Will Shakespeare and the Pirate's Fire

by Robert J. Harris

  Sobbing, he pressed his wet cheek to the wall. The stone was as hard and unyielding as fate. And so the night rolled dreadfully by, like a huge granite millstone grinding out the final hours of his life.

  With every passing hour Will sank deeper into a well of despair, like a drowning man giving in to the sea. Everything was gone, everything was lost…except for one curious thought jabbing at him like a needle:

  There’s something in my pocket.

  It was such a ludicrous notion to pop up now, he decided he had finally lost his mind. Still, what reason was there for a madman to fight against his delusions? He reached into his pocket and closed his fist around whatever was there. Carefully he brought out his hand and held it directly before his face. Slowly he uncurled his fingers and gasped.

  For the barest instant he was sure he saw something there, flickering in the centre of his palm like a tiny star.

  Why, it’s good luck, Will, he heard his father say. The prettiest luck in all England.

  At that single moment Will’s whole life seemed to hang in the balance, breathlessly suspended between wonder and doubt. It was then the cell door swung open and a wash of light spilled into the room.

  Will looked up in astonishment to see a lantern floating through the air towards him, its flame blazing forth like a jet of living gold. And behind it, their faces illuminated by the glow, came Walter Raleigh and Grace O’Malley.

  Will stared at them as though they were a pair of apparitions from the spirit world.

  “Is this the prisoner you want, Captain du Champ?” asked a guard from behind them.

  Grace thrust herself forward. “Oh yes, that’s my sweet boy!” she sniffled, dabbing her eyes with a kerchief. Under her cloak she wore the gown of a fine lady.

  “Du Champ?” Will echoed blearily.

  “Yes, I’ve brought your mother here so that she may have a last sight of you before you go to meet your fate,” Walter told him gruffly. He was dressed in a soldier’s uniform complete with steel helmet.

  “Oh, my poor son!” Grace howled, throwing her arms around Will. “How did you come to this?”

  She pressed him tightly to her bosom and made a great show of fussing over him. When Will lifted his tearful eyes to meet hers, she gave him a sly wink.

  “He was led astray,” Walter explained to the guard. “The usual story – bad company, strong drink and women of loose virtue.”

  “He was never a wicked boy,” Grace wailed, “only lacking in wits, like his father. I warned him he’d come to the gallows in the end.”

  “Has he been offered any spiritual comfort?” Walter inquired.

  The guard looked at him blankly. “Comfort?”

  “A Bible, man,” Walter snapped impatiently, “and a light to read it by!”

  “Those weren’t Master Sledd’s orders,” the soldier answered apologetically.

  “Nor did I leave instructions that he should receive visitors!” came Sledd’s voice, like iron rasping over stone.

  The guard straightened to attention at once. “No, sir, but his mother…” he mumbled as Charles Sledd stepped into the room.

  Sledd had a book in his hand and even in his present confused state Will recognised the Meta Incognita.

  Raleigh set down his lantern and gave Sledd a haughty stare. “And who might you be, sirrah?”

  Sledd’s lip trembled with outrage. “I am Charles Sledd, the state inquisitor. And you?”

  “I am Captain Richard du Champ of the City Guard,” said Walter. “I have instructions to deliver this woman into the presence of her son that she might comfort him in his last hours.”

  Sledd scowled. “I received no notice of—”

  “My poor boy!” Grace interrupted shrilly. “What have you done to him?”

  “I have treated him as befits a spy and a traitor,” Sledd answered stiffly. He tapped the book. “I have evidence of his plotting here.”

  Walter drew close to Sledd and dropped his voice to a confidential hush. “I see you are a man of discernment and sound reasoning as well as a patriot.”

  “I am all of those things,” Sledd agreed.

  “Then you are aware there is a conspiracy afoot and this degenerate youth is merely part of it.”

  “I had deduced as much from questioning him,” said Sledd with a knowing nod.

  Walter cast a suspicious glance towards the guard. “We cannot discuss such things in front of minions,” he warned in a whisper.

  “You, begone and leave us to talk!” Sledd commanded the soldier.

  Clearly relieved at being dismissed, the man disappeared up the stairway in a matter of seconds. Sledd probed Walter with his beady eyes. “Now you may tell me all.”

  Walter took a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and offered it to Sledd. “Here, this letter will explain everything.”

  Sledd accepted it warily. Opening it out, he read aloud:

  “Fain would I but I dare not.

  I dare, but yet I may not.

  I may although I care not

  For pleasure when I play not.”

  He glanced up sharply at Walter who urged him to continue.

  While Sledd read out the rest of the letter with increasing irritation, Grace crept behind him and slipped a stout wooden club out from under her cloak.

  “I catch, although I hold not.

  I burn, although I flame not.

  I seem, whenas I would not,

  And when I see, I am not.”

  Sledd broke off angrily and shook the letter at Walter. “What’s this supposed to be? Poetry?”

  Grace raised the club and brought it down hard across the back of the inquisitor’s head. Sledd dropped to the floor without a word, like a corpse cut from the gallows. Walter knelt down beside him. “Some of my best, actually,” he said, retrieving the letter and stuffing it back in his pocket.

  As Sledd lay groaning Walter stripped off the inquisitor’s own belt and breeches and used them to tie him up. Grace stuffed a gag in his mouth and patted him on the head like a naughty puppy.

  Walter opened the door and called out urgently to the guard. He waited till the soldier came rushing into the cell then surprised him with a right hook to the jaw, knocking him into the wall. Before he could recover his senses, Walter and Grace tied and gagged him.

  Grace helped Will to his feet. “God’s mercy, you’re so pale!”

  “Can you walk, Will?” Walter asked.

  Will nodded.

  “We’re in a dungeon under the White Tower,” said Walter. “It’s only a short walk across the courtyard to the Bloody Gate then on to the dock where our boat’s waiting.”

  “We’ll be seen,” Will objected vaguely.

  “Never mind about that,” said Grace, hoisting up the hem of her dress. “I’ve got just what you need right here.”

  Will made to look away then saw that she was pulling out an extra set of clothes from under the hoops of her skirts. Woman’s clothes. Will groaned at the sight of them.

  “It’s the only way to get you past the guards, Will,” said Walter.

  Will pulled on the plain dress, straightened the blonde wig and adjusted the padding of his false bosom. “How do I look?”

  “You won’t be fighting off any admirers,” said Walter, “but you’ll do.”

  “Here, keep this in front of your face,” said Grace, handing Will her kerchief. “Tears make a wonderful disguise.”

  Walter picked up the book from where Sledd had dropped it and headed for the stairway. “Now, if we walk briskly but without drawing attention to ourselves,” he said, “we might be lucky enough to get clear before anyone raises the alarm. Remember, Will, half your disguise is how you carry yourself.”

  At the top of the stairs they passed through an arch and out into an open courtyard. The sunlight dazzled Will but he smiled at the blue of the sky as if he were seeing it for the first time.

  Keeping close together, they set out towards the gate, trying their best to look as innocen
t as a family out for a Sunday stroll. At their back loomed the White Tower, the castle that stood in the centre of the grounds. Its white stone bulk dominated the surrounding walls and the score of lesser towers that made up the royal fortress. A flock of ravens burst from the battlements above and filled the air with their horrid cawing.

  While striving to keep up with Walter, Will kept his steps small and feminine. He had never expected to be grateful for the hours Tom and Kit made him practice walking like a girl.

  They passed only a few people on their way and none paid them any attention. As they approached the gatehouse, however, the officer commanding the guard stepped into their path. He raised a hand and stared curiously at Will.

  “Captain du Champ of the City Guard,” Walter identified himself. “Open the gate, if you please. I’m late for an appointment with the Lord Mayor.”

  “I’m sorry to delay you, sir,” the officer apologised, “but I don’t recall this lady being accompanied by a serving girl when you arrived.”

  28 Inconstant Allies

  There was an awful pause. Then Walter thrust his chest out and fixed the officer with an imperious eye. “So you think a common serving maid is beneath your notice, do you?” he boomed.

  The officer was taken aback by the accusation. His mouth opened and closed as he struggled for a reply.

  “It’s robust young women like this who bear us stout sons to man our walls and crew our ships,” Walter declared, slapping Will on the back. He wagged a scornful finger at the officer. “It hardly befits a gentleman to disdain the flower of English womanhood!”

  “Yes, sir, of course” the officer stammered humbly. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Enough of your yammering, man!” Walter blustered. “Open the gate and be quick about it!”

  The officer issued a hasty command to his men who heaved open the gate so fast one of them fell over. They saluted Walter and bowed to the ‘ladies’ as they passed by.

  “That was quite a show, Walter,” Grace complimented him under her breath.

  “I once had to quell a mutiny at sea with nothing more than iron nerves and a loud voice,” said Walter. “Compared to that, hectoring a guardsman is no great feat.”

  The Tower fortifications were surrounded by a wide moat that had its own dock. Here Lok was waiting for them in a rowing boat, his arms resting on the oars.

  Will rubbed his aching head in confusion. “I thought his boat was wrecked.”

  “We borrowed this one,” said Grace with a smirk.

  “Yes, and the sooner we get it back where we borrowed it from the better,” said Walter, unamused.

  He cast a backward glance at the gate as they climbed aboard and saw the officer was still watching them. “Best speed, if you please, Lok,” he said. “But don’t make it look too desperate.”

  Lok merely grunted and pulled away from the dock. He steered them into a small channel that took them from the moat out into the Thames. As soon as they were lost among the busy river traffic Will gratefully discarded his wig and stripped off the dress.

  Sunlight sparkled on the water and a pair of swans drifted by, as graceful as clouds. On one of the passing boats a minstrel was playing a lute while a girl sang along to the melody, a string of happy nonsense words. Will felt a stupid, sleepy smile spread over his face. He was free, free of Sledd, free of the fears that had haunted him through that awful, endless night.

  Lulled by the rhythm of the oars, he gave in to his fatigue. His whole body relaxed and he slumped against Grace, who was seated beside him at the back of the boat. She gently wrapped her arm around him and let his head rest on her shoulder. Will’s last thought as he drifted off into sleep was that it felt good – very good – to be alive.

  When he awoke he was lying on a soft bed with a downy pillow under his cheek. Sitting up with a yawn he stretched his arms and looked around. He was back in the room Walter had rented at the Angel. The afternoon sun was shining through the window and he could hear the buzz of customers in the bar downstairs.

  On the table by the bed someone had left apples, cheeses and a half loaf of bread along with a jug of herb-scented water. Will’s appetite came roaring back and he set to the meal without pausing for an instant. He couldn’t remember anything ever tasting so delicious.

  He had munched all three apples down to the core when Walter Raleigh came in. He had exchanged his soldier’s jerkin and helmet for a silk doublet and feathered cap so that he looked his usual jaunty self again.

  “You’re looking much better, Will,” he said jovially.

  Will gulped down a swallow of water to clear his mouth. “Walter, how did you know to find me at the Tower?” he asked, rounding up the last crumbs of bread and popping them into his mouth.

  Walter sat down on the bedside and took off his cap. “Well, once we managed to reach the shore with no sign of you, I asked around among the officers in charge of the raid on the smugglers’ ship. Eventually I learned that a boy had been fished out of the river and accused of witchcraft on account of a certain book.”

  “That book!” Will groaned. “I’ll be glad to be rid of it!”

  Walter slid a hand under the mattress and pulled out the Meta Incognita. “We’ll return it to Dr Dee tonight,” he said, “as long as we can keep it out of Grace’s hands.”

  “Seeing you and her together like that was the last thing I expected,” said Will.

  Walter fidgeted uneasily with his sword hilt. “She and I have come to an arrangement.” After a pause he said, “I suppose that man Sledd asked you a lot of questions.”

  “I didn’t tell him anything,” said Will. “Not about you or Grace or about your scheming with Edward de Vere.”

  Walter gave him a stern look. “I warned you to forget about that.”

  Will ignored the rebuke. “I don’t know what it is that you’re up to, but I think you should know that Mendoza has a hand in it.”

  Walter laughed. “Now you’re letting your imagination run wild. You’re still tired, of course.”

  “I know exactly what I’m talking about,” Will insisted, slamming his hand down on his empty plate. “Mendoza told me that England and France would soon be at war.”

  “I’m sure he and his king would like nothing better,” said Walter, “but we’re at peace with the French.”

  “That’s not all,” Will insisted. “He told Grace and me there were revels taking place at Mortlake tonight. He knew all about it and said that something was going to disrupt them. Something very serious.”

  “This is all very vague,” said Walter.

  “No, it’s not,” said Will, “not if you think about it. The queen’s entertaining the Duke of Anjou at Mortlake tonight, isn’t she? And he’s the king of France’s brother.”

  “It’s being kept a secret because of hostility to the proposed marriage between them,” said Walter, “but yes, you’ve guessed right. So where does that lead us?”

  “You tell me, Walter,” Will countered. “Who are these friends of de Vere’s you’ve been giving information to?”

  Walter sighed. “I shouldn’t tell you any of this, but I suppose it will all be over in a few hours. They’re a group of militant Catholics who want to push the queen into the French marriage. For the sake of secrecy the Queen will have only a minimum escort with her at Mortlake, and they see this as their chance to approach her directly.”

  “But why are you involved in this?”

  “I’m acting on orders from the Secretary of State, Sir Francis Walsingham,” Walter replied. “He wants to flush out these conspirators and make an example of them. He’ll have men waiting to arrest them when they make their move. I’m sure the Queen is in no danger.”

  Will thought quickly. “It’s not the Queen,” he said, “it’s the duke. Don’t you see? If any harm comes to his brother, wouldn’t that force the French king to declare war against England?”

  Walter pondered this. “Yes, Mendoza does have agents among our own people. If one of
them has infiltrated the plot they might do exactly what you’re suggesting.”

  The door opened and Grace O’Malley strode in. She was still wearing a dress and Will couldn’t help noticing how well it fitted her.

  “That Mistress Swift of yours keep a grand larder,” Grace declared. “I’m ready to fight an army of Spaniards with your Tower guards thrown in for a bit of spice.”

  “Let’s hope it won’t come to that,” said Walter.

  Grace eyed them suspiciously. “What have you two been talking about?”

  “We have to go back to Mortlake right away,” said Will.

  “What’s the rush?” asked Grace, brandishing a bottle. “I just bought some wine to celebrate your escape, Will.”

  “You can stay here and drink all you want, Grace,” said Walter, getting off the bed.

  Grace set the bottle down and gave Walter a hard look. “You weren’t so keen to be rid of me last night after I saved your life, Walter.”

  “You saved his life?” Will exclaimed.

  “When the boat went over he bashed his head off an oar,” Grace explained. “He’d have sunk to the bottom if I hadn’t caught hold of him and helped him to the shore.”

  “I already showed you my gratitude,” said Walter, not meeting her eye.

  “Oh you did that right enough,” said Grace with a broad smile.

  “And as I promised, I’ll see you and your men get safely out of London with no more said about your dealings with Mendoza. But Will and I are heading back to Mortlake. Come on, Will, get your boots on.”

  Grace spotted the Meta Incognita and passed her tongue across her upper lip. “If you’re taking that book back to your friend Dr Dee, you’ll be wanting me along to help guard it.”

  “Guard it?” Walter burst out. “You just want another chance to steal it! You’re lucky I’m letting you go free.”

  “Let me go free?” Grace exclaimed. “Walter Raleigh, you couldn’t catch me if you had a net as big as China!”