Holy Spy (52 page)

‘Yes, I knew it.’ The words scarce escaped the back of his throat. The mere thought of that soft, slender neck being tightened by rough hemp was an abomination.

‘Does the whole world know it then?’

‘The streets will be thronged, I fear.’ He sighed. ‘Why, Kat, why did you come out of hiding? You could have got away. We would have found you a way to safety.’

‘I had to try to save Abraham Sorbus. He had done so much for me, keeping me safe. I had to testify on his behalf, but they would not listen.’

‘And now you are both condemned.’

‘I no longer care, not for myself leastwise. The pain will last a few minutes and then nothing.’

‘You must care. You are innocent.’

‘Am I? The people do not believe so. They are already rejoicing. The bells peal and the smell of woodsmoke fills the air. They are already dancing for joy. How they will sing and laugh when they see the unnatural hag, the demon murderess, twisting in the air.’

‘The bells and bonfires are not for you. Conspirators have been caught – traitors against the crown. That is why they drink away the night.’

She pulled away from him. ‘And yet they will throng the streets for me, too, you say. That girl . . .’

‘What happened? I have heard nothing of the court proceedings.’

‘Abigail Colton happened. Justice Young brought her forth, though I know not where he found her. He told the court she had been in hiding, fearful for her life, as if I might kill her. She testified against us with lies. She said she had caught us naked in my chamber. Me and Sorbus! No man or woman could believe such a thing of a soul like Sorbus.’

No. Indeed, they could not, thought Shakespeare.

‘She described it all in such detail. Our naked flesh, his prancing prick, our moans of pleasure and delight, our tongues and hands – and then the threats against her when we saw her. And none of it true, not a word. Then she said that she had seen me talking with Will Cane, which again was a lie. And so, with Cane’s dying confession already before the court, I had no defence.’

‘Had you been hiding with Sorbus?’

‘He has a small house in Pissing Alley. It is no more than two rooms and a back yard, but he found a way to buy it so that one day he might retire from his employment at Giltspur House. He dreamt of seeing out his days in solitude and peace. No one else knew of the house, so I was safe there. He was a friend to me, but I did for him with my mad notion of using the Si Quis door to communicate with you. It led the pursuivants to him.’

She laughed. ‘I would never have believed them possessed of such wit.’

‘How did you escape?’

‘I had gone to the market. When I returned, I saw that the house was surrounded by pursuivants, and so I walked on. Since then I have lived from day to day, squatting in tenements.’

‘Let us move on to other matters, for time is short. Tell me, Kat, what do you know of Arthur Giltspur? Was there ever anything between you?’

She shook her head. ‘No. Nothing. Never. Why do you ask this now?’

‘Because he killed your husband.’

Kat recoiled. ‘No, not Arthur. He loved Nicholas.’

‘You know that for certain, do you?’

‘Yes, I know him well. He was always pleasant of nature. He could charm the birds from the air.’

‘There is another side to him, a merciless, ruthless side.’

‘What reason could he have had for murder?’

‘Money. It is always money or love, is it not? Did you not know that he liked to gamble?’

‘As do many men.’

‘Arthur Giltspur gambled vast sums. He threw away his birthright. He was ruined.’

‘But he was so rich.’

‘He has another life – one which he kept secret from Nick and his noble friends at court. He consorts with outlaws, tricksters and whores, and stakes great quantities of gold. It slipped through his fingers like flour through a sieve.’

‘He could not have squandered it
all
, John.

Shakespeare smiled grimly and shook his head. ‘He is a man of immense hungers, only one of which is his love of winning at tennis. He gambles at cards and dice, anything. A man named Maywether saw him lose five thousand pounds on a single cockfight. He takes his dangerous pleasures in the dens and bawdy houses east of London, and he always loses. He loses because he does not understand, or does not care, that the games are always stacked against him. He cannot win because when the stakes are high – and they are
very
high when he is involved – he is always dealt a losing hand.’

‘I cannot believe it.’

‘Each man has a weakness.’ A truth he knew instinctively but one that had constantly been reinforced by Sir Francis Walsingham, the relentless spymaster.
Find the weakness, John, then play it.

‘But why kill Nick?’

‘There is something else you need to know.’ He lowered his voice, certain that the keeper was listening at the door. ‘I cannot explain this to you in full, but suffice it to say that the Giltspurs have long been involved in transferring moneys to the Treasury. To cover up his losses, Arthur began skimming gold from these transfers of funds and made forged entries in the black books to conceal his deeds. I believe your husband found out – and confronted his nephew, threatening to cut off his access to the family’s riches. That was when Arthur decided to resort to murder. His plan was to silence Nick, inherit the remainder of the estate – and blame you. That is the truth about your charming and pleasant Arthur Giltspur.’

‘John, stop, I cannot bear this.’

‘But I am certain of it. All I need now is the evidence to prove it.’

‘You are torturing me.’

‘Torturing you? I would never harm you.’

‘Do you not understand? You are giving me hope when I had resigned myself to death. How now am I to get through this night? Every minute of waiting, not knowing whether you will return will be like an eternity in purgatory, not knowing whether I am to be damned or saved . . .’

Abraham Sorbus’s last night on earth was a great deal less comfortable than Kat’s. He was in Limbo, the lowest pit in Newgate where men facing death spent their final hours in airless squalor.

Shakespeare put a blackjack of ale to the prisoner’s parched lips.

Sorbus drank deeply, then gasped. ‘Thank you, sir.’

His visitor nodded, trying not to gag at the stench of ordure that assailed him in this filthy place. ‘I wish there had been some trust between us sooner, Mr Sorbus. Had you allowed me into Giltspur House when I desired I might have got to the truth long since.’

‘I did not know you then. I was trying to protect Katherine. That is why I kept you away.’

‘So it was you who helped her flee to safety in the first place?’

‘Indeed, I was with poor Mr Nicholas when he was murdered and I heard the accusation against Katherine from the lying mouth of Will Cane. I hastened home to get her away for I knew she would never have a fair trial once she had been accused like that.’

As has since been proved, thought Shakespeare. ‘What made you believe she was innocent? Did you have no doubts?’

‘I love her like a sister. We became friends the very moment that Mr Nicholas brought her home. I would say we were soulmates, though not in any physical sense. It was the best thing that had happened to Giltspur House in years. She brought life and happiness to the house – and to me. I had been with Mr Nicholas since I was a boy and never knew such contentment. The same was true for my master. I knew by instinct that she was right for him. She loved him, you know. She truly loved him.’

‘If you were her friend, as you say, why did she first go to Oswald Redd after the murder?’

‘We felt he would be safe for we knew he was still besotted by her. The danger with my poor dwelling was the possibility that someone in Giltspur House might have noted our closeness and followed me there. Eventually, of course, we made the decision that she should go there after all, for Mr Redd was becoming more captor than saviour.’

Shakespeare drew a powerful breath and proceeded to tell Sorbus all that he knew about Arthur Giltspur and the murder. The condemned man seemed neither disbelieving nor surprised. ‘I confess I have always had doubts about Mr Arthur. His sybaritic ways offended me. He was a great deal too pleased by fleshly pursuits.’

‘Expound, Mr Sorbus. But briefly.’

‘Sometimes when he went out he had a habit of dressing in working man’s attire: rough hose and hide jerkin. When I asked him about it, he merely laughed and said he liked to study the common sort at close hand. A sciencer’s project, he called it.’

‘What did you think?’

‘I thought he was going whoring among the stews of Southwark. Such practices are common among the sons of the wealthy. They swoon and kiss the hands of gentle-born maidens, then go to the whorehouses and sate their lust on the trugs. Courtly clothes merely make them a mark for cutpurses, so they affect labourers’ attire – as if that fooled anyone. Likewise gaming. Foolish young men are wont to fritter great fortunes on the turn of a card or the speed of a nag. But Mr Shakespeare, what is to be done? Are Mistress Giltspur and I truly to die in the morning?’

‘I pray not. But you must help me. I need to get into Giltspur House. I need to find the black books.’

‘That will not be easy.’

‘But possible?’

He tried to smile, although the expression seemed more like a rictus of death.

‘Well, Mr Sorbus?’

‘Yes, I believe there is a way. However I must tell you about the guards. They are not what they seem.’

Chapter 44

Shakespeare and Boltfoot reined in at the beginning of a rough path through the woods. In the distance they could see the faint glow of lantern lights. Above them, the sparkle of stars in a cool, clear sky.

‘Is this the place?’

‘I believe so, master, though I could not swear to it.’

‘It accords with Mr Sorbus’s directions, but he only came here the once.’

‘We have nothing to lose by finding out.’

Except our lives.
‘I can go alone, Boltfoot. You do not need to come with me. He will bear a grudge against you for jumping ship.’

Boltfoot grunted but said nothing. Nor did he make any move to abandon his master.

‘Very well. Kick on.’

They rode a hundred yards along the path, but before they came into the clearing four men appeared from the trees, each bearing a petronel.

‘Halt,’ one said.

Shakespeare and Boltfoot stopped, then held their hands aloft to show themselves to be no threat. ‘We mean no harm,’ Shakespeare said. ‘I come to talk with Mr Ball, for I have a matter of great import to tell him.’

‘I know that one.’ Another of the men thrust his bearded chin towards Boltfoot. ‘He’s been here before. We gave him a beating.’

‘As I said, we come as friends.’

The man laughed. ‘Friends? You don’t look like no friends of Mr Ball!’

‘Take us to him. Let him decide.’

‘As you will, but it’s your throats he’ll cut. Dismount and follow me.’

‘Our horses . . .’

‘We’ll look after the horses. Fine-looking animals. Might just keep them for ourselves when you’re bathing in blood.’

The area around the barn was lit by a hundred lanterns and torches. Wild music drifted out from the great doorway into the night air. Inside, they could see that the cavernous space was filled with light and people. There was laughter and movement, raucous cries of delight and violent, intemperate dancing.

The stench of sweat, beer and tobacco smoke hung in the air like the brimstone fumes of some debauched netherworld.

Shakespeare, held between half a dozen heavily armed guards, looked at Boltfoot in astonishment. His assistant had described this place as it had been in daytime; he had not expected to find it like this. It had the glitter and life of a great hall of the nobility, but there the comparison ended. There was no elegance, no grandeur. The women had the abandon of whores, their flesh exposed to the elements without shame. Many of the men were stripped to the waist, their muscles and scars rippling to the rhythm of the minstrels. No soulful ballads here; this music came from the earth and had the tenor of battle and sex. Who were all these people?