Rory Clements - The Queen's man

Will tried to throw himself forward again, this time at Topcliffe, but again Shakespeare held him back.

‘Who is this man? I’ll kill him, John.’

‘He is a dog’s turd, Will, pay him no heed.’

Will lunged again. This time he came face to face with Topcliffe before Shakespeare managed to pull him back.

Topcliffe sneered. ‘Your brother is more man than you, Shakespeare.’

‘The trainband prizes him. He has a way with blades. Don’t test him, Topcliffe.’

‘He thinks himself a swordsman in more ways than one then. But he has met twice his match this day. I do think his whore would like a piece of Uncle Dick now she’s got a taste for it. Is that not so, my pretty little trug?’

‘Leave her be,’ said Shakespeare, indicating to Anne to get behind him. ‘Why are you here, Topcliffe?’

‘Why, paying a neighbourly visit, that is all. My very good copesmate Mr Hungate and I were wondering how your inquiries into papist conspiring were progressing. Sir Thomas Lucy is most anxious to have every last traitor in his county apprehended. And you know what I mean by the word “traitor”, Shakespeare. Perhaps we could be of some assistance.’

‘I need no assistance from the likes of you.’

‘Likes of me? There is no one like me, Mr Shakespeare. None at all, as you shall discover if you continue to try to cross me.’

Shakespeare looked from Topcliffe to Hungate and back again. They were two of a kind. ‘Do you have a purpose for being here, or are you merely come to irk us and insult a good woman?’ Shakespeare was standing now, his hand on the hilt of his sword, which remained stowed in its scabbard. He had no fear of Hungate, but knew that a wrong move could end in the spilling of the blood of his brother and Anne.

‘I have a purpose,’ Hungate growled. ‘Where is the bitch sister of the dead priest? I heard she had returned home, but now she is gone.’

‘If you mean Florence Angel, then I have no knowledge of her whereabouts.’

‘I mean the treacherous bitch sister of the dead priest. One dead Angel is not enough. My lord of Leicester will not be pleased to hear she is loose in his county, for she is up to her scrawny bird’s neck in all the evil goings-on of her brother. I will deliver her to the scaffold, where she will be despatched. Tell her that when you see her, Shakespeare. She will be despatched.’

Topcliffe clapped Hungate about the shoulder. ‘Well spoken, friend. Like a true Englishman.’ He sniffed the air. ‘Will you not offer us ale or beer, Miss Hathaway? Do I smell partridge pie?’

‘The only smell is your stink, Topcliffe,’ Shakespeare said. ‘One day you will discover the joys of bathing and the world will be a better place. And you, Hungate — why do you have such hatred in your heart for Florence Angel? How has she ever harmed you?’

‘She harms me by being alive. As do you, Shakespeare.’

‘Come, Mr Hungate,’ Topcliffe said. ‘Let us leave these maggots to their squalor.’

Hungate shrugged. ‘And what of the other matter we came for, Mr Topcliffe?’

Topcliffe thrust his stick in the air. ‘Ah yes, the body. Truly, I had almost forgotten. Indeed, yes, a body has been found this morning, Mr Shakespeare. And as justice of the peace, Sir Thomas Lucy instructs you to inquire into the matter. He says that the investigation of unexplained deaths is your line of work.’

As Topcliffe and Hungate departed, Shakespeare looked at his brother and Anne. Their mouths had dropped open, their eyes wide in shared horror.

Will shook himself, as though to shed the soldier that resides in every man when his blood is up. He looked at Anne. ‘What are we to do? Should we depart this place?’

‘No, for that will paint you as guilty as your mark scratched on a confession. They have told us nothing. Where is this body now? Is it still at the field or has it been taken to the Rench farm for laying out? No one but cousin Edward and his household can know you were at Arden Lodge last night, so we have time to think and plan our move.’

‘But, John, they are playing with us. If we stay, we will be climbing the scaffold ladder by week’s end.’

‘Did anyone see you return home with your garments all muddy?’

‘No. It was before daylight.’

‘Then Will, Anne, you will both listen to me. You will go about your daily business until you hear otherwise from me. Do you have tutoring this day?’

‘Yes, Whateley’s daughters again.’

‘And you, Anne?’

‘I have children to care for and farm work to be done. There is hay to be stored-’ Shakespeare silenced her with a brisk wave of the hand. ‘Will, go to Alderman Whateley’s, do your work as best you can. Anne, stay here and keep the farm going and the children fed. We will confer again later. Say nothing to anyone. Smile, frown, pass the time of day, talk of the apple harvest, of the weather and your wedding plans. If someone mentions the death of Badger Rench shake your head, and ask what has become of the world. Do you understand all this?’

They hesitated, then both nodded, unconvinced.

‘Good. Then I must go.’

Walking briskly along Meer Street, Shakespeare spotted his father and hailed him.

‘Where are you off to at such a pace, John?’

‘I’m looking for a body.’

‘Yes, I had heard. What is happening to this town? And what has any of it to do with you? Your mother is sick with worry and fear and your fool of a brother seems out of sorts, too. I have never known him so taciturn. And why did he not come home until dawn? There are certain standards of behaviour to be upheld. I still have a position in this town.’

Shakespeare gripped his father’s arm a little too hard. He lowered his voice. ‘Do not say that Will came home at dawn to anyone. Say nothing.’

‘John, what is this? You are frightening me.’ The fear in his father’s eyes was all too obvious. A body found. . Will out all night. How could he not draw conclusions and be afraid?

‘I will explain all in due course. Now is not the time or place. Just make sure that neither you, nor Mother, nor the younger ones discuss Will or his whereabouts with anyone.’ He offered his father a reassuring smile. ‘Now — this body. Where was it found?’

His father shook his head. He was clearly disturbed. ‘I don’t know, but I do know it was being taken to the White Lion. Please, John, tell me-’

Shakespeare embraced his father. ‘All is well. I promise you. But say nothing. Nothing at all. There are those who wish us ill — and we must not give them arrows to shoot at us.’ He only wished he possessed the confidence his words were intended to convey.

It seemed to Shakespeare that the whole town was going down Henley Street towards the White Lion. Enveloped by a throng of townsfolk, he had to push his way through the swelling ranks.

A man tugged his arm. ‘What’s going on, John Shakespeare? What are you doing to our fair town?’

Shakespeare shrugged him off.

‘You bring naught but bad luck and trouble,’ another said, pointing an accusing finger.

Shakespeare pressed on. The crowd murmured. Someone pushed him.

‘The necromancer’s in there. He should be hanged as a witch. And his crone of a mother.’

‘The moon turned red last night, I saw it. Blood red. Been like that since John Shakespeare came home.’

‘One of my ewes collapsed and died this morning. Not a mark on her.’

Finally, Shakespeare managed to force his way into the stableyard at the back of the inn. The Searcher of the Dead was walking towards the storehouses.

‘Thank God you are still here, Mr Peace.’

Joshua Peace smiled grimly. ‘Perhaps I should take up permanent residence. There are enough cadavers to keep me busy. But listen to that. .’ The hubbub, occasional whistles and shouts of the mass of people outside in the street provided an unwelcome background noise. ‘I confess I feel under siege in here.’