Rory Clements - The Queen's man

‘He is at the White Lion, and nor is he alone, which I am sure is even more remarkable and welcome news for you.’

‘Slide, you risk wearing out my patience utterly.’

‘He is with Kat Whetstone. Surely you remember her? Few men do forget her once they have seen her.’

‘She is here with Boltfoot? What manner of nonsense is this?’

‘The very finest sort of nonsense: true nonsense.’

Shakespeare grasped Slide by the nape of his neck and pulled him. ‘Come with me, we will go to them.’

‘Mr Shakespeare, unhand me. I have come to you of my own free will to offer intelligence, with no expectation of reward, though one always hopes. You do not need to treat me with brute force.’

It was true, of course. Shakespeare released his grip.

Slide rubbed his neck. ‘Thank you, Mr Shakespeare. But before I go, a word of warning for you, sir. There is one Hungate hereabouts. Ruby Hungate.’

‘I have met him. I need no word of warning.’

‘And therefore you must know his strange tale.’

‘What tale?’

‘The stuff of legend, Mr Shakespeare. It is said he came from Surrey and was orphaned, that he lived in the woods alone, honing his skills as huntsman and archer. When Elizabeth was staying at nearby Loseley Park, there was a great fair with tumblers and minstrels, fighting and horse races. All the great courtiers were there, including Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester. As was often his habit, he offered a purse of five pounds for the finest archer in the region.

‘Ruby Hungate heard about it one day when he came from the forest to take rabbits to market. He was thirteen years of age, but had not yet grown to manly size and could well have passed for a boy two or three years younger. When he asked to try for the archery prize, the arbiter refused. “You’re not even as tall as a longbow and you certainly couldn’t pull one. Go watch the clowns and jesters.” “No,” Hungate said. “I will shoot my arrows. I’m as good as any man.” Something in Hungate’s eyes must have unnerved the arbiter, for he relented. I have seen Hungate’s cold eyes myself and I know why this might have been. Have you seen his eyes, Mr Shakespeare?’

Yes, he had seen them. ‘This tale — this faerie tale — how long does it take, Slide?’

‘A minute or two of your time. “Go on, boy,” the arbiter said. “Get in line and see if you can shoot an arrow. Good fortune be with you, because you’ll need it. And serve you right if you make yourself a laughing stock.” Hungate’s arrows flew true. Everyone said he had the strength of a young bear, the eye of a falcon and the steadiness of a great cat. He beat the finest archers in Surrey and more from even further afield and won the five-pound prize. But more than that, he won the interest of the Earl of Leicester, who soon learnt of his prowess.’

Shakespeare laughed. ‘I have heard this tale before. It is the story of Robin Hood.’

‘Not so. This is the history of Ruby Hungate. He was summoned to the earl’s presence. The boy did not bow nor show fear. “Are you not scared of me, boy?” the earl demanded. “No. And I am not a boy, for I say fuck, cunny and dog turd, and will use those words to any man who speaks to me so.” “You have a coarse tongue. . boy. What are you scared of?” “Nothing,” Hungate replied.’

Despite himself, Shakespeare was enthralled by the story.

‘And this is the way they spoke: “You will address me as my lord — or sir ,” quoth my lord of Leicester. “Have you killed?” Young Hungate hesitated but a second. “Foxes, birds. .” “Deer?” “That would be poaching, and against the law.” “A man?” “I have killed animals.” “There are those who say man is an animal.” To which Hungate gave no reply. “Well?” “I had not realised it was a question, sir. ” And he laced the word “sir” with heavy disdain. The earl then laughed. “What is your name. . boy ?” “Hungate. Ruby Hungate.” “Then you shall have a ruby as an extra prize. And you shall join my household and learn all the soldierly arts. And you will learn to call me sir. You have a cold, killing eye.” For the first and last time, Hungate bowed. “Thank you, sir .”’

‘And how do you know this fine story, Mr Slide?’

‘It is a tale the earl himself likes to tell — to like-minded people. It is perhaps embellished, but I have heard it more than once and it is the same in essence. Anyway, Hungate was accorded a special place in the earl’s retinue, under the tutelage of his personal bodyguard. For the next three years he was educated in the skills of shooting, bowmanship, fencing and hand-to-hand fighting. He was told that the earl wished him to be trained to such a degree that one day he, too, could aspire to be his personal bodyguard. Later, when his loyalty was beyond doubt, he was sent to Rome and Venice to finish his education. He became versed in the subtle ways of belladonna, hemlock, arsenic, nux vomica and the Destroying Angel mushroom from an old alchemist who, it is said, boasted that his father and grandfather had prepared venoms for both the Borgias and other great families, so they might kill each other. He learnt the different techniques of strangulation and throat-slitting. He was taught how to kill without a sound and without leaving a trace of evidence. But still Hungate had not been asked to kill. On his return from Venice, he was summoned once more to the earl. “If I had an enemy who wished me harm, Mr Hungate, what would you do?” “Whatever you asked of me.” “Would you harm this man?” “If you wished.” “Even to the point of death?” “Yes, I would kill him.” “What if my enemy was a woman?” “When I shoot dead a goose, I do not ask its sex.” “And what would you expect in return for this service?” “A harlequin doublet, my lord, to show that I am your jester. And a ruby for my ear.”’ Slide smiled as he waited for a reaction to his story.

Shakespeare said nothing. Was there any truth in this? It had the symmetry of an old wives’ tale or a myth of the ancients. And yet. .

‘And so I bid you good day.’ Slide bowed low, with a sweep of his arm, then sprinted like a hare for the cover of the woods. Shakespeare found himself laughing at the man’s temerity, but let him go. He had other, more important matters to deal with than to chase after the slippery Mr Slide.

At the White Lion, he found Boltfoot about to depart in search of him. Shakespeare shook his assistant by the hand. ‘I am mighty pleased to see you. Does this mean you have news of the missing Buchan Ord?’

‘I believe so, master. I trust so.’

‘Have you found him? Is he apprehended?’

‘No. I am told he is here, in the shire of Warwick. There is a meeting place. .’

Shakespeare’s eyes narrowed. ‘A meeting place. Where? When? With whom?’

‘With the Frenchie. They are to meet here. Somewhere. That is what I was told by Kat.’

‘Continue, Boltfoot. Tell me everything. I have heard some fanciful talk that Miss Whetstone has accompanied you here. Put my mind at ease if you please.’

Boltfoot shifted uneasily. ‘Aye, it is true enough. I brought her here with me. She made me bring her. I had discovered that Mr Ord was betrothed to her, but that he had cast her off. Before he disappeared, she had overheard him telling the Frenchman to meet him at a secret place. As I was later to learn, the appointed place for their meeting is in this county.’

Shakespeare wondered if the whole world was not going mad. What manner of fool would ride a hundred miles through England in the company of a strange — if beautiful — young woman? ‘Boltfoot, you will have to explain this to me more clearly. How did she make you ride with her? Did she hold a pistol to your head?’