Ruled Britannia

'No, no, no.' De Vega wagged a hand back and forth. ' 'Tis I should thank you, seA ±or. Again, you prove yourself the poet Don Diego knew you to be.'

Will Kemp sidled up to them. 'What business have you put in for a clown?' he asked in a squeaky whine.

'It is a play on the death of a great king,' Lope said coldly; he did not like Kemp.

'All the more reason for japes and jests,' the clown said.

'You are mistaken,' de Vega said, more coldly still.

To his surprise, Shakespeare stirred beside him. 'No, Lieutenant, haply not,' he said, and Lope felt betrayed. Shakespeare went on, 'Sweeten the posset with some honey, and down it goes, and sinks deep. Without the same. ' He shook his head.

'I have trouble believing this,' Lope said.

'Then who's the fool?' Will Kemp said. He went on, ' A was the first that ever bore arms.' ' A sudden shift of voice for, ' a€?Why, he had none.' ' Back to the original: ' What? art a heathen? How dost thou understand the Scripture? The Scripture says, Adam digged; could he dig without arms? I'll put another question to thee. If thou answerest me not, confess thyself-' '

'Confess thyself a blockhead,' Lope broke in. 'What is this nonsense?'

Quietly, Shakespeare said, 'It is from my Prince of Denmark, sir, the which you were kind enough to praise not long since.'

Kemp bent and took Lope's head in both hands. The Spaniard tried to twist away, but could not; the clown was stronger than he looked. Solemnly-and, Lope realized after a moment, doing an excellent imitation of Richard Burbage-Kemp intoned, ' a€?Alas, poor Yorick. I knew him.' '-as if Lope's head were the skull of the dead clown in the play. ' a€?I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft.' ' He kissed Lope de Vega on the mouth and let him go.

Furious, Lope sprang to his feet. His rapier hissed free. 'Whoreson knave! Thou diest!' he roared.

'Hold!' Shakespeare said. 'Give over! He made his point with words.'

Kemp seemed too stupid to care whether he lived or died. Pointing to Lope, he jeered, 'He hath no words, and so needs must make his with the sword.' With a mocking bow, he added, 'Fear no more kisses. I'm not so salt a rogue that you shall make a Bacon of me.'

'All the contagions of the south light on you!' Lope said. But he did not thrust at the hateful clown.

He regretted his restraint a moment later, for Kemp bowed once more, and answered, 'Why, here you are.'

'Go to, both of you!' Shakespeare said. 'Give over! Master de Vega, this once I will pray pardon in the clown's name, for-'

'I want no pardon, not from the likes of him,' Kemp broke in, which almost got him spitted yet again.

'Silence! One word more shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee,' the English poet told him.

Shakespeare turned back to Lope. 'I will pray pardon in's name, sir, for how else but by clowning shall a clown answer?'

Breathing heavily, de Vega sheathed his blade. 'For your sake, Master Shakespeare, I will put by my quarrel.'

But it was not for Shakespeare's sake, or not altogether, that he took it no further. Shakespeare gave him an honorable excuse, yes, and he seized on it. But Will Kemp- demons of hell torment him, Lope thought-had been right, and had proved himself right, no matter how offensively he'd done it. Lope wouldn't admit that to the clown, but couldn't help admitting it to himself.

'I thank you,' Shakespeare said.

'Not I.' Kemp minced away, sticking out his backside at every step.

Through clenched teeth, Lope said, 'Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the fool nowhere but in his own house.'

'In sooth, he's wise enough to play the role,' Shakespeare answered with a sigh, 'and to do that well craves a kind of wit.'

'He doth indeed show some sparks that are like wit-but not much like it,' de Vega said. 'And what passes for his wit likes me not much.'

With another sigh, Shakespeare said, 'Have you not betimes seen it with players, that differences 'twixt whom they play and who they are smudge even in their own minds?'

'I have.' But Lope would not leave it alone. 'If this be so with Kemp, send him to. How is the place whither you send distraught and lunatic people called?'

'To Bethlem, within Bishopsgate,' Shakespeare replied at once.

'To Bethlem, Gracias, ' Lope said. 'Let him live there when not upon the stage, and make a spectacle for the general even when he plays not.' The English poet only spread his hands, as if to ask, What can you do? And, since Kemp's foibles truly weren't Shakespeare's fault, de Vega spread his hand, too, silently answering, Nothing at all. Aloud, he went on, 'I shall take my superior, as I say, a good report of your progress, which will also, I doubt not, shortly reach Don Diego's ear.'

'I am glad it pleases you,' Shakespeare said. 'And, I warrant you, once Master Kemp hath the lines wherewith to work his foolery, he'll make a proper man, as one shall see in a summer's day; a most lovely, gentleman-like man.'

'God grant it be so.' Lope knew he didn't sound convinced. He bowed. 'I go.'

When he got back to the Spanish barracks, Enrique wouldn't let him in to see Captain GuzmA?n till he'd recited and translated Shakespeare's lines for Elizabeth and the Duke of Parma. When he'd finished, GuzmA?n's servant kissed his bunched fingertips like a lovesick youth. 'Again, Senior Lieutenant, I envy you your fluency in English. If only I spoke better, I would be with you at the Theatre every moment until my principal beat me with sticks to hold me to his service.'

Lope believed him. 'His Excellency would beat you to get you not to do something,' he observed. 'With Diego. ' He didn't go on. Enrique was clever enough-more than clever enough-to draw his own pictures. 'And now that I have sung for the privilege, be so kind as to take me to your principal.'

'Of course. If you will do me the favor of accompanying me. '

Baltasar GuzmA?n listened attentively to Lope. When de Vega started to quote the English, though, his superior held up a hand. 'Spare me that. I don't know enough of the language to follow. Give me the gist, en espaA±ol.'

'Certainly, your Excellency,' Lope said, and obeyed.

When he'd finished, Guzman nodded. 'This all sounds well enough, Lieutenant. I have one question, though.' Lope nodded, too, looking as if he awaited nothing more eagerly. Captain Guzman asked,

'Can you be sure no treason lurks here, that an Englishman would hear but you do not? You have harped on Shakespeare's subtlety before.'

The question was better, more serious, more important, than Lope had looked for. 'I-' he began, and then shook his head. 'No, sir, I cannot be sure of that. I am fluent in English, but not perfect. Still, the Master of the Revels will pass on the play before it appears. I may miss this or that. He will not.'

'Yes. That is so.' Captain GuzmA?n nodded and looked relieved. 'And Sir Edmund is most reliable.' He clicked his tongue between his teeth. 'I have to make sure he stays reliable, eh?'

' Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? ' de Vega remarked

'Just so-who watches the watchmen?' GuzmA?n turned Latin into Spanish. He eyed Lope, who felt a sudden horrible fear the little nobleman might decide he ought to do that job. But Guzman shook his head, reading de Vega's thought. 'You'll stay where you are. You're doing well there, and I have no one else who could take your place. So your precious Shakespeare really is writing this play, eh?'

'He really is, your Excellency,' Lope answered.

'Good. Very good,' Captain Guzman said. 'One more English whore-pay him, and he does what you want.'