meant to have it valued, but life threw more urgent matters in my path. My first wife died, I was elected mayor of Plymouth then Member of Parliament, I was forever on the road up and down to London, all the while trying to finance a new expedition to the Americas. The book slipped my mind. Until Dunne came out to dine with me at Buckland – his family seat was not far away. He asked me if I still had the manuscript and if he might look at it. I dug it out of the library – it was thick with dust – and he studied it for some while. Then he offered to take it to London and have it examined by an associate of his, a book dealer, who knew about such things and might be able to give me a good price for it.’
‘Could Dunne read it?’ I ask. A cold knot is growing in my stomach. ‘Was he a scholar? Did he know what it was?’
‘What is it?’ Sidney asks, tugging at my sleeve like a child. I ignore him, waiting for Drake’s reply.
‘I don’t think so,’ he says slowly, his eyes fixed on the manuscript as if he were now wary of it. ‘But he could not disguise his interest sufficiently. So, naturally, I became suspicious – it was clear he had been talking to someone about the book and believed it to be worth something.’ He sighs. ‘Dunne was a good sailor, God knows it serves no one to speak ill of him now, but his one great weakness was gambling. He had run up heavy debts in Plymouth and in London and was always looking for ways to keep his creditors at bay. I knew if I let him take the manuscript I would not see the half of its value, if I ever saw a penny. So I told him I would take it to this bookseller myself next time I was in London and give Dunne a commission if it turned out to fetch a good price.’
‘But you didn’t sell,’ I say, almost in a whisper, stroking my fingertips over the parchment as delicately as if it were a woman’s skin.
‘I didn’t trust this dealer an inch, once I met him.’ Drake sits back on the edge of the bed, watching me. ‘I took it to him all right. He feigned great disappointment – told me it was not what he’d been led to believe, it was not worth much after all. He offered to buy it nonetheless, and for a price that was supposed to make me feel he was doing me a favour. But there was a look in his eye – hungry, you know? He couldn’t hide it.’
‘Did he tell you anything about it?’
Drake shakes his head. ‘He said that it was an old legend about Judas Iscariot. Of interest only to theologians. I told him I would have it valued elsewhere and he doubled his offer immediately. So I told him it wasn’t for sale.’ He pauses for a draught of wine. ‘Less than a month later, we had a robbery at Buckland.’
‘Were they looking for the book?’
‘I believe so. My library was turned over. But nothing taken, as far as I could see – and I have more obviously valuable objects in the house that were left untouched. This manuscript was in a strongbox in my treasury while I decided what to do about it. I hired more armed watchmen to guard the house after that, but I was sure it must be connected to that man Dunne had sent me to.’
‘This bookseller …’ Doubt prickles at the back of my neck. ‘Do you remember his name?’
Drake frowns. ‘I’m not sure I ever knew it. Dunne took me to meet him in Paul’s Churchyard – if we were formally introduced, I have forgotten the name he gave. I will tell you one striking thing about him, though.’
‘Yes?’ I raise my eyebrows, though I am almost certain I know what he is going to say.
‘He had no ears.’
Sidney and I look at one another.
‘It was another reason not to trust him,’ Drake continues, though he has not missed the glance. ‘You don’t lose both ears by accident. He’d clearly been punished as a common criminal at some point, though for what I don’t know.’
‘Sedition,’ I say, almost without thinking. Drake stares at me.
‘You know this man?’
‘Possibly.’ My fingertips stray to my throat as my memory flashes back to my time in Oxford.
‘How many book dealers have had both ears cut off?’ Sidney says, turning to me. ‘It must be him.’
‘It’s a good thing you didn’t sell it to him,’ I say. ‘Though that won’t stop him trying to obtain it by any means, if we are talking of the same man.’
‘Then it is valuable?’ Drake leans forward, a gleam in his eyes.
‘For the love of Christ, Bruno – tell us what it is,’ Sidney says, exasperated.
I take a deep breath, trying to keep my voice even.
‘If it is genuine, this is a book the Holy Office swore did not exist. Bishop Irenaeus of Lyon mentioned it in the second century, in his treatise against the Gnostic heresies, but to the best of my knowledge, that is the only surviving reference. The Vatican library has always denied its existence, though that has not stopped scholars pursuing the scent of it—’
‘Spare us the lecture, man, cut to the point,’ Thomas Drake says, from his post by the door. ‘Tell us what it is.’
I look at him until he looks away, then I begin to read, keeping my voice as low as I can:
‘“The secret account of the revelation that Jesus spoke in conversation with Judas Iscariot three days before he celebrated Passover.”’
Thomas Drake just blinks, and shrugs. Sir Francis peers at the manuscript, his brow creased, as if he is trying to puzzle out the meaning. Only Sidney regards me with a glimmer of understanding.
‘The testimony of Judas Iscariot.’ He hesitates. ‘But it must be a fiction, surely?’
I rub the parchment gently between my finger and thumb. ‘Not necessarily.’
‘I am still none the wiser, gentlemen,’ Drake says. ‘Would you care to enlighten us poor sailors?’
I look at him, considering where to begin.
‘The holy scriptures contain four accounts of the life and death of Jesus Christ, those we call the gospels of the four evangelists, that were accepted by the Church Fathers as true and divinely inspired and which more or less corroborate each other. This we all know.’ I tap the book on my lap. ‘But there were many other accounts circulating in the early years of the Church, alternative gospels that fell outside orthodox doctrine and so were suppressed, destroyed, forbidden. Among them was rumoured to be a Gospel of Judas.’
Drake looks from me to the book and back. ‘Written by his own hand?’
‘Some think so. Legends have grown around its substance. The Gnostics believed it vindicated Judas Iscariot, unravelled the whole story of salvation and would overturn the foundations of the Christian faith.’ My hands are trembling on the page as I speak. If this manuscript should be genuine, if it should prove that the story of mankind’s salvation has been based on false accounts, if there were another version of the story … what then?
‘What should be done with it?’ Drake says. His expression suggests he is struggling to take this in.
‘Best to keep it under lock and key, for now. And on no account sell it to that book dealer with no ears.’
‘Why,
