Traitor

Chapter 12

SHAKESPEARE STEPPED FORWARD, his sword drawn, but then sighed with relief. He could see Oxx and Godwit there, just out of earshot in the gloom. Watching. Protecting. He looked again at Dee and Eliska. He heard her say something and laugh lightly.

‘Enough of this, Dr Dee …’

And then she leant forward and kissed the ageing alchemist on the side of his face, while a soft gloved hand cupped the other cheek. Dee’s face looked drawn, but then he seemed to smile and say something before stepping back from her. Shakespeare’s frayed nerves relaxed a little.

Dee turned and caught sight of Shakespeare. He hesitated, then bowed, a mite too sharply.

‘Mr Shakespeare, I hope you are not fearful for me in the presence of this beautiful lady. Do you think she has the face of a Spanish spy?’

Shakespeare looked from one to the other. ‘If she was, then I fear she would be more than a match for you, Dr Dee.’

‘We are old friends, from Prague,’ Dee said cheerfully. ‘Eliska Nováková was my muse, Mr Shakespeare. As bright a creature as any of the angels of the vasty deep with whom I communed.’

‘I am pleased to hear it. I would not have wished you spirited away to Bohemia, caged like a lady’s monkey.’

Eliska laughed while Dee gazed at her admiringly. ‘I confess I sometimes wondered why I bothered to seek angels in the beyond, when my Eliska was here on earth.’

She touched his sleeve affectionately. ‘Because you are a married man, Dr Dee.’ She looked curiously at Shakespeare. ‘Are you a married man?’

Shakespeare was about to say that yes, he was a married man and that his wife, Catherine, was the most beautiful woman God ever gave to the world. But then he recalled that he was a widower and Catherine’s remains lay cold in the earth at the churchyard of St John in Walbrook. He shook his head, his jaw clamped tight.

‘We have no time for this,’ he said shortly. ‘My lord of Derby is gravely ill. Do you know aught of medical matters, Dr Dee?’

‘Nothing that will help the earl.’ Dee looked up. The rain was beginning to fall properly. ‘Come –’ he offered his arm to Lady Eliska – ‘let us go into the house. The evening’s entertainment is over. It was a wondrous affair, though wasted on an audience of muddy provincials. Pearls before swine.’

Shakespeare did not move.

‘You go,’ he said. ‘I will stay out here.’ The air was healthier, though he did not say so. He signalled to Oxx and Godwit. ‘Ensure the doctor is secured in his chamber.’

Walter Weld slunk back into the shadows and thrust his pistol back into his belt. Dee was too close-guarded. And yet there was hope. He had been to see Janus Trayne and was heartened by the improvement in his wounded wrist. More importantly, Trayne had dredged up some memory from the sink of his past. It was the memory of a name and a face, of a club-footed, limping man. The man with the knife at Portsmouth. A man named Cooper.

Weld allowed himself a smile; they would have the perspective glass yet.

‘A fine play, brother.’

‘You are generous. Do you think it would be considered ill mannered of me to leave for London? I have commitments. I would not have been here but for the love I owe my lord of Derby. My task is done.’

They were in Will’s tent. Rain seeped in from all corners and from below. They drank deep from goblets of sack, which warmed their throats. It would be an uncomfortable night. Shakespeare could well understand why his brother would wish to be away from here without delay.

‘I no longer like this place,’ Will continued. ‘It seems a very century since the Christmas of ’91, when Strange’s Men presented six plays before the Queen. Men no longer speak kindly of his lordship. I know not whether he is bewitched or poisoned, but in truth I am sure Lathom is cursed. There is nothing here for me.’

Shakespeare went to Dr Dee’s chamber. Oxx and Godwit were outside, awake.

‘Is he within?’

‘Yes, master,’ Oxx said. ‘There has been no sound for half an hour. I believe he sleeps.’

‘Do not let him go questing for treasure in the morning. He is to stay in the house.’

The guards nodded. Shakespeare left them and went down to the great hall. He guessed the time to be close to midnight. He had stayed with his brother too long and had drunk too much wine. They had talked of women and children and their family. It had been a warm interlude, but he would pay for it: he would feel the ache of the spirit in the morning.

Above him, leading off the gallery, he saw the entrance to the earl’s apartments. All was quiet for the moment. Shakespeare imagined them there: the three physicians wringing their hands; the countess still in her faerie queen rags, soothing his brow. Perhaps Mistress Knott still in her corner, chanting and moaning and invoking spirits against the darkness that ate at the earl’s body. Shakespeare’s stomach clenched at the thought of the earl’s agony. The Earl of Derby, the man who might have been king, was dying, he was sure of it. And there was nothing anyone could do.

He slipped through into the smaller hall. At the side, as Lady Eliska had described, was a wide stairwell. He climbed the stone steps and came to an oak door, half expecting to find the coachman Solko there, standing guard with his pistol, but no one was about. He knocked softly, then lifted the latch and walked in. She was waiting for him. Naked. The air was filled with the exotic scent of oil of spikenard.

He stared at her. She was lying on her bed, on a bank of pillows, reading a book by candlelight. Her body was exquisite. Well-formed breasts, smooth belly, a fair V of soft, golden hair. Slowly, she looked up from her book. Their eyes met.

‘Put on a gown, madame,’ Shakespeare said.

Outside, the rain tapped against the leaded window, which was far from watertight. Rivulets streamed in and ran down the inside of the wall, as they must have done for many years past, for they had carved brown, mouldy streaks.

Eliska put down her book and slid her legs from the bed to the floor. She stood up and faced him.

‘Do you not like what you see, Mr Shakespeare?’

‘I am a man. You are a beautiful woman. Now don a gown or wrap yourself in a blanket. I wish to see your passports from Burghley, and there are other matters to discuss.’

She shrugged her slender shoulders and picked up a loose linen gown. Unhurriedly, she slipped her arms into the sleeves and fastened it at the front. The full curve of her breasts was still plain to see.

‘Who sent you here, madame – and why?’

She frowned. ‘I came to visit the earl. I am engaged on a grand tour. It is what I have been doing since my father died. The earl and countess were gracious enough to invite me to stay.’

‘But why? Who are you? You said you could assist me. How? And why does Heneage write to you?’ He found himself both stirred and angered by her.

She laughed. ‘As I told you, I am the daughter of a noble merchant, who lived and traded in Prague, one young woman among many at court. With my beloved father dead, I travel the world with my coach, my Solko and my little monkey, finding entertainment where I may. I have more gold than I could ever need. I do not wish estates and castles in Bohemia; I want the whole world. As for Sir Thomas, he sends me his love and tells me to be kind to you.’

‘And he speaks well of you, my lady.’

But I will make up my own mind on that.

Shakespeare stepped away from her and paced to the window so that his back was towards her.

‘Do I disturb you, Mr Shakespeare?’ she said.

Her voice was sweet and warm. It seemed to chase away the coldness of the rainswept night. The demon Succubus must have such a voice.

He had had enough and turned sharply. ‘Do not take me for an imbecile. There is more to you than this. You speak English as though you have been here for many years, you say you are a friend of Dr Dee … You have links to Prague.’

All roads pointed to that exotic and distant city.

‘And what do you suppose all that might signify?’

‘Dee was in Prague, as was Richard Hesketh. Someone there sent him to England to discover whether my lord, the earl, would seize the throne of England for the Roman Church. Did you know Hesketh?’

She was thoughtful, as if attempting to recall a long-distant event.

‘It is possible I met him,’ she said at last. ‘There were many English malcontents exiled in the city. I came across them from time to time. If I met him, he made no impression on me. No, I do not recall him.’

‘You understand why I ask this, do you not? Has the news of what passed here reached you during your travels?’

‘Yes, I have heard of the fate of Mr Hesketh. Hanged but cut down while he yet lived; his privies sliced from him with a butcher’s filleting knife and held before his gaping eyes; his bowels plucked from his belly and tossed into the cauldron; his beating heart torn from his breast and thrown after his entrails; finally death – and then his body hacked in pieces and parboiled to be shown to the people as a warning. You English have a curious talent for punishment. The Spanish Inquisition with its burnings might learn from you.’

‘You disapprove?’

She sighed. ‘I neither approve nor disapprove. All who live must die. You will not find a swooning faintheart in this breast.’

He was silent a moment. Of what stuff was this woman made? He voiced his suspicions.

‘Some might wonder whether you were not sent here by Roman Catholics in Prague to wreak vengeance on the Earl of Derby for causing Mr Hesketh’s arrest and execution.’

She tied her gown tighter. ‘Lord Burghley trusts me.’

She walked to a coffer at the side of the room and took out a pouch of fine kidskin. Opening it, she drew out papers and handed them to Shakespeare.

He read them slowly: they were passports for Eliska and her coachman; the hand and seal were undoubtedly those of Lord Burghley, the Lord Treasurer. Shakespeare handed the papers back to her and she replaced them in the pouch.

‘Come with me, Mr Shakespeare. There is something I would show you, something I discovered by chance. Come – it’s close by.’

Suddenly her monkey started chattering, high up, on the canopy of the four-poster bed. It leapt down and Shakespeare saw that it was tethered to the bedhead by a long chain attached to its jewelled collar. It lunged towards him, but the chain held it back. The monkey turned, squatted – and a jet of acrid piss shot across the floor.

Eliska ignored her pet, picked up the lighted candle and led Shakespeare to the door. The stairwell was lit by the flames of wall sconces. She looked about her, down and up, and saw that no one was there, then silently climbed the stairs. Shakespeare followed her.

On the floor above, a door opened into a library. Books were everywhere: on the floor, on a table, on shelves, stacked against the walls. Glancing at them, he noted that many were in Italian; more were in German and English and Latin. Eliska’s candle threw shadows and light across the walls and ceilings.

‘There is another door. Watch me.’

She let go his hand, approached a panelled wall at the side of the chimney breast, prised her fingers into an indentation and the panelling slid open.

She stepped through the little doorway. Once more, Shakespeare followed her.

The new room was slightly smaller than the library, perhaps eighteen feet by twelve. He saw instantly what it was: a chapel, with an ornate altar. A sculpted Madonna and child looked down from the wall above the altar. The altar itself was laid with a cloth of gold and silver threads, and furnished with a cross and the mass things – a chalice and paten, both wrought from fine gold. The faint whiff of incense hung in the still air and mingled with the candle smoke.

So it was certain. Cardinal William Allen and the Popish exiles in Prague and Rome had been right about where the Earl of Derby’s true loyalties lay. He was no Protestant.

Eliska stepped further into the room and indicated something on the floor, to the left. A thin mattress lay there, furled up, with two blankets beside it. From a hook hung the cassock and surplice of a priest. A book lay on the floor. Shakespeare picked it up and looked at the pages. It was a beautiful Bible, in Latin, with illuminated lettering.

‘I suspect that this is where our poor friend on the road dwelt, Mr Shakespeare.’

Shakespeare nodded grimly. Most likely. This was the hiding place of a seminary priest or Jesuit, and Father Lamb was the obvious candidate. This had been his home. He had been chaplain to this household, bringing the sacraments to the earl and others in this house who clung to the old faith. But that did not explain Eliska’s part in it.

‘And how, my lady, would you find a hidden room by chance in a house you do not know?’

‘Soon after I arrived here I took a wrong way coming to my room and ended up in the library. Idly looking at the earl’s collection of books, I discovered the door.’

‘By chance you slid back the one false panel in a room full of panelling?’

‘I thought it most unusual, too, Mr Shakespeare.’

He did not believe a word of it. He would watch her closely, whatever the feelings of Burghley and Heneage.

‘Tell me what is your religion, madame?’

‘Is it compulsory to have a faith in your country? In Bohemia, people are free to worship – or not – as they please. Rudolf is an enlightened king.’

‘Very well. I will not press you on that. But you bring this chapel to my attention, knowing that I am an officer of Sir Robert Cecil, and certainly knowing that the earl’s faith is a matter of conjecture and great controversy in this country.’

‘It was precisely because you are an officer of the Cecils that I showed you this room. I wish only to do right by your sovereign and the Cecils, as I am sure Sir Thomas has told you. I am a guest in your country and a friend.’

As she stood there in her light gown in this holy candlelit place, Shakespeare almost reached out his hand to draw her to him. It was so long since he had had a woman. Instead, he turned aside and prepared to leave.

‘Say nothing of this chapel to anyone.’

‘As you wish, Mr Shakespeare.’