“I am deeply grateful and trust I will be able to repay such favor,” I said.

Bennet smiled, a thin and unpleasant smile. “That you will, doctor. And please do not think we expect you to deliver many sermons. We have decided to take no action against the radical rump at Abingdon, or at Burford or Northampton. It is our wish that they should be left at liberty. We know where they are, and a bird in the hand…”

“Just so,” I said. “But that is of little purpose unless you are constantly informed of what they are doing.”

“Precisely. I am convinced they will try again. Such is the nature of these people; they cannot stop, for to stop would be to commit sin. They regard it as their duty to continue agitation.”

“Some as their right, sir,” I murmured.

“I do not wish to engage in dispute. Rights and duties. It is all treason, wherever it comes from. Do you agree or not?”

“I believe the king has a right to his place and it is our duty to keep him there.”

“So will you see to it?”

“I?”

“You. You do not fool me, sir. That air of the philosopher does not deceive. I know exactly what tasks you performed for Thurloe.”

“I’m sure you have heard an exaggerated report,” I said. “I acted as cryptographer, not as an intelligencer. But that is of no matter. If you want me to see to it, as you put it, I am content to serve you. But I will need money.”

“You will have what you require. Within reason, of course.”

“And I beg to remind you that communication with London is not so very rapid.”

“You will have a warrant giving you leave to act as you see fit.”

“And does that include use of the garrisons nearby?”

He frowned, then said, very reluctantly, “In an emergency, if need be.”

“And how will I stand with the Lords Lieutenant of the counties?”

“You will not stand with them at all. You will communicate only with me. No one else, not even in the government. Is that understood?”

I nodded. “Very well.”

Bennet smiled again, and stood up. “Good. I am very pleased, sir, that you agree to serve your sovereign in this fashion. The kingdom is far from secure, and all honest men must labor to prevent the spite of dissent from emerging once more. I tell you, doctor, I do not know whether we will succeed. At the moment our enemies are dispirited and fragmented. But if we ever loosen our grip, who knows what might happen?”

For once I could agree with him wholeheartedly.

I will not have it thought that I entered into my role with enthusiasm or without thought. I was not going to tie my fortunes to a man who might drag me down with him should he prove to have only an unsteady purchase on power and position. I knew little enough about this Mr. Ben-net and so, the moment I had registered my appointment as Royal Chaplain with the appropriate offices, and dispatched the confirmation of my university position back to Oxford to confound my enemies there, I set myself to find out a little more about him.

He certainly had given ample evidence of his loyalty to the king, as he had shared exile with him and been entrusted with diplomatic missions of some importance. More to the point, he was a skillful courtier—too skillful, indeed, for Lord Clarendon; the king’s first minister had spotted his abilities and, rather than enlisting his support, had instantly seen him as a threat. The enmity grew, and Bennet grew close to other of Clarendon’s rivals while he waited his chance. He also attracted a circle of young men, all of whom went around praising each other’s brilliance. He was spoken of as a man who would rise to the very top—and nothing ensures success at court as an expectation that success will be forthcoming. To sum up, he had supporters below him, and supporters above him; but as long as Clarendon enjoyed the king’s favor, Mr. Bennet would rise but slowly. It was uncertain how long his patience would last.

Until it was clear whether he would continue to rise, or fall in the attempt, I had as much interest as Mr. Bennet in making sure my connection to him remained unknown. Besides, he concerned me in other respects as well—his love of Spain was well known, and the idea of helping a man with such sympathies distressed me somewhat. On the other hand, I desired to be of service, and Bennet was the only conduit by which my skills and abilities could be put to use. Nor did I consider the maneuverings of the great to be my affair. Who reigned supreme at court, who had the ear of the king, made little immediate difference; the kingdom’s safety (strange days that we lived in) depended far more on the activities of those lower folk who were to win my attentions. I have mentioned the discontented radicals, soldiers and sectaries who formed such a large well of opposition to the government. From the moment the king returned, there was constant turmoil from these people, who were never as meekly accepting of the manifest will of God as their professions suggested they should be. Venner’s rising was a mere squib of no great import, badly organized, funded and led, but there was no reason to think it would be the last, and constant vigilance was of the utmost importance.

The enemies of the kingdom had men of discipline and ability in their ranks—anyone who had witnessed (as I had) the triumphs of Cromwell’s armies knew that. Moreover, they were fanatics, ready to die for their delusions. They had tasted power, and in their mouths it was as sweet as honey. (Revelation 10:9.) Even more dangerous was the fact that outsiders were ready to manipulate them and urge them on. My dealings with Cola (which I intend to narrate here) were more dangerous and more hidden still. A trust in God is very fine, but God also expects you to look to yourself. My greatest concern was that those in power would become complacent and underestimate their enemies. Although I cannot say I liked Bennet, we agreed that there was a real danger which needed to be confronted.

And so I returned to Oxford, resumed my mathematical enquiry, and began weaving a web in which to catch the king’s enemies. Mr. Bennet’s perspicacity in choosing me was considerable—not only had I some small skill in the matter already, I sat in the middle of the kingdom and, of course, had a network of contacts throughout Europe which could readily be exploited. The Republic of Learning knows no boundaries and few things were more natural than to write to colleagues in all countries to seek their views on mathematics, philosophy—and anything else. Piece by piece, and at very moderate expense, I began to have a better picture than anyone of what was going on. I did not, of course, rise to the level of Mr. Thurloe, but although never entirely trusted by my masters, I pursued their enemies and largely succeeded in heaping mischief upon them, and spending mine arrows among them. (Deuteronomy 32:23.)

2

I first heard of Marco da Cola, Gentleman (so-called) of Venice, in a letter from a correspondent in the Low Countries, to whom the government paid a moderate competence to observe the activities of English radicals in exile. Particularly, this fellow was requested to watch keenly for the slightest contact between them and anybody close to the Dutch government, and to note any absences or unusual visitors. This man wrote to me in the October of 1662 (more to justify his gold than for any other reason, I suspect) and said nothing at all except that a Venetian, one Cola, had arrived in Leiden and had spent some time in the exiles’ company.

That was all; certainly there was no reason at that time to imagine that this man was anything other than a wandering student. I gave the matter little attention beyond writing to a merchant, then traveling to Italy to acquire paintings for Englishmen with more money than sense, asking him to identify this man. I might mention in passing that picture dealers (now more common since it became legal to bring such works into the country) make excellent investigators, as they come and go as they please without causing suspicion. Their trade brings them into contact with men of influence, but they are so lowly and absurd in their pretensions to gentility and education that few ever take them seriously.