“Fool,” said I, counterfeiting to Oates that I already had this knowledge, for I did not think it good that we should seem to know nothing. “I told you already. The damn fellow never listens, Doctor. Tell him.”
“Why, when the King returns from Flanders, of course,” said Oates. “What good is a Catholic plot to kill the King, if the King is somewhere else? It will all come out after this man Isaac Newton is murdered. For with his death, which will be blamed on the Catholics, the rest of their damnable plot will be revealed.”
“How is he to be murdered?” I enquired. “I have heard he is a mighty intelligent fellow, this Isaac Newton. He may yet outwit you.”
“I have not the precise details. But his movements are known to us. He will be assassinated in the street, and the blame put upon a notorious Roman Catholic who works in the Tower.”
“After the peace is concluded, then,” Newton said coolly, as if we were discussing the murder of some stranger.
“That is what we are waiting for, of course,” said I. “Let me die, but you are an ass, John. A mischief to you. Of course it will be after the peace, for when else will the King come back?” I glanced at Titus Oates and shook my head wearily. “Sometimes I wonder that I keep him in my service, Doctor, he abuses me so.”
We spoke again, and gradually and with great subtlety, we learned much of their plans, so that when the coach drew up in Axe Yard, which was between King Street and the cockpit in St. James’s Park, we knew a great deal except what was in the pamphlet which I now pronounced myself most eager to read.
“I will fetch it straightaway,” said Oates and, opening the coach door, climbed down to the street and went inside his house.
“That is a foul, roguish fellow,” remarked Newton.
“Most foul,” said I. “Un étourdie bête, and no mistake.”
“A senseless beast, yes, quite so.” Newton smiled. “And you, sir, have missed your true calling. What an actor you would have made, my dear fellow. Your Frenchified English is most appropriate and aristocratic. Bien tourné, so to speak. I am indeed impressed.”
“Thank you, sir. And now we shall find out what our Mister Defoe has been writing.”
“That’s another rogue,” said Newton. “I hate all those who issue anonymously what they neither wish nor dare to acknowledge as their own. It’s simple cowardice.”
When Oates came back to the coach with one of his damnable pamphlets, I gave him a guinea, for which the wretched and loathsome fellow was most grateful, turning it over in his curiously blackened fingers, which made me think we had done well to have given him a real one instead of the false ones we had recovered.
“But I would you say nothing to Lord Lucas of our meeting,” said I. “Or else he may think I go behind his back in this enterprise. And he is a person who gives off a most persecuted air, so that I do not want the fatigue of explaining myself to him. I swear he makes himself seem the most persistently wronged person I have ever met.”
“I have seldom met His Lordship,” said Oates. “Yet from what Sergeant Rohan told me, that is indeed his reputation. But Your Excellency may be assured that I shall say nothing to anyone of our conversation. And I look forward to making Your Lordship’s acquaintance again, perhaps when we have made England a better place to live in.”
“You mean without Papists.”
Oates bowed his horrible acquiescence.
“Amen to that,” he said.
Upon which Newton closed the coach door and we drove away, most horrified by what we had heard and much afeared of that knowledge to which we were now privy.
Newton often talked of the story of Belshazzar’s impious feast and the secret writing that Daniel did decipher. Indeed the Book of Daniel was one of his most favourite in the Bible, being full of numerical prophecies. He wondered why those wise men of Belshazzar could not read the words: mene, mene, tekel, upharsin. “Numbered, weighed and divided.” Perhaps they feared to give bad news to the King, whereas Daniel feared only God. Newton once told me that in Aramaic the words also meant three coins: a gold mina, a silver tekel (which was the Aramaic equivalent of a shekel), and the brass peres, which was worth but half a mina; and that this was the first recorded joke, being a pun on these three coins, and that I should imagine Daniel telling Belshazzar that his kingdom was not worth threepence. And why was it not worth threepence? Because Belshazzar was foolish enough to drink a toast to the gods of gold, silver and bronze using the metal vessels that his father Nebuchadnezzar had taken from the temple in Jerusalem.
This particular anecdote says much about Newton: herein may be found his interest in numismata that was stimulated by being at the Mint; but of greater importance is the meaning of the words themselves—“numbered, weighed and divided”—which encapsulate Newton’s own philosophy and his contribution to the world. Now that I come to think of it, Newton’s whole life could be compared to that disembodied hand whose writing so astonished all the king’s own soothsayers and astrologers, for he had such little interest in his own body that it might not have existed at all.
Like the prophet Daniel, Newton had a low opinion of prophets and wise men in general; and he was especially scathing toward Mister Defoe’s pamphlet that made much of a prediction by the French astrologer, Michel de Nostradamus—whose fame was widespread, although he was dead more than a hundred years—that there would be a conspiracy to kill King William.
“No man can prophesy the future,” said Newton when we were back at the Mint, having read the pamphlet aloud in the coach. “Only God in Heaven can reveal the secrets of the world, through men, who are his chosen instruments. It is he that maketh known what shall come to pass. But it is given to man to understand God’s world only by scientific inquiry and proper observation, and not by horoscopes or other foolish magic.
“And yet the common people are most credulous from their great ignorance,” he said. “And readily believe in such nonsense. Therefore it’s the proper job of science to exorcise these demonhaunted worlds, and to bring light to the regions of superstition. Until then, man will be the victim of his own stupidity, much preyed upon by the likes of Nostradamus, whose prophecies only seem accurate by virtue of their cryptic style and ambiguous content. Thus it seems to me entirely fitting that we should discover perjurers and villains such as Titus Oates and Mister Defoe making employment of the Frenchman’s mountebankeries. For therein lies the true work of horoscopes, as fitting tools for liars and impostors.
“But our Mister Defoe’s a clever man,” admitted Newton. “A most skilful propagator. He blames the lack of coin on Roman Catholic goldsmiths that hoard much bullion. It was the same in Paris in 1572 when the currency was also much debased and it was suspected that the Huguenots hoarded money, for their good business reputation was well known.
“Also, Mister Defoe mentions that the Duke of Barwick comes from France with a Jacobite Irish army, which is sure to cause a deal of panic. There is nothing like an Irish threat to make Englishmen feel uneasy and resentful. And if Whitehall burns while this pamphlet be abroad, then there’s no answering for what might be done in the name of Protestantism. Especially if there are arms made available to the people.
“We must stop this pamphlet and then alert Lord Halifax.”
Early the next morning several of the money police accompanied Newton, Mister Hall and me to Bartholomew Close, by Smithfield. Armed with a warrant, we entered the premises of Mister Woodward and Mister Downing whom Oates had himself named as the printer and publisher involved in the plot, and, under the provisions of the Plate Act we impounded their printing press on the pretext that it was suspected of being a coining press. Protesting most vehemently, Woodward and Downing insisted that their press could not possibly be used for anything other than printing pamphlets, which gave Newton the excuse he needed to seize all of these pamphlets also, saying that Woodward’s pamphlets would be required as evidence to support his contention that the press was being used for printing and not coining. It was a
most ingenious albeit disingenuous course of action, and taken not a moment too soon, as it later transpired that a few dozen of these incendiary pamphlets were already being distributed in London.
A day or so later we went by coach to Bushey Park to see milord Halifax.
This was the first time that I ever spoke to His Lordship, although I had often seen him at the Treasury and in Whitehall, and Newton asked me to accompany him because of the gravity of what he was going to tell His Lordship—for he was worried that even he might not be believed, the story was so fantastic.
Charles Montagu, Earl of Halifax, was about thirty-five years of age. For a while he had been a fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge, which was where, despite the difference in their ages, he and Newton had become friends. Halifax had been one of those signatories to the Prince of Orange to pursue his own and his Queen’s claims to the throne of England; and it is certain he was no lover of Papists. In appearance he was a very handsome man, and the manor of Apscourt very fine also, and I was very taken by him then, for he showed me much courtesy and remarked that one of his own names was Ellis and how we were perhaps once related. Which greatly enamoured him to me.
Lord Halifax listened most carefully to Newton’s story and, when it was over, fetched us all a glass of wine himself.
“Monstrous,” he remarked, “that such a thing should be contemplated here in England, and in this century.”
“Monstrous indeed,” agreed Newton.
“They have surely forgotten how France was condemned by all of Europe for the way that they butchered those poor Huguenots. If history is, as Dionysus tells us, philosophy from examples, then it’s clear that the example has been forgotten, and the philosophy not learned.”
“Your Lordship puts it very well,” said Newton. “I have taken the liberty of preparing a list of those men we believe to be involved in this plot.”
Lord Halifax glanced at the list and hardly got further than the two names that led it, before he spoke again, most soberly.
“I see that we must proceed very carefully,” said His Lordship. “For Lord Ashley and Lord Lucas are powerful men and doubtless they would deny everything; and even against you, Doctor, their word would carry. And yet we have some time, you say?”
“Until the peace is concluded and the King returns home,” said Newton. “I do not think they will act before then.”
“Then we must bide our time,” said Lord Halifax, “and make our preparations. I shall speak to milords Somers, Wharton and Russell. I should like the Government to act as one in this matter, the matter being most delicate. For the moment you may leave these matters to me, gentlemen. In the meantime, Doctor Newton, I would have you guard your own person most carefully, for it would go ill for all our preparations against these conspirators if some harm were to befall the uncle of the delightful Miss Barton.”
This surprised me, for I had no idea that His Lordship was acquainted with that lady.
“I am beside him nearly always, milord,” said I. “And I am armed with sword and pistols. So is Mister Hall.”
“You see?” said Newton. “I am well protected.”
“That is good,” said Lord Halifax. “Nevertheless, Doctor, I should like you to stay away from the Mint until this business is over. If the Tower be full of such a dangerous contagion, it seems foolish to put yourself in the way of it. There is already so much feeling against Roman Catholics abroad in London that I do not doubt how killing you, Doctor, would work some dreadful effect upon the population. It would need only someone to come forward and swear Mister Ambrose and Mister Roettier out of their lives for the design of an assassination against the King to be the spark that would ignite the whole city in a more awful calamity than the Great Fire.
“Therefore I say to you, Doctor Newton, keep yourself from the Mint and leave these matters to me. I shall come to Jermyn Street if I need to speak with you.”
“If you think it necessary, milord,” said Newton, bowing gracefully. “We will do as you say.”
The Treaty of Ryswick that ended the war was announced in the London Gazette on September the sixteenth, and signed on the twentieth. During the month that led up to the Treaty and the month afterward, things grew somewhat easier at the Mint, for, with the signing of the peace, the financial crisis that had afflicted the country for want of money to pay for the war eased most considerably.
Having to visit Newton in Jermyn Street so much, to conduct the business of the Mint, I saw more of Miss Barton again. I saw no sign that she might still be in love with me, despite what Newton had told me. Her behaviour to me was courteous but cold; not that Newton did perceive any difference between us, for he was quite blind to how things are between men and women. Besides, Miss Barton was often out, although I knew not where, since neither she nor Mrs. Rogers, nor Newton himself, saw fit to tell me; but several times Miss Barton and Newton were guests at Halifax’s house in Bushey Park, while I remained in Jermyn Street, with Mrs. Rogers. But despite her apparent indifference to me, ’tis certain I was distracted by her, which is but a poor excuse how I managed to put the threat to Newton’s life to the back of my mind; and how he was almost murdered.
One unseasonably warm day, my master and I were encouraged to walk instead of going about our business more safely by coach; but whatever the reasons, it is certain that we had relaxed our guard. We were coming away from Whitehall, where we had been interviewing Mister Bradley, who was an under-clerk in Lord Fitzharding’s office, and Mister Marriott, who had confessed to a fraud involving the conversion of exchequer bills into specie bills, and were proceeding to The Leg, a tavern in King Street, to review our depositions, when two ruffians armed with swords came out of Boar’s Head Yard and advanced upon us with very obvious intent.
“Have a care, sir,” I yelled to Newton, and pushed him behind me.
Had there been just the one I should have drawn my own sword and engaged, but since there were two I had little alternative but to use my pistols. At the sight of these they fled into George Yard on the other side of The Leg, and believing I had them cornered, I started to follow until, thinking better of it, I turned back to King Street. It was well that I did, for both men had dived into the back door of The Leg and were now coming out of the front door immediately behind my master, with their swords raised. One of them lunged at my master, who, seeing his assailant out of the corner of his eye, twisted himself to one side, clear of the blade, which passed harmlessly through his coat.
I did not hesitate. Nor did I miss. The first man I shot through the side of the face, and though I did not kill him, it is certain he would have starved to death, such was the mutilated state of his mouth. The second I shot through the heart, which was to suppose that he had had one. Newton himself, although splashed with the blood of one of his attackers, was unhurt but quite shaken, for he trembled like a tansey pudding.
“See what he has done to my coat,” he said, putting a finger through the hole his attacker’s blade had left there.
“Better than your belly,” said I.
“True.”
At the discovery of the hole, Newton felt obliged to go into The Leg and take a glass of brandy wine to steady his nerves.
“Once again I am indebted to you, and the excellence of your marksmanship,” said Newton, who still looked most pale. He raised his glass to his lips and drained it gratefully. “I confess I little thought they would try to kill me in broad daylight.”
“We do not know that they won’t try again,” said I.
“I don’t believe that those two will try again,” remarked Newton.
“Others may try,” said I. “From now on, we must only move around the city by coach.”
“Yes,” he said, almost breathless with the fright of it. “You are probably right. A coach from now on, yes. That would be safer.”
A parish constable arrived, and Newton said that our two assassins were ordinary footpads that had tried to steal Newton’s purse.
“Why di
d you tell him that?” I asked when the constable was gone.
“Because it’s what I would have supposed, had I not known of the Green Ribboners’ Plot,” he explained. “I see no reason to let it generally be known that there has been an attempt on my life. We must do or say nothing that will alarm the plotters until Lord Halifax is ready to move against them.”
“Until this is over,” I told him, “you must not be on your own.”
“No, you are right. You must come to Jermyn Street. At least until this is all over.”
And so for a while I lived at Jermyn Street again.
Mostly Miss Barton avoided being alone with me; but one day, while Newton was resting in his room, and it being a most inclement day, we found ourselves alone with each other. I had no idea how to broach the subject of her apparent estrangement from me, but I felt that I must say something, or die.
“Will you play drafts, Miss Barton?”
“No, thank you, sir, I am reading.”
“Come, will you not play? I am much improved since our last encounter. I am learning much from the Doctor’s style of play.”
She turned her page, with eloquent silence.
“Miss Barton,” I said at last, “I rely upon what once passed between us to justify my asking you now if you think it possible that you will ever look upon me as your friend again.”
She said nothing, but kept on reading her book.
“If it seems at all likely that you will ever find it in your heart to forgive me.”
Now she looked at me over the top of her book and beat me with her eyelashes. “It is not I who needs to forgive you, Mister Ellis, as I think I have made plain to you, but almighty God.”
“But this is most unfair. Must we bring God into this?”
“Let me ask you a question, Mister Ellis. Are you still of an atheistic frame of mind?”
“I cannot, in all conscience, say that I am not.”
“You are under my uncle’s roof as a guest, Mister Ellis; as am I. We must try to get along as best we can. But I will tell you this, sir. I am a good Christian woman, Mister Ellis, and your views are repugnant to me. And your views being repugnant, it should be plain that you are also repugnant to me, so long as you shall hold them.”