I look at him, considering where to begin.
‘The holy scriptures contain four accounts of the life and death of Jesus Christ, those we call the gospels of the four evangelists, that were accepted by the Church Fathers as true and divinely inspired and which more or less corroborate each other. This we all know.’ I tap the book on my lap. ‘But there were many other accounts circulating in the early years of the Church, alternative gospels that fell outside orthodox doctrine and so were suppressed, destroyed, forbidden. Among them was rumoured to be a Gospel of Judas.’
Drake looks from me to the book and back. ‘Written by his own hand?’
‘Some think so. Legends have grown around its substance. The Gnostics believed it vindicated Judas Iscariot, unravelled the whole story of salvation and would overturn the foundations of the Christian faith.’ My hands are trembling on the page as I speak. If this manuscript should be genuine, if it should prove that the story of mankind’s salvation has been based on false accounts, if there were another version of the story … what then?
‘What should be done with it?’ Drake says. His expression suggests he is struggling to take this in.
‘Best to keep it under lock and key, for now. And on no account sell it to that book dealer with no ears.’
‘Why, what does he want with it?’ Thomas Drake demands.
‘I don’t know yet.’ I look down at the manuscript; there is no way of assessing its significance without reading it in its entirety. ‘He may want to sell it to the highest bidder. Or he may have other plans.’
‘Oh, no, no, no. If there is a high price to be had for this book, I shall be the one doing the selling.’ Sir Francis sets his jaw and fixes me with a defiant eye.
‘The Jesuit already paid a high price for it. He worked for the library of the Vatican, you say?’
‘According to Jonas,’ Drake says. ‘Why?’
‘Then it would seem reasonable to assume that he found the book there. So why was he taking it away, to the other side of the world? With the knowledge of his superiors, or without? Either way, someone must have noticed it missing and followed its trail. It would not surprise me to learn that the Holy Office has agents out looking for this book, even now.’ Voicing this aloud causes a chill to run through me. If there is one quality the Roman Inquisition can never be accused of lacking, it is tenacity. And are they still looking for me, I wonder? I lower my eyes and take a deep breath. I am a free man, in a Protestant country; it is nine years since I ran from my monastery in Naples, rather than face the Inquisition. Surely they have forgotten me by now? But I already know the answer: the Inquisition never forgets. ‘This book could tear the Church apart,’ I add, looking up and meeting Drake’s frank gaze. ‘It could plunge Europe into war, if its contents are made known. You may be sure the Vatican wants it back, at any price.’
‘Europe is already tearing itself apart over the interpretation of the scriptures,’ Sidney says, as if the whole business bores him. ‘Bread, wine, flesh, blood. Purgatory, Pope, predestination. How much difference can one more gospel make?’
I look at him with reproach. ‘You can say that because your country has never had the Inquisition.’
‘We had Bloody Mary,’ he retorts. ‘Plenty still alive remember what she did in the name of pure faith.’
Drake watches us, his chin resting on his fist. ‘Perhaps the best thing would be to hand it over to Her Majesty. She can have her scholars examine it and dispose of it as she thinks fit. I would not for all the world give it back into the hands of the Pope.’
‘Perhaps. But someone should read it first,’ I say quickly. ‘And make a copy, in case anything should happen to this one.’
‘By someone, I suppose you mean you?’ Thomas Drake says, with that sardonic tone he saves for me and Sidney.
‘Unless you can read Coptic script, Thomas Drake, I see no one else for the job,’ Sidney fires back, in my defence.
Thomas narrows his eyes at him. ‘So your friend is proposing we hand the book to him. What guarantee do we have that we will ever see it again? He seems to know this book dealer well, and have a shrewd idea of its value. And – saving your presence, master – he is Italian.’
‘You have my word of honour, which should suffice among gentlemen,’ Sidney says as he stands, his right hand straying instinctively to his sword. Thomas Drake takes a step forward, chest out. He has not missed Sidney’s emphasis, and its implication.
‘Peace, both of you,’ Drake says, with a warning glance. Chastened, Sidney sits and Thomas retreats to his position by the door post. ‘Of course Bruno must be the one to read it. But you will have to do it in my cabin on board the Elizabeth. A wise man told me not to let it out of my sight.’ He smiles, to draw the sting from any offence.
‘But what has any of this to do with Robert Dunne’s death?’ Thomas says, though with less bluster than before.
Drake shakes his head.
‘Has anyone looked through Dunne’s personal effects?’ I ask.
‘No,’ Drake says. ‘I had thought to gather them up for the family when they arrive, but I have not had time. The cabin has been kept locked since the body was taken out.’
‘Good. He had been seen about the town in the days before he died, meeting two strangers. It would be worth seeing whether he kept any correspondence, or anything that might identify them. Though I suppose we have an idea now.’ I grimace at Sidney. ‘We must see if we can find out who brought that Judas letter to the Star to be delivered to you. And I would like to talk to your Spanish translator about the young Jesuit.’ My mind is already moving ahead, outpacing my own objections.
‘I told you – Bruno will find this killer in no time,’ Sidney says, rubbing his hands together with satisfaction.
Drake nods, though he does not look entirely convinced.
‘You can do this discreetly? I do not want the men further alarmed with suspicions of murder. Nor Dunne’s widow, who will be here any day – better she accepts that he died by his own hand, or we shall be caught in all manner of judicial snares and this fleet will never depart.’
Once again, I am struck by his lack of sentiment.
‘Never fear, Bruno is as cunning as the Devil himself when he chooses,’ Sidney says breezily.
I am about to protest the comparison when there is a sharp knock at the door. We all start; Thomas Drake jumps back just as the door is flung open and Lady Drake glides in, peeling off her gloves, followed by her cousin.
‘You might at least wait until someone calls “Come”, Elizabeth,’ Drake grumbles, though he looks relieved. ‘There is a fellow supposed to be guarding the door – does he not do his job?’
‘I pointed out to him that this was my chamber and he could not very well keep me from it,’ Lady Drake says, offering her smile around the room. ‘Have you finished your secret council? We grow bored, and the sun is out.’ She glances at the book on my lap and then at me, with enquiring eyes. ‘So – is the mystery solved?’
‘We are giving it due consideration,’ Drake says, before I can respond. He takes the book from my hand and places it carefully back into the leather satchel. I feel a pang as it leaves my hands; at this moment, I would give up almost anything for the prospect of an afternoon alone with that manuscript.
‘Sir Francis, you promised us the company of these fine gentlemen for our visit,’ Lady Arden says, in mock reproach, ‘and yet you keep them to yourself all afternoon. You must learn to share.’ She sends me a dazzling smile and curls the ribbon of her hood around her finger. I notice that this does not pass Thomas Drake by.
‘Very