Shakespeare No More Page 14

  “I did nothing criminal,” he continued. “Others did their masters’ bidding.”

  I liked the man’s manner. He spoke honest and true. This man had seen much in his life, and he was unimpressed by the trappings of royalty.

  “You are not worried that Bacon and Coke might imprison you?”

  “Bacon and Coke? Ha! You think I fear them? For one thing, I can be out of England in hours. For another, they sit upon the jakes just as everyone else. They are nothing special.”

  I drew back. His words were very dangerous. To speak thus of the king’s officers was to speak of the king. But I felt a certain satisfaction in hearing them. In truth, they were my words, too.

  “So, tell me, know you anything of the Overbury matter?”

  “As his warder, I know that certain gentlemen of the king prepared potions for Overbury that contained poison. But I know when those did not have the desired effect that Lady Somerset ordered a special purgative. Shortly thereafter, Sir Thomas departed this life. Just as well.”

  “Why?”

  “Poor Overbury was in agony. Had he lived he would have never been the same. Such is how the nobles treat each other. Would that I never count myself among their number. Not that I could.”

  “Aye. Such is how I see it. Are you sure of Overbury?”

  “They poured the arsenic up his arse,” Osward said. “I saw it myself. As if to purge him.”

  “You speak openly for a murder witness.”

  He smiled in a way that I hoped never to smile. “I have a cancer. Nothing the king can do would do aught but ease my suffering.” With a quick snap he emptied his mug, and I saw the lines in his face. I signaled for another round.

  “Saw you the poet Shakespeare there?”

  “No, if he had some involvement ’twas not at the end. ’Twas not but one of my fellows and the countess. His Ladyship,” the warder snorted, “was not even there.”

  “You risk much.”

  “All think it. I say it. Robert Carr may be an earl, but he should at least append ‘His Ladyship’ to his name. I have known many men who prefer sodomy to true sex. Indeed I have tried it. But, I am not one of those who would prefer it to the other. How a man finds his pleasure is nothing to me. But James courted the prim little earl as he would a woman. Sent him flowers and sweets and notes.”

  “The king risks much.” I said that, but I really did not mean it. A king may do as he wishes. Sodomy was illegal, but so was adultery and if everyone guilty of that were imprisoned there would be few left to pursue the business of the nation. What I meant was that this man risked much. He was a man in pain though, a dying man, and I felt he had much to confess. If that were true, I would be his confessor.

  “The king risks nothing,” my visitor said. “Unless some of his notes were to fall into the hands of his enemies.”

  “He writes to Carr even after the earl was sent to the Tower?” I was truly incredulous.

  Osward shrugged. “Not notes of love now. He is more than a little worried about what Carr will say or do at trial to save his own neck.”

  Something in all of this bothered me. “You seem to know much for a warder.”

  He responded with a hacking cough. “You seem to think that royals are discreet. The old queen, yes. She knew how to keep her business private. But James is not Elizabeth.”

  “And now he has done much he wishes were hidden.”

  He nodded. “I carried messages from the king to Carr.”

  “Why you?”

  “The king often uses yeomen warders for such chores. I have proven useful on several occasions, and he grew accustomed to asking for me. He is very generous, and I do not mind the extra work.”

  James’s generosity was the stuff of legends. I had heard Henry Smythe complain more than once that the king was giving away the kingdom. I said as much to the warder.

  “Everyone at court knows it. Take this pension he is settling on Jonson. What service to the crown has Jonson performed to justify such a gift?”

  I did not answer. I could not think of any such service, and Jonson did not stand high in my esteem at that moment. But Will would have favoured the pension, anything to raise the people’s view of poets.

  “How long have you been a warder?”

  “Fifteen years.”

  “So you served Elizabeth as well.”

  “For two years,” he said. “At first, the king was a pleasant change, younger, more open. But then the excesses were too much even for us old soldiers.”

  “Master Warder, I came to London seeking to find who murdered William Shakespeare.”

  The warder drew back. “William the Conqueror was murdered?”

  “William the Conqueror?”

  He waved me off. “ ’Tis but an old jest. In truth, Shakespeare was killed?”

  “Poisoned, as Overbury. I believe that he played some role in all of this and that is why he was murdered, to keep him from revealing what he knew.”

  He frowned, deepening the lines in his face. “If what you are saying is true, then only Carr and the Howards could be responsible, or…” He did not need to continue; we both knew who he meant.

  A slow burning began in my stomach. I was not the innocent that Ben Jonson thought me, but I had hoped for better from our leaders. We had many ills across our lands. The Puritans continued to push for reforms. There was growing unrest sweeping the country, unrest with the nobility and their excesses. My warder friend was not alone in his views.

  The realisation of just how high guilt might lie in Will’s death should have caused me to despair, but it did not. Indeed it ­focused my mind.

  “You say that the king sent notes to Carr? Notes of love?”

  “Aye.”

  “Are you still able to work?”

  “For now. I work in the Tower most days. On occasion, I am sent to Greenwich Palace to serve the king. But each day becomes more difficult.”

  “You have been most helpful.”

  He smiled through the pain that must have been racking his body. “Aye, I owe you that.”

  “For what?”

  “For knocking Ben Jonson on his arse.”

  And with that, he was gone, leaving me sitting and contemplating all that had occurred.

  “Master Saddler?”

  I looked up to see the innkeeper standing above me. He seemed flustered.

  “I was about to seek you. Have you another chamber?”

  He nodded hurriedly. “We do not know what happened to cause the fire. You have our deepest apologies.”

  I reached up and patted his arm. “Does anyone have any idea who the dead man is? I found myself on the other side of the city late last night and took a room at an inn there,” I quickly explained.

  “Thank God that you did. No. No one knew him. Though one of the other guests said that he had looked like a typical cutpurse. At first we thought it must be you.”

  “What else were you to think? No matter. It was probably, as you said, just some cutpurse. Indeed, it was probably he who accidentally set the fire.”

  “I am so very grateful, master, that you are understanding of this. No servant of Sir Edward and Sir Francis should be treated in this way.”

  And that sent my head reeling. “How do you know that I am acquainted with Bacon and Coke?”

  “London has many people, Master Saddler. And each one has a mouth. And those mouths are seldom shut for very long.”

  I chuckled grimly. That was something I was learning ­quickly. “If you could provide me with a chamber that is, if you take my meaning, out of the general flow.”

  The innkeeper beamed. “I have just the one for you. And a trustworthy man to watch your door.”

  “That is very generous of you.”

  “We like to take especial care of our more distinguished guests. Besides, Sir Edward sent a messenger with funds both to cover your stay and to hire a man.”

  “Then would you give him these instructions? Admit no one without my perso
nal leave, no matter who they are or what they say.”

  The innkeeper, a burly man with huge arms and hands, nodded. “After last night’s events, I would insist on that.” He turned and began to leave, then reversed himself. “I have been told that you were a friend of the player, William Shakespeare.”

  I nodded.

  “All at the George mourn his passing. He was a good friend to us.”

  “I will tell his family.”

  And then he was gone.

  And suddenly Ben Jonson was looming over my table again, a sheepish look on his face.

  “I would speak with you. There are things you should know.”

  Beyond him, I saw the innkeeper narrow his eyes and motion at someone behind the bar. A giant of a man, easily taller than Jonson, emerged. The innkeeper whispered in his ear, and the giant took up a seat in the corner, close to my table.

  “Of course, Ben. Sit.”

  Being no fool, Jonson surveyed the room quickly and took note of my watcher. He grunted but sat down.

  I waited for him to begin. No longer was I looking at an old friend. Now, I saw him only as an enemy.

  “Yes, I was called to Southampton’s house last night. I knew not what he wanted nor that Wilkins would be there. Wilkins is nothing but a thief and a villain. Shakespeare used him as he used many people, to learn about other walks of life.”

  “Why did you heed Southampton’s summons?”

  “Curiosity, if no other reason. While I have done some chores for Southampton since Will left the city, I have not been especially close to him. That he should call for me in the midst of all of this tumult bespoke volumes. I thought I might learn something valuable to you.”

  He glanced up and saw the look in my eye. “Think what you will. I sought only to advance your cause.”

  “And what exactly did you learn?”

  “That Southampton and Wilkins have no real idea who killed Shakespeare, but they fear that certain people of their acquaintance may have done just that.”

  “I will ask you but once, Ben. Do you swear that they gave no hint of their own complicity?”

  Jonson’s eyes met mine once again, and they did not waver; they did not flinch. “They admitted to nothing in my presence, but they are frightened. I doubt not that Wilkins had your friend Hall beaten. They sought to obtain his notes on Will’s last illness, in hopes that they might gain some preferment.”

  “Preferment?” I said. “But any preferment worthy of Southampton’s notice would come from—” And then I stopped. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “Is it possible that the king would have had Will murdered?”

  “I cannot speak firmly of anyone’s guilt or innocence, but their natural instinct is to do what they think the king would want them to do.”

  “Hence the attack on Hall and the theft of his notes.”

  Jonson nodded. “They had feared that the notes would reveal something identifiable about the murderer.”

  “Then why call you?” My instinct told me that Jonson was called because he was a co-conspirator. “Did they need a masque written about the affair?”

  Ben Jonson had no such ready quip for me. “As soon as Southampton learnt you were coming to the city he had me keep an eye on you. I will admit that. Southampton believed that I was in for a penny or a pound.

  “But hear this, Simon. I walked out when Wilkins suggested killing you. You both frightened and hurt him. He worried Southampton like a fever. I left, but I suspected that Southampton would accede to Wilkins’s plans, so I waited outside. I followed Wilkins when he emerged.”

  “Who died in my chamber?”

  For once, Jonson would not meet my eyes. “You do not want to know, and in truth it does not matter.”

  “You expect me to see you as my saviour, not my assassin?”

  “I expect you to see what is, not what you might wish it to be. I had hoped that you would use the news of your ‘death’ to return to Stratford. But, no, not Simon Saddler. You seem intent on joining your friend Shakespeare in death. And, immediately, you confront Southampton, who had conspired in your attempted murder just the night before. You are either a madman or a fool. In either case, God provides protection for such as you.”

  “And Sir Edward Coke,” I said, jerking my head towards the man in the corner, watching us intently. “So, you will see that I have no need for you.”

  “You have more need for me now than ever before, Simon. I fear that naught but my reputation at court will save you from sitting in Overbury’s seat in the Tower. And there is an excellent chance that even I cannot save you.”

  I drained my beaker. “Ben, you do know that you are not the king of England? I say that because at times you sound like you think you are. But what you truly are is the most conceited braggart that I have ever known. Now, cease trying to frighten me and answer a question. Do you know what service Will did that made him a target?”

  The blank look in his eyes gave me my answer.

  “I do.” Or at least I thought I did. And that was closer to the truth than Ben Jonson had come.

  “What?”

  “You have yet to give me one good reason why I should tell you. In truth, Ben, you are still my strongest suspect for the murder of Will Shakespeare. And, for that, give me one good reason why you should not be?” I raised my hand as he began to protest.

  “I am not saying that you did it unbidden. But no sane man could possible absolve you of this. Three times, I have been set upon. And three times you have been present.”

  “You are a madman!” Jonson shouted.

  “Because I will not accept your word without any support? Because you ask me to ignore the facts?”

  “Can I be of service?” a voice said. I looked up and it was Sir Edward’s man, a behemoth larger than even Jonson, who stood in disgust.

  “Do not worry about me. Regardless of what he thinks, I am no threat to him.” And with that, the redhead stormed off again.

  “What is your name?” I asked.

  He waved me off. “It doesn’t matter, master.”

  “Perhaps not, but I would like to know it.”

  “Malcolm, master. Malcolm Gray. I hail from Glastonbury.”

  “Sit, Malcolm Gray. How came you to the service of Sir Edward?” I asked as he lowered himself into a chair, ill at ease and seeming to be unsure of to what use to put his hands.

  “I fell in with a bad crowd when I first came to the city. I found myself in Sir Edward’s court, accused of a murder I did not commit. I was much younger, and easily frightened. My old dad always taught me to be respectful, and so I was. Compared to what he usually gets, Sir Edward was impressed. He found the prosecutor’s case lacking, and he set me free. Afterwards, he brought me to his chambers. Asked questions of my home. Finally, he told me that he could use a man like me, if I could hold my tongue and stay out of trouble. I decided ’twas better to serve the law than to break it.”

  “What orders did he give you in regard to me?”

  Malcolm shrugged. “That I should do what I could to keep any harm from coming to you.”

  “That was gracious of Sir Edward.”

  My newfound protector shrugged. “Little of what Sir Edward does is gracious. He has need of you. If that ceases to be the case, he will not hesitate to assign me another chore.”

  At that I chuckled. “You are frank. I appreciate that in a man.”

  Malcolm smiled, revealing a full set of teeth, odd in a man of his station. “I am a simple man, Master Saddler. I have no ambition to be more than I am, and I have discovered that it is those with ambition who lie the most.”

  Once I heard it spoken, I realized that Malcolm was correct. “I am tired. I am going to my chamber. Try and see that no one disturbs me.”

  My newly minted bodyguard stretched. “I can guarantee that, master.”

  ———

  Once safely tucked away in my chamber, I lay back on the bed and considered all that had happened in my three days in the city. />
  I came for two reasons—to find who might have killed Will Shakespeare and, in all honesty, to find how my boyhood friend had grown so different over the years. I had found at least partial answers to both. That Will’s financial fortunes had fallen and risen in concert with the Overbury Affair was now obvious. I believed that I now knew the how and the why.

  How could anyone maintain any decency in such a world of deceit and ambition and debauchery? We were not perfect in Stratford, but we did not behave thus. We were a simple, God-fearing people. But perhaps that had not been enough for Will. Perhaps the world had never been enough for such as he.

  I remembered as a lad, Will would spend much of his time writing posies for a penny or two. Old John Shakespeare would simply shake his head. He never knew what to make of his son. No matter how often he laid the strap to him, he just could not make Will put aside his tablet or books and work in the glove shop. And even when John did succeed temporarily in getting Will to help, customers became offended by his constant quips; Puritans have little use for humor.

  He read, everything. Will looked forward to the coming of a new schoolmaster as a normal boy would wish for Christmas to come sooner. Whenever a new master took residence, Will would finagle a way to borrow his books, even old Alexander Aspinall, whom Will Shakespeare drove to lunacy. Master Aspinall brought quite a large library with him when he took up his post.

  At first, Aspinall, a sad figure of a man, past the normal marrying age, walked about Stratford glumly. He rebuffed each of Will’s efforts to borrow volumes from his collection. Then, one day, Will and I were lolling about the Guild Hall. I was avoiding work; Will was avoiding the newly acquired Mistress Shakespeare.

  ———

  Will had looked down the street and chucked me in the shoulder. “Look.”

  And there came Aspinall, clattering across the cobbles, a pair of gloves in his hand. He was a tall man, but with a decided hunch. Will often joked that he was so thin, a stiff wind would blow him hither and thither. And this day he was mumbling to himself and tripping on the occasional cobble. Will nudged me.

  “Master Aspinall,” I called to him. “Are you well?”