Voyage to Muscovy (The Chronicles of Christoval Alvarez Book 6) Read online

  ‘You are hardly a common citizen,’ Harriot said, ‘after your years of working for Walsingham. But matters are indeed in a state of flux. For decades, Burghley and Walsingham managed England’s affairs between them. In matters of defence, though, Burghley has been ever cautious, Walsingham was more warlike in his approach to our perpetual enemy, Philip of Spain.’

  ‘And despite his reputed poor health,’ I said, ‘the Spanish king seems likely to outlast them all, all our great leaders. Burghley and Walsingham may have differed in their approach to the problem of Spain, but they respected each other’s views.’

  ‘Aye, and worked, for the most part, in harmony.’

  ‘With Essex and Cecil, it will be a different matter,’ I said.

  ‘They loathe each other,’ Harriot said. ‘Big, handsome, blustering, arrogant Essex, with money and charm, who can sway the Queen his way.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘That is, when he remembers to conduct himself towards her with respect and propriety.’

  I nodded. ‘Aye. And little hunchbacked Cecil, stunted and ill since birth, with his long face, pale with suffering, and his fragile hands – he’ll never gallop about in a mock tournament defeating all comers.’

  ‘But a man who has a mind as sharp as a razor and as subtle as a master thief,’ Harriot said. ‘They will never work together for the common good. Theirs will be an unending struggle until one of them achieves supremacy. Any man caught in the pincers of that struggle risks destruction and death.’

  ‘You are right,’ I said. ‘Best for the rest of us to keep out of the way until the battle is settled, one way or the other.’

  I sipped my wine thoughtfully, glad I was safe away from them and remembering the subtle mind of Walsingham. ‘In the end,’ I said, ‘I would put my money on Cecil, but Essex will probably do a great deal of harm first.’

  ‘I fear he will.’ He shook himself, then poured us more wine, though I stopped him when my glass was half full.’

  ‘I am falling asleep by your fire,’ I said, suppressing a yawn. ‘I must go soon.’

  ‘Will you come to Raleigh’s conversazione next week?’

  Harriot grinned. I could not remember who had first employed the pompous Italian term, probably Marlowe, but we both thought it absurd.

  ‘I shall try.’

  ‘Make sure you do. I have something remarkable to reveal. It will delight you.’

  ‘Indeed? And what is that?’

  He tapped his nose. ‘Wait and see!’

  Chapter Two

  As my services to Walsingham had declined during the last months of his illness, I had been able to visit the gatherings at Durham House more frequently. The meetings of the group of scholars and scientists who congregated around Raleigh and the Earl of Northumberland were always exciting and reminded me of the evenings at our home in Coimbra, when my father’s colleagues from the university would explore new ideas, while I sat in a corner with my arms about my knees, listening avidly.

  Harriot was always to be found at the Durham House meetings, always glad to see me, even though my increased duties at St Thomas’s no longer allowed me time to study with him. Dr John Dee was often of the party too, the Queen’s astrologer and alchemist, who was said to possess a remarkable library. He shared many interests with Harriot, but he veered more towards magic than my former tutor. He spent less time than Harriot developing celestial navigation charts for seamen and instead more time conjuring angels. Or so he said. I never saw him do it, though he swore he had pages of manuscript, direct transcriptions of angelic messages which passed to him through his medium and assistant, Edward Kelley.

  Sometimes I went to Durham House with Simon, but, if Marlowe was in his company, I would make some excuse and either stay in my room or make my way to Durham House on my own.

  On one occasion about the middle of March I had found Marlowe at Durham House without Simon and regretted at once that I had come, for he sauntered over to me, swaggering in a new velvet doublet with satin slashings. How could he afford such attire? Surely a maker of plays, even one as popular as Marlowe, would not earn enough to dress in clothes to rival those of Raleigh and Northumberland? Even if you added whatever he earned as an occasional spy for Walsingham.

  ‘So the Portingall is here tonight,’ he said, flicking my cheek with his fingernail, as he had done when we first met. ‘Don’t you know better than to invade the privacy of your betters, Jew boy?’

  ‘I am here at Sir Walter’s invitation,’ I said, wondering whether he could hear the grinding of the words between my teeth. ‘As no doubt you are yourself.’

  ‘Of course.’ His tone was condescending. ‘I am here for my wit and my discourse. You,’ he looked me up and down insolently, ‘you are one of his curiosities. He likes to collect strange species, barbarians. He has brought some of the natives of the New World to London, to exhibit. As similar freaks.’

  There was something in his tone that made my heart pound. Had he seen through my disguise? Why else would he call me a freak? His hostility to Jews was extreme, though not unknown in London, but he seemed to reserve a special dislike for me. I clenched my fists.

  ‘Do you call me a freak, you mincing monkey?’ I said.

  At that he raised his hand to strike me, but Harriot, who must have sensed trouble from the way we confronted each other, had crossed the room in a few swift strides and drew me away to speak to Dr Dee. I could not ignore the vicious look Marlowe flashed at me.

  On the evening of the Durham House meeting at which Harriot had promised a surprise, Simon and I set out together. I mentioned my unpleasant encounter with Marlowe on the last occasion.

  ‘Why do you dislike Marlowe?’ Simon asked me. We had taken a boat from Paris Gardens straight across the river to the steps by Durham House. We were in the chinks that day, for usually we walked over the Bridge. It was pleasant on the river, for it had not yet developed the sewer smell of summer.

  ‘Better to ask him why he dislikes me,’ I said abruptly, staring down river through the arches of the Bridge at a fat merchant vessel making its way slowly up against the tide to the Customs House. ‘The first time we met, he mocked and insulted me. As he mocked you, and still mocks you, had you wit enough to see it.’

  ‘Oh, that is just his way.’ Simon shrugged. ‘He mocks everyone and everything, himself no less than any other. You should not take offence at it.’

  ‘Besides.’ I could not look at him directly, for I was shamed by what I had to say, and I lowered my voice so the boatman might not catch my words. ‘I have heard that he beds men and boys.’

  The ready colour flooded from Simon’s neck up to his cheeks, until his whole face was reddened. Even at twenty, he blushed as easily as a girl.

  ‘Well, he has not bedded me!’ he said, much too loudly for my comfort. ‘Don’t think that of me, Kit. My tastes are not that way inclined.’ He gave me a sharp look I could not read.

  ‘I am glad to hear it,’ I said, and climbed out of the wherry at Durham Stairs in a remarkably cheerful state of mind.

  Harriot was already in the turret room with Raleigh, Dee, and the wizard Earl of Northumberland when we arrived, a little earlier than usual, through having crossed the river by wherry. Harriot beckoned me over eagerly.

  ‘Come now, Kit, and see what you think of this.’ He had laid on the table a long bundle, about a yard in length and about the thickness of a bedpost. It was wrapped in green silk, which he unwound carefully, exposing a wooden tube, which did indeed resemble a length of bedpost. Unlike a bedpost, however, it was hollow and had a lens of domed glass at each end.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked, as Simon craned over my shoulder to see.

  ‘It is a perspective trunk,’ said Harriot, which left me as ignorant as before.

  Gently, cradling it in his arms like a newborn infant, he carried it over to one of the windows that looked out over the Thames.

  ‘You know that I have been devoting much of my time lately to the study of optics? And that I have b
een in correspondence with fellow scholars in Europe?’

  I nodded.

  ‘This is the fruit of our ideas. I have made it up in my laboratory, with the assistance of a carpenter and a spectacle maker.’

  It seemed an odd combination to me, but I saw that Raleigh, Dee, and Northumberland were grinning, as though they already knew the purpose of the perspective trunk. Dee reached across and opened the casement, so that a chilly wind blew in and swept a sheaf of papers off the table. Simon stooped to retrieve them, while Harriot balanced the instrument on the window sill, pointing it across the river towards Lambeth Palace, and beckoned to me.

  ‘Now, Kit, close one eye, put the other to this inner end of the trunk, and tell me what you can see.’

  I looked at him dubiously, but I had never known him make a fool of me, so I did as I was told. And leapt backwards so suddenly I collided with the Earl. I was too astonished even to apologise. Cautiously, I lowered my head and put my eye to the lens again. This time I felt blindly about in the air beside the instrument, but there was nothing there but Harriot’s arm supporting it.

  ‘Is it magic?’ I asked. ‘I can see Lambeth Palace as close as if I were standing on the south bank of the river. Yet I am here, in Durham House. And the palace . . .’ I took my eye from the instrument and looked out of the window, ‘. . . the palace is still there, in Southwark.’

  ‘Let me see!’ cried Simon, elbowing me aside. When he put his eye to the lens, he gasped and did as I had done, feeling about in the empty air, to touch what was not there.

  ‘Magic!’ he breathed.

  ‘Not magic,’ said Harriot briskly, laying the instrument tenderly back on the table. ‘Natural Philosophy. Optics. We have long known that glass lenses can help poor or ageing eyesight, by means of spectacles, and for some time those of us with an interest in optics have been experimenting with different uses of lenses and mirrors, individually and in pairs. Have you ever seen a camera obscura?’

  Simon shook his head.

  ‘A pretty instrument, that artists use sometimes when they need great detail in a painting. I will make one and bring it another time. With this instrument,’ he tapped it with his finger, ‘we find we can make far away things appear near. You will discover, if you reverse it, that it makes them appear even further away. Our results are mostly experimental at the moment, but we are hard at work on the mathematics. You would enjoy that, Kit.’

  He looked at me a little severely, for I knew he believed I should devote my life to scholarship. My work as a physician he regarded as a hindrance to my true vocation, although I had explained to him that I must eat, and clothe myself, and rent a roof for my head. We cannot all be so fortunate as to have Sir Walter Raleigh and the Earl of Northumberland for our patrons.

  Our happy discussion of the new invention, and its wondrous possibilities for studying the stars or aiding mariners, was interrupted by the arrival of several more members of the group, including Marlowe. At once he bearded Dr Dee and began a long and provocative discuss of theology. It seemed that Dee was to be the victim of his baiting tonight. Harriot drew me aside.

  ‘Well, Kit, what do you think of my perspective trunk?’

  He looked as eager as a small boy hoping for praise.

  ‘It is truly wonderful,’ I said in all honesty. ‘I could not have believed it, had I not looked through it myself. It will be a great help in your drawings of the moon.’

  ‘Oh, I believe I have been able to complete those quite satisfactorily with the naked eye. I hope to use the new instrument to study the more distant stars. I should like to be able to provide more precise celestial charts for our mariners.’

  ‘I can see that such instruments could be of great use to mariners,’ I said, ‘enabling them to recognise enemy vessels in the distance, or study a strange coast where no rutter chart exists. It is heavy, though. It would be difficult to hold it up while trying to keep one’s balance on a heaving deck in a high wind. I have seen how seamen struggle to use an astrolabe, even the simple mariners’ astrolabe.’

  ‘You put your finger on it,’ he said. ‘That must be the next step, to produce a version lighter in weight. If you go on this next Muscovy voyage, I shall try to have one ready for you.’

  I stared at him in astonishment.

  ‘What do you mean? Who told you I was to go to Muscovy? I have heard no such tale.’

  He looked apologetic. ‘I am sorry if I have spoken out of turn. As you know, I supply the Muscovy Company with charts and calculations of tides and celestial forecasts. And John Dee was an important adviser during the very earliest expeditions, when he was just a young man.’

  This was a surprise to me. I could not imagine the mystic Dee occupying himself in anything so practical, but perhaps he had changed with the years.

  Harriot cast a somewhat disapproving glance in Dee’s direction. ‘That was before he neglected his serious scholarly pursuits for all this nonsense about messages from angels.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I believe Edward Kelley to be a fraud and a charlatan who has gained Dee’s trust and exploited it. He has found himself a very comfortable living in Dee’s employ.’

  I believed the same, but I brought him back to what he had said that had alarmed me.

  ‘The Muscovy Company?’ I said. ‘Why should you think I have anything to do with them?’

  ‘They held their monthly Court of Assistants yesterday and I was present, to hand over my latest calculations before this year’s fleet sails. You were recommended as a suitable person to search for the missing stipendiary, Gregory Rocksley.’

  ‘Surely that is a task for one of their own men.’ I tried to speak calmly, but I felt a wave of panic coming over me. Was Ambrose’s casual remark at the Lopez dinner table being taken seriously?

  He glanced at me out of the corner of his eyes, then looked away.

  ‘Rocksley was referred to as a stipendiary, but of course many of us know that story is no more than an invention, to cover up his real purpose. He is – he was – an experienced agent of Walsingham’s. As of course you know. So your name was not unexpected. Though Dr Nuñez protested that you are too young for such a mission.’

  ‘And I have my work at St Thomas’s,’ I said, feeling my stomach tighten in apprehension. ‘They should send someone who is now without employment. Nicholas Berden would be an excellent choice. He is much more experienced than I am.’

  ‘Ah, but it seems that English physicians have been particularly requested by the Tsar and his advisers. Indeed, even in the late Tsar’s time they were asking for English physicians. Now it seems they are anxious above all for a physician who is skilled in the problems of children. There are two children in question. The Tsar has a young half-brother, Dmitri Ivanovich, whose mother is concerned about him. On what grounds, we do not know. And there is another child in the court who has a troublesome rash that none of their physicians can cure. So you can see why your name was being discussed.’

  He smiled apologetically. ‘I am sorry if I have taken you by surprise. I thought you must have been approached already.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘I have heard nothing. I am sure it was merely idle talk. I am too young and too inexperienced for such a mission. Besides, I cannot leave St Thomas’s.’

  It was clear Harriot wanted to discuss other things, realising perhaps that he had caused me considerable alarm. Soon afterwards, Raleigh’s servants brought in refreshments. I had a lively discussion with Dr Dee about optics over the cheese and wine. He seemed relieved to be rid of Marlowe, who had now attached himself to the young Earl of Oxford, here for the first time. As soon as I could, I persuaded Simon to leave, and we made our way back to Southwark. Simon chattered enthusiastically about the wonders of the perspective trunk, but I responded in little more than monosyllables.

  Ambrose’s casual remark at that dinner when I was half asleep seemed to have taken on a life of its own. First there had been Dr Nuñez’s warning that it might be regarded seriously. T
hen Master Harriot’s assumption that it was already a settled matter that I would be travelling to Muscovy. Now, less than a week later, I received a letter from Master Rowland Heyward, governor of the Muscovy Company and a man of considerable wealth and distinction in the City of London, requesting me to call on him in the forenoon of the following day.

  I considered the possibility of refusing, but realised that it would be unmannerly. It would be the act of a coward to shy away from meeting the gentleman in person. Warned in advance by Harriot’s indiscreet remarks, I could go armed with irrefutable arguments. Face-to-face with Heyward, I could explain my unsuitability for the mission and my many commitments to my patients at St Thomas’s. I penned a brief note and despatched it with one of the hospital’s lads, stating that I would be pleased to call on him at ten o’ the clock the next day at the Company’s London headquarters.

  In the morning I arrived early at St Thomas’s, in order to visit both the lying-in and children’s wards in good time. Fortunately there were no serious cases or emergencies on hand. The mother who had caused concern earlier had recovered well and returned home the previous day. The Whittington ward had been set up specifically for unmarried mothers, but not all of them were the local Southwark prostitutes. There were usually a few victims of rape, and also some women – or more often young girls – who had been promised marriage and then abandoned.

  This recent case was a sad one. The father of the child had been on the point of marriage to the mother, the banns had been read, and then he had fallen ill of a pleurisy and perished the very day of the planned wedding. The woman had now returned from hospital to her parents, and the baby would be cherished, as a living reminder of his lost father. This was one child I would not need to take to Christ’s Hospital.

  In good time I set off across the Bridge, wearing my physician’s cap and gown to emphasise my true profession to Master Heyward. Recently, with my increased salary as a fully licensed physician, I had had a new gown made, so I hoped my appearance would go some way to convincing the governor that I was not a suitable person to be sent on some wildgoose chase across the remote lands of Muscovy, in search of a man who had disappeared weeks before. I could feel some compassion for Rocksley, adrift in such a barbarous country – that is, if he was still alive – but I was convinced Nicholas Berden would be a far better agent to send. Besides, Nick would no doubt be glad of the employment.