“I’ve been told from the day I could understand words,” Caleb continued in the same unnerving voice. “Children told me first, then their parents. I am the son of a witch, a dabbler in black magic, that’s what they said.”
“You shouldn’t listen,” Will began but Caleb shouted him down.
“There is worse! The reason, they said, that I had never seen my father, is that he was the devil. My mother took him as a lover so he would teach her magic.” His round, dull eyes stared straight at Will. “Tell me truthfully, would you want to live if that was what you were, if all those voices kept reminding you of it?”
He rubbed a fist against his ear as if the voices he spoke of were taunting him now.
“You have nothing to do with witches or the devil,” said Will. “I’ve been accused of mixing with both, and it’s just something people say out of fear and malice.”
“It’s what I’ve been told,” Caleb insisted. He glanced anxiously at the lantern. There could be only be another minute or two before the flame died. “Go now, and save yourself! Leave me to the fire.”
He raised the lantern up, threatening to dash it to the floor.
Will thought of all the wonders stored in this library, the thousands of volumes. He thought of this great house and the marvellous machines it contained. But most of all he thought of this one wretched soul, so filled with hatred of himself that he was ready to throw away his own life in a futile act of despair.
“I know what it’s like to be too afraid to go on living,” said Will, “but the darkness will lift, the morning will come. In the end it is better to live.”
“For you, perhaps,” said Caleb. “Since they call me a devil, I may as well be one.” His voice had quieted now. More than anything else he sounded defeated.
Will recalled that only a week ago Caleb had reached out to find some bond of trust between the two of them, even if it was in his own odd way. Will realised he needed that trust now and there was only one way to get it.
He looked down at the stream of sulphurous liquid that lay between them. Its black sheen and stinging stench made him think of the poisonous River Styx the ancient writers said surrounded the land of the dead. Biting his lip to keep his nerve steady, Will stepped inside the brimstone circle and stood at Caleb’s side.
Caleb shook his head disbelievingly. “Do you want to die?”
“No, I don’t,” said Will, “and neither do you. But I have a true story you have to listen to, a story about life.”
“It’s too late for stories now,” Caleb said in a cracked voice. The lantern shook in his hand.
“This is one you’ve always known,” said Will, “but you forgot it. It’s about a woman abandoned with her baby son. Though she was alone with no help, she refused to give up. She learned the secrets of plants and herbs, making remedies and cures for the sick. By selling those potions she managed to feed and clothe herself and her child.”
He saw Caleb begin to waver, lowering the lantern inch by inch.
“But now that she’s gone I have nothing,” the sad youth said.
“No, you’re wrong there,” said Will. “She left you something better than a house or gold – she left you her courage, the courage to go on when everything seems lost. See.” He closed his hand and stretched it out before him. “Just think of it lying in the palm of your hand, and whenever you need it you only have to open your fingers and it’s there.”
Caleb watched as Will opened his fingers. Then he stared down at his own empty hand, as if something were dimly visible there. Silently he passed the lantern to Will.
As Will grasped the circular handle, the flame flickered out. But they were not in the dark. Another light had appeared. Looking into the white glow they saw John Dee walking towards them, a lamp in his hands. His face looked sad and hopeful at the same time.
“I was listening to what you said, Caleb,” he sighed. “I never meant to make you feel that way. When I took you in I meant this to be your home, but I’m an old fool whose mind leaps so quickly from one thing to another that I forget my own good intentions.”
Caleb shrank back in confusion. “But I set the fire…”
“It’s been put out,” Dee assured him, setting his lamp down on the nearest shelf. “And now we must set things right. There is so much I can teach you, but you have to do one thing for me first.”
A trace of his habitual suspicion glinted in Caleb’s eye. “What?” he asked warily.
“Forgive me,” said Dee, extending his hand toward him.
Will watched as Caleb struggled with his conflicting emotions. He rubbed his fingers together nervously then stepped out of the sulphurous circle to shake the doctor’s hand. Will followed him, grinning with relief. Only now did he realise that there was sweat running down his back and his heart was pounding.
“Do you think we can get back to the party now?” he asked.
“There would be no party if you hadn’t come for me, Master Shakeshaft,” Caleb told him.
“Shakeshaft’s not my name,” said Will. “Somebody just made it up for me. My name’s really Will Shakespeare.”
“Shake-Spear,” Caleb repeated slowly. Will was astonished to see him smile. “That’s a hero’s name.”
“I’m no hero,” laughed Will. “I’ve learned that much. But I’m content to be who I am, and so should you be.”
32 The Reign of Mercy
Outside in the garden the saving of the Duke of Anjou and the dousing of the fire provided a double reason for celebration. Kemp and Ralph struck up a jig on the lute and drum and the Queen’s maids danced upon the lawn with any gentlemen who could push their way ahead of their rivals. Spices were tossed on to the burning braziers to produce a festive scent so that the air was filled with music and sweet fire. Extra barrels of beer and wine were brought up from the village tavern and it looked to Will like the party would go on all night.
He was sharing a beer with Walter and Grace when the Queen approached them with her diminutive attendant Madame Thomasina at her side. In her white gown with its gleaming pearls and her pale makeup she might have been a ghost or an angel descending to earth from a higher realm. Will gulped as they all bowed low, not knowing whether she had come to commend or condemn them.
“Dr Dee has been explaining to me his plans for the further exploration of the Americas,” Queen Elizabeth said to Walter. “He says you are the man to lead our next expedition there.”
“I would be honoured to serve Your Majesty in that capacity, and to claim those lands in your name,” Walter answered humbly. He bowed again, so low Will was afraid he would fall on his face.
“And you two,” said the Queen, “Mistress O’Malley and Master Shake-Spear, I believe I have you to thank for saving the life of my good friend the Duke of Anjou.”
Will tried to say something courtly as Walter had done, but all that came out was, “Yes…I…we…many thanks, Your Majesty.”
Grace did not appear in the least overawed. “Oh, we had a spot of luck, that’s all,” she said.
“Never the less,” said the Queen, “your performance was far superior to that of the duke himself.”
Will dared not look closely enough to be sure, but he thought she was smiling.
A man clad in pitch black robes with a large collar of white lace appeared at the Queen’s side. Will realised this must be her Secretary of State, Sir Francis Walsingham, whose name he had heard more than once these past few days.
“Your Majesty, the assassin will not live to see morning,” Walsingham reported. “His wounds are too severe.”
Queen Elizabeth nodded. “See he’s made comfortable and send to the church for someone to tend his soul.”
“I’ll have the others sent to the Tower to await execution,” said Walsingham.
“No, Sir Francis,” said the Queen. “Confiscate their property and banish them, but let them keep their lives.”
Walsingham looked aghast. “They drew swords in your presence! You must make
an example.”
“Of what?” the Queen retorted. “Cruelty? We have been spared a ruinous war. Let us be sparing in our punishments.”
Walsingham averted his shrewd, intelligent eyes and bowed his head in acquiescence.
“I believe this lady requires transport back to Ireland,” the Queen told him. “Please arrange it.”
Walsingham looked up sharply. “Your Majesty, this is Grace O’Malley the notorious pirate. For years she has preyed upon—”
“No doubt she has,” said the Queen, cutting him off with a regal wave of her hand. “My only concern is the service she has done me.”
“But that does not absolve her of her many crimes,” Walsingham insisted.
“Today it does, Sir Francis,” said the Queen in a tone that made her secretary quail. “If a queen is to rule justly she must also rule with mercy.”
“I’m very happy to accept your help, Your Majesty, but this business of saving England is going to ruin my reputation,” Grace joked.
“I think,” said the Queen with a smile, “that the sooner we get you out of England the better it will be for both of our reputations. But in the meantime we can share a cup of wine together. I’m sure we’ll find something to talk about.”
“Oh, Your Majesty, there are such tales I could tell you, to be sure!” Grace laughed. As she walked off with the Queen she looked back and said, “I’ll save you a dance, Walter – if you can catch me.”
Alone with Walter and Will, Walsingham shook his head disapprovingly as his sovereign carried on an animated conversation with the pirate queen. His brows narrowed as he turned to Walter. “That was a dangerous turn of events. If Mendoza was involved as you say, I shall have to keep a close eye on him.”
Will thought of the trouble that would have befallen his family and friends if they hadn’t been able to stop the would-be killer. “You would have done better to leave things alone instead of luring those men on,” he told the two of them.
“You are only a boy,” said Walsingham coldly, “with no understanding of such matters. It was necessary to expose them before they attempted some worse treason.”
“But that’s not all, is it?” said Will. “You wanted them to confront the queen.”
“You’re right, Will,” said Walter. Walsingham tried to silence him with a warning look, but he carried on. “It’s the Queen’s nature to rebel against anything someone tries to force on her. She’ll never marry the Duke of Anjou now.”
“You must understand the importance of this, Master Shakespeare, and why you must never speak of it,” said Walsingham sternly. “From now the Queen will remain single and childless, but because of that England will stand upon her own two feet, relying on no other nation for her protection. That is the destiny of your country.”
“So you’ve been deceiving everyone,” said Will, “the Queen as much as the conspirators.”
“It’s a shady business, Will,” said Walter, “I don’t deny that, but you have to believe we acted in the best interests of England.”
“I’m sure you believe that’s what you’re doing,” said Will.
Walsingham stared at the two of them long enough to satisfy himself that his secret would remain safe. “I must go now,” he said, “and prepare some documents for the Queen to sign.”
“What sort of documents?” Will asked suspiciously. “Are you going to arrest even more people?”
“Not at all, Master Shakespeare,” Walsingham replied evenly. “They will authorise the construction of ships, a great navy to defend England against any possible attack and to carry our explorers to the farthest corners of the earth. As I told you, it is a matter of destiny.”
He made to leave, then stopped. “But speaking of arrests,” he said, “I have received a report of an escape from the Tower. A young man named Will curiously enough.”
“I…I don’t know anything about it,” said Will unconvincingly. The memory of that terrible night at the tower came rushing back on him like an huge black wave.
“You can’t mean to punish the boy after all he’s done for us!” said Walter vehemently.
Walsingham quirked an eyebrow. “Well, the law is the law, but as you say, he has been of some use. Master Shakespeare, I will see you are provided with a royal pardon, absolving you of any wrongdoing you have been guilty of up to this time.”
“Thank you!” exclaimed Will, unable to contain his relief. “That’s very good of you.”
Walsingham made a sour face as he turned away. “If the Queen insists on being merciful then so, I suppose, must I.”
Mortlake, XXIInd Daye of August, 1579
My Dearest Parents,
I am very happy to bring you the glad tidings that I am alive.
I am back at Mortlake House enjoying the hospitality of Dr Dee without the burden of editing his playe. Lord Strange’s Men have moved on and I believe Master Henry Beeston is attempting to negotiate a season for them at the Curtain Playhouse in London. I have shared many happy times with the Players and though I am sad to see them go, I am haunted by the certainty that we will meet again.
Master Henry Beeston sayes the whole Worlde is a stage and over Time a man must playe many parts. I feel I have played a sufficient variety of parts these past weekes to last me a considerable time. But who can tell? Perhaps my greatest role still awaits me.
I have – through a turn of events you will find it difficult to credit – obtained a document which will allow me to walk right up to Sir Thomas Lucy’s front door and thumb my nose in his face. With this protection I intend to return to Stratford in the company of a merchant caravan departing London in four dayes time.
In the meanwhile I am exploring the wonders of Dr Dee’s library. What a wealth of stories there are here translated from the Italian, French and Spanish! Knights, fair maidens, rescues and miracles! I will strive to remember as many as I can and relate them to you upon my return.
I will be bringing with me a gift from Dr Dee – the entire manuscript of Pluto and Proserpina. I hope we have a cupboard dark enough – and large enough! – to hide it in. He sayes he has not the time to bring it to completion, but that if I should ever incline to a literary career, I maye treat it as my own.
Caleb, the unhappy fellow I have told you of, is much changed of late. I see him now working alongside the Doctor, studying works of Medicine and preparing curative potions. His face is more open, his posture more confident, and I swear I hear him laugh now at least twice a daye. It is as if a life-sapping poison has been drained from his soul and a healthier nature is asserting itself, like a Rose bursting free of the frozen Earth.
I too am much changed, though I hope you will recognise me still. The gifts you gave me when I left Stratford have served me well and helped me win through many adventures, none of which I feel it is prudent to commit to paper and ink. Suffice it to saye I have learned much of my own nature and of the world about me that I was ignorant of before.
It has been a tale of trials and perils that I feared might prove my undoing, but I have survived them all. And so, as Walter once said to me,
All’s Well That Ends Well.
Your devoted Sonne
Will Shakespeare
Afterword
Almost all of the stories in Shakespeare’s plays are taken from books he had read. The main exceptions are A Midsummer Night’s Dream and The Tempest, for which no direct sources have been found. The wizard Prospero in The Tempest is widely believed to be inspired by the court astrologer Dr John Dee and many scholars believe that A Midsummer Night’s Dream was created as an entertainment for Queen Elizabeth I.
This led me to suppose that perhaps the germs of these plays were to be found in some events of Will’s early life of which history has left no trace, and so this tale was born. The historical roots of the story are as follows.
In 1579 the Duke of Anjou arrived secretly in England to persuade Queen Elizabeth to marry him. Elizabeth’s court was divided between those who were for and ag
ainst the marriage, but the most powerful voice was that of her Secretary of State, Sir Francis Walsingham, a Puritan who vehemently opposed England entering into such a union with a Catholic country. We learn from John Dee’s own diaries that he was one of the few people who knew of Anjou’s arrival.
Recent biographers of Walter Raleigh believe he was acting as an agent of Walsingham at this time in order to expose members of a Catholic conspiracy. He was also a friend of John Dee and the two frequently discussed matters of navigation and the exploration of the New World.
To the explorers of the Elizabethan age, the Northwest Passage was a geographical Holy Grail, holding out a promise of immense wealth, but all their attempts to find it failed. The legend of the Passage continued to lure explorers into the Arctic seas for another four centuries until the route was finally discovered by the Norwegian Roald Amundsen in 1903.
All the major characters in the story are based upon real people, including Grace O’Malley the pirate queen, Lok the Inuit boatman, and the inquisitor Charles Sledd.
I should explain that some of the more fantastic parts of the story are also grounded in fact. While he was a student at Cambridge John Dee built a huge mechanical scarab, just like the one I describe, as a prop for a production of Aristophanes’ play The Peace.
We have no evidence that Grace O’Malley was in London in 1579, but she did arrive there some years later and met with Queen Elizabeth. After what must have been an interesting conversation, Elizabeth gave the pirate queen full permission to carry on with her warlike activities. I have simply moved their meeting forward in time.
Finally, could Will really have escaped from a secure fortress like the Tower of London by disguising himself as a girl? Well, in 1716 the Earl of Nithsdale was imprisoned in the Tower after a failed Jacobite uprising in Scotland. He escaped with the help of his wife, who disguised him as a woman.
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