what was planned. It was only when he was told that they must get all the colonists aboard without alarming them that he became worried. He could think of no other reason for their deception than that they meant to kill us. He thought they probably planned to kill him, too, before the voyage ended.”
They spent the autumn and winter on Angra. “I found much kindness there. The quayside was full of the smell of good fresh fish cooking over red-hot coals.” But they knew they could not stay on the island. One of the Spaniards or Irishmen might return at any time and spot them. Shipping came in and out every week, so it would never be safe. Two years ago, in the spring of 1590, Davy heard of a merchantman from the Spanish Lowlands, and made inquiries of the master. He agreed to take them to Antwerp, where he was headed, for twenty gold ducats.
“Davy always had coin, so he paid our fare. The voyage was uneventful at first, with fair weather and brisk winds.” But they were set upon by English privateers as they neared the western approaches of the Channel, and their ship’s master surrendered without a fight.
Eleanor and Davy were taken into Plymouth and set at liberty. Davy had told Eleanor they must never reveal the truth of who they were, so they told the customs officials that she was the widow of an English merchant venturer in Lisbon, returning home by way of Antwerp, and that Davy was her manservant.
Davy understood that his life would be forfeit if ever it was known he had been involved in the capture and slaughter of the colonists. They knew, too, that Eleanor would be condemned as a traitor and a harlot for surviving as she did. “But most of all, we knew that the devil McGunn, wherever he was in the world, would pursue me to his last dying breath if he knew I was alive.”
Davy changed his name from Bramer to Kerk and they hoped to live quietly. They had no idea that McGunn would come to England. They thought him wedded to the Spanish and Catholic cause, like so many Irishmen, and so they made their way to London, where they believed they might go undiscovered. And so it turned out for a year or more. She came with child twice, but lost them both times, which she took to be God’s judgment for the death of Virginia.
“Then Agnes Hardy saw me by the baiting pits. I was meeting Davy there from his work. I heard her and saw her, and did make away as best I could and prayed she would think she was mistaken.
“I have no idea what ill chance brought news of it to McGunn. When Mr. Cooper turned up at Hogsden Trent’s that day, Davy was horrified. We did not know what to do for the best, nor did we know, then, of McGunn’s involvement. Should we stay in London, or go elsewhere? And if we should go, where should we go to? It felt to us then that there was no place in the world that we would be safe. Davy said that the city was the best, because a man could vanish and bury his past in a great place like London.”
That was when Boltfoot became more insistent, however. “So Davy said he would fix him. I begged him to do him no harm; I said there had already been too much blood, but Davy was beyond reason, and did try to kill him.” Eleanor had followed Davy and saw it happen. Davy was about to hit him again, but she pulled him off.
“I thank God we were so near the hospital, and that they could save Mr. Cooper’s life. He is a fine man. By then, though, it was too late for us. Mr. Cooper did not know it, but he had led McGunn to us. He killed Davy just as he killed all the colonists, with a slash of his sword to the neck and a stab to the belly. I was to be next, strung up by the neck in the buttery. Yet Mr. Cooper did save me, and here I am. I have walked through the valley of the shadow of death, Mr. Shakespeare, but I fear my days are drawing to a close. I fear the devil will find us here. Soon, very soon, I will hang by the neck and join my Virginia in the hereafter. I pray with all my heart that you good people here with me will go unharmed…”
Chapter 43
S HAKESPEARE LISTENED TO THE TALE WITH HALF an ear to the wind outside. It was told simply, without embellishment. At last he said, “It was Agnes Hardy’s master, the portraitist William Segar, who told Essex and McGunn of you. When I set Boltfoot to find you, I had no reason to believe anyone intended you harm.”
“It is no fault of yours, sir. I accept that.”
Shakespeare yawned with fatigue from his long hours riding, yet he knew he must stay awake and alert. “Try to sleep,” he said to his wife and Eleanor. “I will keep watch, and with Boltfoot outside, watching in the woods, we will be safe. No man will find us here.”
They had eaten some of the food they had brought and had sipped from the flagon of ale. Shakespeare took very little liquor, for he had to keep his wits sharp. Though he was as certain as he could be that this place was secure, he also understood that McGunn was a man of cunning and unnatural persistence.
Outside the old shepherd’s cottage, the wind lashed the rain into a frenzy. Inside, the two women huddled into their blankets and sat on the floor against a wall.
A T THE EDGE OF the wood, thirty yards from the cottage, Boltfoot lay in the undergrowth. He was not far from the river, as still as stone. Every ounce of his being was concentrated on the area in front of the house and beyond, toward the ruined abbey. Anyone coming from the highway must cross his path.
Being soaked through was nothing new to him. Many times in the raging gales of the southern oceans, there had not been a thing left dry aboard ship. For days and weeks on end, his clothes had been sodden and his skin cold.
He lay on a carpet of leaves and twigs and mud, his eyes keen in the darkness, sensing movement as a nocturnal animal might. A badger scurried into view, caught his scent, and hastened away. Boltfoot thought of the caliver he had left with Shakespeare. It would have been pointless bringing it out here in this rain. He could have kept the powder dry for some time, but lying prostrate on the earth, with the rain tumbling in torrents, the damp would have seeped through the horn’s lid and rendered it useless.
The rain came and came. Boltfoot did not share his master’s fond belief that they were safe here. Everything he knew, all his experience, told him that McGunn would come for them this night.
He was right. The attack came with terrifying speed and deadly purpose.
T HE TWO WOMEN had not slept, yet they were heavy-lidded and their senses had slowed. They sat side by side against the wall, out of sight of the gaping window, as Shakespeare had insisted. The way they huddled, Catherine and Eleanor might have been old friends or sisters.
He heard a noise outside. A figure sloshing through the mud. Coming their way.
There was a scream and then an explosion, then moaning.
The two women both jumped to their feet at the sound of the discharge. Shakespeare put his finger to his lips, then patted the palm of his hand downward to indicate they should stay low. He extinguished the candle and doused the little fire. Better to equalize the darkness than allow the light to be used against them.
He picked up Boltfoot’s caliver once more. It was still primed and loaded. He held it in front of him, pointing it at the closed door.
B OLTFOOT HAD SENSED the man in the darkness even before he began his move for the house. He was coming at a crouch across the mud-slide of open ground. Boltfoot crawled on his belly, then lifted himself a few inches on one elbow and knee. He swung back his right arm and with his razor-edged cutlass cut like a farmhand scything barley at the man’s legs.
As steel struck bone, the intruder screamed and crumpled. Instinctively his finger clenched the trigger of his wheel-lock, firing a ball harmlessly into the ground.
Boltfoot rose to both knees, took his long dagger from his belt, and thrust upward with his left hand. The narrow blade slid through flesh, up into the man’s belly, up under his ribs, until the point cut the heart to bring death. Boltfoot pulled the dying body to him, as a shield, and crouched down behind it. The man moaned-more an outrush of air than a cry-and his body twitched.
Crouching behind the body, Boltfoot knew the attack had been nothing but a foray. The dead man had been a sacrifice to draw him out into the open. Boltfoot was exposed now, and vulnerable. How many more men did McGunn have out there?
There was a little light, just enough to make movement visible. He had to get away from the body, slowly. Flat
