Daughters of the Doge (9 page)

We had not long returned from our rooms and were sniffing for food in the main gathering room, when there was a shout. A man in his fifties, perhaps older, sitting beside the roaring fire with a glass of wine, seemed to recognize the earl and called out to him in English.

‘Your Grace. Well met indeed! Come, sir, join us, with your companions.’

I knew instantly I had met the man before and tried to place him. It was his voice that eventually took me back. I remembered John Cheke, who had, for those sad and terrible nine days, been Secretary of State to ‘Queen’ Jane. I had watched him hover by her elbow and cajole her quietly into signing the papers he held. Jane had trusted him, as I had, for we both remembered his service as tutor to King Edward VI and believed him to be a trustworthy and honest Reformist. We had been told he had travelled to Padua for his health and was teaching Greek here at the university for his living. Now he was dragging himself to his feet to greet the earl.

‘Courtenay You must have arrived this very minute, from Brussels, perhaps, for I saw you there in— When was it? Last summer?’

His Grace became the courtier in an instant, and seemingly without effort. ‘Cheke! Good fellow. We have indeed arrived within the hour. Allow me to introduce Thomas Marwood, physician of my county of Devon, and Richard Stocker, who was with the Duke of Suffolk until his demise and helped me when first I rejoined the sunlight from my days of incarceration.’ Once he would have kept quiet about his time in the Tower, but I had noticed that, away from England, he referred to his imprisonment almost as a badge of honour.

He turned to us. ‘Gentlemen, this is Sir John Cheke, who is, I am sure, far too distinguished to require any introduction from me.’

‘And this, if I am not mistaken, is Dr Giovanni Carluccio, who taught me medicine here all those years ago.’ Thomas Marwood’s voice interrupted the introductions. A distinguished-looking man was approaching our table with his hand held out, as Thomas, who must have recognized him across the room, reached forward in the same fashion. The newcomer patted Cheke on the shoulder as he passed him – a sign of friendship from one colleague to another no doubt – and tilted his head in a self-deprecating manner.

‘Now Dottore
Professore
Carluccio.’ He patted his generous stomach. ‘I have been enlarged. It is the years, Thomas. They award us medals for surviving here! Which reminds me, have you eaten yet?’

‘Supper in Padua!’ Thomas’s enthusiasm bubbled up again, although he spoke in English not Italian.

The professor switched languages immediately. ‘Oh Thomas, oh Thomas. Your memory is going.’ Professor Carluccio wagged a friendly finger at him, smiling as he did so. ‘I thought we had taught you as a civilized Italian, but you have deserted us. I think you would say “dinner”, Thomas, in the evening and perhaps also, but smaller, in the middle of the day. Remember?’

Thomas beamed back at him. ‘I had forgotten. We are in a civilized country now, where the warmth of the sun changes our eating patterns.
Pranzo
in the evenings, and
pranzo a mezzogiorno
in the middle of the day.’

Courtenay was observing the conversation with interest, for his Italian was very good, if learned largely from books. ‘When do you find time to eat supper then, professor?’

Carluccio considered, translating both language and culture. ‘Supper? We would call it
chena.
And when?’ He winked at Thomas. ‘Maybe when you get back from your woman and you have a late hunger?’ He faced the group, perhaps concerned he might be embarrassing some members of our party ‘Or, of course, when travelling.’

‘Or, indeed, when travelling.’ Thomas gave a small bow, as if acknowledging a draw; honour was satisfied and we all trooped into the dining room for supper together.

I looked around me. Journey’s end, with little travelling remaining; comfortable surroundings, a good fire, a smell of cooking you could write poetry about, and the prospect of good company for dinner. What more could a man ask for?

The promise of a good dinner was well met and the promise of good company exceeded. We sat long (and sometimes noisily) at table, with the warmth of the wine adding to our feeling of satisfaction, and talked: of travel, of medicine, of men and politics and of the challenges brought to us all by a changing world.

Towards the end of the evening, I excused myself and made for the lavatories, to find I was being accompanied by Cheke. When we were out of earshot, he spoke, more quietly and in a more clipped manner than he had been using all evening. ‘Richard. It is good to see you again in these troubled times. Over dinner I was remembering the times I have seen you before. You were with the King – on his Progress in Portsmouth, was it not?’

I confirmed that I had been there when Cheke joined the King as he inspected the harbour and laid plans for improvements to the fortifications.

‘Did he ever reward you for that situation which arose with the pearl brooch?’

‘Indeed yes, he did, and handsomely. He made me a gift of a Spanish stallion complete with gold-embossed saddle.’

‘Ventura? He gave you Ventura? He was his favourite horse.’

I nodded, remembering. ‘I know. He knew he was dying and he wanted him to have good home.’

‘Do you have him still?’

I had seen the question coming and hoped to avoid it. ‘No, after watching Lady Jane die and then Lord Henry, I wanted to escape, to put that world behind me, and to start again. I sold Ventura to a good home and for a good price. I miss him sometimes. He was very special.’

He seemed to understand.

‘You were held in great regard by Lady Jane. She described you to me as the only constant friend she had, and the only one who treated her as a person and not as a mere symbol of authority.’

Tears came to my eyes and my throat constricted until I thought I would choke. ‘I loved her dearly, as a true friend. She taught me so much.’

Cheke took my arm. ‘They were bad times, and times continue to be bad under Queen Mary. Wicked things are happening in our country. Things we must not allow to continue.’

I nodded my agreement. ‘What can we do? With Philip on the throne beside her, the Spanish Inquisition will surely come to rule the country?’

Cheke looked carefully around him before replying. ‘There is someone I want you to meet. But only you. Do not tell Marwood or Courtenay. As committed Catholics they cannot be trusted.’

I tried to defend Thomas but Cheke would accept no argument. ‘It is a risk we cannot afford to take. If you are unable to separate your life from his, at least occasionally, then I must ask you to forget this conversation and withdraw.’

I shook my head in turn. ‘No, John. I can make that separation, and knew that one day I might have to. I will travel with the doctor, and we shall remain friends, but I shall not divulge your secret.’

He seemed satisfied. ‘Then make your excuses and come alone to the university tomorrow at noon. Come to the Department of Greek and ask for me. You will be expected.’

We finished our business and returned to the table separately. I wondered what tomorrow would bring.

C
HAPTER
13

January the 15th 1556 – Department of Greek Studies, University of Padua

Another cold morning, and the prospect of another crisp but sunny day to come. After eight weeks together, the three of us seemed to have made an unspoken agreement, and we quietly went our separate ways, perhaps seeking the solitude we had been denied since leaving Louvain.

Thomas breakfasted early and crossed the road to the university, intent on ferreting out old friends, and we did not expect to see him again for the rest of the day The earl had learned that Peter Vannes, English Ambassador to the Republic of Venice, was in Padua on a visit and expecting his arrival. He set off to meet him shortly after Thomas’s departure.