Shakespeare No More

by Tony Hays

  As if reading my mind, Ben abruptly rose. “I have duties to perform, Simon. I will find you later.”

  I was left with the dour and morose Richard Burbage. Suddenly, even as I turned back to him, I felt a hand on my arm.

  “Be careful of Jonson,” Richard warned. “When Somerset and the Howard girl were married, ’twas Ben that wrote the masque. If Will had some hand in the death of Overbury, Ben profited from it. And so did Donne, who wrote a sonnet on the occasion.”

  “By all that’s holy, Richard! Is there no one in London that does not have a stake in this matter?” I paused for a moment, wondering how much I should trust Burbage. Telling him of what I had learned the night before seemed foolhardy. Better to test his thoughts. “Do you really think that Ben could be some agent in all of this? I will admit that the thought had crossed my mind.”

  The old actor chuckled. “Then you are not without hope. Did Will tell you much of how affairs stood with the old queen?”

  I shook my head. “We were more interested in drinking and carousing among the stews.”

  “Life was difficult for players and the companies. Half the time we were considered a plague on the land. Elizabeth herself was rather amused by us, I think. But the Puritans worried her like a fever. Sir Edmund Tilney, Master of the Revels, did what he could for us, but Elizabeth was loath to alienate any faction, especially one as powerful and numerous as the Puritans.”

  “Your point?”

  “A new wind blew across the country when James took the throne. Suddenly, we were no longer the Lord Chamberlain’s Men but the King’s Men. And we were made a part of the king’s household, given the right to wear scarlet. We marched in his coronation parade. Our performances at court more than doubled. And we reveled in it. But it came with a price.

  “A king’s patronage is a dog that must be constantly fed or it will bite most savagely. And though this is the only king of my experience, I believe that this is more true of James than any other. And those who have tasted the king’s favour are sometimes asked to do things in return. So it was with Will; so it is with Jonson. You know that the king is considering a pension for him.”

  “Southampton mentioned it.”

  “Then there is little else I can tell you. Ben Jonson enjoys privilege as much or more than others. Sometimes, I am certain, the tasks he performs rub against him roughly, but he closes his eyes and swallows whatever bitter potion has been served him.”

  I made to protest; this was very nearly treasonous talk. But Burbage raised a hand to stop me.

  “I have been at court. You have not. I have seen the excesses. Do you not know who Somerset is?”

  “A noble, and a powerful one at that. What else is there to know?”

  “Robert Carr was James’s favourite for many years. But I tell you, Simon, no wife has had a more affectionate husband than James was to Carr.” Burbage shuddered. “I tell you, I have not seen such displays in all of my life, not in public.”

  “Are you suggesting…”

  Burbage nodded. “Before you protest, I know that it is ­illegal, but it is also not unusual. Many courtiers are known to engage in sodomy. Bacon among them. They are discreet. And while I cannot swear that James has known Carr in such a way, it would not surprise me. And now to my point: James would have stopped at nothing to please Carr. And Overbury was in the Tower to begin with because he refused the offer of an ambassadorial post by the king. Some said that James only proffered it because he knew that Sir Thomas would reject it, thus giving the king a reason to imprison him. James is said to have been horribly jealous of Overbury.”

  “Were Overbury and Somerset…” I paused, searching for the words.

  But Burbage understood and shrugged. “Perhaps; only they know for certain, and Overbury is beyond bearing witness. But Overbury did oppose Somerset’s wedding, and everyone of influence wished Overbury out of the way. He was a most dislikable man.”

  “Both Coke and Bacon said plainly that it was rumours of the king’s involvement in Overbury’s death that caused them to investigate the matter further,” I said. “Coke said that the king instructed them not to allow any barriers in their quest.”

  “What else would he say? If he were involved, he would hardly confess it to the men he appointed to find justice.”

  Burbage smiled wearily. “James has another favourite now. He will not hesitate to throw Carr to the wolves to keep suspicion in the Overbury matter from falling on the crown. But he must tread carefully. Were Carr to attempt to confuse the issue by bearing witness against King James, it could be very embarrassing.”

  “I am not a total innocent, Richard. I know that intrigue is an everyday part of life at court. But this is surely a most sordid tale.”

  “Ha!” Burbage scoffed. “It is not even the most notorious! Strip off your naïveté, Simon. Discard the cloak of your blindness. Even great men, especially great men, are rarely unblemished.” For a moment, I caught a glimpse of the man who first played Will’s greatest characters—Lear, Macbeth, Hamlet.

  “So what do you advise?”

  “Run, Simon. Run back to Stratford. Say a prayer for me at Will’s grave and live out the rest of your life in peace.”

  “And what of Will’s murder? What of justice?”

  “Whatever happened to Will, he brought it on himself. Close the door on that chamber of your life.”

  ———

  Why I would not take Burbage’s sage advice, I could not say. But the next hour found me abroad in the city, walking and musing. The ever-present cloud that hung over the buildings dampened my mood deeply, but I headed across the bridge and into Southwark. While I brooded, I thought of Southampton’s advice about the cleric Lancelot Andrewes. Burbage had told me that he lived in Southwark, in the Liberty of the Clink. I did not know exactly where he lived, but a pair of well-placed queries brought me to his door.

  It was a modest house, less ostentatious than those of similar prelates in the Church. I knocked on the door, and a white-haired old servant bade me enter.

  “The bishop is just arising from his noon-day nap, Master Saddler. He will be down in a moment.”

  Lancelot Andrewes was one of the most well-respected clerics in all of England. In the business of the king’s new Bible, he had led the first Westminster company of translators and, many said, was the presumptive leader of all translators.

  I hardly had time to consider my surroundings before the bishop bustled into the room.

  “Master Saddler! I have long wished to meet you!”

  And this took me aback.

  “You have?”

  “Oh yes,” he confirmed, ushering me to a seat. “Your friend, Will Shakespeare, spoke often of you.”

  “Forgive me, Bishop, but Will was hardly a religious man.”

  “True, true. But he was my neighbour here in the Liberty for a time. We spoke daily.”

  “Then you had a hand in his appointment by the king to work on the new Bible?”

  Andrewes nodded. “I did. But it cost me much trouble.”

  “Harrison?”

  The old bishop nodded again. “William had a prankster’s nature. He took some liberties in his work on the Psalms, liberties that Thomas Harrison objected to most vehemently.”

  “What sort of liberties?”

  Lancelot Andrewes smiled, revealing blackened teeth. “William was not among those translators named by the King. But after he was asked to help, he wished to leave his mark, so he manipulated Psalm Forty-six to hide his name within it. Harrison discovered it and came to me in a rage.”

  “A rage, Bishop? I would not think that prelates of the Church would react so violently.”

  “Then you are most certainly a recusant, Master Saddler, for clerics are passionate about their beliefs.” His chuckle stole the venom from his accusation. “Thomas came here from Christ Church, denouncing all players but most especially Master Shakespeare.” Andrewes paused, chuckling behind his hand. “I remember it so well. He
marched in, shouting and waving some papers. I thought he would die from a seizure, so upset he was.

  “I swore to him that I would speak to Shakespeare and set about correcting the text, but I thought it was a harmless jest.”

  “Did you speak to Will? Did you erase his transgression?”

  “Of course I spoke to him, but I changed nothing. I simply told Thomas that the pages had already been typeset and could not be altered. But, I told William of Thomas’s anger, and that I thought it best for him to keep his distance. William was even then readying his affairs to return to Stratford, so that cost him little more than annoyance.”

  “Would you consider Harrison capable of murder?”

  Andrewes chuckled again. “Thomas is a courageous man, a champion of Christ and the Church. He would kill in their defense, but as a warrior, not as an assassin.”

  I liked Lancelot Andrewes, and I trusted his word. After a few more pleasantries, I thanked him for his help and returned again to the cacophony of noises and odours that was London.

  ———

  Unsure of what to do next, I turned towards the Tower, hoping that just looking at its massive walls would somehow provide me with answers. The answers certainly lay within.

  “Look what we have here, Arthur.”

  I could not mistake the voice. The rough tone spoke of years of drink. I turned, and the ragged, dirty clothes, smelling of sour wine told the story better than words. Chance had thrown common criminals in my path, a path I now realized had led me down a narrow side lane. In my reverie, my legs had carried my body where I could be easily dispatched.

  Three men faced me. They had obviously selected me because my clothes indicated both that I was from outside the city and that I had more than two coins to rub together.

  I did not have a sword with me, only my simple dagger. It would not be the first time that I faced such odds, but it had been a long time since those days. Little use would be served by shouting for help; above us I could see a window or two open with the citizens hanging out, watching to see me killed or beaten.

  So, I slipped my dagger from my belt and beckoned my attackers forward with the tip. If they thought me an easy target, I would disabuse them of that notion at once. A bit of bravado might cut the odds.

  And it did.

  By one.

  The older of the three dropped his dagger. “It ain’t worth getting killed over,” he groused before turning and running.

  The other two, younger men, just grinned with rotten teeth and moved forward, one flashing his own dagger and the other a cudgel.

  I reappraised them. They were hardly yet men. And they saw before them a man in his late middle years, not a grave threat.

  They thought.

  Dagger moved in quickly, trying to draw my attention away so that Cudgel would have a clear shot.

  I stooped and snatched up a handful of mud, flinging it in Dagger’s face and sidestepping quickly.

  Dagger clawed at his eyes to clean the muck, and Cudgel’s blow slipped past my head, close enough that I could feel its breath.

  Seizing the moment, I stepped into Cudgel, sinking my dagger beneath his ribs as deep as I could. The surprise in his eyes was short-lived as they quickly grew blank and waxy.

  But even as I breathed a sigh of relief, I felt Dagger’s point sink into my arm. Without thinking I brought my knee hard into his groin, sending him reeling into the road.

  I considered dispatching him then and there, but I decided not. Dagger, seeing the reprieve in my eyes, regained his feet and scampered away, still half-bent over from my last blow.

  Since a fine stream of blood was already soiling my sleeve, I wiped Cudgel’s blood on it. Blood pitted a knife blade badly if left.

  Behind me, I heard a loud clapping of hands, not from many but from a single soul.

  “Well done, Master Saddler! Well done!”

  Ben Jonson.

  I turned and the redheaded giant was smiling broadly. “You are a bit late for the brawl, Ben,” I quipped. “Or were you watching to see if your agents would succeed in killing me?”

  Jonson put on his most wounded expression. “Simon, what would it profit me to have you dispatched?”

  My turn to smile. “Why, Ben, I suppose that it would pay about as much as you made writing the masque for Somerset’s wedding to Frances Howard.”

  The teasing, mocking expression on Ben’s face disappeared as quickly as it appeared. “Do you truly think me an agent?” He stepped forward as he spoke, to emphasize the difference in our sizes.

  “What am I to think? You appear as if by magic at the Cross Keys, even as I was beginning my quest. You are about to be awarded a pension by King James, who, it seems, has a personal interest in the coming trial of the earl and countess. And now you are here, when I told no one my plans, and you arrive just in time to see me attacked by three men. Again, Ben, what am I to think?” Then was not the time to reveal all that I knew.

  Jonson laughed. “Yes, I am hoping for a pension from the king. Yes, I was paid to write a masque for Somerset’s wedding, just as Donne wrote a sonnet on the occasion. Burbage will tell you that I saw him at the Globe the day you arrived. And he told me of your purpose and that you were staying at the Cross Keys. As to my sudden appearance here, I stopped to find you at the Mermaid, but you had left. Thinking you might have gone to the Globe with Burbage, I was walking along East Cheap to the bridge when I happened upon two lads shouting about a fight. Much to my amazement, it proved to be you.”

  “Amazing coincidence.” My sarcasm was heavy and unavoidable, but it was yet too early to let him know what I knew about his nocturnal adventures. He lied, too, as that route would not cross my path.

  “You have not lost your edge, old friend. You fought as well today as all those years ago in the Low Countries.” He paused. “Will never knew that you and I knew each other in those days, did he?”

  I shrugged. “I never found reason to tell him.”

  “We know each other in ways that other men do not. No man knows himself until he faces mortal combat. We have. We have fought the enemy side by side. That creates a bond, Simon, that the bribes of even a king cannot breach.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “That is a pretty speech, Ben. But gold is like a flood that can breach the strongest dam.”

  Jonson’s eyebrows flew up. “You have something of the poet in you, I see. Rest easy that I am not acting in the service of anyone but myself, and that I wish for you only success.”

  His words seemed so warm and assuring, but knowing what I knew, they rang all the more hollow. I could not trust Ben Jonson. Of that, I was certain.

  “I am going to the Tower. Join me.”

  “And what shall you do at the Tower, pray?”

  “I intend to speak with Somerset and his wife.” I had not had the slightest inclination to do this before I was assaulted, but now it seemed the proper thing to do, if Jonson went with me.

  And Jonson frowned at the idea. “Think you that you will even gain entry?”

  “Aye, I believe I will. I will simply use the names of Bacon and Coke. And if that does not work, I will have the warders send a messenger on a fast horse to Gray’s Inn. Upon that messenger’s return, I doubt that we will be kept waiting.”

  I had succeeded in surprising Ben. Whatever his true interest in this affair, he had little choice now but to join me and see what havoc that I wreaked. “But know this: twice now I have been set upon by ruffians. You have been present both times. Coincidences like that do not escape me.

  “And last night someone tried to burn me in my bed at the George. By sheer good fortune, I was elsewhere.”

  At that, Ben’s head snapped back as if struck. He had not been so shocked at my resurrection from the dead when he first saw me at the Mermaid. And the thought struck me that Ben Jonson knew who the poor unfortunate was that had burned in my place. That was a fleeting thought at best, and I could place no weight on it.

  “There are
things you do not know,” he began cryptically.

  “Then why do you not educate me?”

  “Enough of this, Simon. If you are intent on going to the Tower, then let us be off. Wasting time here dueling with words profits no one.”

  I did not press the issue. Since learning of the fire, my goal had been twofold—pursue my enquiry and unsettle my enemies. I felt confident that I had met with success on both fronts.

  ———

  “You may delay me all you like,” I told the warder at the main gate of the Tower. “I will stand here until this time three days from now. Send a rider to Bacon and Coke at Gray’s Inn. They will verify that I am in their service on this matter. Of course, you will incur their wrath and your days in authority here may well be at an end.”

  After another bout of head-scratching, the warder let us pass.

  Jonson eyed me closely. “I thought they preferred that you not announce your connection with them.”

  “I encountered a situation in which I disagreed with them. And since I am the one with his neck on the axeman’s block, I will set the rules.” My stomach fluttered though, at flouting Bacon and Coke’s instructions. Until I knew for certain where Ben Jonson stood in this matter, I would show only strength before him. And I had decided, for better or worse, to go to the heart of the matter.

  ———

  They were in the Bloody Tower. Somerset himself was in the chambers previously provided to Sir Walter Raleigh. The countess was in adjoining rooms. The lieutenant of the guard had scurried up and taken over our escort.

  “What will you ask them?” Jonson said under his breath as we climbed the narrow, winding staircase.

  “For the truth, Ben. What else?”

  “Please, masters,” the lieutenant said. “Wait here while I speak to the earl.”

  So we stood in the hallway, avoiding each other’s gaze and waiting for the prisoners to grant us entry.

  “Masters?” The lieutenant motioned from the doorway.

  The earl of Somerset, Robert Carr, was a small, dainty man of cultured good looks, not unlike Bacon. Indeed, some would call him “pretty,” but not handsome. Despite his reduced circumstances, he found himself able to paint a smile onto his features.