, but not invisible. Even in the dark, they were sometimes seen coming and going by people carrying lanterns. To divert suspicion, Fawkes had let it be known that he had builders in, making some alterations that his master’s wife had demanded. Rollo hoped no one would notice the improbably large quantity of earth being displaced by mere alterations.

Then they ran into a difficulty so serious that Rollo was afraid it might ruin the whole plan. When they had tunnelled into the earth for several feet, they came up against a solid stone wall. Naturally, Rollo realized, the two-storey building above had proper foundations: he should have anticipated this. The work became harder and slower, but they had to go on, for they were not yet far enough under the debating chamber to be sure that the explosion would kill everyone there.

The stone foundations turned out to be several feet thick. Rollo feared they would not finish the job before the opening ceremony. Then Parliament was postponed, because of an outbreak of plague in London; and the tunnellers had a new deadline.

Even so, Rollo fretted. Progress was terribly slow. The longer they took, the more risk there was that they would be discovered. And there was another hazard. As they went farther, undermining the foundations, Rollo feared a collapse. Fawkes made stout timber props to support the roof – as he said he had done when digging under city walls in Netherlands sieges – but Rollo was not sure how much this fighting man really knew about mining. The tunnel might just fall in and kill them all. It could even bring down the entire building – which would achieve nothing if the king were not inside.

Taking a break one day, they talked about who would be in the chamber when the gunpowder went off. King James had three children. Prince Henry, who was eleven, and Prince Charles, four, would probably accompany their parents to the ceremony. ‘Assuming they both die, Princess Elizabeth will be the heir,’ said Percy. ‘She will be nine.’

Rollo had already thought about the princess. ‘We must be prepared to seize her,’ he said. ‘Whoever has her, has the throne.’

Percy said: ‘She lives at Coombe Abbey, in Warwickshire.’

‘She will need a Lord Protector, who will, of course, be the actual ruler of England.’

‘I propose my kinsman the earl of Northumberland.’

Rollo nodded. It was a good suggestion. Northumberland was one of the great peers of the realm and a Catholic sympathizer. But Rollo had a better idea. ‘I suggest the earl of Shiring.’

The others were not enthusiastic. Rollo knew what they were thinking: Bartlet Shiring was a good Catholic but did not have Northumberland’s stature.

Too polite to denigrate Rollo’s nephew, Percy said: ‘We must plan uprisings in all parts of the country where Catholic peers are strong. There must be no opportunity for the Protestants to promote a rival for the throne.’

‘I can guarantee that in the county of Shiring,’ said Rollo.

Someone said: ‘A lot of people will die.’