Traitor

Chapter 26

FIVE MILES NORTH-WEST of Oxford, John Shakespeare stopped and considered the position. Where could they lodge in the city to garner least attention? He looked closely at Dr Dee. On the journey down here his disguise, such as it was, had been secure enough. But there were likely to be those in the colleges of Oxford who recognised him, for he had been among England’s leading men of learning for decades.

It seemed he had four options: take Dee to the town gaol and have him held secure there; enlist the aid of the mayor or local justice and lodge him in their house; take him to a nearby great house or manor where the lord or lady of the estate might be glad of the opportunity to be of service to Cecil and the Queen; or go anonymously to one of the large coaching inns and keep Dee incarcerated under the watchful eyes of Oxx and Godwit.

None of the options was perfect, but the first three seemed the most flawed, for they involved entrusting secret information to new people. He had already done that once, in Lancashire, and had felt uncomfortable, even though Oxx and Godwit had proved themselves stout, reliable men. He did not want to increase the peril in a town like Oxford, where tittle-tattle would be rife.

Dee had been sullen and disconsolate the whole journey, complaining at regular intervals about being taken away from his treasure hunting and bemoaning the leaving of his precious books and other possessions at Lathom House. Yet it was the loss of his beard and dazzling gown that most irked him.

‘You will be my servant in Oxford, Dr Dee, along with Mr Oxx and Mr Godwit. We need a cover story in case anyone should question us.’

Dee said nothing, but looked at Shakespeare with indignation.

‘Do you understand?’

‘Mr Shakespeare, I see straightway what you are getting at and I consider your proposal outrageous. Your ruse might work with a lesser-known man, but putting me in workday clothes and cutting off my beard will fool no one. I am acquainted with many of the Fellows and senior members of the Oxford colleges.’

Shakespeare laughed. ‘I doubt one of them will ever have seen you clean-shaven or in other than your alchemist’s robes. They will not be expecting you, Dr Dee, especially in the role of a servant, carrying my bags and tending to the horses. Besides, you will be confined to our chambers most of the time.’

‘Tending horses! Carrying bags! I am sixty-seven years old!’

‘And as fit as a fighting dog.’

Dee gritted his teeth and looked away with studied disdain.

Shakespeare sighed and shook the reins of his horse. They rode on. He began to survey the fields and woods and farmhouses in vain hope of spotting Andrew. They kept well away from the main road, travelling along farm tracks to ensure they were not followed or watched. They saw shepherds and tillers in the fields and peasant women in the farmyards, but no one else. The countryside was rich with burgeoning crops, fresh green leaves and wild flowers.

An hour later, the four men rejoined the main road. A multitude of church spires loomed in the near distance: Oxford. Soon they entered the busy city, finding their way through the wagon-clogged streets to the Blue Boar Inn. The large stableyard was a din of noise and movement. The hammering of blacksmiths’ hammers on anvils rang through the warm summer’s air; the smell of horse-dung was all-pervasive. An ostler took their tired mounts and Shakespeare strode into the inn. Dee struggled behind him under the weight of a pack-saddle, with Oxx and Godwit at the rear, carrying the bulk of their baggage.

‘You could not have found a more public place in all of England, Mr Shakespeare,’ Dee said angrily as they settled into a large room looking out over the yard at the back. ‘I believe this place must have thirty or more chambers.’

‘Easier for us to get lost in, and not be found.’

‘I suspect you were never a scholar of Oxford or Cambridge, sir, or you would have a better grasp of logic.’

Shakespeare ignored the barb. ‘As my servant, I should command you to go now and order food for us, but it is probably more circumspect if Mr Oxx or Mr Godwit were to carry out that task. And remember, you will refer to me as master. Like a true and faithful servant. I must give you a name. Mustard, I think. Yes, I shall call you Mustard, for I am certain you will serve me keenly.’

Dr John Dee, Master of Arts from the University of Cambridge, adviser to the Queen, communer with angels and reckoned by many to be the most eminent man of science and letters in England, hesitated a moment. At last he sighed and his shoulders fell.

‘Well, I suppose if we are to do this, we must do it properly.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Here you are. That’ll make you fall over.’

Ursula passed Andrew a flagon. He sniffed it and grimaced.

‘Just drink it!’

Andrew sipped the liquor. His face creased up with disgust.

‘Now then, let’s put you straight about a few things. First thing you got to know is, you’re a vagabond now, and you’re in a vagabond band. There’s a hundred of us or more at the moment. More you have in a fraternity, the stronger you all are, because it makes it harder for the villagers and farmers to drive you away. But it also means you’re more visible. Gets harder to do your business, because doors get locked and purses get hid. If the band accepts you, you’ll be looked after. If not … well, you don’t want to know about that.’

Andrew nodded. He looked around. They were deep in the woods in an area of thick bracken. Ursula had told him they would be staying the night there. He had accepted this without demur, for he knew of no other place to go.

‘So, listen, you need to know a few more things,’ Ursula continued. ‘As Upright Man, Staffy has rights over every rogue and every doxy. No man may break a dell – that’s a maiden to you – until the Upright Man has had his turn. What he says goes. No man argues with the Upright Man. Got that?’

Andrew nodded again. He had no intention of arguing with Staffy, nor anyone else. He took another tentative sip of the liquor. He gasped and his eyes widened.

‘Next after the Upright Man is the Curtall – and in this band that’s pigging Reaphook, like I told you. He’s a mean one and wants to be the Upright Man, but Staffy’s bigger, stronger and meaner still. Except with me, that is. Staffy’s always looked out for me, and I’ve been with the band since my mother died when I was in swaddling clothes. And he hasn’t broken me, though I couldn’t say why. There’s times I wish he would, just to get it pigging over and done with.’

‘Is he your father?’

‘No. Does he look like my pigging father?’

Andrew shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t know. I just wondered. He seemed to treat you as if he was.’

‘Well, he’s not. So stop asking daft questions and just listen. He protects me, that’s all. He protects me from Reaphook and Spindle and anyone else who wants to try getting bawdy with me. But that don’t mean he’s not tough with me, too, because he is. He demands his due in coin and he’ll cuff me or beat me when he’s in his dark mood. So I keep on the right side of him. Like you will.’

‘Why didn’t you tell him what Reaphook tried to do?’

‘Because I can look out for myself. Anyway, Staffy would get madder than a baited bear, and that’s not good for no man. And I don’t want to push him because I know that he’d throw me out if I ever threatened the band. But first he’d blame you and throw you out – or do for you.’

‘But why are you all here – out in the wild like this? Why aren’t you all in villages and towns, living in houses?’

Ursula sighed. ‘You can read but you can’t think. There’s four reasons people become vagabonds. One, they lose their land and grazing rights to the pigging lords and ladies. That’s Staffy. The common land he farmed was enclosed and given over to bleating cheats or lowing cheats or some such, so he beat up the landlord’s bailiff and ran away to find work. No one wanted him, so here he is. Two, they’re born to it – and that’s me. My mother was a vagabond so I am, too. Three, they choose thieving and begging because they don’t like pigging work. Four, they’re on the run from the hangman – that’s you, and that’s Reaphook.’

‘What happened to your mother?’

‘Died having me. Staffy says she danced and that she was named Ursula like me.’

‘Did he love her?’

‘I suppose he must have done, otherwise he’d have had nothing to do with me. All I know is he found a mort as had lost her own babe and gave me to her as a wet-nurse, until she got hanged.’ She punched him. ‘You got me talking all pigging soft.’

‘Tell me about Reaphook. What did he do to deserve hanging?’

Her voice lowered. ‘He says he killed a man in a knife fight in London town.’

‘He’s a murderer?’

‘The worst sort. I know the true story. He killed a whole family – father, mother and three children. They caught him rifling their house. He was armed with his sickle. Slashed their throats one by one with his sickle until the house was drenched in their blood. Always has his sickle; that’s why men call him Reaphook. But I don’t like to think on that. Come on, let’s have another drink and couch a hogshead. You’ve worn me out with your pigging daft questions.’

Andrew woke to a bright, warm morning. Above him, the canopy of trees looked friendly for the first time in the days since his flight from Oxford. For a few minutes, he simply lay there, hands behind his head, looking up at the blue sky and the fresh green leaves of this ancient woodland. From a few yards away, he could hear Ursula’s light snoring.

Suddenly the snoring stopped. A second later, she was standing over him.

‘Let’s get moving. Don’t want to be here when foresters or huntsmen arrive.’

He had been trying to plan his next move. He needed to find a way to London or to Stratford. But with no money, no food, no horse, no weapons and no idea of the way, he was helpless. He was very aware, too, that the presence of another person had brought a feeling of safety in the night. He would not go. Not just yet.