People streamed into London from the tenements outside the walls, to look for work, to buy and sell, or to drink. Fewer folk went in the other direction. "Whither away so early, now?" an Irish gallowglass asked as Shakespeare headed out. He made as if to step forward and bar the poet's path.
"I'm for the Theatre," Shakespeare answered.
"Faith, are you indeed?" the Irishman said. "Riddle me why, then. I'm after knowing these plays run of afternoons."
"In sooth, they do," Shakespeare agreed. "But we needs must practice or ever we play, else were the show not worth the seeing."
The Irishman scratched at his red whiskers. He scratched hard, caught something, and squashed it between his two thumbnails. Seeing that made Shakespeare want to scratch, too. Maybe getting rid of the vermin cheered the gallowglass, for he waved Shakespeare forward. "Pass on."
"Gramercy. God give you good day." Not least from fear, Shakespeare was always polite around the savages from the western island.
Out beyond the wall, the tenements were as crowded and squalid as anything within, maybe worse.
Shakespeare strutted up Shoreditch High Street towards the Theatre as fiercely as he could. Footpads had never set on him, and he hoped a show of belligerency from a good-sized man would keep making them choose other targets.
Only the night watchman was at the Theatre when Shakespeare got there. He sat on a stool, his back against the wall by the outer entrance, his hat down over his eyes to shield him from the sunlight. Soft snores rose from him. Shakespeare hoped he'd been more alert during the night.
He paused in front of the entrance and coughed. The watchman's snores changed rhythm. Shakespeare coughed again, louder this time. The other man yawned and stretched and raised his hat enough to see out from under the brim. "Oh, 'tis you, Master Will," he said around a yawn that showed bad teeth.
"Good day, sir. Go on in, an't please you. You're first here today."
"How know you that?" Like Pilate asking, What is truth? Shakespeare didn't want an answer. He nodded and went into the Theatre. The watchman pulled his hat down again. He was ready for more sleep.
He turned out to be right; no one from the company had gone past him while he dozed. Shakespeare had the Theatre all to himself. He looked up to the wide ring of heaven. A kestrel flashed by overhead. The little hawk never had any doubts of what prey nature intended it to take, nor of how to go about the tasks nature had appointed it. For his part, Shakespeare had never imagined he might envy a bird's pure simplicities. He'd never imagined it, but it was so.
While he stood with his feet on the hard-packed earth (it smelled faintly of spilt beer; despite the sweepers, nutshells, bits of bread, a broken clay pipe, and other refuse still lay all around), he stretched out his arms full length and wistfully flapped them. He envied the kestrel its ability to fly out of trouble, too.
From behind him, someone said, "Lo! Here the gentle lark, weary of rest, from his moist cabinet mounts on high, and wakes the morning."
Shakespeare spun round. There stood Richard Burbage, a grin on his handsome, fleshy face. "I am no songbird," Shakespeare said. "But the crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark when neither is attended."
"No songbird? Haply not, not in your own person," Burbage said. "But verily you give others music, killing care and grief of heart. Orpheus with his lute made trees bow themselves when he did sing. So you as well, e'en if it be through the throats of others."
"You are gracious," Shakespeare said, "and I thank you for't."
"How d'you come here, the hour being so young?" Burbage asked. "I had looked to be alone yet some little while, as usually chances."
"How, Dick? I'll tell you how." Shakespeare spoke of how Cicely Sellis had asked him about Lieutenant de Vega. "She ghasted me out of doors betimes, nor am I shamed to own it."
"And yet 'twas no witchery that you should speak, or even that they should meet. Passing strange, that."
Burbage snapped his fingers. "I mind me we need not fear dear Master Lope for some little while, at the least."
"Wherefore say you so?" Shakespeare asked. "If Dame Rumor run abroad, she hath not caught me up."
"I supped yesternight at an ordinary close by the dons' barracks. There was talk in Spanish amongst 'em, and in English back and forth 'twixt the tapman and the drawer, the which I might follow. De Vega hath slain a man, a noble Spaniard."
" 'Swounds!" Shakespeare said. "Shall he be hanged for't?"
Burbage shook his head. "Methinks not. 'Twas in some affray over a woman."
"With Master de Vega? You astound me," Shakespeare said. Burbage laughed. He too knew-he could hardly help knowing-Lope de Vega's passion for passionate conquests. Shakespeare went on, "Still and all, that could be murther, did he lie in wait for his rival or smite from behind."
"Why, so it could," Burbage admitted. "I had not thought on it, the Spaniard seeming a tolerable man of his hands, but haply you have the right of't. I know not, nor could I glean it from the talk I overheard. But he shan't come hither soon, an I mistake me not."
"May it be so," Shakespeare said. "A few days' time to rehearse our Boudicca in peace were a blessing."
"Ay. Naught compares to moving about the stage for the refining of bits of business, and breaking off in the midst of a scene jars hardly less than breaking off in the midst with a wench," Burbage said.
"A fit figure, in view of what's passed." Shakespeare inclined his head.
"I'm certain sure she had a fit figure," Burbage said. "The Spaniard hath an eye for 'em."
"Hold the tireman's helper on high," Shakespeare warned. "If Master Lope return of a sudden, we dare not be caught out."
"That I know, Will," Burbage said heavily. "By my troth, that I know."
Lope De Vega stood at stiff attention before Captain Baltasar GuzmA?n. "Before God, sir, it was self-defense, nothing else," he declared. A pen scratched across paper off to one side: Guzman's servant, Enrique, writing down every word he said. "Don Alejandro came at me sword in hand. If I hadn't defended myself, some other officer would be taking his statement now."
Some other officer might be taking his statement now, Lope thought. Or, then again, maybe not.
Had Don Alejandro de Recalde slain him, how much of an inquiry would there have been? He was only a lieutenant, after all, from a family not particularly eminent. As likely as not, they would have buried him, patted Don Alejandro on the back for his fine swordsmanship, and gone on about their business.
Baltasar GuzmA?n, now, said nothing at all. He sat behind his desk, staring up at de Vega. "You will have questioned my companion," Lope said stiffly. " Senorita Ibanez's account should match mine."
"And so it does," Guzman admitted, "or you would be in a great deal more trouble than you are."
"Your Excellency, if Senorita Ibanez's account does match mine, I should be in no trouble at all."
"Unfortunately, Senior Lieutenant, it is not quite so simple. What were you doing with the woman when Don Alejandro discovered the two of you alone together?"
"We'd had a picnic, sir," Lope said stolidly. "We were leaving the yard for the Kings of Scotland when Don Alejandro burst in." Scratch, scratch, scratch went the quill in Enrique's clever
right hand.
"A picnic?" One of Captain GuzmA?n's eyebrows leaped.
"Yes, your Excellency. A picnic. The soldiers who came after the fight took the coverlet we sat on, and the wine bottle we drank from, and the mugs, and the bread and honey we had there."
"One-or two-can do other things on a coverlet besides sitting."
"No doubt, sir. We were having a picnic," Lope said. Scratch, scratch, scratch.
"Will you see Senorita Ibanez again?" Guzman asked.
"How can I know, your Excellency?" de Vega answered. "She is. an attractive woman, and her protector-her former protector-is now unfortunately deceased."
"Yes. Most unfortunately. I saw the corpse," Captain GuzmA?n said. "When you fight a man, you don't do things by halves,
do you, Senior Lieutenant?"
"Sir, he came at me bellowing like a bull. If I hadn't fought to kill, he would have killed me," Lope replied.
That was not only true, it was what he had to say to keep himself safe. Guzman's respect, though, however reluctantly granted, warmed him, for his superior was a formidable man with a rapier in his hand. De Vega added, "He was good with a blade-very quick, very strong, very clean-but purely a school fighter."
"Ah." Captain Guzman nodded. "So that's how it was, eh? No, you don't learn those strokes in school.
You learn them when you put your life on the line-or else you don't, as Don Alejandro didn't."
"What will become of me, senor?" Lope asked.
"Well, I believe your story-or most of it, anyhow," GuzmA?n answered. "As far as I'm concerned, you remain on duty. But you must understand, when you kill a nobleman the matter doesn't end with your immediate superior."
"Yes, sir," Lope said resignedly.
"It could be worse, you know," Baltasar GuzmA?n told him. "You could have killed de Recalde back in Spain. Then you wouldn't have to worry about your superiors alone. You'd have everyone in his clan hot for your blood, and all his friends, too. He doesn't have many kinsmen here in England, and he wasn't here long enough to make a lot of friends."
"No doubt you're right, sir." The same thing had occurred to Lope. "Is there anything more, sir?"
"Not from me, as I told you. But I also tell you something else: if you fall head over heels in love with Catalina IbaA±ez in the next few weeks, tongues will wag. I don't suppose anyone will be able to prove a thing, but tongues will wag."
"Nothing I can do about that, your Excellency," Lope replied.
"You could try keeping away from her," Captain GuzmA?n said. Lope stood mute. GuzmA?n sighed.
"No point to puncturing a man if you can't enjoy yourself afterwards: is that what you're thinking?"
"Your Excellency, do you question my honor?" Lope asked, very softly.
Had GuzmA?n said yes, things would have taken a different turn. But the captain impatiently shook his head. "No, no, no, by no means. The IbaA±ez is only a mistress, not a wife. How can anyone lose honor over a mistress? But even the touchiest man will see there is a difference between honor and gossip and scandal."
"Very well, senor. I thank you for the advice."
GuzmA?n sighed. "By which you mean you have no intention of taking it. Well, you've already proved you're not shy about carving a man so the undertakers can't pretty him up. That will make some people think twice. Go on, get back to work, but bear in mind you may be summoned by others besides me."
Sure enough, Lope was in his room working on a report of doings at the Theatre when Enrique knocked on his door. Captain GuzmA?n's servant said, "Begging your pardon, Senior Lieutenant, but my principal has just received an order from Don Diego Flores de ValdA©s at Westminster. You are to report to him at once for questioning in the matter of Don Alejandro."
"Thank you, Enrique." Lope sighed and rose from the stool where he'd perched. "I'll go, of course."
What else could he do when summoned by the commandant of Spanish forces in England?
As he was heading out of the barracks, his own servant came up the corridor towards him. " Senor, there is an English constable outside, a man named Strawberry." He said it with care. "He would speak to you. So says a soldier who knows a little English."
"A constable?" De Vega shook his head. "I am called before Don Diego Flores de ValdA©s. I have no time for this no-account Englishman now. I would have no time for the Queen and King of England now.
Go back and tell the fellow, whoever he is, that I am very sorry, but I will have to see him some other day."
"I speak no English!" Diego wailed.
"Well, get that soldier again, then," Lope said impatiently, hurrying off towards the stables. "You found out what the constable wanted. He can find out what you want."
When he rode off towards Westminster, he got a glimpse of his servant and a large, middle-aged Englishman standing nose to nose in the street, each shouting at the other, neither understanding a word the other said. Maybe the English-speaking soldier had gone away. Lope smiled. Diego needed such exercise to keep his blood flowing. As for the other man, that Strawberry. Well, who cared about an English constable, anyhow?
Once Lope got to Westminster, he had to find Don Diego Flores de ValdA©s' office, which he'd visited only once. He knew he was getting close when someone called out to him: a thin, weedy, pockmarked Englishman who wore spectacles. "Oh, SeA±or Phelippes," Lope said, glad to see a face he knew. "The commandant's chamber is along this corridor, is it not?"
"Yes, that's right," Phelippes answered. Where Lope had spoken English, he used his fluent Spanish, finishing, "Congratulations on the skill of your right hand." His own right hand, still clutching a quill, made cut-and-thrust motions.
"For which I thank you." De Vega did his best to keep laughter off his face. He had a hard time imagining a man less dangerous than Thomas Phelippes. Hurrying up the corridor, he found Don Diego also scribbling away at something. He waited till the Spanish commandant look up from his work, then saluted. "I report as ordered, your Excellency."
"So you do. Come in, Senior Lieutenant, come in." Don Diego drummed his fingers on the desk. He pointed to a stool in front of it. "Sit, if you care to. So you've had more woman trouble, have you?"
"Well. " Lope saw no way out of that one. "Yes, your Excellency," he said reluctantly.
"You'll get talked about, killing a social superior," Don Diego remarked.
"No doubt. But I preferred that to letting him kill me."
"Yes, I can see how you might. Don Alejandro was not the brightest man I ever saw, but he was brave, and we'll miss him. We haven't enough Spaniards here as is; we can't afford to kill each other."
"Yes, your Excellency," Lope said. "Better you tell me that, though, than that you tell him."
"He wouldn't agree with you-but then, he's not here to ask, is he?" Don Diego drummed his fingers again. "By your account, by his mistress' account, it was a fair fight." Those fingers went up and down, up and down. "The Ibanez woman, I'm sure, is great fun in bed. But damn me, Senior Lieutenant, if she's worth a man in his grave. She'll be as faithless to you as she was to Don Alejandro, and sooner, for he had more money to spend on her than you do."
No matter how infatuated with her Lope was, that held the unpleasant ring of truth. "I'll take my chances, your Excellency," he replied, for want of anything better.
"So you will," the Spanish commandant agreed. "So you do." He scowled. "Go on, get out of here. You have to keep an eye on the Englishmen at the Theatre. The good Lord only knows what they're planning, but it's something. I need a hound to smell out treachery. For that, you'll do. And a man who knows how to handle a blade is always an asset, too. Through the eye! Madre de Dios! "
"Your Excellency, with a life on the line, one does what one must do," Lope said.
"Yes. And that is why I am sending you back to your duty at the Theatre," Don Diego said. His long face was made to show sorrow, and it did now. "We will need you, we will need the play, before long. Word just here from Spain is that it is doubtful his Most Catholic Majesty shall leave his bed again. His doctors dare not move him, even to change the linen on his mattress. The end approaches." He crossed himself.
So did Lope de Vega. "I shall do all I can to ensure that he has his monument here," Lope said. "You may rely on me, sir."
"I do, Senior Lieutenant," Don Diego Flores de ValdA©s told him. "That is why you are returning. For I still fear treason from the Theatre. I want you there to stop it."
"I've seen no sign of it," Lope said. "But if it rears its ugly head, I'll tear it out, root and branch."
In the upper gallery of the Theatre, the tireman's helper who did duty as a lookout started whistling
"A Man's Yard." At once, the players who had been Romans and Britons hacking away at one another shifted positions and became
Spaniards and Englishmen hacking away at one another. "By God!"
Richard Burbage snarled at Shakespeare. "Is he here again?" He glared at the poet as if it were his fault.
Shakespeare spread his hands. "I did not bid him come."
"Unbidden guests are often welcomest when they are gone," Burbage said. "But of late he is never gone.
How can we rehearse Boudicca under the eyes of a don? He bleeds us of time like a leech of blood, save that a leech may heal, whilst he doth only harm."
"I cannot mend it-and say not the name, never no moe," Shakespeare added. "He hath the Latin to know whence it comes and what it portends." In strode Lope. He wasn't very tall, but swaggered like a giant. Shakespeare smiled and waved to him. "Welcome!" he lied. "Give you good day."
"And a good morrow to you," de Vega answered, advancing towards the stage. He surveyed the struggling players with a critical eye. "Many of these would die quickly, did they take the field in earnest."
"They are not soldiers. They but personate them," Shakespeare said.
"But their personation wants persuasion," Lope said. Shakespeare glanced towards Burbage. Ever so slightly, the player nodded. He'd been a soldier, and knew whereof Lope spoke.
"A soldier's eye may discern the flaws, but will the generality?" Shakespeare asked.
"Those of them have fought in war will know they see no war upon the stage," Lope told him.
"We shall do what we can." Shakespeare did his best to hide a sigh. He didn't think de Vega noticed.
Burbage did, and smiled. Shakespeare asked the question uppermost in his, uppermost in everyone's, mind: "How fares his Most Catholic Majesty?"
"He fares not well at all." De Vega's handsome face looked old and worn, as if he were speaking of his own dying father. "As I have said before, he is bedridden. The least movement pains him to the marrow.
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