An Instance of the Fingerpost (66 page)

I could see from his expression that de Moledi had as little taste for the howlings of a tormented beast as I, and so I approached him and said that no one would take it as an insult to the gathering if he did not attend; for my part I also intended to absent myself, and if he wished to take a glass of wine with me, I would be honoured by his company.

To this he assented and, having already arranged the matter
beforehand, I led him through to the room Wren maintained at Gresham College, where a good Canary wine awaited us.

‘I hope, sir, you did not find the occupations of us men of curiosity distasteful. I know that it must seem a strange interest, and that some consider it impious.’

We spoke in Latin, and I was pleased to find that his own fluency in that blessed tongue was no less than mine. He seemed the most courteous of men and, if most Spaniards were like him, I could see how a man like Mr Bennet, who placed such store in the niceties of address, might be seduced into loving the nation. For my part, I was safe from being deceived by such matters, for I knew all too well what lay behind the fine manners.

‘On the contrary; I found it eminently diverting, and I very much hope that men of good curiosity from all over Christendom will join together in free discourse. There are many in Spain, as well, who are interested in these matters and I would willingly introduce them to your Society, if you find that agreeable.’

I accepted with pleasure, and made certain I would remember to warn Oldenburg of the danger. For a country which had so ruthlessly subjected all enquiry to persecution, for such a place as this to desire communication with us would have been laughable had it not been so cruel.

‘I must say I am glad to make your acquaintance, Dr Wallis, and even more pleased to have the opportunity of talking to you in private. I have, of course, heard much of you.’

‘You surprise me, Your Excellency. I do not know how my name has come to your ears; I did not realise you took an interest in mathematics.’

‘I take very little; excellent pursuit though it no doubt is, I have no head for figures at all.’

‘That is a pity. I have long believed the purity of mathematical reasoning is the finest training a man might have.’

‘In which case, I must own to my deficiencies, for my great interest in canon law. But I did not hear of you for your expertise in algebra. Rather for your skill in the comprehension of codes.’

‘I am sure whatever you heard was greatly exaggerated. I have few abilities in that line of work.’

‘So great is your reputation as the finest man in the world, that I was wondering whether you might share your knowledge.’

‘With whom?’

‘With all men of good will, who wish to bring the darkness into light, and ensure the peace of all Christendom.’

‘You mean I should write a book about it?’

‘Maybe you should,’ he said with a smile. ‘But that would be a long operation, and bring you little reward. More, I wondered whether you might travel to Brussels, and give instruction to some young men of my acquaintance, who would prove, I am sure, to be some of the finest pupils you have ever had. Naturally, this labour would be well rewarded.’

The audacity of the man was astonishing; he slipped so easily and readily into the suggestion, it fell from his lips so normally, that I did not even feel resentment at the proposal. There was, of course, not the slightest chance of my even considering the offer, perhaps he knew that. In my life I have had many such proposals; I have turned them all down. Even good Protestant states I have declined to aid in any way at all, most recently rejecting a hint that I should instruct Mr Leibniz in my art. I have always been determined that my skill should be my country’s alone, and should not be available to any who might become an antagonist.

‘Your offer is as generous as my worth is small,’ I replied. ‘But I fear my university duties are such that I would never be allowed leave to travel.’

‘A great pity,’ he replied, with no trace at all of surprise or disappointment. ‘If your circumstances ever change, the offer will undoubtedly be renewed.’

‘As you have done me a great honour, I feel obliged to repay your kindness instantly,’ I said. ‘For I must tell you that a plot is afoot by your enemies to besmirch your reputation, by spreading the most scurrilous rumours.’

‘And this comes from your work, does it?’

‘It comes from different places. I know many people of high standing, and converse frequently with them. Let me tell you frankly, sir, that I feel strongly you should be allowed to defend yourself against idle tittle-tattle. You have not been in this country long
enough to understand the power of gossip in a country so ill-used to the discipline of strong and firm government.’

‘I am grateful for your concern. Tell me, then. What is this gossip I should concern myself with?’

‘It is said that you are no friends of our monarch, and that should misfortune befall him, people would not have to look far to find the source of his troubles.’

De Moledi nodded at these words. ‘Slander indeed,’ he said. ‘For it is known that our love for your king is complete. Did we not aid him in his exile, when he was cast out and penniless? Provide him and his friends with a home, and money? Risk war with Cromwell because we would not abandon our obligations to him?’

‘Few people’, I replied, ‘remember past goodness. It is in the nature of mankind to think the worst of their fellows.’

‘And does a man such as yourself harbour such suspicions?’

‘I cannot believe that any man of honour could intend harm to a man so manifestly loved by God,’ I said.

‘That is true. The great difficulty with lies is that they are hard to contradict, especially when others spread them with malicious intent.’

‘They must be contradicted,’ I said. ‘If I make speak plainly?’

He gave his assent.

‘Your interest at court, and your friends there, will be hurt by these stories if they are allowed to go unchecked.’

‘And you wish to assist me? Forgive me for saying so, but I did not expect such a kindness from a man such as you, whose opinions are well known.’

‘I freely admit I have no great love for your country. Many men within it I honour deeply, but your interests and ours must ever be in conflict. I can say the same for France, however. The well-being of England must always lie in ensuring that no foreign country ever attains a predominant position amongst us. That has been the policy of the wisest of our princes for generations, and must continue. When France is strong, we must look to the Habsburgs; when the Habsburgs are strong, we should bolster France.’

‘And do you speak for Mr Bennet as well?’

‘I speak for no man but myself. I am a mathematician, a priest
and an Englishman. But I am sure you know the admiration Mr Bennet has for your country. His position, also, will not be aided by such talk.’

De Moledi stood up, and bowed graciously. ‘I understand well that you are the sort of man to whom thanks should only be offered in words, and so in words alone do I offer them. I will say only that a different man would go from this room very much the richer for his kindness.’

I wrapped up my warning to de Moledi in no bad advice and, as was my continual habit before my failing eyes made the practice impossible, I wrote down a short account of my meeting with him to aid my memory. I have the note still, and I see that the counsel I gave was practical and wise. I had little expectation that it would be taken, however. The state is like a large ship with a numerous crew; once set on a course, it is difficult to change tack with any speed, even when such an alteration is manifestly sensible.

De Moledi’s response to my conversation was swift, however; far faster and more determined than I had anticipated. The following evening, one of Mr Bennet’s men came to my house and handed me a letter which informed me that my presence was urgently required.

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 unfavourably with Cromwell, but there was a simplicity about that great bad man which was far more impressive for being totally unpractised 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 ante-chambers had increased to positively Spanish proportions, and the obsequious behaviour 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 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 favour 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 offence you have given him then?’ Bennet continued.

‘I do not know what the offence 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 dreamt 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 candour 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 side, 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.