Muse of fire, p.6
Muse of Fire, page 6
He looked into Will’s eyes then to ensure he had his attention before he explained who they were.
‘The queen’s favourite – Robert Devereux, a most sly, cunning and ambitious man.’
Will pictured the Earl of Essex then, since he had seen him often enough, always striding arrogantly through the court as if it was his and not the queen’s.
‘Then there is your patron, Henry Wriothesley, the Earl of Southampton, and a known recusant.’
And your old enemy, thought Will, who often recalled two of the most powerful men in the kingdom trying to bring each another down, and how he himself had almost been crushed in between them and their feud.
‘Next, Sir Walter Raleigh, the adventurer.’ Cecil almost spat the man’s name and sneered the word adventurer. ‘He would do anything to regain the queen’s favour.’
For what was he without it? thought Will. Would Raleigh kill if it meant he was able to clamber back to the very top of the court? Probably.
‘And finally Charles Blount, Baron Mountjoy, a man who all can see is on the rise.’
Will could see it too. Mountjoy even rivalled Essex for the queen’s affections, and that meant he was favoured by her, so was surely still an enemy of Essex, even if outwardly they were friends.
‘If there is a conspiracy and Lady Anne’s death is at its heart, then it will involve at least one of these four.’ Cecil thought for a moment. ‘Or possibly all of them. I do not trust a single one. They are all disloyal and inconstant. Their love for the queen is entirely conditional on her patronage and they will bend like a branch in the wind should some other power offer them more than she will. Discover if Lady Anne was murdered, Shakespeare. If she was killed because of a plot, I have a sense it will be by someone ordered to it by one of these men. Do not breathe a word about your true purpose, nor mention to anyone it was me who set you to it. You must be subtle and clever. If you are not, I cannot save you from the wrath of these courtiers who hold most of the power in England between them. They are rich, landed and the queen’s favourites all.’
Whether Cecil could in fact save Will from these men, if they discovered he had been asking dangerous questions about them, was of little importance. What mattered most was Cecil’s desire to avoid damaging his own reputation or to risk his position at court. That meant he was always more likely to deny any association with Will and his investigation. That placed Will in an incredibly dangerous position, as an almost powerless man left entirely alone.
‘One final thing, I may have, in the past, inferred to you that I did not care overmuch about the entire truth behind certain treasons, committed by powerful lords. It has been my view that even a hint of treachery is enough proof of where a man’s true heart lies. That is often sufficient to lead him to be pressed, until he confesses plots hitherto unknown to those of us who serve the queen. But this is different. I forbid you to give me what you think I want. Only deliver me the truth of what happened to the Lady Anne. Is that understood?’
Will said nothing and Cecil took that silence as agreement.
‘If a man is guilty of this great crime, I want proof so I can deliver retribution, without fear of punishing the wrong man and allowing the true villain to walk free.’
‘I am at your command, my lord, but this may take some time.’ And Will knew he needed to buy it now, while he was still in the room with Cecil. At that moment, he had no idea how to even begin to uncover the truth about Lady’s Anne’s death.
‘Time I cannot grant you. You must find the killer swiftly. Deliver the villain to me. Do that and you are discharged from your duty, but, Shakespeare, if you fail me in this, I will not forget it, nor forgive. Is that understood?’ His tone made it clear to Will that it needed to be.
‘It is, my lord.’ Will had known that much already without having to be told it. If he fell foul of Cecil, he would likely be ruined, or worse.
‘You might need this.’ Cecil held out something and when Will took it in his hand, he realised it was a fine miniature portrait, painted on vellum and set in a golden frame no larger than three inches across. The painting was of a beautiful young girl. ‘It is her likeness.’
Will examined the portrait. It was a fine work, and he had seen its like before. They had become a fashionable item at court, at least for those wealthy enough to be able to commission one of these exquisite portraits from the court painter, Nicholas Hilliard. He was a limner, who could paint miniatures with a tiny, squirrel-hair brush, then place the work inside a little gold frame such as this.
Somehow it was now in Cecil’s possession.
‘It fell into my hands,’ he explained, somewhat self-consciously, as if reading Will’s thoughts, and Will wondered how it could have done. Did Anne have it on her person when she died, and Cecil had seized it?
He would have asked, but then another thought struck him. What if Cecil had commissioned this work himself, so he could gaze upon the Lady Anne’s face whenever he chose? Christ, he had better not lose this precious object.
‘It is so you can show others her likeness, if you need them to recall her,’ Cecil explained. ‘When this is done, you will return it to me.’ He was firm about that, then admitted, ‘There is little point in enquiring around the court today, since everyone is so disturbed by her death. My men tell me they speak of little else but foolish notions surrounding the Lady Anne’s passing. Some say it was caused by agents of France or Spain, who will kill the queen next, others that the Pope himself commanded it to fill the hearts of all Her Majesty’s loyal courtiers with fear. There are other baser ideas that traduce the reputation of Lady Anne based on nothing more than vile gossip, showing no respect for the dead. You will start your enquiries here once the mood is calmer. I will need a day, perhaps two, to convince most of them that we have control of the court and the city of London. Then, when they are calmer and less foolish, you may find the answers we seek. Now, did anyone notice you on your way into court?’
Will was forced to admit that he had indeed been noticed by Walter Raleigh due to the crush outside the anteroom that morning.
Cecil looked as annoyed by that as if Will had contrived it to happen deliberately to foil his plans. ‘Does he know I summoned you to court?’
‘He does not. He merely wished to discuss my plays with me.’
‘Why?’
‘I think he perhaps believes himself to be the better writer.’
‘Of course he does. Raleigh: the soldier, the sailor, the adventurer and, Lord save us from him, the poet. Why can’t men be content to be one thing and stick to it? Must they always attempt to be masters of everything. That only guarantees they will devote little enough of their time and energies to anything.’ Then he ordered Will, ‘Come, you have been seen, so now we must walk together in the privy gardens.’
Chapter Seven
‘Men should be what they seem.’
—Othello
Sir Robert Cecil and Will walked openly together now, in full view of courtiers enjoying their leisure, perhaps in the knowledge they might even see the queen, for she was known to enjoy a walk in the privy gardens with her favourites.
‘Sir Robert, should we be seen like this, walking through the gardens so publicly?’ Even as Will asked of it, he noticed eyes were upon them.
‘In case they think you my spy?’ He seemed to find this amusing. ‘Would I not summon you to some dark and secret place, to make you my creature, instead of us strolling through a garden together? No, they will think the queen’s most trusted advisor is instructing her favoured playmaker on what next to write for the queen.’
This seemed an over-elaborate ruse, simply because Walter Raleigh had seen Will enter the Palace of Whitehall, but Cecil had insisted they create a reason for his presence there that day.
He lowered his voice then. ‘I will give you a room not far from mine to write in. Then your comings and goings will not be commented on, and your presence here more often will enable you to gain intelligence from the musings of men and women of the court, who would never dare mutter their true thoughts when Poley is within earshot.’ Poley had been deliberately dismissed by Cecil once their walk had begun. ‘If I need somebody frightened or harmed, then a loyal man like Poley is a useful instrument of the crown, but this requires a sharper mind.’
As the two men rounded a corner in the gardens, their talk deliberately turned back to plays, and most specifically what Will would write for the court next, once Julius Caesar was finished, but Will was undecided on that. Their view of the gardens became obscured here by tall hedges to their right, and they accidentally stumbled upon a small gathering at the far end of an area set aside for archery practice. At their end, a target had been set up, so they stopped abruptly and turned to face the opposite end of that long lawn. From there, they could make out half a dozen richly dressed figures watching them.
A moment later, an arrow shot by. It missed the target and, to Will’s alarm, landed with a thud against a tree trunk situated between it and themselves. In truth, it was a deal nearer to them than the target. Whoever had loosed that arrow had sent it perilously close, enough to make Cecil start. It could quite easily have struck one of them. This near miss caused a whoop from the young men that was meant to convey shock at Will and Cecil’s untimely arrival, but Will wasn’t fooled. They had been seen as soon as they turned the corner and had stopped on realising they might be in peril. Only then was the arrow loosed, its aim adjusted to cause them maximum alarm without actual injury.
‘Cecil!’ cried the Earl of Essex, who was marching towards them now, a look of concern etched unconvincingly upon his face. He appeared shocked that his bitterest rival had almost come to grief, having been foolish enough to walk into their archery practice. Will knew that the queen’s favourite was a warrior, a man skilled with the sword, and famed as the English ‘Hero of Cadiz’. He was unlikely to be so inept with a bow that he couldn’t hit a target from that distance, assuming he was actually aiming at it and not the tree. His real intention had been to scare them both, and in this he had thoroughly succeeded. ‘What were you thinking, sir? I could have knocked your hat from your head.’ Then he smirked. ‘If I’d been aiming a little lower.’
His handful of hangers-on included two of the other men Cecil had warned Will to be mindful of during his enquiries. His occasional patron, Henry Wriothesley, the Earl of Southampton, was known to be the firmest friend and most loyal devotee of Essex, and he could barely hide his glee at the near miss and its effect on Cecil. Will recognised Charles Blount, Baron Mountjoy, next to him, as the coming man at court. They both laughed at the taunt involving Cecil’s height and Will wondered how often he was forced to endure these jokes. Daily, he imagined. No wonder Cecil was known to be such a ruthless bastard, when they gave him so much cause.
Cecil bowed to the earl, his teeth firmly gritted. ‘I must apologise for ruining your sport. Was it my fault your aim was so far off?’ He was making Essex know he understood the arrow’s course to be deliberate.
‘No matter,’ said Essex. ‘I was merely making time until the queen sends for me, which she has assured me she will. I hope you weren’t hoping for an audience with Her Majesty this afternoon, Cecil, for she has promised herself to me for its entirety. She said as much in her chamber late last night, while we were occupied…’ His noble friends smirked and laughed openly at that, and the earl turned and pretended to rebuke them with. ‘…At cards!’ But he was clearly enjoying the implication he had been involved in other pursuits with the queen.
‘Oh yes,’ hooted Southampton, ‘at cards!’
And Essex hit him playfully on the arm, as if he himself hadn’t encouraged more lascivious notions.
‘Who’s this?’ Essex meant Shakespeare, though he must surely have known who Will was by now. He had seen him act before the court and must have known Will had written those plays. It was equally likely, though, that the earl simply did not think Will worthy of committing his face or name to memory.
‘This is Shakespeare,’ the Earl of Southampton informed him. ‘My poet.’ Then he added, ‘He writes the queen’s plays.’
‘Oh yes, Shakespeare.’
Will bowed before him and the earl looked thoughtful.
‘I could have use of a man like you. Yes, indeed.’ He did not enlighten Will further, nor did he seem to care that he was currently in the company of Cecil or that Southampton was already Will’s patron. He correctly surmised that neither man would object, since he was such a favourite with the queen.
‘Your Grace.’ Will had learned long ago that this, along with ‘my lord’, was the safest form of response to powerful men who failed to explain their full intentions to him. It was respectful without fully committing him to their service. The last man in the kingdom he wished to be indebted to was the Earl of Essex, however influential he might be. Something told him the man was like Icarus, and one day might fly too close to the sun. Either that or he could end up as the old queen’s husband, despite a near thirty-year age gap between them. Was that what he was hoping for? Some said so, quite openly, just as they discussed his many nights ‘playing cards’ in the queen’s bedchamber, often until it grew light again.
‘What business do you have with Sir Robert?’ The Earl of Southampton asked the question Will was bracing himself for and his tone was sterner than Essex’s.
‘A new play for the queen.’ It was Cecil who answered. ‘I need to ensure it contains no blasphemy or heresy, nor any hint of atheism and not a word that might encourage recusants.’ He emphasised the last word and it clearly angered Southampton, who had often been branded one. Will knew that both men were intent on trying to destroy the other. It was just a question of who could strike first, and the scale of that success would depend upon the will of the queen. Right now, she needed them both, or felt she did, which was the same thing, so there was an uneasy truce at court between Cecil and Southampton. Essex and Southampton being such close friends meant that Cecil could never sleep easy, knowing how they likely plotted together against him. Now that his father, who had given the queen such good service that she fed him personally on his deathbed, was gone, he was even more vulnerable.
‘I smell a plot,’ said the Earl of Essex, who evidently didn’t believe them. ‘What are you planning with Master Shakespeare?’ When Sir Robert neglected to reply to him, the earl demanded, ‘Tell me.’ But this too was met by Cecil with silence.
‘No plot, Your Grace,’ Will blurted when he could bear it no more. ‘Just a play.’
‘A play? What play?’ and though he asked this of Will, his eyes never left Cecil’s, who stared back defiantly.
‘The chronicle of Henry V,’ answered Cecil.
Essex seemed surprised. ‘Really?’ and he looked to Will for confirmation.
What choice did Will have but to support his master’s statement? ‘Yes, my lord.’
Essex frowned. ‘Henry V? Agincourt? How ever are you going to place that upon a stage? ’Tis not possible.’
And when Will could find no answer to that, Essex lost patience with him and turned his attention back to Cecil.
‘I hear you have been talking to the queen about me. No, don’t deny it, but know this. When you speak of me to Her Majesty, it is as if I am in the room with you.’ Southampton and the others laughed at the notion of the queen almost immediately betraying Cecil’s confidences with her favourite. ‘So be careful what you say of me and choose each word prudently, for if I am wronged, if my honour is questioned by anyone, then know that I will make that man pay. Do you hear me?’
Cecil stayed silent and seemed to take the threat from his enemy. Will had never seen him like this before. It was usually Cecil who made them. One of the most ruthless and powerful men in the kingdom had been reduced to the status of a naughty schoolboy being chastised by a master, but Will could not enjoy the spectacle. Essex was taking too much pleasure from Cecil’s humiliation. If he did go on to rule them all, using the queen’s authority, it would augur well for no one.
‘It’s strange,’ the earl continued, ‘how we can never shut you up in the Privy Council, but man to man, you are silent.’ When that silence continued, the earl addressed Will once more, while continuing to stare at the object of his derision. ‘Do you know why Sir Robert hates me, Master Shakespeare?’
Will felt a deep sense of dread. He could hardly fail to answer the earl, but what he said might damn him in the eyes of one, or possibly both, of the most powerful men in the kingdom. ‘I do not, my lord?’
‘I think you do. Imagine you are him for a moment. What if you were an actor upon the stage playing Sir Robert Cecil, the crookback pygmy, and I am Richard Burbage playing the most fair Earl of Essex.’ His acolytes enjoyed the notion of Will’s handsome friend playing the earl. ‘Now tell me why he hates me?’
It was obvious that he was not going to allow Will to wriggle free without giving him the answer he desired; that Sir Robert was jealous because he was a small and ugly man, left wanting in fairness next to the tall and handsome Essex. Instead, Will settled on, ‘Because you are the queen’s favourite, Your Grace?’
‘Quite so.’ Essex smiled then, seeming to like this answer even more than the one he had been fishing for. ‘And he is afraid of me. The great Sir Robert Cecil, the queen’s spymaster, knows he cannot touch me, for I am indeed Her Majesty’s favourite. All that he has, and all he will ever be, can be taken from him by her in an instant. Sir Robert knows that a whispered word from me is all it would take to destroy him. Power is what he most craves, but, when I am in the room, he has none.’ Cecil looked away then, but Essex was not done. He addressed the queen’s inquisitor directly now. ‘Think on that the next time you speak in the Privy Council to deny me my will.’
