throng below. Staring up at her, Shakespeare at first guessed her a serving woman who would in a moment escort Elizabeth forward. When he thought of the Queen of England, he thought of her as she'd been portrayed throughout her reign. To be Elizabeth, she should have worn a magnificent gown. She should have sparkled with jewels. Her face should have been white and smooth despite her years, her hair a red that likewise defied time. A glittering coronet should have topped her head.
But then she said, 'I am here. My own dear people of England, you are come at last, and I. am.
still. here.' Implacable determination blazed from her every word, even though most of her teeth were black.
'God save the Queen!' Robert Devereux shouted, waving his rapier. Again, the crowd took up the cry.
Elizabeth raised her hand. Once more, silence fell. Into it, she said, 'God hath preserved me unto this hour, for the which I shall give praise to Him all the remaining days of my life.' Her voice seemed to strengthen from phrase to phrase. Shakespeare wondered how much she'd used it these past ten years.
With whom had she spoken? Who would have dared speak to her?
She went on, 'And I assure you, I do not desire to live even one day more to distrust my faithful and living people. Let tyrants and foul usurpers fear. I have always so behaved myself, even in my long time of hardship and sorrow, that, under God, I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and good will of my subjects. Thus I stand before you at this time, not for my recreation and disport, but being resolved in the midst and heat of this glorious uprising to live or die amongst you all, never being made separate from you again. '
Her voice caught. Tears stung Shakespeare's eyes. What
'Elizabeth! Elizabeth!' Shakespeare joined it, yelling till his throat was raw.
Elizabeth raised her hand once more. 'Now we are begun anew,' she said. 'I shall gladly lay down, for my God and for my kingdom and for my people, my honor and my blood, even in the dust. I know I have the body of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart and stomach of a king, and of a king of England too. And I think foul scorn that Spain or any prince of Europe should have dared invade the borders of my realm, or that Isabella and Albert falsely style themselves sovereigns thereof. Rather than any more dishonor shall fall on me, I myself will take up arms-'
This time, the roar of the crowd stopped her: a savage wordless roaring bellow that said she could have led them barehanded against all the hosts of Spain, and they would have torn the dons to pieces for her.
Even Shakespeare, not the boldest of men, looked about for a Spaniard to assail, though he was not sorry to discover none.
'I am not so base minded that fear of any living creature or prince should make me afraid to do that were just,' Elizabeth said when she could make herself heard again. 'I am not of so low a lineage, nor carry so vile a wit. You may assure yourselves that, for my part, I doubt no whit but that all this tyrannical, proud, and brainsick invasion and occupation of my beloved England will yet prove the beginning, though not the end, of the ruin of that kingdom which, most treacherously, even in the midst of treating peace, began this wrongful war. Spain hath procured my greatest glory that meant my sorest wrack, and hath so dimmed that light of its sunshine, that who hath a will to obtain shame, let them keep its forces company. And contrariwise, who seeketh vengeance for great wrongs done, and requital for the burthens borne in our long captivity, let them go forward now, with me, and God defend the right!'
She stepped away from the window. For a moment, Shakespeare thought she cared nothing for the plaudits of the crowd. As a man of the theatre, he knew what a mistake that was. But then the door behind the English soldiers at the base of the Bell Tower opened. There stood Elizabeth, still in that simple, colorless shift.
How they all roared, there in the dying day that suddenly seemed a sunrise! Sir Robert Devereux dashed forward, past the armored guardsmen, to stand beside the Queen. Bowing low, he murmured something to her, something lost in the din to Shakespeare. Whatever it was, Elizabeth nodded. And then the poet saw, then everyone saw, what it meant. Devereux stooped, lifted her as lightly as if she were a toddling babe, and set her on his bull-broad shoulders. Cheers and shouts redoubled. Shakespeare had not dreamt they could.
From that unsteady perch, Elizabeth once more raised a hand. Slowly, quiet gained on chaos. The Queen said, 'My loving people, I might take heed how I commit myself to armed multitudes. I might, but I shall not. I myself will be your general, judge, and rewarder of every one of your virtues in the field as we overthrow and utterly cast down the vile usurpation which hath oppressed this my kingdom these ten years past. I know already for your forwardness you deserve rewards and crowns; and I do assure you, in the words of a prince, they shall be paid you.'
Another roar, this time coalescing into a fresh shout of, 'Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Elizabeth!' From Devereux's shoulders, she waved again. Little by little, a new cry replaced her name:
'Death-Death-Death to the dons!' And the smile stretching itself across Elizabeth's face when she heard that would have chilled the blood of any Spaniard every born.
Shakespeare shouted with everybody else. As he shouted, rewards and crowns ran through his mind. He hadn't undertaken Boudicca in hope of reward. Looking back, he couldn't recall just why he had undertaken it, save from fear of being slain should he refuse. But he'd already been handsomely paid (and paid by the Spaniards, too, for the play that never was). If now Elizabeth herself should look on him with favor.
If now this uprising triumphed, which was as yet anything but assured. Sir Robert Devereux strode into the crowd, crying, 'Forward now! Forward, for St. George and for good Queen Bess!'
People swarmed forward, not against the Spaniards but towards him and Elizabeth, to call out to her, to touch her, simply to see her at close quarters. Devereux pushed on, irresistible as if powered by a millrace, to take Elizabeth from the Tower where she'd languished so long and into her kingdom once more.
Someone bumped Shakespeare: Will Kemp. The clown made a leg-a cramped leg, in the crush-at him.
'Give you good den, gallowsbait,' he said cheerfully.
'Go to!' Shakespeare said. 'Meseems we are well begun here.'
'Well begun, ay. And belike, soon enough, we shall be well ended, too.' Kemp jerked his head to one side, made his eyes bulge, and stuck out his tongue as if newly hanged.
With a shudder, Shakespeare said, 'If the wind of your wit sit in that quarter, why stand you here and not with the Spaniards?'
'Why?' Kemp kissed him on the cheek. 'Think you you're the only mother's son born a fool in England?'
He slipped away, wriggling through the crowd like an eel, making for the Queen. Shakespeare didn't follow. He simply stood where he was. Too much had happened too fast.
As things chanced, Elizabeth passed within a couple of feet of him. Their eyes met for a moment. She had no idea who he was, of course. How could she, when he'd come to London only months before she was locked away? But she nodded to him as if they'd been close for years. Anyone might have done the same. But only a few, only the greatest players, could do it and make the people at whom they nodded feel they'd been close for years. Shakespeare was sadly aware he didn't quite have the gift. Richard Burbage did. So too, in his twisted way, did Will Kemp. And so did Elizabeth.
'Death to the dons!' Shakespeare shouted, and followed the little old woman who was his Queen out of the Tower, out into London.
XIV
When Lope De Vega first came to himself, he didn't think he was awake at all. He thought he had died, and found himself in some stygian pit of hell. Slowly, so slowly, he realized he lived and breathed, but he feared he was blind. Then he saw that the blackness all around lay in front of his eyes, not behind them. Such blackness had a name. He groped for it and, groping, found it. Night. This was night.
He groaned and tried to sit up. That was a mistake. Motion fanned the throbbing agony in his head. His guts churned. He heaved up whatever his stomach held. Only little by little did he also notice sharper pain from his left
