Ruled Britannia

Diego's fleshy jowls wobbled as he shook his head. 'Protestant? God save me, no, sir!'

'How is God supposed to save you if you eat meat during Lent? Don't you know we're hunting Englishmen who do the very same thing? Are you out of your mind?'

'No, sir. I'm just hungry,' his servant answered. 'Bread and cheese, bread and cheese. To the Devil with bread and cheese!'

'No, no, no.' Now de Vega was the one who shook his head. 'To the Devil with eating meat at this season of the year. Or, I should say, the idea of eating meat at this season of the year has come straight from Satan.'

'No such thing, sir,' Diego said indignantly. 'No such thing. I got hungry, that's all. It's nothing else.'

'Nothing, eh? Suppose I call Captain Guzman? Suppose I call a priest? Suppose I call a priest from the Spanish Inquisition, or the English? Will they think it's nothing? Would you have turned the color of whey if you thought it was nothing?'

Diego shot him a resentful stare. 'What are you doing here, anyway? When you didn't come back and you didn't come back, I thought you were off screwing your new Englishwoman. If you hadn't walked in when you weren't supposed to, you never would have seen me.'

'And you still would have sinned,' Lope said.

'And so what?' his servant replied. 'God would have known, and maybe my confessor, but nobody else.

I'm not doing any harm.'

Lope pointed to the chunk of beef. 'Get rid of that. Wrap a rag around it so nobody can see what it is and get rid of it. You didn't think anyone would catch you, but now somebody has. And do you know what that means? Do you, Diego?'

'What?' Diego asked apprehensively.

'It means you are mine,' de Vega answered. 'Mine, do you hear me? I hold your life in my hand, and if I choose to squeeze. ' He held out his right hand, palm up, and slowly folded it into a fist. He made the fist as tight as he could, to make sure Diego got the idea.

His servant shuddered. 'You wouldn't do such a thing, senor. would you?'

That last frightened question, one Diego surely didn't want to ask but also one he couldn't hold back, told Lope just how worried he was. 'Maybe I wouldn't,' Lope said. 'But, on the other hand, maybe I would, too. That depends on you, don't you think?'

'On me?' Diego didn't like the sound of that.

'On you,' Lope said again. 'Maybe you were just hungry this once, as you say. If you were, maybe we can forget about it. If you keep your nose clean from now on-if you stay awake, by God, and if you do all the things you're supposed to do-then nobody needs to know about it. But if you think you can go on being lazy and useless, well, even if I can't wake you up, I'd bet the inquisitors damned well can.'

Diego looked sullen. 'That's blackmail.'

'Yes, it is, isn't it?' de Vega agreed cheerfully. 'A shame I need to blackmail you into doing what you ought to be doing anyhow, but if that's what it takes, that's what I'll do. You will stay awake from now on, won't you?'

' Si, senor,' Diego said, sounding more sullen still.

He sounded sullen enough, in fact, to make Lope wonder whether he might prove dangerous. Best to forestall that, Lope judged. 'Don't even think about poisoning me or knocking out my brains while I'm asleep,' he warned. 'I'm going to write down just what I've seen, and I'm going to seal the letter and give it to someone I trust. If anything happens to me, you know what will happen to you, don't you?'

' Si-, senor,' his servant repeated, his voice gloomy.

Lope smiled. 'Very good. Now, while I'm writing suppose you take that roast beef away. Then come back and go to bed. You won't mind doing that, will you?'

'No, sir.' Diego heaved an enormous sigh. He wrapped the offending meat in a rag, as de Vega had suggested, and carried it out. Lope went into his own chamber, using the lamp in the anteroom to light the one inside. Because he worked on plays in odd moments, he always had paper and pens and ink handy.

He sat down on the stool and started to write.

Diego came back very quietly. As if by magic, the pen vanished from de Vega's hand and his rapier replaced it. 'You don't want to try anything foolish, do you, Diego?' he said softly.

' No, senor.' The servant didn't even bother pretending he hadn't been thinking about it. 'I guess I don't. Good night.'

'Good night,' Lope said. 'When I finish what I'm working on here, I'm going to take off my boots and leave them out there for you to black. I'll expect them to be ready when I get up in the morning. You'll do a good job, won't you?'

'I'll take care of them, yes.' Diego sounded like a man utterly without hope. Lope used the rapier to wave him out of the room. Once his man was gone, Lope did finish the letter- better safe went through his mind. He sealed the letter then got out of his boots and put them in the anteroom. When he went back into his bedchamber, he barred the door from the inside. As soon as the letter was in someone else's hands, he'd be reasonably safe. Till then- better safe, he told himself again.

Out beyond the barred door, Diego cursed quietly. His blasphemies were music to Lope's ears. Then Diego picked up the boots; their heels thumped together. Lope hugged himself with glee as he got into bed. Not even the threat of the Scottish border had turned Diego into a tolerable servant. The threat of the Inquisition, though, seemed to have turned the trick.

And when Lope woke the next morning, he found Diego already up and waiting for him. 'Here are your boots, seA±or,' the servant said tonelessly. All the mud and scuff marks were gone from them; the leather gleamed with grease. Still with no expression in his voice, Diego went on, 'What else do you require?'

'Do I hear rain outside?' Lope asked. Diego nodded. De Vega said, 'Well, in that case, you can fetch me my good wool cloak, and get me a hat with an extra wide brim.'

'Just as you say,' Diego answered, and went to do it. He didn't grumble. He didn't even yawn. It was like a miracle. Lope had no idea how long it would last, but aimed to enjoy it while it did. Taking the letter he'd written with him, he went off to get his breakfast. Even the porridge the barracks kitchen served up tasted better than usual this morning.

With a bowl of barley mush and a cup of wine inside him, he went to see his superior. As usual, Captain Baltasar GuzmA?n's servant intercepted him before he got through the door. 'You're looking cheerful this morning, Senior Lieutenant,' Enrique remarked.

'I feel cheerful,' de Vega replied.

'Shakespeare's play goes well?'

'Yes, I think so,' Lope said. If Enrique wanted to think that was why he felt happy, the servant was welcome to do so. De Vega added, 'As a matter of fact, I'm going up to the Theatre as soon as I see Captain GuzmA?n. Is his Excellency in?'

' Un momento, por favor.' Enrique ducked behind the door, as if to see whether Guzman was there, though he had to know perfectly well. But he was smiling when he came out again. 'He says he is delighted to see you. Go right in.'

' Gracias.' De Vega walked past Enrique and made a leg at Captain Guzman, who nodded in return from behind his desk. 'I trust your Excellency is well?' Lope said.

'I'll do,' Guzman said dryly. As Enrique had, he went on, 'You look pleased with yourself today, Senior Lieutenant.'

'And so I am, sir.' Lope handed him the letter he'd written. 'Would you do me the courtesy of holding this unread unless some misfortune befalls me?'

Captain GuzmA?n raised an eyebrow as he took the sealed sheet of paper. 'Just as you say, of course.

May I ask whether it has to do with your theatrical connections or with your women?'

'With neither,' de Vega answered, and had the satisfaction of watching that eyebrow jump in surprise again. But GuzmA?n stowed the letter in his desk without another word. Lope bowed. 'Many thanks, your Excellency. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off for Shoreditch.'

'How alarmingly diligent,' GuzmA?n murmured. He might almost have been Lope himself, talking to Diego.