Prince

Chapter 12

A table had been set for five in the great hall.

‘I believe you owe Monsieur le Vidame a favour, Mr Shakespeare,’ Perez said. He was wide awake and full of vigour after his long hours of rest. ‘I am a generous man. He has told me what favour he desires. So I say to you this: grant him his favour, arrange for me to be presented to the Queen at the royal court, and pay me some token sum — say ten thousand sovereigns — and you shall know my secret. This is information known to none but King Philip and his closest advisers. I promise you this: it is a secret that will drain the blood from those wizened faces on the Privy Council and shock even the Basilisk herself.’

Shakespeare balked at the insult to Elizabeth. ‘Don Antonio, if you have a mind to go to court and to be presented to the Queen, you would do well to think on how you refer to Her Majesty.’

Perez smirked. ‘My humble apologies. Old habits… it was always the way of King Philip to refer to his former sister-in-law thus. I never liked it. A basilisk is a foul-hissing serpent with a gaze that will strike you dead, whereas I believe your queen to be a soft-purring kitten with a gaze that casts golden balm on all she surveys.’

Shakespeare did not laugh, though the others in the room did.

‘My secret comes from the distant past,’ Perez continued. ‘More than twenty years ago. And like good wine, it improves with age and the price must continually rise.’

Perez was at the head of the table. In the background — far enough away that they could not hear the conversation — a trio with viols played a soft, lilting ballad. Perez had been indisposed all day, rising only with the onset of evening. The small gold box from which he had taken the opium spirit lay on the table before him, under his watchful eye. The Vidame de Chartres sat to his right, Shakespeare to his left, with Ana at his own left side. The place beside the vidame was empty, but set with knife and napkin. Would Perez’s secretary sit there? If not, then who?

Shakespeare felt the eyes of his fellow guests upon him. Amusement still played around Ana’s unpatched eye; the vidame stared at him with bored curiosity, though his mouth had the semblance of a smile.

‘In truth, of course,’ Perez continued, ‘it is Philip who is the basilisk. Less than a basilisk, for at least a hissing snake is a fearsome thing. Philip is timorous and cringing. By birth, he is a king, but by nature he is lower than a slurry-man in a pig yard. His mind is feeble.’

‘Oh, I believe him to be a basilisk,’ the vidame said. ‘Do snakes not eat the dirt of the earth and slink into holes?’

‘Hush now,’ Ana said. ‘Mr Shakespeare is here for a serious purpose. He must talk with Don Antonio about matters of state. Without his help, I fear we will be consigned to this pleasureless dungeon forever.’

Shakespeare felt hot and uncomfortable. This dining table was no place to talk with Perez. ‘I would rather negotiate in private, Don Antonio,’ he said brusquely, ‘but I can tell you that the sum you request is too high. It will not be countenanced.’

Servants arrived with platters of roast venison, dainty curlew breasts, suckling pig and a peacock dressed in its feathers. The table was laden with fine Spanish wines rarely seen in England these days.

Perez waved his hand dismissively. ‘We will talk in due course. But you must ensure, Mr Shakespeare, that we go to court without delay. We shall all die of tedium if we have to stay in this wretched backwater a week longer.’

Shakespeare smiled diplomatically. ‘I know that this secret, should you divulge it, will smooth your path to the presence-chamber.’

Ana reached across and touched his hand. She no longer wore gloves and the sensation of her fingers surprised him with their sudden heat. ‘You are a hard man, Mr Shakespeare. Don Antonio has come to you in good faith — a little faith from the Cecils in return would not go amiss. I am sure you will learn the secret soon.’ Her hand lingered. And then her fingertips slid away.

Shakespeare bowed his head in apology. ‘I had not meant to imply lack of trust.’ And yet, in truth, he did not trust any person here in this house. His enforced leisure during the afternoon had been frustrating when there was so much to be pursued in the gunpowder inquiry. And what of the miserable Christopher Morley in the Wood Street Counter while he was idling away his time here?

‘The actions of a quarter-century past reverberate down the years, Mr Shakespeare. You must bring me gold.’

Shakespeare sipped some wine. ‘If I am to get close to your position, Don Antonio, you must tell me more. You must give me enough to commend you to Sir Robert with conviction.’

The broken veins on Perez’s purple face creased into a smile. His hand rested on the small box of vials. ‘Let us talk of the favour for Pregent first.’

‘What could a poor officer of state such as myself offer a member of the nobility of France?’

‘Why, what does any man want, Mr Shakespeare? We all wish the same — soft bright gold, hard red rubies and fine pink cunnies. Of the three, I believe Monsieur le Vidame wants a woman.’

Shakespeare’s gaze fell upon the Frenchman. ‘I am sure the vidame does not need my help in that regard.’

‘But this is a most particular woman. She is a black Ethiop. He bought her and she is his. But she was stolen from him by one of Hawkins’s pirate ships en route from Lisbon to Harfleur. She is now here in England. Monsieur le Vidame wishes to have her back.’

The vidame smiled and raised his fine chin in acknowledgement. Ana Cabral dipped her fingers into a plate of chicken and pulled a piece of crisp, golden skin from the flesh. She put the skin in her mouth and a trickle of juice ran from her lips. Slowly, her pink tongue descended and lapped all but the last drop back into her mouth.