Shakespeare's Rebel (44 page)

He’d forgotten, for the time he was there. He had committed to a course of action and a cause. It had no fixed address, no certain end. ‘I shall find you, my friend. And until I do, keep well.’

‘And you.’ Shakespeare let out a huge sigh, then fell back into his chair. ‘And your son also.’

They left him staring before him. As the door closed, Ned whispered, ‘Can we leave him so? I have never seen him like that.’

‘I have. And we can.’ John was already descending the stairs. ‘Poets are not like you and me, boy, mere players. They tread a different path to their creations. And from the look of him, Master Shakespeare’s recent path has been rocky, perhaps the hardest he has ever trodden.’ They reached Clink Street. ‘While another lies ahead of me.’ He laid his hand upon the boy’s shoulder. ‘Will you still be my guide upon it?’

There was a shudder under his palm; but whether from recent witness or present touch he did not know. I would like to find out, John thought. So he squeezed, lifted and, on receiving no answer, added, ‘Take me to your mother.’

XXXII

Eruptions

There was always noise in Southwark. Especially at this hour, with higglers seeking to unload their goods before nightfall. From carts, trays or stalls exploded the competing cries.

‘Mussels lily white, Wallfleet oysters!’

‘Coney stew and pottage! Groat a bowl!’

‘’Umble pie and saveloy sausage! More guts than gravy!’

Men stood in the doorways of taverns and ordinaries, bellowing of succulence and warmth to be found within. Sixpenny queans called, siren-like, from alleys, while their half-crown superiors leaned from the windows of brothels and cooed. Everywhere wheels ground on cobbles, wagon drivers yelling and cursing, seeking passage through the throng, pedestrians giving back obscenity for obscenity, while the watchman’s bass boomed out the hour: ‘Give ear to the clock. Beware your lock. Four o’clock.’ To some a prod to push through to bridge or boat. To others an invitation to linger somewhere snug and sinful.

The noise was at its loudest, the crowds densest, where the road funnelled before widening out to the churchyard of St Mary’s. Yet if the cacophony was also at its height, one sound still managed to pierce it all, at least to the two Lawleys’ ears. Perhaps they were attuned to it, like a viola’s player picking out its note no matter the size of the consort. They looked at each other. ‘Mother,’ Ned said, and John swallowed, nodded, pushed the last and hardest paces to the door of the Spoon and Alderman. At it, they hesitated – for beyond its threshold, and beyond doubt, its landlady was going off on one.

Tess was ever gentle – until something riled her. Then, like the calmest sea swelled suddenly with a rogue wave, she would rise and roar. Father and son had both experienced it, and the look they shared said this: God mend me that I come not into this storm.

Yet come they had to, despite the warning in the eyes of the doorkeeper, six foot of English oak trying to make himself a twig in the tavern doorway. They had also to push against a tide of fleeing customers until, finally gaining entrance, they stopped to behold the scene.

On one side of the room, as far as they could get from the bar, stood Sir Samuel D’Esparr and his bodyguard Tomkins – stood, if their half-crouch could still be called standing. On t’other side, drawn up to her full height, was Tess.

She did not see the newcomers straightway. All her attention, and her mustered wrath, was focused entirely upon the cowering men; one especially. ‘How is it possible, sirrah,’ she exclaimed, ‘that after an absence of a year, you return a greater fool than when you left? Were all your wits dispersed by bog vapour, Irish whisky and Dublin whores?’

‘I . . . I assure you, lady,’ Sir Samuel uncrouched enough to speak, ‘I was chaste . . .’

‘Chased? You were chased thence by a rogue, and chased back by the same one.’

‘Sweet Tess, I only meant—’

‘Don’t “sweet” me, varlet!’ she blazed. ‘You have soured all sweetness with your decisions. Not a week – no, less, far less, a matter of days since you caused the banns to be read to announce our wedding, you then inform me’ – she took a deep breath – ‘you inform me that you will ride again under the banner of the man who so delayed our marriage before by stealing you away. More, that you will attend him in such a cause as this. May Christ give me strength,’ she cried, stamping her foot. ‘If I had that man here before me, I would say to him, I would say . . . “My lord, you may be her majesty’s viceroy, but I know a traitorous dog when I see one . . . ” ’

John had heard enough. There were breaches in a besieged town’s walls he’d stepped into with more relish. But though she had cleared the tavern with her roaring, it could still be heard outside, by ears that might carry it elsewhere to others’. Dangerous ones. ‘Tess,’ he called, moving out of the shadows around the door.

It was enough to halt the tirade, though he knew it wouldn’t be for long. And though he was blessed with a glimpse of relief in her eyes at the sight of him, it vanished all too fast. ‘Oh, and speaking of fools, here we have the very prince of motley,’ she cried. ‘Let him tell you the consequences of following the man you seek to follow again. Let the whiteness of his skin testify to the cell he has only just come from, sent there because of the same man. Milord has led him into range of death, and away from love, more times than you have fingers and toes. See him and see a ruined life. See him and see what you will throw away if you now follow—’

‘Tess!’ John called again, louder, with a command in it. Coming forward, he said in a lower tone, ‘I think I understand a little of your fury . . .’

‘Oh? You do?’

‘Aye. And I am sure it is justified . . .’

‘You are sure? You who have given me more cause to weep than any man?’

He had deflected the storm on to himself. But at least her voice had lowered to near his. ‘I admit it all, lady. And I would be happy to hear you number my sins again. Happy also for you to put Sir Samuel and myself in the scale.’ It would not serve him to take all blame here. ‘But I ask you to make the tally softly, lest someone hears who shouldn’t. There are keen ears just beyond these walls, Tess. And the streets have never been more dangerous.’

‘I care not . . .’

‘Not for me, perhaps. Not even for this man who so richly deserves your wrath . . .’ A squawk came at this from the other side of the room. ‘But you do care about someone else who would be hurt if your words were whispered in the wrong ear. You do care about your son.’ On the word, he reached back and dragged Ned out from where he cowered into the tallow light.

‘My son. My son the player . . .’

John had been right. The danger of all whom she threatened came to Tess. John could see anger still in her eyes, see further words on her lips. But the flow was halted, and he stepped a little nearer. ‘Come, love, let us all sit and talk of this. There must be a way to resolve it.’

‘Don’t you “love” me,’ she grumbled, but stepped and sat heavily on a bench.

‘Nay, do you not,’ said Sir Samuel, also coming forward, sitting too.

John looked at the knight. Ned’s report had been correct. He was no longer fat. Ireland had wasted him, as it had so many before him. But unlike a soldier made lean by exercise, Sir Samuel did not look well for it. Flesh hung from his face in loose folds from both jaw and eye, dewlaps on a hound, grey in tone. His rival for Tess’s hand had only this advantage: he held the field. The banns had been read. For two more Sundays they would be read again, and on the third the wedding should take place. Should, if events did not intervene. Events that were unfolding across the river at Essex House; revels to which Sir Samuel had also been invited, it appeared. Good, John thought. I do not see why only one of Tess’s suitors should hazard all in what is to come.

‘Do I assume, lady, from your high colour, that Sir Samuel has done something to displease you? And that something is to do’– he lowered his voice still further – ‘with Robert Devereux?’

Her colour deepened. ‘You assume right. My life seems to be continually governed by his lordship’s whims. Well, no more,’ she said, looking hard at Sir Samuel. ‘No. More!’

‘My love,’ replied the knight, ‘you know that I seek only to please you in every way. Except honour.’ He swallowed. ‘I am Essex’s man. He is my lord . . .’

‘He holds your mortgage,’ commented John.

‘He holds my . . .’ the knight glared, spluttered. ‘That matters naught, sirrah! Only this does.’ He gestured to the tangerine threads woven through his grey doublet. ‘I wear his colours. How can I refuse his summons?’

The last was not asked rhetorically. An excuse was sought, the appeal clear in voice, in eyes. Tess answered it. ‘You will send to say that you are sick.’

The murmur came from behind them. ‘ “Shall Caesar send a lie?” ’ All turned – to look at Ned, who shrugged. ‘’Tis the scene I played in
Julius Caesar
,’ he explained. ‘Calphurnia, disquieted by signs and portents, begging Caesar to stay home.’

‘Ah ha! And when he refused her, he went to his death!’ Tess slapped the table before her. ‘It is an apt comparison.’ She reached and took her betrothed’s hand. ‘So listen to your Calphurnia – and go not to Caesar’s fate.’

The sight of her hand on D’Esparr’s brought a rush of fury to John . . . which, with a deep breath, he swallowed down. Fury would not help him here. Yet something else might. So when he was ready, he spoke coolly. ‘Not so apt, I think. For Caesar fell to conspiracy. Here
we
are the conspiracy.’

His hushed tone drew a nod from the knight. ‘It is true, my love. We rise in support of our lord to overthrow the tyrant.’

Tess looked to speak. John cut in swiftly. ‘It is not so much the cause, though I think that ours is just. No, it is a question of obedience – for the earl’s last words to me were “Fetch me here your comrade in arms, noble D’Esparr.” Obedience . . . and sense. For if a Titan falls, can we escape being crushed? We are known to wear tangerine whether we draw swords in the streets or no. So why not draw them and help him triumph? Why not ensure that he wins?’ He turned to Sir Samuel. ‘Marry, sir, it will be just like the day we vanquished our foes on the field of honour in Ireland.’

As John suspected, that event had been suitably gilded in Despair’s memory. ‘Will it not?’ The knight turned eagerly to Tess. ‘I have told you a little of that, sweetling. Of John and I, back to back, swords flashing, keeping scores of ambushers at bay.’

John smiled encouragingly to counter the obvious doubt on Tess’s face. He suspected that she had a good grasp of her fiancé’s short-comings. ‘Besides which,’ he added, ‘this day will not be like that. Our enemy is clear before us, not melting into bogs. And their numbers are small, unlike the Irish – while their leader is no Tyrone but a stunted fellow the Queen openly calls her pygmy.’ He leaned forward. ‘A giant can crush a pygmy with a small step. And will, if I can aid him.’ He shook his head. ‘For truly, how can a man of honour, and a brother sworn to the noble earl’s cause, do other?’

Tess was gazing at him sceptically. She knew how he had tried to avoid such antics before, recognised also, perhaps, a player’s delivery. Not Sir Samuel – his face had that same adoration it had worn after John had rescued him from his bludgeoning. ‘By all the saints, sir, you are right, sir! We may have had our differences but . . . your hand!’ He reached forward and seized John’s. ‘We two will help our noble lord to a triumph!’ He turned back to Tess. ‘And, love, think how it will be to have England’s new hero at our wedding!’

‘An honour indeed.’ John clasped back. ‘But, Sir Samuel, since you have been summoned there, I suggest you repair to Essex House immediately, to offer his lordship counsel and to hear how you may serve.’ He stepped away from the table, drawing the man up. ‘While I, who have just come from thence, will follow soon after.’

Tess stood too. ‘You are both fools then,’ she said. ‘And, Samuel, I repeat, I forbid—’

‘Enough!’ Sir Samuel roared. ‘I have listened to your soft pleadings. But like Caesar I will not yield to them.’ Aware perhaps of the problem with the comparison, he coughed, then turned. ‘Tomkins!’ he commanded. ‘My sword.’

His man, whom John had got to know a little in his brief time in Ireland, came forward with the weapon, giving John a look that spoke his mind: I know what you are up to. But it was not his place to question, simply obey. Tess had not those restraints. Fury had failed. Her concern was now clear. ‘I appeal to you both. Do not get caught up in this folly. Lie low and await its passing.’

‘Lie low?’ Sir Samuel said disdainfully, buckling on his weapon. ‘Such talk does not befit the affianced of a D’Esparr.’ He held up a hand. ‘No. Silence now, and let us proceed. Tend to your business – for the last few nights that it will occupy you. For when I return in triumph, you will no longer be an innkeeper, but once again a lady of the gentry.’

For a braggart, he swept quite impressively out the door, John thought. He turned. ‘Tess . . .’ he began.

‘No, sir,’ she said. ‘I do not quite know what you are about. Though I suspect it is to once more interfere with my life. But know this: you will not climb into my bed over Sir Samuel’s corpse.’

It stung, in part because there was truth in it. Yet not in the way she thought. ‘Nay, lady, I do not seek his death,’ he answered, ‘but only this: to have it resolved once and finally between my lord of Essex and myself. Between Despair and me . . . and between me and thee.’ He took her hand then and she did not give it . . . but neither did she withdraw it. ‘Somehow, once again, it all comes down to mad Robbie Devereux and what he does now. All stakes are on that one hazard. And whether he throws it or does not, in the throwing he will resolve us all.’

He held her a moment longer, with his hand, with his eyes. And then he turned and marched out through the door. Sir Samuel awaited him beyond the threshold, a touch of suspicion within his eyes. ‘Coming, Lawley?’ he enquired.

‘Not yet.’ The suspicion grew and he hastened to allay it. He did not need Sir Samuel changing his mind. ‘I have matters to resolve at the playhouse. Tell my noble lord that I will join him on the morrow.’