Ink and Steel

“Hmph.” Essex regarded Will down the length of his nose, expectantly, and Will cringed like a bumpkin. There was something to be said for having the face for comic parts. “Moreover,” said Essex, “it’s well-known that Sir Francis papers vanished from his chamber at his death, and Lopez was among the few with access to the same.”

And you so upset by it, my lord, for you would have wrested control of his agents after his death?“I shall be entirely cautious, my lord.”

“See you are.” And now Essex in turn was withdrawing, after a short glance over Will’s shoulder. “Lopez is a traitor, and I do not doubt he’ll hang. It would be a shame to hang a poet with him. Good day, sirrah.”

“Good day, my lord.” Will counted three, and turned from Essex’s receding back and into the orbit of Her Majesty, the Queen. Her gown was figured silk, white on white, her mantle thick with ermine against the January cold that even the press of bodies couldn’t drive from the hall. Sir Walter Raleigh in his black hung at her shoulder, a raven to Elizabeth’s gerfalcon, all devilish beard and tilted cap, eyes sharp as a mink’s over his impressive nose, an air of pipe-tobacco and dissolution on his shoulders in place of a cloak. Robert Devereaux, the Earl of Essex, God is merciful, was now nowhere in evidence.

“You, Your Majesty.” Will dropped a hasty bow, wondering if his face would tumble to the floor and shatter like a mask if all the blood really did drain from it. “At your ease, Master Shakespeare,” she said. Raleigh stayed a step behind and to her left. He caught Will’s eye as Will stood, sure he was about to faint, and he winked. Her Majesty never saw it, but the slight gesture calmed Will enough to get a breath, and as the air filled him, the panic retreated. “Your Majesty is very kind”

“Rarely.” Her gray eyes crinkled at the corners, irises dark in the alabaster of her paint; it was the only trace of her smile. By her breath, her teeth were rotten, and Will pitied her that. “And only when it suits me. Do you serve England, Will?”

“With a will, where I may,” he said daringly, remembering that she had laughed at his dirtiest jokes. Raleigh’s nose twitched. “An it please Your Majesty.”

“Clever lad,” she said. “You’ll do well, if you play the games of court as well as you played your art tonight. Of which art speaking, I understand we have common friends.”

“Surely, I could not claim equal to the title of friend to any who Your Majesty might grace with that station.”

She turned to Raleigh, amused. “He’s got a courtly tongue in him, at least. Sir Walter.”

“Your gracious Majesty.” The pearls on his doublet glimmered like moonlight as he bowed under her attention.

“What think you of this one, stepping into the place he must fill?

“Walsingham likes him. That’s never a good sign.” But it was said wryly, one black eyebrow arched, and Raleigh’s eyes held Will’s as he spoke.

“So long as Robin of Essex doesn’t like him as well. Tell me, young William, what factions do you favor in our petty dickering?” A direct, bright question, her voice mild and interested, the turn of her neck like one of her swans within the elaborate serpentine of her ruff.

“Oh, that is one question that is many questions, Madam. The Earl of Southampton is my patron, Your Majesty, and lord Strange the patron of my company. But my loyalty is given to my Prince, and she alone may command my heart.”

She seemed to wait expectantly, and he permitted himself a bold bit of a grin. “That portion my good wife permits me the use of, in any case.”

Gloriana laughed, showing the powdered curve of her throat, and stopped as abruptly. “Don’t teach this one to smoke, Sir Walter. Tis a filthy habit. Master Shakespeare, good evening.”

“Your Majesty. Sir Walter.” Will bowed, watching jeweled skirts soar away. A firm hand clapped him on the shoulder and he glanced up, into Raleigh’s glittering presence.

“Sir Walter.”

“Good to show her spunk, William.” That wink again, before he too took his leave. “We’ll see you at court again, I expect.”

Will stood shivering as they left him, and almost jumped out of his clicking court shoes when Burbage appeared beside him, holding a cup of wine.

“I see I danced away just in time. How was your pas de deux with Her Majesty?”

“More a pas de trois, I think. A game was just played over me, Richard, and I do not know the name of it.”

“As long as you didn’t lose,” Burbage said, and thrust the cup into his hand. Will took it, fingers half insensate. “Tom Walsingham likes me? I thought he just made a threat on my life.”

   Intra-act: Chorus

Two weeks later, the playhouses opened as scheduled, and a letter arrived at Will’s lodging house, forwarded without comment by Annie from Stratford.

Mr. Will. Shakspere Stratford-upon-Avon

My dearest countryman & fellow: