The Spy of Venice

by Benet Brandreth

  Then, again in an audible whisper that held little subtlety in it, he said to his Secretary, ‘Unless it was at the table. There I would say the man was a very tempest of activity.’

  The Doge looked about pleased with his own wit. His Secretary leaned in and muttered into his ear. The Doge heard and nodded. He held up the note with the Pope’s seal.

  ‘There are five names writ here in addition to the Count’s.’

  He read them aloud.

  ‘ The purpose of the first three names is clear,’ said Isabella. ‘They are the murderous task to which this man was set.’

  ‘Those last two names I know too,’ continued William. ‘Like this man they are the Pope’s agents. I was to have met a servant of the Signoria some eight nights ago, Iseppo da Nicosia. He and I would have made exchange of names.’

  ‘The “names”?’ echoed the Doge.

  ‘There is mention made here of them,’ his Secretary answered, pointing to the ambassador’s letters. ‘An exchange of the names of papal agents in our lands for our knowledge of those in England.’

  ‘Just so,’ said William. ‘Before our bargain could be made Iseppo da Nicosia was murdered.’

  ‘Murdered?’ muttered the Doge.

  ‘Most foully and by this man’s servant, Borachio,’ said William, ‘before the names of the spies of their master, the Pope, could be given over.’

  ‘What has this to do with Marcantonio Bon and Francesco Tiepolo?’ asked the Doge’s Secretary.

  ‘They are two of the names I would have exchanged with Iseppo da Nicosia,’ William said.

  ‘Rank lies,’ shouted Prospero. ‘Why, this Francesco Tiepolo is no agent of the Pope but another rival for the love of the whore, Isabella Lisarro.’

  ‘No word of a lie,’ replied William to Prospero’s raging. ‘I have here the list of names together with details of the traitors’ payments and the name of the Pope’s banker in Venice. Once our bargain is complete you may speak with him, ask of payments made to the people named here. See too that this man, Prospero, is paid by the same hand.’

  To the three names he had discovered William had added that of Francesco Tiepolo. If any man should face Venetian justice it was him. No payments would be found with his name upon them. William hoped the taint of association would suffice. Even if he escaped hanging, Francesco Tiepolo’s days of glory in Venice would be done with.

  ‘A forged letter? Some names, no more than that? Is it with such paltry testimony that you accuse me?’ cried Prospero.

  ‘Far more than that,’ declared William, his eyes on Prospero. ‘Where is your servant, Borachio, Count? Search this man’s lodging in the city, Serene Lord. I fear you will find all the proof of this man’s villainy that you desire.’

  Prospero grew still.

  ‘So many accusations I scarce know how to proceed,’ said the Doge staring at Prospero. ‘They have the ring of truth to them. Still, it is not for me to decide such matters.’

  He signalled to his Secretary. ‘It will be put in the hands of the Signoria. They will, I think, wish to discuss with you many things, the unfortunate matter of the Duchess of Bracciano among them.’

  ‘You fool,’ hissed Prospero. ‘You defy the Pope and Venice will suffer.’

  The Doge looked at him. The ribald glimmer that had sat in the Doge’s eye was extinguished. Without taking his eyes from Prospero he spoke to his Secretary, ‘Talk of murder should not go unexamined.’

  The Doge’s Secretary began to feel he had an understanding for the moods of his new master. ‘Serene Lord, you wish the matter fully tried?’

  ‘I do,’ replied the Doge.

  ‘Then, Serene Lord,’ said his Secretary, ‘I shall inform the gaoler he should use all measures in search of the truth.’

  ‘All measures,’ repeated the Doge, eyes still on the man who’d called him fool.

  Prospero turned pale and hung limp in the hands that held him. The liveried guildsmen pulled him towards the door that led to the rack and the cudgels and the questioning to come.

  As Prospero was dragged past William he changed from resignation to furious action. He pulled his arms free of those that held him and snatched his dagger from his belt. He lunged at William, who caught his hand and turned the blade aside. For an instant the two wrestled before Prospero, with mad strength, wrenched his hand free and lifted it to drive the blade down at William’s neck.

  Prospero howled. The point of a rapier pinned his wrist to the wall. Isabella leaned with all her weight on the blade. The guildsmen recovered and grappled Prospero to the ground. When they dragged him to his feet again he spat at Isabella.

  ‘You should have killed me, whore, for I will be revenged.’

  ‘A swift death, Prospero?’ whispered Isabella. ‘No, first you must be questioned.’

  She held out the sword to the shame-faced guildsman from whom she’d snatched it.

  William watched as a previously unseen door at the side of the room opened. As Prospero was dragged through he looked back at William and Isabella. They heard his cry as the door closed behind him.

  ‘I’ll be revenged on the whole pack of you.’

  Why, here it is. Welcome these pleasant days!

  ‘A most unpleasant scene,’ the Doge said. He turned to Oldcastle. ‘I hope you will forgive it, Sir Henry. The Count of Genoa has made most grievous slander of you. We give his words no ear and, for ourselves, ask only that you lay the blame at Genoa’s door, where it belongs.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Oldcastle with a bow.

  ‘Chimes with their policy, of course,’ the Doge said to his Secretary, ‘the Genoese were ever our rivals and our enemies. Yes, I think we should thank England for its timely exposure of this Genoese danger. Wouldn’t you say?’

  The Doge’s Secretary rushed to agree. It seemed there was to be no more talk of Rome or the Pope. Such are the ways of States. The Doge smiled broadly at his Secretary’s agreement. His jolly look gave no sign of what had passed. The door had shut on Prospero and with it the Doge’s interest in the man.

  ‘Now, what to me from England?’ the Doge said.

  His Secretary placed the packet of letters in the Doge’s hand. The Doge cast his eye over the first letter. He hummed an air as he read. He looked up.

  ‘I see, I see. Well, there is much here to be considered,’ he said. ‘This too must be placed before the Signoria. Certainly in the matter of this bargaining over names. So much the better. A feast is no place for such dry discourse as this. Let us leave this till later.’

  With no more discussion he placed the packet of letters into the hand of his waiting Secretary and nodded to Oldcastle, William and Isabella. Then he glanced away to take up his cup again and await the next group of supplicants.

  The Secretary stepped forward and, with arm’s spread wide to gather them in, ushered the trio towards the door. They took their cue to depart and swept to the gilded doors, which opened to reveal the thronging guests; they who had scant moment ago seemed to balance on the precipice’s edge, plunged in to enjoy the coronation feast.

  Made for kissing

  The guests whirled about them, all oblivious of the drama that had passed or the significance of the three actors that now stood in their midst.

  ‘What did Prospero’s letter say?’ Oldcastle asked.

  William told him.

  ‘So little?’ Oldcastle’s eyebrow arched in mimicry of the condemned Count.

  ‘Little and yet enough,’ said William. ‘The more said, the more to be questioned. With Tintoretto’s skill set to the forging of the hand and seal it had enough semblance of authority to carry all before it. All is done, Prospero is damned, the Pope’s hand revealed and we are freed to flee Venice.’

  William felt his hand caught by Isabella’s.

  ‘Flee? Not tonight I hope,’ she said.

  William turned to her. ‘Never. If I had my wish.’

  Oldcastle saw his cue to depart. He seized Isabella’s hand from William and
with much ceremony kissed it.

  ‘Goodnight, lady,’ he said. ‘I thought you Helen for your beauty but I see that in our wars you are Hippolyte, Queen of the Amazons.’

  When Oldcastle had disappeared into the crowd William turned to Isabella again.

  ‘Truly Oldcastle has it,’ he said. ‘Who can touch you for daring? I feared all would come for nothing when that steward intervened and sought to banish you and Prospero both. That was quick-thinking to seize the soldier’s sword.’

  ‘All fell out as you had written it,’ she replied.

  She took his hand again. ‘There is a rare understanding in you.’

  There was so very much to be said. Neither William nor Isabella knew where to begin. Music struck up and the crowd parted to allow room for those who wished to dance.

  ‘Shall we?’ William gestured to the gathering couples.

  ‘Again you sense my mood,’ Isabella said.

  She looked him up and down. ‘Do you dance well?’

  ‘I hope that it will not savour too much of my youth to say that there’s none can match me for the backstep.’ William struck a pose.

  Isabella made a show of judgment. ‘Indeed, I did think by the excellent constitution of your leg that it was formed under the star of a galliard.’

  ‘Let us test our partnership at a dance then,’ said William.

  ‘Very well. We shall see if your feet are as nimble as your fingers,’ Isabella said. She leaned her head in to his. ‘But do not spend all your all in capering.’

  ‘At last I see you do speak naughtily,’ William said.

  Isabella made no reply other than to draw him into the whirl.

  Epilogue

  Venice, August 1585

  To the latter end of a fray, and the beginning of a feast

  Oldcastle consumed the final pastry with the relish of a man who had not been certain he would see out the night and now wished to savour every sensation. Hemminges thought Oldcastle’s greatness lay in his always having lived so. They sat by candlelight in the House of the White Lion. Outside the sound of revels could be heard carrying on into the early hours of the morning.

  Salarino looked on, pleased. He had been sure that given time and the right ingredients even this barbarian Englishman could be brought to savour Venetian cuisine. So it had proved. He disappeared into the kitchen to produce more proofs of Venice’s superiority in this, as in all things. There would, of course, be no charge. Hemminges had made it quite clear that he considered Salarino well paid in keeping his life. To be frightened of Hemminges, that Salarino considered simply wisdom.

  Hemminges and Oldcastle were left alone. Oldcastle finished the tale of the night. Hemminges shook his head; in admiration or disbelief Oldcastle could not tell.

  ‘I can scarce believe it myself,’ said Hemminges.

  ‘It was all in the performance. I flatter myself that I gave good account in my own role,’ replied Oldcastle.

  ‘I do not doubt it,’ Hemminges paused. ‘Still.’

  ‘Still,’ Oldcastle acknowledged.

  ‘What if Prospero had not reached for the letter of his own accord?’

  ‘Aah,’ said Oldcastle, ‘do you doubt William had some further prompt to it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Nor I.’

  ‘I would rather we had run the man through,’ said Hemminges.

  Within Hemminges’ eyes there was a distant flash, as when lightning is seen in a thundercloud some miles away.

  ‘It does not seem enough for such a man,’ he said.

  ‘If you had seen them talk of the questioning to follow, you would not say so,’ said Oldcastle.

  ‘What if the Signoria let him go?’ asked Hemminges. ‘As well they may. The man is no more mad than you or I.’

  He stopped. ‘Why are you laughing?’ he asked.

  Oldcastle wiped his eyes. ‘Jesu, Hemminges. If the man is no more mad than you and I then he is well locked up. What is it but madness for us to be here on this adventure instead of safe at home in England?’

  Oldcastle sobered, ‘’Sides, I do not think they will let his crimes go unconfessed. The men that dragged him away looked to have some skill with the poker and the press. Even if the Count leaves those walls I doubt he will so much walk as crawl.’

  Hemminges tipped his head in acknowledgement of the truth of his friend’s words.

  ‘Still, I do not think we have put that danger past us,’ Hemminges said. ‘There is also his master, the Pope, to be thought on. If he discover our role in his servant’s fall?’ He shrugged. ‘And to rely on Venetian justice, for all they boast of it, would be a rash thing. For certain, the English Ambassador must make discreet and hasty departure.’

  ‘Tell that to William,’ said Oldcastle. ‘As easily prize him apart from his new passion without hurting yourself as prize apart an oyster’s shell. We shall have to be patient.’

  ‘We wait to travel with him?’ asked Hemminges.

  Oldcastle looked up from refilling his cup in surprise. ‘Of course.’

  Hemminges spoke, ‘He’s clever but he reckons without the consequences of his cleverness. We have been swept up in his schemes once already. Look what it cost us.’

  Oldcastle reached out and gripped his friend’s arm. ‘It is good to have you with me again, my friend,’ he said. ‘I have missed the wisdom of your counsel. When I thought you dead –’

  He broke off and finished his cup to hide the swell of emotion.

  ‘But . . .’ he said.

  Hemminges, knowing his part, prompted Oldcastle, ‘But?’

  Oldcastle raised his glass in toast.

  ‘Let life be short, before boredom be too long.’

  Historical Note

  On 2 February 1585, William Shakespeare’s twin children Judith and Hamnet were baptised in Holy Trinity Church, Stratford-upon-Avon. That is the last we hear of him until he emerges on the record of the London theatre scene in 1592. The intervening period has come to be known as ‘the Lost Years’, and into the gap we pour endless speculation: how does the son of a glover and wool merchant from the middle of England become an actor and playwright in London?

  Various theories have presented themselves, usually on very thin evidence. One of the least speculative – that he went to Lancashire to become a tutor, based on the dubious similarity of the name ‘Shakeshafte’ with ‘Shakespeare’ – struggles to reconcile its dates with William’s need to be in Stratford with Anne if Judith and Hamnet’s arrival is to be accounted for.

  He must have made it to London before 1592. That is the year that Robert Greene, a figure every bit as scandalous as he is presented in the novel, had published his Groat’s Worth of Wit, in which he damned Shakespeare as ‘an upstart crow’ for trying to write plays the equal of his own. Even allowing for time in which to have written the things that drew Greene’s contempt and allowing further that Shakespeare is the figure mentioned in certain court documents in late 1588, at least three years are left unaccounted for.

  With the historical record left blank we turn to the plays for clues: thirteen of Shakespeare’s surviving plays are set in Italy, more than any other country bar England. The plot of Othello is taken from a collection of Italian stories – Giraldi Cinthio’s Gli Hecatommithi – available only in Italian until the 18th century, which suggests William spoke the language. In more than one place in his works Shakespeare mentions artwork found in Italy, report of which seems to bear the hallmarks of first-hand knowledge. The Taming of the Shrew, for example, mentions a painting that first went on display in Milan between 1585 and 1600. Might he have gone to Italy?

  To travel to Italy and to Venice, despite its dangers and expense, was not unheard of. John Fletcher, who succeeded William as the playwright for the King’s Men, had a brother, Nathaniel, who went to Venice in the entourage of Sir Henry Wotton, the English Ambassador. Actors in the Chamberlain’s Men, such as William Kemp, were also known to have travelled to Italy. It is the report of one such Englis
hman’s visit to Venice, that of Thomas Coryat, published in 1611, which I have drawn on for contemporary colour. Coryat’s claims to fame include the introduction of the fork to the English dining table, an instrument till then unknown – a spoon or the hands being preferred.

  So maybe William went to Venice.

  It is hard to overstate the turbulence of the times that William lived in, or their wonders. In 1585 England sat surrounded by powerful enemies. None was more powerful than Philip of Spain, whose Habsburg Empire stretched from Spain, through Italy into the Netherlands. Philip’s armies were unrivalled, his fleets vast, his fanaticism for the destruction of England unmatched. In a few short years he would rip every tree from his lands to build ships for an Armada against England.

  Religious division tore through the whole Continent. Dutch Protestants had rebelled against Philip’s rule, and by 1585 had been fighting for nearly twenty years against his forces. The year 1584 had been terrible for the Dutch rebels. Their leader, William the Silent, had been assassinated by one of Philip’s agents. Meanwhile, the Duke of Parma with forty thousand men had laid siege to Antwerp, supported by a long supply chain that ran through Spain, Italy and on to the Low Countries, the famed ‘Spanish Road’. France was also divided between the faction of the staunchly Catholic Duke of Guise and that of the Huguenots’ Henry of Navarre. The war for control of France between these two factions was marked by assassination and massacre and still raged.

  Into this turmoil England was repeatedly thrust. Elizabeth I had been offered sovereignty of the Dutch rebel provinces but declined. Yet in August 1585 she had felt obliged to sign the Treaty of Nonsuch and dispatch the Earl of Leicester with a force to assist the Dutch rebels. It is the prospect of this expedition that Hunsdon bemoans to Sir Henry Carr at the Paris Garden, a popular venue for plots; it could not be avoided. The fear of Catholic France and Spain joining forces loomed over Protestant England. Meanwhile, encouraged by a papal edict against Elizabeth’s reign, Jesuit agents came to England intent on preserving Roman Catholicism against the heresy of England and seeking to place Mary, Queen of Scots, on the throne in Elizabeth’s place.