chin up to speak to his sovereign.
Making his lowest leg to Queen Elizabeth, Shakespeare murmured, 'Your Majesty.'
'You may stand straight, Sir William. God give you good day.' As Elizabeth had been at the Theatre, she was armored against time with wig and paint and splendid gown. Only her bad teeth still shouted out how old she'd grown.
'I am your servant, your Majesty,' Shakespeare said. 'But command me and, if it be in my poor power, it shall be yours. By my troth, I. '
The Queen's eyes remained sharp enough to pierce like swords. Under that stern gaze, his words stumbled to a stop. He hardly dared breathe. Then Elizabeth smiled, and it was as if spring routed winter.
'I called you here not to serve me, but that I might reward you according to my promise when I made you knight,' she said. 'That you shall not want, it pleaseth me that Sir Robert settle upon you the sum of. ' She looked to Cecil.
'Three hundred fifty pound,' he said.
'Gra-Gramercy,' Shakespeare stammered, bowing deeply. Along with what he'd got from Sir Robert's father and from Don Diego for Boudicca and King Philip, he was suddenly a man of no small wealth. 'I am ever in your debt.' 'Not so, but rather the reverse,' Elizabeth said. 'How joyed I am that so good event hath followed so many troublesome endeavors, laborious cares, and heedful undertakings, you may guess, but I best can witness, and do protest that your success standeth equal to the most thereof. And so God ever bless you in all your actions. For myself, I can but acknowledge your diligence and dangerous adventure, and cherish and judge of you as your grateful sovereign. What you would have of me, ask, and I will spare no charge, but give with both hands. Honor here I love, for he who hateth honor hateth God above.'
Shakespeare gaped. Did that, could that, mean what it seemed to? He could name whatever he wanted in all the world, and the Queen would give it to him? Before he could begin to speak, Sir Robert Cecil did, his voice dry as usual: 'Sir William, I say this only-seek no more gold of her Majesty, for she hath it not to give, England yet being all moils and disorders.'
'I understand.' Shakespeare hadn't intended to ask for more gold. That would have been like asking for a fourth wish from a fairy who had given three: a good way to lose all he might have gained. He paused to gather his thoughts, then spoke directly to Elizabeth: 'Your Majesty, when a lad in Stratford I made a marriage I do repent me of. Romish doctrines being once more o'erthrown'-he saw in his mind's eye the rook landing on Robert Parsons' tarred head outside St. Paul's-'you may order it dissevered, an it please you.'
'Have you issue from the said union?' Elizabeth asked.
'Two living daughters, your Majesty, and a son now two years dead,' he answered.
'A hundred fifty pound,' Elizabeth said sharply. Shakespeare blinked. He hadn't expected that kind of dicker. But he nodded. So did the Queen. She turned to Sir Robert. 'Let it be made known to clerks and clerics that this is my will, to which they are to offer no impediment.'
'Just so, your Majesty,' Cecil said.
The Queen gave her attention back to Shakespeare. 'Here, then, is one thing settled. Be there more?'
Three wishes, he thought again, dizzily. 'Your Majesty will know,' he said, 'that whilst I wrote Boudicca I wrote also another play, this latter one entitled King Philip.'
Elizabeth nodded. 'I do know it. Say on, Sir William. You pique my curiosity. What would you in aid of this King Philip?'
Shakespeare took a deep breath. 'King Philip the man is dead, for which all England may thank a God kind and just. By your gracious leave, your Majesty, I'd fain have
'What?' Queen Elizabeth's eyebrows came down and together in a fierce frown. He'd startled her, and angered her, too. 'This play you writ for the dons, for the invaders and despoilers and occupiers'-she plainly used the word in its half-obscene sense-'of our beloved homeland, praying-I do hope-it would ne'er be given, you'd now see performed? How have you the effrontery to presume this of me?'
Licking his lips, Shakespeare answered, 'I ask it for but one reason: that in
Would she understand? All he had to make his mark on the world were the words he set on paper. He marshaled no armies, no fleets. He issued no decrees. He didn't so much as make gloves, as his father had. Without words, he was nothing, not even wind and air.
Instead of answering directly, Elizabeth turned to Sir Robert. 'You have read the play whereof he speaketh?'
Cecil nodded. 'I have, your Majesty. Sir Thomas Phelippes, whilst in the employ of Don Diego, made shift to acquaint my father and me therewith.'
'And what think you on it?' the Queen inquired.
'Your Majesty, my opinion marches with Sir William's: though Philip be dead, this play deserves to live.
It is most artificial, and full of clever conceits.'
The Queen's eyes narrowed in thought. 'Philip did spare me where he might have slain,' she said musingly, at least half to herself, 'e'en if, as may well be, he reckoned the same no great mercy, I being mured up behind Tower walls. And I pledged my faith to you, Sir William, you should have that which your heart desireth, wherefore let it be as you say, and let King Philip be acted without my hindrance-indeed, with my good countenance. 'Tis noble to salute the foe, the same pricking against my honor not but conducing thereto.'
'Again, your Majesty, many thanks,' Shakespeare said. 'By your gracious leave here, you show the world your nobleness of mind.'
Judging from her self-satisfied smile, that touched Elizabeth's vanity. 'Be there aught else you would have of me?' she asked him.
He nodded. 'One thing more, an it please you, also touching somewhat upon King Philip.'
'Go on,' she said.
'A Spanish officer, a Lieutenant de Vega, was to play Juan de IdiA?quez, the King's secretary. He being now a captive, I'd beg of you his freedom and return to his own land.'
'De Vega. Methinks I have heard this name aforetimes.' Elizabeth frowned, as if trying to remember where. A tiny shrug suggested she couldn't. 'Why seek you this? Is he your particular friend?'
'My particular friend? Nay, I'd say not so, though we liked each the other as well as we might, each being loyal to his own country. But he is a poet and a maker of plays in the Spanish tongue. If poets come not to other poets' aid, who shall? No one, not in all the world.'
'De Vega. Lope de Vega.' Queen Elizabeth's gaze sharpened. 'I have heard the name indeed: a maker of comedies, not so? The guards at the Tower did with much approbation speak of some play of his offered before the usurpers this summer gone by. Following Italian, I could betimes make out their Spanish.'
'Your Majesty, I have found the same,' Shakespeare said.
'You are certain he is captive and not slain?'
'I am, having ta'en him myself,' Shakespeare said.
'Very well: let him go back to Spain and make comedies for the dons, provided he first take oath never again to bear arms against England. Absent that oath, captive he shall remain.' Elizabeth turned to Robert Cecil. 'See you to it, Sir Robert.'
'Assuredly, your Majesty,' Cecil said. 'This de Vega is known to me: not the worst of men.' Coming from him, that sounded like high praise. 'A kind thought, Sir William, to set him at liberty.'
'I thank your honor,' Shakespeare said. 'It were remiss of me also to say no word for Mistress Sellis, a widow dwelling at my lodging-house. Her quick wit'- amongst other things, the poet thought-'balked Lieutenant de Vega of learning we purposed presenting Boudicca in place of King Philip, and haply of thwarting us in the said enterprise.'
'Let her be rewarded therefor,' Elizabeth said. She asked Sir Robert Cecil, 'Think you ten pound
