His standing had increased grandly since our previous meeting, and he wished all to know of his power as Secretary of State for the South. It is unwise even now to compare any man unfavorably with Cromwell, but there was a simplicity about that great bad man which was far more impressive for being totally unpracticed and unfeigned. For Cromwell truly was a great man, the greatest, I believe, this country has ever known. His clarity of mind, his strength and certainty were such that, born to a gentleman’s estate, he made himself a kingdom; had he been born to a kingdom, he would have made himself an empire. He reduced three nations, which perfectly hated him, to entire obedience; governed by an army which wished his ruin, and inspired fear across a continent and beyond. He held the country in his palm yet would often greet a visitor himself, and pour wine with his own hands. He had no need of display, for there was no mistaking his authority. I said this once to Lord Clarendon, and he agreed with my account.

Mr. Bennet was a lesser man, with smaller genius; all of his worth could have fitted into Cromwell’s thumbnail. And yet, what pomp he had adopted. The progression through the antechambers had increased to positively Spanish proportions, and the obsequious behavior of the servants had grown to such an extent that it was hard for a simple man such as myself to repress a certain sense of disgust at the display. It took a full fifteen minutes to make my way from the entrance to his chambers into his presence; King Louis in all his present magnificence, I think, cannot be more difficult to approach than was Mr. Bennet then.

It was all for show, and in conversation he was as English as he was Spanish in manners. Indeed, his bluntness came close to discourtesy, and he kept me standing throughout the interview.

“What, exactly, do you think you are doing, Dr. Wallis?” he shouted, waving a piece of paper at me, too far away for me to see. “Are you mad that you disobey my express orders?”

I told him I did not understand the question.

“I have here a strongly worded note,” he said, breathing heavily that I might feel, see and hear his anger all at the same time, “from a very indignant Spanish ambassador. Is it true that you had the presumption yesterday evening to lecture him on the peace of Christendom, and tell him how his country’s foreign policy should be run?”

“It most certainly is not,” I replied. My curiosity at this turn of events was overcoming my alarm at the evident anger my patron was demonstrating. I knew Mr. Bennet well enough to know that he lost his temper very rarely, for he believed firmly that such demonstrations were inappropriate in a gentleman. False shows of rage were not tactics he used to overawe his clients, and I came to the conclusion that, on this occasion, he was perfectly sincere and genuinely furious. This, of course, made my own situation the more perilous, since he was not a man whose favor I could afford to lose. But it also made the conversation more interesting, as I could not easily understand the source of his fury.

“How do you explain the offense you have given him then?” Bennet continued.

“I do not know what the offense is. I conversed—I thought most pleasantly—with Señor de Moledi yesterday evening, and we parted with mutual expressions of regard. It may be that I angered him by refusing a large bribe, I do not know; I thought I had turned down the offer with the greatest of tact. Might I ask what is the complaint?”

“He says you all but accused him of fomenting a plot to kill the king. Is that true?”

“It is not. I never mentioned any such thing, nor would I ever have dreamed of doing so.”

“What do you think you said?”

“I merely told him that it was strongly held by many that his country wished England no good. It was not an important part of the conversation.”

“But it was cautiously said,” Bennet said. “You say nothing without deliberation. So now I want to know why. Your reports to me in the last few months have been so obviously full of half-truths and evasions that I am beginning to tire of them. Now I command you to tell me the exact truth. And I warn you that if I am not satisfied of your total candor I will be highly displeased.”

Faced with such an ultimatum, I could do no other. And it was the greatest mistake that ever I made. I do not blame Mr. Bennet; I blame myself for my weakness, and I know that the punishment meted out to me for my error was so crushing a burden that I have suffered for it every day of my life since. I am graced in that I come from a hardy, long-living family on both my mother’s and my father’s sides, and I live in full expectation of continuing in this world for many years yet. On innumerable occasions since that day I have prayed that this blessing be taken from me, so great is the remorse I suffer.

I told Mr. Bennet of my suspicions. In full and, I now believe, in greater detail than I needed provide. I told him of Marco da Cola, and the threads of suspicion that had attached themselves to him. I told him of my understanding that he was, if not already here, then on his way to this country. And I told him of what I believed he planned to do when he arrived.

Bennet listened at first impatiently, then with becoming gravity, to my account. And when I had finished, he got up and stared for many minutes out of the window of the little chamber where he habitually carried on his business.

Eventually he turned to face me, and I could see from his expression that the anger had passed. I was not, however, to escape further reproof.

“I must commend you,” he said, “for the diligence your love of His Majesty has produced. I do not doubt for a minute that you have acted with the very best of intentions, and that your desire was simply and wholly the safety of the realm. You are a most excellent servant.”

“I thank you.”

“But in this matter, you have made a serious error. You must know that in diplomacy nothing is ever as it seems, and what may appear as common sense is often the opposite. We cannot go to war. Who should we fight? The Spanish? The French? The Dutch? All together or in combination? And with what are we meant to pay an army? Parliament will barely provide to keep a roof over the king’s head as it is. You know, I am sure, that I am partial to the Spanish, that I regard the French as our greatest enemy. Even so, I will not countenance an alliance with them, any more than I could support a pact against them. For the foreseeable future, at least, we must steer a delicate course between these obstacles, and allow nothing to push the king into the arms of one side or the other.”

“But you know as well, sir,” I said, “that Spanish agents are operating freely, spending their gold to buy support.”

“Of course they are. And so are the French and the Dutch. What of it? As long as all spend with the same enthusiasm, and none gains the upper hand, then no harm is done. Your comments in themselves do little harm, please do not think that. But if your suspicions become generally known, then the French interest will be strengthened. Young Louis has deep coffers. His Majesty is tempted already, even though it would be a disaster. It is imperative that nothing disturbs the balance which those who have the interest of the country at heart have created. Now, tell me, does anyone else know of this suspicion you have?”

“Absolutely not,” I said. “I am the only person with a full knowledge of it. My servant Matthew no doubt has some understanding, since he is an intelligent boy, but even he does not know the full story.”

“And he is where?”

“He is now back in England. But you need have no fears about him. He is totally bound to me.”

“Good. Talk to him and make sure he understands.”

“I am happy to obey your wishes in this matter,” I continued, “but I must repeat that, as far as I can see, the matter is a serious one nonetheless. With the sanction of the Spanish crown or not, this man is coming to the country, and I believe him to be very dangerous to us. What am I to do about it? Surely you do not think that he should be left in peace.”