Rory Clements - The Queen's man

Shakespeare did not try to disguise his distaste. ‘A man will say anything when tortured.’

‘Indeed he will. And when I go to the places he tells me and find those I have been seeking, I will know whether he has spoken true or not. If not, then he will face worse. Now, Shakespeare, you still have not told me why you are here. The paper merely says I am to work with you.’

‘He is after the Frenchie I mentioned to you, Dick,’ the earl said. ‘It turns out he was not a doctor of medicine.’

‘Is this so, Shakespeare?’

‘Did you meet him, Mr Topcliffe?’

‘He left before I arrived. Who is he?’

‘This is not the place to talk about it. Let us eat, then meet in private.’ Shakespeare forced another smile, then turned away and made conversation with the young squire to his right.

‘Never do that to me again, Shakespeare.’

‘What is that, Topcliffe?’

‘Turn your back on me.’

‘You are making something of nothing. Let us get to business.’

They were in the office that had been set aside for Shakespeare by the earl. Shakespeare sat at a table. Topcliffe paced angrily.

For a man of mature years, Topcliffe seemed charged with a remarkable energy and fervour. But there was something worrying close to the surface, and it was not simply his odious gloating at the taking of a priest and the prospect of having him tortured and executed. For the moment, Shakespeare decided he would simply have to pay no heed to his doubts. If Walsingham said he was to be trusted, then so be it.

‘The Frenchman’s true name is Leloup, not Seguin. What Shrewsbury told you was wrong; he is a doctor of medicine. But more than that he is the Duke of Guise’s man. He should never have been allowed within a hundred miles of Mary, and Shrewsbury knows it.’

‘Beware your tongue, Shakespeare, lest someone cut it from you. I will not have you speaking ill of the earl to Mr Secretary.’ Topcliffe’s threat was alarming, coming from one who was supposed to be a colleague, but Shakespeare declined to rise to the bait.

‘There is no need to. His poor judgement speaks for itself.’

He went on to explain all he knew of Leloup and raised the possibility of moving Mary Stuart somewhere more enclosed and secure. ‘Mr Secretary wishes us to form a common verdict on the matter and go from here to Tutbury. But his foremost wish is that we capture the Frenchman.’

‘Then let us hope for fine hunting. I will be the hunter; you will be my houndswain.’

‘We will go as equals, Mr Topcliffe,’ Shakespeare said firmly. ‘The problem is that there is no reason to think Leloup is still in Sheffield, or even in Yorkshire. By now, he could be approaching Dover, his mission completed.’

‘I say he is still here, conspiring with the northern lords and other lewd popish insects. This county is a very ant-heap of them. Maybe my petticoat priest will have something to say on the matter.’

‘Then let us go our separate ways. You can seek out Leloup as you think fit; I will examine this castle for holes and look for Leloup in my own way. Let us meet again in twenty-four hours and discuss our progress. Then, depending on that, we can consider riding south to Tutbury together.’

Topcliffe pointed his blackthorn stick at Shakespeare. ‘Very well, but first I will show you this castle.’

‘There is no need. I am going with the sergeant of guards.’

Topcliffe snorted with scorn. ‘The sergeant of guards is sly. Wren will only show you what he wants you to see. You will be better dealt with in my company. I know every inch of this castle — I have been here many times.’

Perhaps it was a good idea, Shakespeare thought. He and Topcliffe had got off to a bad start. If he had to work with this strange man, it would probably be a good idea to get to know him. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Thank you, Mr Topcliffe.’

‘We shall make a fine team. Let us go to it.’

Boltfoot stopped at the bank of the Sheaf river and gazed across it up at the huge stone walls of the castle. If he took one of the small rowing boats he could cross the stream here, but the wall was sheer and too high to scale. Perhaps another man, a soldier trained in climbing fortress walls, might be able to do it, but with his club-foot, he could not.

‘What you looking at, friend?’

Boltfoot turned at the voice. A man in a torn smock had come up behind him. He held the bridle of a bullock harnessed to a long, heavy wagon.

‘I’m looking at the wall,’ said Boltfoot. ‘Folks that built those walls knew what they were about.’

‘Aye, that they did,’ said the carter. ‘Strong enough to keep the Scots fartleberry locked away where she do belong. You new to these parts, friend?’

‘I travel with my master. He has business in the castle. Told me to bide my time out here.’

‘What’s his business?’

‘His business is his own and I am not at liberty to divulge it.’

The carter laughed. ‘You want to be careful folks don’t take you for a spy. This town is riddled with spies of every shade. More spies in Sheffield than you’ll find weevils in a hundredweight of grain. Looking too closely at castle walls could cost a man his liberty and his head hereabouts.’

Boltfoot weighed the man up. ‘Spies? What they spying on?’

The carter shrugged. ‘Each other mostly, I reckon. They can spy on each other all they want for all I care. The innkeepers are happy, too, because they bring London gold to Sheffield town.’

‘So how would you get in the castle?’

‘That’s easy. Just drive in with provender. Carts like mine go in and out all day and sometimes at night, too. They got a hundred or more horses in the stables. Those beasts need a lot of feed day by day. Then there’s the guards and the fartleberry’s own crew to be provided for. .’ The man tailed off and looked at Boltfoot more closely. ‘Now enough of your questions or I’ll begin to think you are a spy. .’

Boltfoot grunted. ‘Who’d have a cripple like me as a spy?’

‘True enough, friend, true enough. Now with your leave, I’ll be on my way.’ The carter tugged on the bridle and the bullock lumbered on after him, leaving Boltfoot staring thoughtfully in their wake.

Shakespeare reckoned the castle walls enclosed four or five acres of land. Many of the buildings within its confines were lodging chambers of varying degrees, the rest storehouses, kitchens, workshops, arsenal and stables. He would need to ask Shrewsbury for a chart, because the many narrow ginnels and dead-ends did not seem planned. The buildings must have been altered and added to on numerous occasions by different owners in the past three hundred years.

‘A man could get lost in here, Mr Topcliffe,’ Shakespeare said as they rounded yet another corner in what had seemed a blind alley.

‘Indeed, he could. It’s no place to keep the heifer. I’d put her in Newgate, and then take her to Paddington Green for despatching.’

‘On what charge?’

‘Plotting the overthrow of our own Royal Majesty, whose favour and love I do value above pearls of the orient.’

‘Plotting the Queen’s overthrow? Do you know of some conspiracy then?’

‘There is always a conspiracy when one or more popish beast is gathered together. I tell you this: the matter of the Frenchie will not be without blood.’

‘So you do think Mary should be moved from here?’

‘Don’t you , Shakespeare?’

‘Yes, I do. But from your fears that I might impugn the earl’s reputation, I had thought you might be happy with the present arrangements.’

‘My friend George Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, has done his duty. His health and wealth are brought low from keeping this foul woman in his home. No man has done the realm greater service. He deserves a rest, for he will not live long elsewise. I tell you, Shakespeare, he has aged twenty years in these past ten. It is only the love and favours of Mistress Britten that save his sanity, for his marriage to Bess, who is also my good friend, is now a bitter wreck. And so, yes, I wish the Scots heifer away from here, but in doing so, I do not want George slandered.’