Treachery

He squirms and looks at his shoes. ‘Oh, I just help with the calculations, that’s all.’

‘Go on with your story, if it is worth hearing,’ Sidney says, impatient.

Gilbert stammers an apology and continues. ‘Padre Pettifer, the chaplain, had brought Dunne back to the ship. Even in the dark, I could see he was hopelessly drunk. He could barely stand – the priest was holding him up. Thomas Drake helped Pettifer take Dunne to his cabin. Padre Pettifer stayed with him for a while, and after he left I saw the Spaniard Jonas knock on the door and go in. He was carrying one of his potions.’

‘What potions?’ Sidney says.

‘Jonas has some skill with herbs, they say.’ Gilbert glances between us, his eyes anxious. ‘He can make up a draught to cure seasickness or the effects of ale. I have not tried them myself. It all smacks a bit too much of the village wise woman for my liking, and I am a man of science.’

He draws himself up. Sidney snorts.

‘So Jonas took a draught of something to Dunne that night?’ I ask, with a sharp look at Sidney.

‘I suppose he must have,’ Gilbert says. ‘The thing is – I heard Jonas tell Captain Drake that he only looked in on Dunne, saw he was passed out and left again, taking his remedy with him.’ He drops his voice to an urgent whisper. ‘But that is not the truth.’

‘You mean, Jonas stayed there longer?’

Gilbert bites his lip and nods. ‘I was on deck for at least a half-hour more, until the rain came on, and I did not see the Spaniard come out before I returned to my quarters. It was only the next day, when they said Dunne had hanged himself, that I thought of it …’ His voice tails off and he stares at his feet.

‘So, you are saying …?’ I prompt.

He shakes his head quickly. ‘Nothing. I meant only that Jonas might know something of Dunne’s state of mind that night. Perhaps they had some conversation.’

‘Have you told Sir Francis that you believe Jonas is lying?’

He looks at me in alarm. ‘Oh no – I may have been mistaken. And I would not want to sow doubts in Captain Drake’s mind if he has none.’ He chews at the quick of his thumbnail. ‘I just wondered if perhaps he had voiced any doubts to you?’

Now we come to it. Beneath all the awkward fidgeting, this young man is sharper than he looks; he is fishing for gossip. The question is, why?

‘To us? No – we have only just arrived,’ I say.

‘He is hardly likely to confide any such doubts to us if he has said nothing to his own crew,’ Sidney agrees.

Gilbert looks chastened. ‘Of course. I meant no offence.’

‘Why do you speak of doubts at all?’ I ask, in a lighter tone. ‘Did Robert Dunne not strike you as a man likely to take his own life?’

He purses his lips. ‘I did not know him well, you understand. We did not really mix in the same circles. But on reflection, I would say he did not.’

‘He had heavy gambling debts,’ Sidney remarks. ‘That could push a man to despair.’

‘Yes, that was common knowledge,’ Gilbert says, with a disapproving expression. ‘But he seemed so optimistic about the voyage, on the few occasions I spoke with him. This would be his last expedition, he said. He’d be away long enough to avoid his creditors and when he returned, he said his fortunes would be mended and he would finally be able to put his life right.’

‘Fortunes? He meant whatever treasure he brought back, I suppose?’ Sidney says.

Gilbert shrugs. ‘I don’t know. I assume so.’

‘Did he have friends on board the Elizabeth?’ I ask. ‘People he was close to?’

He blinks at me. ‘I often saw him talking with the Spaniard Jonas. They knew one another from the circumnavigation in ’77. Beyond that, I don’t know what he did when he went ashore. You would have to ask the men. I don’t really associate with them much.’ He casts his eyes down as he says this and I realise that he is lonely aboard the Elizabeth; he belongs neither with the hardened sailors nor with the gentlemen officers. It would be a long voyage for him to the New World, I thought, with only his astrolabe for company.

‘Though if anyone would know whether Dunne seemed of a mind to take his life, I suppose it would be the chaplain, Padre Pettifer,’ Gilbert adds. ‘Some of the men do seem to confide in him.’ The curl of his lip as he says this suggests he cannot fathom why.

‘But not you?’

‘No,’ he says, firmly. ‘I would rather confess my sins directly to God, when the need arises.’

I nod, turning away to hide a smile. The silence is broken by a crackle and a flare from behind me; I turn to see Sidney lighting the lantern. Already, I sense his impatience; he has decided this over-earnest young man is no more than a gossip, lurking to see what details he can scavenge. But I have a feeling that Gilbert has not told us everything. I rest my hand on the latch, as if to close the door, but he seems reluctant to leave.

‘I understand you have written books on cosmology, Doctor Bruno, and that you argue the universe is infinite?’ He shuffles as he says this, and blushes, as if he were asking a girl to dance. I acknowledge the truth of it with a tilt of my head. ‘They say your theories have caused a good deal of controversy.’

‘So did Mercator’s projection of the globe when he first published it,’ I say. ‘It is hard to persuade people that the world may look different from the way they have always perceived it.’

He nods vigorously, his face alight. ‘Yes, indeed. I would like so much to discuss these ideas with you in detail, Doctor Bruno. You can imagine, I’m sure, how starved one grows of intellectual discussion among men like this. I pray we will have the chance while you are in Plymouth.’

I respond with a non-committal murmur and hold the door open for him.

‘Well, I shall leave you to your sad task,’ he says, after a pause. He turns, casting a look back at the cabin. ‘Perhaps you may find something of interest in there.’ He smiles, still trying to peer over my shoulder. I return the smile, and politely close the door in his face.

‘What sins could a milksop like that have to confess – coveting his neighbour’s astrolabe?’ Sidney rolls his eyes. ‘God’s tears. Do you know what we used to do with fellows like him at Oxford?’

‘I wouldn’t like to guess.’

He grins. ‘Well, that’s you taken care of for the voyage, Bruno. You two can have a wild old time with your measurements and your instruments. Starved of intellectual discussion! He has a fine opinion of himself for a bloody clerk.’

‘Ah, leave him alone,’ I say. ‘Help me lift this chest on to the bunk.’

‘Oh, I see – just because he’s heard of your books.’ Sidney folds his arms and nods. ‘Suddenly he’s your best friend. Well, I think he’s odd.’

‘I don’t disagree. But let’s concentrate on this for now.’

Between us, we grip the ends of the wooden chest and heft it on to the rumpled bed. It weighs less than I had expected, and we almost lose our balance.

‘He was very eager to share his misgivings,’ I remark, watching as Sidney lifts layers of clothes out of Dunne’s chest.

‘Probably just glad to have someone listen to him,’ Sidney says, without looking up. ‘I can’t imagine the rest of the crew have much time for a whey-faced scribbler like that.’

‘He seemed sincere, though, do you not think?’ I lean against the wall, running through Gilbert’s uninvited confidences in my mind. ‘If he truly suspects that Dunne didn’t kill himself, it must be a relief to unburden his fears. I imagine Drake put an end to any such speculation the minute it was voiced.’

‘He wanted to be sure we knew about the Spaniard, though. Do you think there’s anything in that?’

‘You mentioned poison earlier as the simplest way to kill a man without suspicion. I wondered why we had not thought of that before. And now we have a resident herbalist who took him a philtre the night he died.’

‘But apparently they were friends,’ he points out.

‘Gilbert said he saw them talking. That is not necessarily the same thing.’ I suck in my cheeks. ‘I don’t know how we go about asking this Jonas questions without putting him on his guard. Especially if he does have something to hide.’

‘You have a knack for that sort of thing,’ Sidney says. ‘That’s why Walsingham values you so highly.’