banked elsewhere. He had a whorehouse beside the Bel Savage, much to the irritation of the city aldermen. They found it far too close for comfort, though many were not above making use of its services.”
“Take me there one day, Harry. It might be an education. Sometimes I think I have lived far too innocent. But in the meantime, go there and make inquiries. The geese might know something. First, though, let us speak with Mr. Glebe and see if we can’t find some reason to give him a spell in the pillory. A spattering of eggs and a back that aches beyond enduring might make a better man of him. Where did you find him?”
“Back at Fleet Lane. He was trying to take apart his press to get it out of there. Evidently your friends at Stationers’ Hall were slow off the mark.”
In the antechamber, Glebe hung his head sullenly. His hands were bound but he could use his fingers as a comb, teasing his thick, wiry hair into a fringe to conceal the branded L. He looked up as Shakespeare and Slide entered the room, then thrust his bound hands in front of him. “Please, untie me, Mr. Shakespeare. I am not going anywhere.”
Shakespeare nodded and the constable proceeded to cut him loose. He picked up a small bell from a coffer and rang it. Jane quickly appeared. “Some ale, please, Jane.” Slowly he began to pace the room. Glebe’s eyes followed him expectantly. Finally Shakespeare turned to him. “Well, Glebe, it seems your days of beslubbering reputations are over. At the very least I have you on charges of illicit printing and resisting arrest. With your previous record, I think the very least you can expect is the loss of a hand, both ears, and ten years with hard labor-”
“Mr. Shakespeare-”
“Have you anything to say to me before I consign you to Newgate and let the law take its course?”
“What can I tell you, sir? All I have done is repeat gossip that I have heard in the taverns and alehouses.”
Jane returned with ale. She poured beakers for Shakespeare, Slide, and the constable but hesitated before giving any to Glebe until Shakespeare nodded his assent.
“No, Glebe, that is not all you have done. Someone who knows about the murder of Lady Blanche Howard has spoken to you. I think a spell in Newgate and the thought of what is likely to befall you might concentrate your mind. I do not have time to listen to your denials.”
Glebe looked even more sour, as though he had swallowed unripe medlar fruit. “Sir,” he protested, “what have I done wrong? I merely wish to exercise my rights as a freeborn Englishman. Are we slaves? Have you forgotten the Great Charter?”
“This is nothing to do with slavery. You know as well as I do that all printed works must be licensed. You have not done so and you will pay the penalty. Had you cooperated with us, we could have let you go about your business, but this matter involves the murder of a cousin of the Queen-and we need to find out who did it. Once you are in the cage, there will be no way out, Glebe. No appeal. I am sure you understand.”
Glebe shrugged his sloping, rounded shoulders. “I have nothing more to say. Do your worst.”
For a moment, Shakespeare was caught off guard. He had expected Glebe to crumple and talk. Surely a man who had known the stench of his own burnt flesh, and the pain associated with it, might wish to avoid further internment and possible mutilation?
“So be it. Take him to Newgate, constable. Make sure he is shackled to the floor and given nothing but porridge and water. And tell no one he is there.”
Chapter 22
The Elizabeth Bonaventure, a Royal ship of six hundred tons with thirty-four guns and a crew of two hundred and fifty men, slipped away from the quay at Gravesend on the tide and made sail with the wind. It was a chilly morning, just past break of day, and a brisk breeze stretched the ship’s pennants bravely and churned the gray surface of the Thames.
The sailors set to work, coiling ropes, scrubbing down the decks of all the land detritus that had collected in port. Behind them, growing more and more distant, the smoke of London spiraled hazily into the sky. Gradually the river grew broader and the great ship moved elegantly onward through the swift, turbulent flood on her way down to the sea. As the wind freshened, it whistled through the shrouds and sails, casting a curious spell that, for a while, rendered all aboard silent in their toil.
Boltfoot Cooper rested his left arm on the polished oak bulk-wark and watched Vice Admiral Drake from a distance of not more than forty feet. He kept his right hand on the hilt of his cutlass, which was thrust loosely through his belt. At last, in the early afternoon, they reached the gaping mouth of the river and flew before the wind into the narrow sea.
“Cooper!” Drake’s gruff voice rang out above the wind. “Drag yourself here, man!”
Boltfoot moved resignedly toward his former captain. He had vowed never to take orders from him again, nor ever to set foot aboard another of his vessels.
“Report to the carpenter, Mr. Cooper. There will be plenty of work to do on the spars and casks. Make yourself useful. I don’t need watching like a babe out here.”
Boltfoot stood his ground. “I am ordered to remain with you at all times. Who is to say that one of this crew is not a hireling of Spain?”
“By the bones of the deep, Mr. Cooper, would you disobey an order of your captain? I’ll have you hanged at the yardarm.”
“My captain is Mr. Shakespeare and my admiral is Mr. Secretary Walsingham, as you know, sir. I am answerable to them and to them only, save the Queen and God.”
“Huh! You have a fine spirit this cold morning, Mr. Cooper. Take a tot of brandy.” Drake turned to his lieutenant. “Captain Stanley, be good enough to ask the galley steward to bring us a bottle of Aquitaine liquor.”
Stanley, thought Boltfoot, looked a little bit disgruntled, as if it were not his place to call upon a steward to serve them, especially with Boltfoot and Diego in close attendance. But though Harper Stanley might have felt slighted, the lieutenant did not complain. When the brandy arrived, Boltfoot insisted on tasting Drake’s first, for poison. Drake scowled at him. “You think me as womanly as a Spaniard, Mr. Cooper?”
Boltfoot glared back and grumbled, “Marry. If it were mine to choose, I would poison it myself.”
“And I would gladly make you drink it, Mr. Cooper!”
Diego clapped Boltfoot on the back. “Do not listen to him, Boltfoot. I think he loves you. Let us drink a toast to the Elizabeth Bonaventure.”
“Is she not yare, gentlemen?” said Drake. “Mr. Hawkins has done a splendid job here. Low to the sea, fast and responsive. She has the narrow waist of a wanton. It will be a rare Spanish galleon can match the Lizzie when we have the weather gauge. Now, Mr. Stanley, bring forth the Master Gunner and let us prepare to have some sport with the ordnance. We will soon be upon the target hulk.”
They were moving on a broad curve northward, close to the tidal sands of Pig’s Bay near Shoebury Ness. A coaster with coals from the north tacked southward past them and disappeared slowly into the Thames. The Lizzie had been Drake’s flagship sixteen months earlier on his Caribbean raid. She was already a quarter of a century old on that voyage, but John Hawkins had streamlined her and made a new ship of her. Since then, with advice from Drake, he had made more adjustments to improve her speed and maneuverability. Sleek, fast, like a wisp in the wind but with the firepower of a dragon, the Lizzie was a Spanish galleon commander’s nightmare.
At last, a boy at the top of the mainmast called out, “Hulk ahoy.” And soon they all saw it, a weathered old vessel stuck fast in the sand with nothing left but its hull and a broken skeleton of spars and masts, dating back to the turn of the century or more.
“We will take six turns, Master Gunner. First turn long range, five hundred yards,” Drake announced. The Master Gunner, a broad-shouldered man of thirty, bowed to his Vice Admiral and went straightway to the gun deck, where he began issuing orders.
As they came around for the first turn and as the great cannons boomed and recoiled on their four-wheeled carriages, the smoke of gunpowder choked out the sun, like a crackling bonfire of greenwood in autumn. Boltfoot kept his eyes on Drake and remembered the long sea days of the circumnavigation in the great oceans with a
