Rory Clements: Prince

Shoe looked uneasy. He was trying and failing to strike a light with his tinderbox. He shook his head. ‘No, Mr Shakespeare, I am not saying that, for you are right. It would be possible to smuggle a person in unseen by night, if they approached the back of the house by way of the woodland path. Mr Sawyer and I would not see them under such circumstances. But we have not been looking for such a thing. Our charge was to note all visitors, not to besiege the hall.’

‘I understand, Mr Shoe. You have performed your duty well, I am certain, but we have established that the woman could be there. In which case, I come on to my next question: what are my chances of gaining access to the hall? Unseen.’

‘Poor. There are guards. Frenchies.’

‘How many?’

‘Outside, there are six. They work three on, three off. Day and night, like us. But I am sure there are more indoors.’

‘And do they know about you and Sawyer?’

‘Of course. They expect it. Even if they never saw us, they’d know we were there. But they do see us. It’s a game, Mr Shakespeare. Same at the embassy itself, where I have passed many a long hour. They know we dare not intrude on their property, for it would spark a brabble between nations. So their guards are always lax; they know they have nothing to fear. Sometimes, we have even been known to share a drink or two, here at the inn.’

‘So what do you suggest? How do I get in?’

At last Shoe succeeded in firing a spark into the tinder. He blew on the smoking glow and managed to light a taper. Shakespeare looked at him impatiently.

‘Well, Mr Shoe?’

‘I’m contemplating, Mr Shakespeare, contemplating…’ He lit his pipe of tobacco and drew deeply of the pungent smoke. ‘That’s better,’ he said, and promptly resumed his coughing. He smacked himself on his chest, then sat back on the edge of the rank, over-used bed, satisfied that his morning ritual was done. ‘You know what I’d do, sir? I’d walk straight in. Do it in broad daylight. Don’t wait for nightfall, that’s when they would be alert for intruders. In daytime, though, people come and go all the while to a big hall like that — traders bringing wares, gardeners, estate hands, builders.’

‘How do you suggest I do it?’

‘You need to dress yourself as a tradesman, Mr Shakespeare. Ride up, slow as you like, pulling a cart behind you, with produce. Sort of delicate stuff Frenchies like.’

Shakespeare looked at him as if he were mad. ‘You have just told me that they have three guards on duty all the time, Shoe. Why would they not stop me, and then either throw me off the land or call in the sheriff’s men to have me arrested?’

‘Because you will have created a diversion, Mr Shakespeare. Some manner of distraction that will make the sight of a common trader with his cart the last thing on their minds.’

‘A diversion? What diversion?’

‘Ah well, sir, that’s for you to think on, isn’t it. That’s why I earn but a shilling a day and you live in a grand house by the river.’

At Shoe’s side, the whore stirred and turned over. A soft, unwashed aroma wafted Shakespeare’s way from her body, and he suddenly smiled. That was how to do it. The oldest trick there was.

Shakespeare stood in the woods with Jonas Shoe and watched. It was mid afternoon and the guard had changed. The three pickets who had been there protecting the Old Hall in the morning had gone off to sleep or drink or eat.

The new watch took up their posts. Two were at the main gate, the other one at the front entrance to the house. They were good positions from which to observe and stop any newcomer. The guards had Swiss pikestaffs, as well as swords. Their role was not exactly ceremonial, but nor was it arduous or dangerous. No one really expected an attack on French embassy property. They were there to let the English observers know that they, too, were watched. Also to greet visitors and to deter poachers.

‘The vidame will be taking his afternoon ride soon,’ Shoe said. ‘Always goes out alone after his midday repast. I pity the horses because he rides like he is pursued by a demon. Lashes the beasts to the bone.’

Shakespeare said nothing. He knew the vidame’s liking for speed, but knew, too, that he had a great affection for his horses and would do nothing to cause them harm.

‘Here they come, Mr Shakespeare.’

Three women were trudging through the woods, not fifty yards from them. They were moving in a strange way, as though they were trying to be stealthy, but instead they merely seemed to stumble and giggle. Their dress was awry and they carried flagons.

Shakespeare’s eyes shifted to the two guards at the gate. Their eyes were following the women, too. They grinned at each other, glanced around furtively, then one of them began walking, quickstep, in the direction of the three women. As he neared the woods he gestured with his hand to the guard at the house, who immediately leant his pike against a wall and walked with purpose to join his comrade.

The new sentries had enjoyed a good midday break at the Silver Stag. It was, Shoe told Shakespeare, the place they always went for their daytime meals. They had a weakness for English ale and seemed to have an eye for the local girls, whom they flattered and courted with a singular lack of success. Until today. This had been their lucky day. Three willing wenches had been there at the inn. Happy-go-lucky peasant girls who had accepted the Frenchmen’s wine and fumblings with enthusiasm.

The girls had suggested a walk in the meadows, where the men would be rewarded with whatever they desired, for it was a fine summer’s day and who could not wish for a roll in the grass on such a splendid afternoon. But the three French guards had run out of time. They had to be at their posts by two of the clock.

Beth Evans had perched herself on the lap of the eldest of the three watchmen, a prematurely grey man in his thirties, who had consumed twice the amount of wine he normally drank. She whispered in his ear, then nibbled at the lobe. Beth had the sort of open, cheerful face and womanly body that always promised bliss and joy. She knew the way to draw any man from the righteous path, and today she was using every ploy she knew. The other two girls — Shoe’s companion of the night and a friend of hers — were performing their own tasks well, too, for Shoe and Shakespeare had offered them a silver pound apiece and had coached them in what was required. The three Frenchmen were in their thrall. They would have sold the King of France to have their way with these three women.

And now here they were, in the woods. Hands caressed breeches. Smocks rode up thighs to reveal flesh. Mouths kissed and moaned.

It was time for Shakespeare to make his move.

Shakespeare bent forward as though he were a man of sixty as he pushed the rickety barrow up to the front gate.

The solitary guard glanced at him, then his hungry gaze returned to the woods where his two companions were swiving with delirious, drunken abandon. The lone guard could not take his eyes away. Why did Jacques and Michel not hurry up? It was his turn. There were three women there; one was for him.

Shakespeare let the legs of the barrow come to rest on the ground and stood up, rubbing his back as if it ached from long hours of work. ‘Songbirds and sweetmeats, master.’

‘ Quoi? ’

‘Delivery of songbirds, fresh berries and sweetmeats. To the kitchens.’

The guard threw up his chin with indifference and waved him through. Slowly, Shakespeare wheeled the cart up the avenue towards the house. He kept his eyes in front, ignoring what was happening away in the woods and trying not to attract the attention of anyone who might glance from a window.