William and Susanna

by L E Pembroke

  An hour after midnight, Gilbert rose and stretched. ‘I’d better get the stuff out.’

  ‘I’ll help you,’ even though she was close to sleep.

  ‘No, stay indoors, it’s bitter out there.’

  Gratefully, she obeyed.

  He loaded the small rowing boat, put the oars in the rowlocks and pushed off. Nothing else moved on the stinking river. He knew precisely the direction to take, he was going to a tiny jetty and boathouse close to Westminster Palace. It wasn’t an arduous job. The night was still, hardly a ripple on the surface of the water.

  He arrived on the northern side in plenty of time and tried to partly hide the boat under the meagre jetty. Minutes passed like hours that ice-cold and pitch-black early morning. Until he heard whispered voices and two men emerged from the gloom.

  They gave a grunt of recognition, manhandled the barrels, indicated that he should quickly do the same and carried them to the horse and cart that was drawn up in the shadows behind them.

  Fifteen minutes later, he was well away on his return journey; he looked anxiously around, still no other vessel in sight. Then it was all over. He tied up the boat. Deeply frozen, he hurried into the house grateful to be enveloped in its meagre warmth. Three more night’s work then, thank heaven, they would be off, back to clean, sweet-smelling Stratford-on-Avon.

  *

  ‘Who are these people with whom you stayed?’ William didn’t really care, just trying to show an interest. That morning his mind was only half on his daughter and brother. The other half was north near Inverness, William was once again envisaging the climax of the Scottish play. He was at the point when the protagonist becomes aware that Birnan Wood does come to Dunsinane and the new Scottish king is filled with dread. William had crafted the play primarily to please King James. He knew it was close to being the best he had written and would ensure that he and his player friends remained favourites of King James for the foreseeable future.

  ‘Oh, just a family who came to London from our district in Warwickshire.’ Susanna, thinking ahead, added. ‘I believe Uncle Gilbert will visit them again, they have a charming daughter, a lady not yet thirty years and recently widowed.’

  ‘So that’s the way of it, excellent, I would like to see my brother married.’

  ‘So would we all.’ She felt guilty. Her little story had slipped out so easily, but it had been necessary - four nights away from her father’s rooms, Uncle Gilbert would require an explanation and after all, theirs was a mission of vital importance, to preserve the old faith in England.

  ‘Father, we plan to travel home in less than a week. Could we attend a performance of your Hamlet, perhaps on Friday afternoon? I expect, we will leave London the following day. While, in silence, Gilbert frowned at his niece, she turned her back on him and continued. ‘As my uncle is sure to want to visit his friends on several occasions before our departure and as they live just a short distance from your theatre, it would be most convenient if he farewelled them on Friday evening after the performance.’

  ‘That is easily done and when you return home you will be able to discuss my story with John Hall. I can’t emphasise enough, Susanna how fond I am of that young gentleman.’

  Why does my father not understand that it would be impossible for me to marry a Puritan? Susanna was greatly irritated at her father’s persistent hints that John Hall would make her a good husband and himself a substitute son.

  Twice more during that week Gilbert spent the night alone at the Catesby house in Lambeth. His two trips across the river and back were uneventful. Nevertheless, things could have gone wrong and the tension of his undercover activities had depressed him. He was even beginning to doubt if he was doing the right and proper thing. On Friday he looked forward to seeing William’s play, something else to think about and then, after one more trip, he would be delighted and relieved to leave London.

  *

  ‘I’ve never seen a theatre building quite like it.’ Susanna gazed at the grand octagonal building in awe. A black flag waved above the building.

  ‘There are others that are similar.’

  ‘Yes, but this is almost new.’

  ‘It was completed, Susanna, while you were going about your business in Rome. Come let us be seated.’

  She was full of questions and as excited as a child. ‘Why is the flag black?’

  ‘That is our way of telling the patrons that Hamlet is a tragedy.’

  They glimpsed hundreds of patrons standing around the platform stage, others were seated on both sides of the actual stage. Others, in boxes close to but behind the players were the most expensive seats costing five pence. They seated themselves in the upper gallery with an excellent view of the large platform stage, which was the pivotal feature of this fascinating building that towered over the nearby Bear-Baiting Ring. Unlike the players and the groundlings, who stood near to the stage on the lowest level, they were protected from the rain by a partial thatch roof.

  ‘I find Prince Hamlet very annoying,’ Susanna began in the interval break. ‘Having discovered his father was murdered he hesitates about wreaking his revenge. I would not hesitate.’

  ‘Indeed, my dear, we know you would not hesitate, but Prince Hamlet has had the most dreadful shock. He does his best to cope with his new knowledge in a measured way. Not everyone rushes into action without first deeply considering the points for and against that action. But wait until you see the last two acts and then make up your mind. You would do well to discuss the play with John Hall. There is a man who understands human nature and its idiosyncrasies.’

  ‘Father, I pray you, please do not constantly speak of John Hall as a model for all men and especially as a possible husband for me. I could not marry a Puritan.’

  ‘Very well, if that is what you wish. Nevertheless, I believe you are making a mistake. You are silent Gilbert, what are your thoughts about my play?’

  ‘I am humbled by your use of words, brother. My sin is envy of your virtuosity.’

  ‘My sin, Gilbert, is envy of your virtue. Come, let us return to our seats, Act III is due to begin.’

  *

  With multiple poisoning, the play concluded. Tears ran down Susanna’s cheeks. ‘Oh, what a tragic ending, how could you have let that happen, father?’

  ‘It was inevitable my child, the play is a tragedy, remember the black flag. There are no happy endings in such plays.’

  Gilbert had gone on ahead. Crowds spilled down from the galleries. Why was everyone in such a hurry to leave the theatre? In Stratford there was no inordinate rushing from one place to another. The steps were narrow and winding. People urged and pushed. Gilbert tumbled down the final six or seven steps to the lowest level. His bruising was extensive, but also he suffered a fiery pain in his lower right arm, his right hand dangled awkwardly.

  Susanna pushed and shoved, as bad as the worst of them, until she reached her uncle lying prone on the floor.

  He whispered, ‘I fear my arm is broke, Susanna. What’s to be done about tonight?’

  ‘Be quiet,’ she snapped, ‘I have to think.’

  They took him back stage to see what was to be found in the way of herbal remedies for pain and swelling, as well as fabric from the wardrobe for immobilisation. They applied an arnica ointment for the pain and tore up a fine brocade doublet to be used as a sling.

  ‘We’d best go home so you can rest up before your journey tomorrow.’

  ‘Thank you father, but I disagree. Uncle Gilbert will be most upset if he does not have the opportunity to meet his particular friends this evening. They will have prepared a special meal for us and I am sure they will accommodate us over night. I know Uncle Gilbert will be extremely disappointed if we forego our arrangements.

  ‘Very well, I will take you there in a hackney carriage. Gilbert is still very shaken.’

  ‘That will be helpful, thank you father.’

  As they drew close to the empty Catesby house, Susanna burst out, ‘I recall our friends
will be home a little late. Please leave us at the tavern just a few yards down the street. I think my uncle might appreciate a small dose of brandy and heat from the fire while we are waiting for their return.’

  ‘This lady who occupies Gilbert’s mind so much, I hope she is worth the discomfit he is suffering in order to say goodbye.’

  ‘Yes father, so do I, most heartily. Never fear, we will return to your rooms first thing in the morning, in plenty of time to catch the coach’

  As soon as the Hackney and William were out of sight, Gilbert came alive.

  ‘You have become a consummate liar, Susanna. I am ashamed of you. You will have to pray for God’s forgiveness.’

  ‘I will pray uncle, I promise. You realise, don’t you that you will not be able to row tonight, I will have to go with you. Please do not argue with me. We will row side by side, although how you will manage even one oar is beyond my imagination.’

  ‘Thank God this task will finish tonight. I am not the type of person to be involved in conspiracy. There are those who feel bound to fight for their beliefs and there are those who are content to pray. I tell you now Susanna, if I had been given the opportunity I would have gone to Belgium and become a monk. But someone had to stay behind and assist our father in his business. William was the talented son and had to be given his chance. I am merely the hard-working ox. I can only hope that this venture assists the Catholic cause in England.’

  ‘It will, uncle, I know it will.’

  ACT 3 - 6

  Icy wind ruffled the water’s surface. The uneven distribution of weight (Susanna was slim, Gilbert, as he himself had admitted, built like an ox) caused the small rowing boat to pull constantly in a circular direction. It would have been better if she had been the sole rower but Gilbert, groaning with pain and strain, insisted he go along and pull his weight. Despite his right arm hanging uselessly and his uninjured left not having the strength of his right, his pull was still far stronger than Susanna’s. She doubted that they would ever reach their destination?

  They did. They were far later than on previous nights. The two burly labourers stared at the girl. They complained bitterly about the time they had been kept waiting and the fact that Gilbert was unable to help them unload the barrels. Susanna couldn’t wait to get away from this intolerable situation. Why had she been so insistent that her uncle take part in this dangerous conspiracy to unseat the king?

  Two hours later they were back in Lambeth and soon after dawn they began their trek to William’s home. Gilbert suffered constant pain. William provided him with Valerian root to ease the discomfit of the imminent coach journey home as well as issuing a few harsh words about the foolishness of people with broken limbs who stayed out all night.

  *

  They arrived in Stratford at ten that night. Despite being still exhausted by the journey, Susanna forced herself up early the following morning to enlist aid for Gilbert who had spent a sleepless night. She was soon ringing the bell attached to John Hall’s front door.

  As usual his face lit up when he saw her. ‘Good morning Susanna, how nice to see you, where have you been?’

  ‘My uncle and I visited my father. I would be most grateful John if you would visit my uncle. I believe he broke his arm when he fell on Friday.’

  ‘Has he had no treatment?’

  ‘Nothing to speak of, I am sorry, I know you are always busy with your church meetings on a Sunday, but my uncle is most uncomfortable.’

  ‘I will come at once, to be hoped it is a simple fracture.’

  *

  Gilbert and Susanna were well away on the south side of the river when Guy Fawkes took delivery of the last of the barrels containing gunpowder. He hid them with great care under several bundles of faggots in the low vaulted undercroft directly under the Lords’ Chamber. So far so good. He left the undercroft later in the morning. That day he planned to meet his fellow conspirators and report of the successful conclusion to preparations.

  It was the last week in October and still there was to be another change in date. The preparations had been long and arduous. Plague had caused several postponements of the opening of Parliament. One year had passed since the first date proposed and for which they had been prepared.

  On the first day of November, the date was again changed, but this was no worry to Guy Fawkes, alias John Johnson. He was ready and confident. On the fifth of November, the only experienced military officer in the conspiracy, would wait until the King and the Lords were assembled in the Chamber above. He would drill a small hole in each of two barrels (in the event that one might not light) and then insert a long length of fuse into both barrels. At the chosen moment, he would light the fuses. Having done so, immediately he would walk quickly out of the undercroft. His military training dictated that no matter how urgently one needed to get away, one must never run and risk a fall. Fawkes, having tested a fuse for timings, reckoned he should have near three minutes to get to the river’s edge and into an inconspicuous boat to row to the south side. From there, he had arrangements in place to flee to France.

  Almost from the beginning, John Grant worried about security and conspirators with loose tongues. That was the main reason he sought out Gilbert Shakespeare, a man who had a well-known reputation for trustworthiness. Grant’s worst fears were justified when one of the conspirators, concerned for the life of a close relative, wrote to this relative and warned him not to be in the Lords’ Chamber on the 5th of November. The recipient of the warning passed the letter onto a senior Court official who informed King James. They made their plans.

  Guy Fawkes planned to stay in the cellar guarding the gunpowder overnight on the 4th of November. He could not risk detection by being seen arriving in the Westminster Palace grounds on the morning of the ceremonies. He was dozing in a chair at around midnight when several troops of The King’s men burst simultaneously into all the cellars beneath Westminster Palace. They soon discovered the gunpowder and Guy Fawkes. He declared his name was John Johnson and said there was no conspiracy. He was working alone. They took him to The Tower where, after two days on the rack, he revealed the truth.

  *

  William Shakespeare followed the news of the foiled Gunpowder Plot with intense interest. He recognised the names of some of the perpetrators. He believed them to be credulous and reckless hotheads. When he read that the gunpowder was stored in a house in Lambeth. He began to believe that the recent visit of his daughter and his brother was not all that they intimated it to be. He thought a short diversion on the way to The Globe might very well confirm his suspicions.

  In Lambeth, William began his inquiries. He discovered that the area in which he had left his relatives on the late afternoon of Gilbert’s accident was remarkably close to a house owned by Mr Robert Catesby, soon to be tried for treason. And, according to the news sheets that was the house in which gunpowder had been stored.

  William was not a great believer in coincidence. Accordingly, he wrote letters to his daughter and brother in which he promised to speak to them about a very serious matter on his next and imminent visit to Stratford.

  With little sympathy at first, William read about the actions of the remaining plotters who, it seemed, almost instantly, learnt of the failure of the gunpowder plot. They had been confident this terrible outcome was unlikely, nevertheless, they had made contingency plans. On horseback they raced to Warwick Castle, from there they intended, if necessary, to fight their way north to Princess Elizabeth to safeguard her. They believed they could assemble an army and march on London to depose the king.

  They didn’t stand a chance. They never stood a chance William mused as he read the details of what happened on the night of the 4th of November and the subsequent week. From Warwick Castle and north of it, the plotters collected an assortment of civilians to fight with them, but within a short time the rebels were set upon and killed or captured by the Sheriff of Worcester and his men. In one of the various melees, John Grant was blinded, but for him and o
nly four other survivors of the plot, much worse was to come.

  Post riders traversed the country carrying minute by minute descriptions of the treason trials and the sentencing in January 1606. Susanna and Gilbert were horror-stricken. ‘I am as guilty as they are,’ over and over again he said to his niece.

  ‘You are not. You were doubtful and I was the one who persuaded you to act for our religious beliefs. How could we know they planned to kill the King and so many others?’

  ‘We should have guessed. I ignored my doubts. I refused to believe what most people would have thought was patently obvious. Killing innocent people can never be justified.’

  ‘Don’t talk about it and don’t think about it. Pray to God if you believe you have unintentionally been involved in this murderous plot which, I am convinced, will set back the Catholic cause in this country for many lifetimes.’

  ‘Easy to say “don’t think about it.” I will go to my death thinking about my blind faith and uncritical acceptance of what was said to me. I am no better than Pontius Pilate who knew the man he sentenced to death was innocent.’

  Susanna worried deeply about Uncle Gilbert. He seemed to have lost all enthusiasm for life and had even lost the will to live. She needed to write to her father, explain the chain of events and beg him not to be too hard on her uncle who was a gentle, naive and fervent Christian who had been misled. She wriggled uncomfortably, admitting to herself that she suspected the plot would result in bloody death. Yes, she had been a zealot prepared to do almost anything for her faith. Was she a religious fanatic, even more so than her grandmother? Her father, a man who rarely mentioned religion, once said something to her that she had never forgotten. “What does a man’s method of practising his religion have to do with what he is quintessentially?” She had said “everything” but she now knew that was wrong.

  King James put an end to any further Catholic uprisings by wisely stating that he would not persecute all Catholics in England. It would only be the plotters who would pay the penalty for their actions. Details of the penalty they paid were disseminated far and wide.