The Enterprise of England Read online

  Once, for two years, I had lived under the brutal regime inflicted by Spain on Portugal, until my father and I had made our escape in a merchant ship belonging to Dr Hector Nuñez to join the exiled Marranos (as we were called) in England. Our community in London at that time probably numbered between sixty and eighty souls. We were all novos cristãos or New Christians, having been forced to convert in our native land, but we held Jewish services of a sort on the Sabbath at the home of Dr Nuñez, though we had no rabbi. Under English law, we must also attend church services on Sundays. The penalties for failure to do so were heavy. Although we all met together at our single makeshift synagogue, the churches we attended were scattered all over London. My father and I attended St Bartholomew’s beside the hospital – both church and hospital had once been part of the Priory of St Bartholomew, dissolved in the time of the Queen’s father. For myself, I was unsure where my faith lay. Although I had been born Jewish, I had found much consolation in the Protestant faith of England, with its belief in reading the Bible for oneself, as Walsingham himself had once urged me to do. It was a far cry from the rigid control of the Spanish Catholic church and its reign of terror under the Inquisition.

  Our Marrano community tended to fall into two distinct groups. There were the professional men like my father and Dr Nuñez and Dr Lopez. They were all doctors, bringing with them to England their advanced skill in Arabic medicine. There were also a few eminent apothecaries and one or two lawyers who had been born in England and trained here. Many of this professional class, who lived mostly near the Tower, not far from Walsingham’s house, also had interests in the spice trade, some – like Dr Nuñez – owning their own ships, others – like Dr Lopez and my father – investing in the trade. My father’s investments were small, for we had lost everything when we escaped from Portugal. Dr Nuñez and Dr Lopez had chosen to come to England before the Spanish invasion with its accompanying Inquisition, so they were far more prosperous than we were. Dunstan Añez, Ruy Lopez’s father-in-law, had come much earlier. His grown-up children had been born here and thought of themselves as English. He was one of the leaders of our community, a wealthy man holding a distinguished position, as Purveyor of Groceries and Spices to Her Majesty the Queen, while Ruy Lopez was the queen’s personal physician.

  The other part of the Marrano community scraped a living as craftsmen or dealers in secondhand goods or pawnbrokers. Their homes were clustered around Bishopsgate, just outside the northeast city wall, near Bedlam and Petty France, where the Huguenot refugees had settled.

  My father and I fell somewhere between these two groups. By birth and education we belonged to the professional group, but we were much poorer and our hospital cottage in Duck Lane would have fitted inside one room of Dr Añes’s grand house. Still, the other men respected my father and from time to time we would be invited to dinner by one of them. Not only had Dr Nuñez provided us with passage on one of his ships when we escaped from Portugal, but Dr Lopez had secured my father’s position at the hospital and his wife Sara had taken us into her home when we first arrived, destitute, in London.

  Soon after I had begun work once more in Phelippes’s office, we were invited to dine at the Lopez home. The weather was still very cold and I was concerned for my father. It was a long walk to Wood Street, where Ruy had bought a fine house amongst the English merchants. My father at sixty was beginning to show his age. The extra burden of work falling on his shoulders since I had gone back to working for Walsingham had started to tell on him, and now he had the first signs of a chest infection.

  ‘Are you sure we should go today?’ I asked. ‘I could send a message to tell Sara that you are not well.’

  ‘I am well enough,’ he said stubbornly. ‘It would be discourteous to cry off now. It is nothing but a slight cough. I have been treating it myself. Besides, it is good for us to mix in company from time to time.’

  This last remark surprised me, for my father had become something of a recluse since we had come to England, unlike the old days when he had been part of a gregarious and sociable group at the university of Coimbra. Usually it was he who demurred at going anywhere. I had only once persuaded him to come with me to the festivities at the Theatre last Christmas. By ‘mixing in company’ I wondered whether he meant that I should strengthen my ties to our own community. Much of my time nowadays was spent amongst the English, both in Seething Lane and, whenever I had any leisure, with Simon’s fellow players in Master Burbage’s company. I had seen little enough of them lately, my time being so occupied between my patients and my intelligence work, though I knew from Simon that they were rehearsing new plays for when the playhouses opened again in the better weather.

  As it was impossible to convince my father that he should stay at home, I persuaded him to wear gloves and wrap a thick scarf around his head and his physician’s cap. We set off into the snow, which was still falling, even in March. Just inside the city gate we found a street vendor selling hot chestnuts.

  ‘How many for a farthing?’ I asked.

  He scooped up a shovelful for me to see. I nodded and he gave them to me a screwed up cone of paper. We were close to the grid where the Newgate prisoners beg passersby to give them food, so I bought another farthing’s worth and pushed the chestnuts through the grid into the frantically grabbing hands.

  ‘Now,’ I said to my father, ‘we don’t need to eat these, for we’ll be royally fed at the Lopez house.’

  ‘I wondered why you bought them.’

  ‘Here, put them in your pockets and keep your hands warm with them.’

  Although he laughed and protested, I filled his pockets with the hot nuts, allowing myself just one to eat.

  ‘You grow more like your mother every day,’ he said.

  I shook my head. ‘Best not to say that aloud. Best not even to think it.’

  ‘But I do think it, Caterina.’

  I felt myself grow cold and looked about to make sure no one had heard.

  ‘Not Caterina any longer, Father. Christoval. Kit.’

  He sighed. ‘I wish it did not have to be so.’

  ‘It is better this way. How else could I earn my living? Now come, we don’t want to be out in the snow any longer than we need.’

  The Lopez house was well heated with generous fires in every room and heavy curtains as well as shutters over the windows to keep out any vicious serpents of cold air. There were thick carpets on the floors and the well polished furniture glowed in the light of many candles. Sara took me aside before we joined the others and gave me a quick hug. When she had taken us in five years ago, I was a terrified child of twelve. Although I had already assumed my disguise as the boy Christoval, she soon discovered that I was in fact Caterina, though she had kept her word and never revealed the truth to anyone, not even her husband, Ruy.

  ‘So, you are back working for Walsingham again,’ she said.

  ‘Aye. Not willingly, but there is much work to be done and I could not refuse.’ I grimaced. ‘Secrets and plots and foreign intrigue. I’ve no wish to be involved, but it seems my skills are needed.’

  ‘I am afraid Ruy is becoming ever more entangled in just such affairs. You know that he is now appointed ambassador to Dom Antonio?’

  I nodded. Dom Antonio was the claimant to the throne of Portugal, the focus of the hopes of our Marrano community, for he was himself half Jewish. If he could be restored to power, and the Spanish monarch driven out of Portugal, many of my countrymen dreamed of returning home. The Queen, I knew, saw Dom Antonio as a useful counter against the King of Spain, but she was famously cautious and I wondered whether he would ever see his throne or his country again.

  ‘Dom Antonio is living out at Eton,’ Sara said, ‘and Ruy is for ever back and forth, treating him and plotting with him.’

  ‘Is he ill?’

  Sara smiled a little sardonically. ‘Only the illness brought on by years of self-indulgence – an excess of wine, an excess of food, and an excess of women. He is a poor leader f
or us to rest our hopes on.’

  The dining table was much as I remembered it from our last visit, the strange foreign wood gleaming richly in the light of many candles. The two heavy candelabra which Ruy had bought from Drake’s looted Spanish treasure held pure beeswax candles more than two feet high. As before, we drank from fine Venetian glass, but today our food was served on silver-gilt plates. More of profits from Drake’s privateering expeditions.

  ‘As I see it,’ Ruy said, with a smug smile, ‘What Drake achieves is a better balance in the economy of the world. The Spanish steal gold and silver from the barbarians of the New World and make of them objects of great beauty. However, had they no plunder from the Americas, Spain would be the poorest country in Europe without food and wine enough to feed her own people. Therefore she uses the gold to buy provisions from the rest of us.’

  ‘She does not so much buy, of late,’ said Dr Nuñez, somewhat bitterly, ‘as steal provisions from us. My ship Fair Wind just escaped being impounded with all her cargo in Bilbao last month.’

  Ruy bowed his head in acknowledgement.

  ‘Quite so, Hector. Spain buys or steals provisions from the rest of Europe. Drake then steals gold, silver and jewels from the Spaniards, to restore the balance.’

  ‘So the only losers are the native peoples of the Americas?’ I said, emboldened to speak out by Ruy’s expensive wine.

  ‘They too are recompensed,’ Ruy said, raising an ironic eyebrow. ‘For do the Spanish not repay them with missionary priests, who draw them into the arms of the Holy Catholic Church?’

  There was a ripple of somewhat uneasy laughter at this. All those sitting around the table had a painful relationship with the church of Spain, and tales were rife of the tortures inflicted on the Indians to force them into accepting the conquistadors’ idea of Christianity.

  ‘At any rate,’ said my father, ‘these dishes are very fine, Ruy. You were lucky to get them.’

  Ruy tapped his nose with his finger. ‘I have an arrangement with Drake. Once the Queen has chosen her portion of the spoils, Drake grants me a private view of the remainder, before it goes on sale. After he has chosen his personal items, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’

  I looked down. I always found Ruy’s flaunting of his wealth and his possessions uncomfortable. He would like, I was sure, to be as ostentatious as Drake himself, who loaded his new wife down with so many jewels she looked like one of those statues of the Virgin which used to be paraded through the streets in Portugal. The sheer weight of them must make it difficult for her to move.

  The servants were clearing away all the dishes from the first course from the table and I let my eyes travel over the portraits on the wall opposite me. There were individual portraits of Ruy and Sara, and a large painting of the entire family, including all the children, the family dog and an exotic parrot that had lived for just a few weeks before turning up its African toes and dying in last winter’s English cold. There was also a miniature of the eldest daughter Anne, who was of an age with me. It had been painted, Sara had told me, to aid in marriage negotiations Ruy was carrying out with a number of his foreign trading partners, to Anne’s own dismay. She had no wish to leave England.

  ‘It is true,’ said Lopez, in answer to some question my father had asked, when I had not been attending. ‘I must dance attendance on Dom Antonio with enemas of senna for his over-indulgence, and words of honey for his political demands, but we are everywhere frustrated. Drake was with me when I urged the Portuguese expedition to the Privy Council in December, and Walsingham believes we should catch the Spaniard napping before he wakes and makes his move, but the Council is full of pusillanimous laggards. And the Queen will make no decision.’

  ‘And the Dom himself?’ my father asked.

  ‘Impatient. Full of frustrated anger. And when he is in this mood, he drinks himself to a stupor. He was the same when we were youths, at home in Crato. He must have his will, or he will sulk. And to be sure, his money is fast running through his fingers, trying to maintain his little court. They are beginning to drift away. Or turn their coats.’

  Dr Nuñez looked up sharply. ‘There is a traitor amongst them?’

  Lopez smiled complacently and finished his glass of wine before he spoke. Then he dismissed the servants from the room, for he was not so far cup-shotten as to lose all caution.

  ‘You recall Mendoza, the former ambassador from Spain?’

  There was a general murmur of agreement.

  ‘Well, he is now based in Paris, as you know. One of the Dom’s followers, Antonio da Vega, is in Mendoza’s pay. However, his letters to Mendoza are passed across the Channel through the good offices of my cousin Jeronimo.’

  Lopez stroked his beard but could not conceal a faint smirk.

  ‘Before Jeronimo conceals the letters in his bales of goods, he is kind enough to make copies for me. I have been whispering a few nothings to da Vega, who has passed them to Mendoza, who has, no doubt, sent them on to His Majesty, King Philip.’

  The men laughed, and Sara and I exchanged glances, while Beatriz Nuñez looked uncomfortable and Anne Lopez gazed down at her plate.

  ‘I have definite word,’ said Dr Nuñez slowly, ‘that the Spaniards are preparing an invasion fleet. The killing of the Scots queen has only made them the more determined to attack England. My agent in Cadiz has sent reliable intelligence that the harbour there is filling up with merchantmen which have been commandeered to be converted into warships.’

  He gave a bitter little laugh. ‘They have even seized one of my own ships! Unlike the Fair Wind, the Nightingale could not escape in time. One of my own ships in the Spanish navy! Now there is a fine irony.’

  ‘You have informed Walsingham?’

  ‘Naturally.’

  Lopez tapped his teeth with his fingernail and helped himself to more wine, forgetting to serve his guests. At a nod from Sara I rose and moved quietly round the table refilling glasses.

  ‘I think we could turn this to our advantage,’ said Lopez. ‘It would be possible to feed da Vega with tales of England’s plans – false trails, to put the Spaniard off the scent. For surely Burghley and the Queen will send Drake against Cadiz?’

  ‘That is my belief. Sir Francis did not say so in so many words, but—’

  ‘Yes.’ Lopez interrupted. ‘I can make da Vega believe that Drake is preparing for a privateering venture against Brazil or Goa, somewhere far away. Word will go from da Vega to Mendoza, and from Mendoza to King Philip, so they will believe themselves secure.’

  ‘You must speak to Sir Francis.’ There was a warning note in Dr Nuñez’s voice. ‘Do not embark on such a scheme without his authority, Ruy.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Lopez, and there was a distant look in his eye that I recognised. ‘It could be a pretty scheme.’

  I kept my counsel while they spoke. None of them realised that I knew far more of these affairs than they did.

  The following day I reported the gist of this conversation to Phelippes, for I well understood Ruy’s complacent rashness. It would be characteristic of him to ignore Dr Nuñez’s warning and embark on some scheme of feeding false information to Mendoza on his own, without consulting Walsingham. The result could well be the destruction of some other careful plan which Sir Francis and Phelippes were themselves carrying out.

  ‘I see,’ said Phelippes. ‘Come with me. I think we need to speak to Sir Francis.

  I followed him to Walsingham’s own office, where he greeted me courteously.

  ‘I am glad you are working with us again, Kit. You know that we value you.’

  I mumbled something in reply. I thought he was looking a little less frail than he had done at the funeral, but he was still pale and his face was drawn with fatigue.

  ‘Kit has been hearing something useful to us,’ said Phelippes.

  I repeated Ruy’s talk at dinner.

  ‘So da Vega is a traitor,’ said Sir Francis, stroking his beard. ‘That does not surprise me. Dom
Antonio is very short of money, and what little he has he spends on himself instead of on his followers. That is not the action of a wise leader. It is to be expected that some of them will desert to a higher paymaster, like Medoza. I will speak to Dr Lopez. His scheme has some merits. And he is correct that we are considering an attack by Drake on Cadiz.’

  ‘Why Cadiz?’ I asked. ‘I thought the main Spanish fleet was gathering in Lisbon, despite what Dr Nuñez said last night.’

  ‘The port of Lisbon is very heavily defended with a battery of cannon,’ Walsingham said. ‘Also, it is some distance up a narrow part of the river Tejo from the coast, as I am sure you know, Kit. Therefore it is impossible to make a surprise attack. As soon as Drake started to sail up the Tejo toward the city, a galloper would be sent by land with a warning. It would soon outstrip the ships. An English fleet caught in the river would be vulnerable to ambush.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ I had little understanding of military tactics, but I was learning. Even to my ignorant mind, this made sense. ‘And Cadiz?’

  ‘Cadiz is the centre for provisions,’ said Phelippes. ‘It has warehouses full of supplies to feed the men as well as weaponry and gunpowder and shot. The supply vessels are being mustered in the harbour there. And it is much more open to attack by sea. Strike at Philip’s supplies and he cannot move.’

  ‘Clever.’ I said.

  Walsingham gave a tight smile. ‘Wars are won as much by clever tactics as by brute force, Kit, as you will learn. For although we may delay Philip’s planned invasion, it will come in the end.’