Rory Clements - The Queen's man

Shakespeare smiled without comment. No, he would not agree at all. He believed a great deal of harm had been done — and the danger was far from over. It had been a shocking episode that left many questions unanswered, and one in particular unasked. Perhaps Shrewsbury was afraid to ask it because he already knew the answer: who was the paymaster? Who had planned this conspiracy to murder the Queen of Scots? Certainly not Hungate, Topcliffe or Harry Slide. They were but spokes in a bigger wheel.

That was a question to be asked in due course. For the moment, the overriding thought in Shakespeare’s head was the problem of Edward Arden, John Somerville and Hugh Hall. What had become of them? They may have been gullible fools, but their conspiracy to free Mary and kill Elizabeth had been real enough in their own minds. They had intended harm to the realm. So where were they now — and did they still have plans? If they were at liberty, then they must be considered dangerous.

And where, too, were Hungate, Topcliffe and Slide? This all felt far from complete.

As the question formed in his mind, the door opened and Richard Topcliffe strode into the library. His visage was grim, his cheek bloody where Shakespeare had gouged him with his own weapon.

The earl glared at him. ‘Dick, what has been going on? Do you know anything about this?’

‘I believe it has been a poor day’s hunting, George. A fine stag was taken, but there was a yet greater prize that slipped us.’

‘Dick, if you are part of this, then you are not my friend.’

‘You mean do I dispose of vermin? All true Englishmen must do their part to cleanse this land.’

‘No, that is not good enough. You treat me with discourtesy and abuse my hospitality and friendship.’

‘George, I am your very blood brother. No one does more at court to promote your reputation and kindle love for you in Her Majesty’s heart.’

‘Words, words, words! Mr Shakespeare has laid accusations that there was a plot to murder the Queen of Scots — and you do not deny you knew of it. Perhaps you were a party to it.’

Topcliffe glared at Shakespeare. ‘He speaks gibberish. I was hunting with my friends. There was some commotion, that is all. No one tried to kill the heifer.’

Shakespeare beat his fist on the table. ‘You are a liar, Topcliffe. It was you who drove the carriage.’

‘And you are a dung-beetle of very small wit and too great an attachment to Rome. I would have you investigated, Shakespeare. You keep unsound company.’

‘How many others were involved? What of the huntsmen? Did they believe they were assisting a murder — or an escape? Mr Secretary will hear the truth about you. You believe yourself favoured by Her Royal Majesty but I will ensure your days of preferment are numbered.’

‘You talk out of your arse, Shakespeare. It is one long fart that needs be stoppered with goodly cork.’

Shakespeare had a mind to strike Topcliffe down and do yet more damage to his face. Instead, he clicked his heels and gave the Earl of Shrewsbury a curt bow. ‘My report will be in Sir Francis Walsingham’s hands within the week. I must go now for the stink in here has become too great. Good day to you, my lord.’ He did not look at Topcliffe, merely stalked from the room. More than anything, he needed a good night’s rest.

In the morning, Shakespeare rose from a long sleep at the Cutler’s Rest and broke his fast in company with the innkeeper, Geoffrey Whetstone.

‘I must thank you for bringing my daughter safe home,’ the landlord said.

‘The truth is, she brought me safely here.’

Whetstone took in the damage wrought on Shakespeare’s head. ‘Yes, she mentioned that she had found you in a bad way. Well, I thank you all the same.’

‘She is a remarkable young woman.’

‘The word you seek is spirited .’

‘You make her sound like a headstrong horse, Mr Whetstone!’

The innkeeper laughed and his large frame shook. ‘She was ever wont to go her own way.’

‘Yes, I had noted it.’

‘I often think she will go from me, for her ambition knows no bounds. Her desire for life is too big for Sheffield town. But what would I be without her? The light and warmth would go from here if she went away.’

‘She will stay, I am certain.’ Shakespeare smiled, uncertain that he truly believed this.

‘My problem, Mr Shakespeare, is that I can deny her nothing. When she demands something of me, I cannot say no. The truth, as you now know, is that there was no Scottish man. I pray our dissimulation did no harm.’

Shakespeare sighed. It had only been at the last moment in Stratford that it dawned on him that Slide and Ord were one and the same; the fact that Slide was at Arden Lodge where he would have expected Ord, the way Slide kept disappearing and had been desperate not to be taken to Sheffield Castle where he would have been recognised — and finally Kat’s own description of the man. At last it had all added up.

What now? Leloup and Angel were dead and their killers still not apprehended. Badger Rench, too, lay in his grave. But none of the three deaths could be laid at the door of Mr Whetstone or his daughter. Kat came into the taproom with a jug of weak cider which she set down on the table between her father and Shakespeare. ‘What are you men talking of? Not me, I trust.’

‘I need answers from you, Kat. I need to find the whereabouts of Harry Slide.’

‘Harry? Nothing could be easier. He is here at the Cutler’s Rest. Came at midnight and the night porter put him in a chamber.’

Shakespeare was aghast. ‘And you did not think to alert me to this? Take me to him.’

‘He’s going nowhere in a hurry. Sup some cider with your breakfast first and let me examine your head. I think you have been more than a little concussed.’

Shakespeare downed a cup of cider. ‘The devil take my head. Let us go to him now.’

Harry Slide was fully dressed, lying on a bank of pillows atop a large feather bed. He was snoring softly. Kat shook him. ‘Wake up, Harry. Mr Shakespeare is here to see you.’

He yawned but didn’t open his eyes. ‘I’ll need a kiss, Kat.’

She pecked his cheek. ‘Come on, Harry, rouse yourself.’

‘ You rouse me.’

Kat rolled her eyes. ‘I will leave you two gentlemen together to fight out your differences.’ She began to open the door. ‘And if you come to blows and damage anything, you will pay for it.’

Shakespeare approached the bed and touched the point of his dagger to Slide’s throat. ‘Perhaps this will wake you.’

Slide recoiled from the cold metal, but brushed the blade aside with the back of his hand as though it were a bluefly. He looked at Shakespeare, then to Kat. ‘What is this?’

‘Just talk to him, Harry.’ She walked out and shut the door behind her.

Slide raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘She was happy enough to take my silver, wasn’t she? Just like a woman; looks like an innocent lamb and has the teeth of a wolf. Just like my wife and sweethearts.’

‘That’s enough.’ Shakespeare put the dagger back in his belt and began searching the room. ‘I want answers from you. What treason have you been involved in here? You planned to kill the Scots Queen, but what were your plans for me? Was I to be killed next?’

‘ Kill you , sir? Indeed not. I bear no enmity for you, nor wish you harm. As far as I am concerned, this was only ever about doing for the Scots devil and serving my country like a good subject of Her Majesty.’

Shakespeare rifled through Slide’s clothing, and then spotted a leather bag leaning against the table leg. He picked it up, aware of Slide’s eyes following him. ‘Why did you think it necessary to lure me to Warwickshire and back here again?’