Harry Turtledove - Ruled Britannia

Kate's eyes widened again. "A hundred and fifty pound? Jesu! A princely sum, in sooth. But wherein lieth the justice, they having more than thou when thou hast done so much for Elizabeth and they naught?"

"Fear not, my sweeting, for justice is done: they have not more than I," Shakespeare assured her, and her eyes went wide once more. He nodded. "By my halidom, Kate, 'tis true."

"Right glad was I to wed thee, taking thee for no richer than any other player who might here chance to sup," Kate said. "An't be otherwise. An't be otherwise, why, right glad am I."

"And I," Shakespeare said. He kissed her. The kiss took on a life of its own. They still clung to each other when the door opened and a customer came in.

The man swept off his hat and bowed in their direction as they sprang apart. "Your pardon, I pray ye. I meant not to disturb ye."

"You are welcome, sir," Kate said as the fellow sat down. "What would you have?"

"Some of what you gave your tall gentleman there'd like me well," he replied, "but belike he hath the whole of't. That failing, what's the threepenny supper this even?"

"Mutton stew."

"Is it indeed? Well, a bit o' mutton's always welcome." The man winked at Shakespeare. Kate squeaked indignantly. Shakespeare took an angry step forward. The customer raised a hand. "Nay, sir; nay, mistress. I meant no harm by it. 'Twas but a jest. For mine own part, I am one that loves an inch of raw mutton, and I am well-provided with three bouncing wenches. I'd not quarrel over a foolish quibble."

Shakespeare didn't want to quarrel, either, but he also didn't want to look like a coward in front of Kate.

He sent her a questioning glance. Only when she nodded did he give the other man a short, stiff bow.

"Let it go, then."

"Many thanks, sir; many thanks. For your kindness, may I stand you to a mug of beer? And your lady as well, certes." The stranger lifted his hat again. "Cedric Hayes, at your service. I am glad you see, sir, that where a man may fight at need, 'tis not that he needs must fight." Hayes plucked a knife from his belt.

With a motion so fast Shakespeare could hardly see it, he flung the blade. It stuck, quivering, in the planking of a window frame. An instant later, another knife thudded home just below it.

" 'Sblood!" Shakespeare said. "Any man who fought with you would soon repent of it, belike for aye."

"Ah, but you knew that not when you chose courtesy." Hayes rose, went over to the knives so he could pull them free, and sheathed them again. " 'Tis a mountebank's trick, I own, but mountebank I am, and so entitled to't."

"Might you show this art upon the stage, Master Hayes?" Shakespeare asked.

"Gladly would I show it wheresoever I be paid for the showing," the knife-thrower replied. "Who are you, sir, and what would you have me do?"

Shakespeare gave his name. Proudly, Kate corrected him: " Sir William Shakespeare."

"Ah." Cedric Hayes bowed. "Very much at your service, Sir William. I have seen somewhat of your work, and it liked me well. I ask again, what would you have me do?"

"In some of the company's plays- Romeo and Juliet and Prince of Denmark spring first to mind-your art might enliven that which is already writ. An you show yourself trusty, I shall write you larger parts in dramas yet to come."

"I am not like to a trusty squire who did run away," Hayes said. "Where I say I shall be, I shall; what I say I shall do, that likewise."

"Most excellent," Shakespeare said. "Know you the Theatre, beyond Bishopsgate?"

"Certes, sir. Many a time and oft have I stood 'mongst the groundlings to laugh at Will Kemp's fooling or hear Dick Burbage bombast out a blank verse."

Burbage wouldn't have been happy to hear Kemp named ahead of him. Shakespeare resolved never to mention that. He said, "Go you thither at ten o' the clock tomorrow. I shall be there, and Burbage as well.

We'll put you through your paces, that we may know your different several gaits."

"Gramercy, Master Shakespeare-Sir William, I should say." Hayes raised his mug. "A fortunate meeting."

"Your good health," Shakespeare said, and he drank, too.

After Cedric Hayes finished his supper, he left the ordinary. Shakespeare got out pen and ink and paper and set to work. What a relief, to be able to write without having to fear the gallows or worse if the wrong person happened to glance over his shoulder at the wrong moment!

He didn't have to look up anxiously whenever someone new came into the ordinary, either. Being able to concentrate on his work meant he got more done. It also meant he did look up, in surprise, when a man loomed over him. "Oh," he said, setting down his pen and nodding to the newcomer. "Give you good even, Constable."

"God give you good Eden as well," Walter Strawberry replied gravely. "May you obtain to Paradise."

"My thanks," Shakespeare said. "Why come you hither?"

Before answering, Strawberry grabbed a stool from a nearby table and sat down across from the poet.

"Why, sir? Why, for that I may hold converse with you. But converting's thirsty work, and so"-he raised his voice and waved to Kate-"a cup of wine, and sprackly, too!"

"Anon, sir, anon," she said, and went back to whatever she was doing.

When the wine didn't arrive at once, Constable Strawberry sent Shakespeare an aggrieved look. "

"Anon,' saith she, yet she comes not. Am I then anonymous, that she doth fail to know me?"

Shakespeare scratched his head. Was Strawberry garbling things as usual, or had he made that jest on purpose? Probably not, not by his expression. Shakespeare gave Kate a tiny nod. She rolled her eyes, but brought the constable what he'd asked for.

"I thank you," he said grudgingly. "I'd thank you more had you come sooner."

"There's the difference 'twixt our sexes," Kate agreed, her voice sweet.

"Eh? What mean you?" Strawberry demanded. Kate pretended not to hear him. Shakespeare stared down at the tabletop so the constable wouldn't see his face. Strawberry muttered to himself, then spoke aloud: "I thank God I am not a woman, to be touched with so many giddy offenses."

"Just so, sir," Shakespeare said. "Why are you come? I asked aforetimes, but you said not."

Strawberry frowned. Maybe he had trouble remembering why he'd come to the ordinary; Shakespeare wouldn't have been surprised. But then his heavy features brightened. "Methought you'd fain hear the report from mine own lips."

"Better the report from your lips, sir, than from a pistol," Shakespeare said gravely. "But of what report speak you?"

"Why, the one I am about to tell, of course," the constable replied.

"What is the point? The gist? The yolk? The meat?"

" 'Tis meet indeed I should tell you," Strawberry said.

"And as for the point, it lieth 'neath his hat," Kate muttered.

"What's that? What's that? Am I resulted? 'Swounds, no good result'll spring from that, I do declare."

"Spell out your meaning plain, then," Shakespeare urged.

"And so I shall, by bowels and constipants," Constable Strawberry said. "You have denied acquaintance with the felonious cove hight Ingram Frizer."

"I do deny it still," Shakespeare said. Yes, the two men he knew Frizer had killed had died at the order of Sir Robert Cecil or his father. Yes, Sir Robert sat at Elizabeth's right hand these days. But who could say how many others Frizer had slain? Who could say how many he'd robbed or beaten? Anyone who admitted knowing him was either a fool or a felonious rogue in his own right-Constable Strawberry, for once, hadn't misspoken in describing Frizer so.

As if the poet had avowed knowing Frizer rather than denying it, Strawberry said, "Belike you will rejoice to hear he is catched."

"If he be the high lawyer and murtherer you say, what honest man would not rejoice?" Shakespeare said.