the hunger of a bitch in heat. She was offering herself up, to some unseen presence. Begging to be taken by the devil himself.
Shakespeare was still soaked through when the wherrymen landed him at Greenwich. He wondered, vaguely, whether the involuntary drinking of the putrid Thames water might do for him. For the present, however, he had more pressing concerns.
The races were all done with. If Baines was here, there was no sign of him. As for the Queen and her courtiers, they had long since departed back to the confines of the palace. Only the common folk were still in the park, eating, drinking and enjoying the entertainments in the late afternoon sunshine.
Shakespeare found the Vidame de Chartres near the palace stables. The French nobleman was ensuring that Conquistadora was well looked after for her journey back to the stables at Wanstead, where she was now to be housed. The vidame held up the golden spur he had won for his victory. ‘Given me by your Queen’s own fair hand. I told you the horse was no nag, sir.’
‘I am looking for Dona Ana.’
‘I have not seen her since the race, Monsieur Shakespeare. But I imagine she will be at Essex House this evening. There is to be feasting in honour of a famous victory. Come — and bring my woman with you.’
‘You have heard all I will say on that matter.’
‘Her Majesty the Queen has other ideas. She agrees Monique is my property and has granted me her return.’
‘I believe the courts will not accede to your demands. Certainly, I will not. Slavery is repugnant to God and humanity.’
‘Have you told that to Mr Hawkins, your great slaver?’
Shakespeare said no more. He went to the servants’ quarters at the palace, where he stripped naked so that his clothes could be hung up to dry in front of an open fire. As he waited, he sent a messenger to request a meeting with Sir Robert Cecil.
Chapter 29
The prickles rose on Shakespeare’s neck. He was in Sir Robert Cecil’s richly appointed apartments, at a table with Francis Mills and the kilted Rabbie Bruce. Cecil was cold with anger.
‘How will we beat Spain if we cannot work together?’ he demanded.
‘Blame him,’ Bruce said, jabbing a finger at Shakespeare. ‘He has kept the man Glebe from me. Give Glebe to me and I will twist the truth from his miserable English mouth within the hour.’
‘Is this true, John?’
‘He means he would kill him, Sir Robert. How many more witnesses do you wish to lose?’
‘This is the problem of which I speak. There must be common cause here. It is in no one’s interest for this prince of Scots to remain undiscovered. If he is in England, he has been brought here with but one purpose in mind — to usurp a throne. Now, John, I told you to take Glebe to Newgate, but Mr Bruce says he is not there. So where is he?’
‘Safe, and being questioned, though I believe I have all the information he has to give.’
‘Then speak it here and now to Mr Bruce and Mr Mills. But be clear on your aim. You are to find this Scots prince. The court talks of nothing else and the Queen… well, let us just say that I have never seen her so angry. And I am one of those who saw her tempestuous rage when Ralegh married Bess Throckmorton. It took all my powers of persuasion to get her to the courses this day. The calm that the world saw turned once more to wrath when she returned here. Do I make myself plain?’
Shakespeare and Mills nodded.
‘Good. Then I will leave you, gentlemen. You will sit around this table and devise a plan by which to proceed. I care not what you think of one another — personal difficulties will be set aside.’ He nodded brusquely, then departed before any of them had a chance to speak.
Bruce leant back, feet on the table. ‘He thinks to include me with you two flunkeys. One day, he will be my servant.’
Shakespeare fought to calm himself down. He could see the truth in what Cecil said. This inquiry was proceeding slower than a twenty-year-old mule. He took a deep breath and rested his forearms on the table. ‘Very well, I will detail all that I have uncovered. Firstly, this is nothing to do with Perez. He never had the secret. It all came from the woman, Ana Cabral, the old nurse and, perhaps, Perez’s secretary. But the Cabral woman is now missing. She has slipped us.’
‘The Spanish slattern?’ Bruce said. ‘She may have slipped you, Shakespeare, but not me. You won’t find her because I have her.’
Shakespeare’s calm did not last. He eyed Bruce as if he would happily murder him. ‘What do you mean, Mr Bruce — how can you have Ana Cabral?’
‘I took her. Had her arrested by honest English pursuivants as she left the courses. She now resides with my friend.’
‘Where?’
‘Somewhere safe, Shakespeare. Somewhere you can’t get your tender, milk-fed little hands on her. Unless, of course, you wish to do some sort of trade for Glebe…’
Shakespeare turned to Mills. ‘Do you know about this, Frank?’
Mills shook his head, but a little too slowly.
‘Frank?’
Mills sighed heavily. ‘She is a guest of Topcliffe at Westminster.’
‘Topcliffe! God’s blood, what has Topcliffe to do with any of this? He is more unclean than the lice of Limbo.’
‘Oh aye,’ Bruce put in. ‘He speaks most highly of you, too. Calls you a Papist-swiving, stranger-hugging sheep turd.’
Shakespeare ignored Bruce and looked directly at the thin, spidery figure of Mills, who seemed to sag ever deeper into his bony shoulders. ‘Frank, does Cecil know of this?’
Mills’s eyes swivelled to Bruce and back to Shakespeare. He said nothing.
Shakespeare turned to the Scotsman. ‘Well?’
‘Do you think I give a fishwife’s piss what Robert Cecil knows or doesn’t know? I am answerable to the King of Scots, not to an English cripple.’
‘Mr Bruce, Ana Cabral may hold the key to the riddle of this Scots prince. But she is also a guest of this realm, here with the train of Don Antonio Perez and under the protection of the Vidame de Chartres and his father, all of them envoys from Henri of France. She cannot be lifted off the streets and consigned to Topcliffe’s torture chamber without order of the Privy Council. Do you think Her Majesty would thank us for starting a war with France?’
Bruce leant forward in his chair. The generous cloak of his kilt flopped low across his chest. ‘Well, Shakespeare, you get her out of there — if you can.’
Shakespeare rose from his chair, knocking it to the floor, and strode for the door.
Mills was up instantly. He grabbed Shakespeare by the arms to hold him back. ‘Wait, John, there are other matters we must talk on. We must work together.’
Shakespeare shrugged off his restraining hands. He was shaking with rage.
Mills unfolded himself to his full height. ‘John, listen to me. Cecil is right: we have a common enemy. We cannot afford this hostility between us.’
‘Do we have a common enemy?’ He jerked his chin in the direction of Rabbie Bruce. ‘ He seems like the enemy.’
Bruce was stone-faced. ‘Is that so, Shakespeare? The world blows apart, an assassin stalks my sovereign and you retire to your bedchamber. Should I wait on your pleasure in this?’
Reluctantly, Shakespeare took his seat again. Behind his anger, he knew they had to sort this out. Mills and Cecil were right. Mr Secretary Walsingham had said it so often that his words were imprinted on Shakespeare’s brain like the royal seal: The farm that is riven will fall into disarray, its crops will fail and its beasts sicken and die.
