Glebe.’
Glebe nodded. ‘I was concerned, Mr Henbird, indeed I was. But which publisher would not want such tales? And to be paid gold as well
…’
‘You should have gone straightway to the Privy Council or, at the very least, to Stationers’ Hall, and you know it, Glebe,’ Shakespeare said. ‘Tell me of this Laveroke. What manner of man is he?’
Glebe sat in sullen resignation. ‘What are you going to do with me, Mr Shakespeare?’
‘That very much depends on you, Glebe. You have saved yourself from Little Ease thus far. But Sir Robert Cecil wishes you consigned to Newgate, and from there to Tyburn. You would do well to convince me otherwise.’
Glebe sighed heavily. ‘In truth, Mr Shakespeare, I thought Laveroke gentry, perhaps even nobility. He had an air about him, sir, an air…’
‘Explain.’
‘I thought him used to command. He was well attired in fine doublet. He had a jewelled dagger at his waist and, though not fat, he looked prosperous.’
‘After this first meeting at The Swan, where did you talk? Did he bring the stories to you at the house near Aldersgate?’
‘No. There is a tavern where I usually take my evening repast, The Mitre. He would come to me there. I had no idea when he would come. He would arrive with the story written in what I took to be his hand and with two pounds in gold.’
‘What was his voice?’
‘I cannot say. I could not identify it.’
‘Spanish? French? Dutch? English?’
‘He spoke perfect English, sir, but beyond that I cannot tell you true what he was, whether of Bristol or Norwich or any other place in this land.’
‘Was he bearded?’
‘Indeed. A spade beard, I would say, neat and well trimmed, as if he had been attended by a good East Cheap barber. His face was unmarked. He was a fetching man with hair that fell to his shoulder. I noted a heavy gold band on his forefinger and pearls studding the front of his doublet.’
‘Where can I find him?’
Glebe lowered his eyes, hunching down into his shoulders. He did not look up. His voice was a mumble, but Shakespeare’s hearing was acute. ‘I do not know. I never knew. I have never seen him before and wish never to see him again, for it is meeting him that has brought me to this ugly pass.’
‘Oh no, Glebe. There is more than that. You have wit enough to know the power of the words you have published. You know well what the Council thinks of such talk. And when it is written, it is a thousand times worse, for it infects others. You know this. Whatever else you are, you are no simpleton.’
Glebe stayed silent.
‘Have you heard of one Christopher Morley?’
Glebe shook his head.
‘He stayed silent. He is now dead, with a cord wound tight about his neck. That is the price of silence. And Marlowe? Did you know Kit Marlowe or Frizer or Poley or Skeres?’
Glebe hesitated.
‘Answer me or be damned to the comfort of Little Ease, Glebe.’
‘I have met Poley and Frizer, sir. Not Skeres, I never met him, but Poley and Frizer. They are coney hunters, Mr Shakespeare. They are the sort of men I know. I could not avoid meeting them from time to time…’
‘Were they involved in the Tamburlaine’s Apostle story?’
‘Not that I know of, sir. That was all Laveroke.’
‘You said he handed you the papers written in his own hand. Where are these papers now?’
‘Destroyed, Mr Shakespeare. Burnt in the hearth.’
‘As you are like to be, Glebe.’ Shakespeare had no time to waste. He had to discover this Laveroke.
‘Let us consign him to your cellar, Nick. I trust it is dank and dark.’
‘Indeed it is, John.’
‘Say nothing of this, Nick,’ Shakespeare said when they returned to the solar without Glebe. ‘I fear there are those that would come after him, for I am not certain Morley took his own life. Keep him alive and keep questioning him. He may know more.’
‘About the gunpowder blasts?’
‘That and the supposed prince of Scots. There is no difference. Can it be mere coincidence that one man feeds such stories to Glebe?’
‘No, it cannot be mere coincidence.’ Henbird poured two cups of brandy and handed one to Shakespeare. ‘I have some news for you, John.’
‘The servant I asked you about, Oliver Kettle? I know he has left the Sluyterman house.’
Henbird settled his corpulent, well-attired frame back into his thronelike chair. ‘I had him followed. And where do you think he went? All the way to the Guildhall for the Lord Mayor’s banquet, where he served as a waiter.’
‘Tell me more, Nick.’
‘They take on day staff for the big banquets. Many of those employed on such nights have positions elsewhere in the homes of the city merchants. Your Oliver Kettle was one of those.’
‘But now he is missing.’
‘Wait, there is more to the story. On the night of the banquet, my man watched Kettle as closely as he could. As you can well imagine, this was not easy, for the watcher was neither a guest, nor a serving man. He is, though, a close acquaintance of the Common Sergeant at the Guildhall and so he enlisted his aid.’
‘In return for a turkey cock or two?’
‘Or three or four, John. The sergeant is a stout fellow. He and my man were able to observe the evening’s proceedings and keep a discreet watch on Kettle. And they discovered something of great interest. Kettle was making a collection. Somewhere between the suckling pig and the swan hearts with syrup of pears, they saw him huddled with a merchant on his way to the house of easement. And then, over the course of an hour, he spoke to others, six in all. And in each case money was passed to him.’
‘Which merchants?’
‘John, be careful. I cannot abide these merchants in all their ermine-clad satisfaction. They are too pleased with themselves. Yet they are not without power for all their softness of belly; these are some of the richest and mightiest men in the city. They have fortunes that could buy the war chest. In their own way, they wield as much force as a Cecil or a Devereux.’
‘Name them.’
‘I have been to speak with two of them — Sir Gerald Bookman and Tolly Weaver. They gave me the same story. They laughed it off. They said Kettle told them he was collecting alms for distressed mariners and they gave him a little money. It was a simple story but unbreakable — unless you wish them arrested and tortured for what would appear to be little or no reason. I have not been to the others yet and I do not intend to.’
Shakespeare was silent for a moment. He had come up against the power of wealth before. No, he could not have the men brought in on such evidence; nor would he, anyway. It was no crime to be charitable. The key to this was the man Kettle. Who — or what — was he collecting for?
‘My man and the sergeant watched to see more of Kettle’s movements — who he approached, where he went…’
‘But they lost him.’
Henbird nodded gravely. ‘He went to the kitchens and was not seen again. None of the cooks or the other serving men could say where he had gone. They knew him as an occasional worker there, but nothing more about him.’
‘What do you think, Nick? What’s happening here?’
‘There is considerable unrest about the strangers. The placards outside the Dutch church and now the powder outrages… There is a fever in the air. I have spoken to some of the poultry traders here. They are wary what they say to me. I think them reluctant to be involved in any way, which is understandable, but one or two
