The Quality of Mercy (23 page)

Rebecca knew there’d be no more lessons today. She had heard that tone of finality hundreds of times in the past. Such was the way her grandam taught. A story here, a tale there. By and by, Rebecca absorbed what the old woman wanted her to know.

Rebecca stood and said, “I have need of your counsel. I’m in a predicament.”

“Aye?”

“I’ve lost Thomas’s sword and dagger — the special ones that Uncle Solomon gave to him. Thomas shall know they are gone as soon as he returns home from his day at Paul’s. What am I to do?”

“How did you lose them?”

“Tush, Grandmama, they were the spoils of the victor of the duel.”

The old woman shrugged. “You must tell Thomas.”

“He shall
kill
me!” Rebecca bit her thumbnail. “Those were his
finest
weapons. He dared not carry them in public for fear they’d become marked or abraded.”

“Aye, you’ve a problem, Becca.” Grandmama slid onto the mattress. Rebecca pulled the covers over her bony shoulders. The old woman gave her a toothless smile. “Pretty yourself up and talk to Thomas. Your cousin has a weak spot for a fair face.”

“Nay, Grandmama, you realize not the gravity of what I’ve done. My face won’t matter to him, save to scar it with his fingernails.”

Grandmama closed her eyes. “You’re a clever girl. You’ll think of something.”

Within minutes the old woman was snoring.

Nan Humbert, the Ames’s chambermaid, winced at the crash. Sir George’s rash son had just smashed another piece of pottery. A God’s sointes, she didn’t think there was so much in the house that could be destroyed. The crash was followed by a string of curses — unchristian curses. Nan readjusted her bonnet as if it were a battle helmet, and was about to climb the stairs to Sir Thomas’s quarters when she heard a knock at the front door. She waited to see who it was. Perhaps it was Sir George Ames, and hopefully, he could calm down his irate son. She frowned when she opened the door, disappointed to find it was only Sir George’s punk niece, Rebecca.

And punk she looked indeed — fancied up with painted eyes and lips, carrying in her hand a silly little fan. Such toys were not only vanity, but agents of the Devil. Nan smiled to herself. One day the girl would go the way of the rest of the stews — her skin scalded off by Satan himself, burning forever in a pit of brimstone. One day she’d scream for eternity, rot for the evil she and her father had done to that poor Señor de Andrada — a sinner in the past but a true repenter. One day…

“…my mother I’m here to see her,” Rebecca was saying.

Nan snapped herself to attention.

“Your mother left thirty minutes ago, Mistress Rebecca.”

“Is my aunt here?”

“She left with your mother. I believe they meant to sup at your home tonight.”

“Is Sir Thomas in his old quarters?”

“I wouldn’t be bothering him now, mistress. He’s full of spit and fury.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“He claims his swords were stolen, mistress. He’s torn up the house looking for them, but alas, they’ve disappeared. Would you be knowing anything about that, Mistress Rebecca?”

“No,” Rebecca said curtly.
Evil Puritan bitch
. “Why would I, Nan?”

“No reason why you should, Mistress Rebecca. It was merely a question.”

“Tell Sir Thomas I wish to speak with him immediately.”

“I beg your pardon, mistress, but I’m afeared to go up to his room, so spleenful is his choler.”

“A woman who fears man can never fear God.”

The maid turned crimson.

“No matter,” Rebecca said. “I shall see him without being announced.”

Nose in the air, she walked past the chambermaid, up the stairs, and knocked on Thomas’s door — the chamber he had had as a child. He had his own house, but with his wife away in Turkey, he found it easier to live with his parents than alone with servants. Thomas allowed Rebecca to enter, then slammed the door shut.

“Bother me not, Becca. I’ve no time for your silly trifles.”

“I must talk with you, cousin.”

“Speak then with much haste.”

Rebecca looked around. The room was in complete disarray. Thomas was disheveled in his dress, his smooth, fair face coated with a sweaty blush.

“What happened to your bedchambers?” Rebecca asked.

“Tis none of your affair. State your business and leave me in peace. My mood is very dark.”

“You have lost your swords,” she said quietly.

“The bitch Nan has told you?” Thomas cried. “By God’s grace that woman has a mouth as big as a cave.”

“Aye, she told me.”

“My weapons were not misplaced, Becca. They were stolen.”

“And I know the thief.”

Thomas’s eyes widened. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Who is the scoundrel?”

Rebecca said, “Me.”

His mouth dropped open. “You?”

She nodded.

“Where are they?” Thomas asked, stunned.

Rebecca dropped to her knees. “I shall try to return your possessions as soon as possible. But in the meantime they are unavailable to me. I beg your forgiveness.”

“You took my sword and my dagger?”
Thomas whispered.

“I shall pay you every penny of their cost—”

“They were irreplaceable! They were
unique
!”

“They can be remade—”

“Impossible! The blades were cold-steel tempered. Two times the process was repeated, the metal annealed thrice, making it as hard as granite without a trace of brittleness. The cross and ring guards were gilt and personally engraved. They were
gifts
from Uncle Solomon upon my knighthood. What should I tell him if he should ask to see them the next time he visits England? I…” He looked down at Rebecca kneeling before him and stopped himself from lunging at her throat. “Get
out
of my sight!”

“Tommy, let me explain—”

“Get out of here
now,
stupid bitch. Before I take a dagger to your heart!”

She grabbed his legs. “I beg of you, cousin, let me explain myself. I disgrace myself before you and plead for your most gracious mercy. I pray you, hear me out.”

Thomas pushed her away and walked over to the window. “Get off your knees, Becca. You’re truly pathetic when you beg. The princess who always scoffed at me should now beg for my mercy?” He let out a bitter laugh. “What did you do with my weapons, cousin? Give them to one of your drunken lovers?”

Rebecca stood shakily. “I… I have no drunken lover,” she said. “I have no lover at all.”

“Aye, mayhap this is true now, but many a besotted cocksman you’ve had in the past. History plays as a true seer of the present.”

“I have never, never mocked you, either to your face or behind your back! Never!” Rebecca hesitated, then added, “And very few lovers I’ve had, Thomas. As God is my witness, that is the truth. From whom have you heard differently?”

“What have you done with my weapons? Given them to my brother?”

“Given them to
Dunstan
?”

“Aye, Dunstan. You recall him, do you not? He is the Ames brother with the beard, the swain who oft you meet in a hayloft.”

“Thomas, I—”

“Get out of my sight!”

Rebecca clenched her hands and walked over to Thomas. She whispered, “Dunstan was years ago, Thomas.”

“Not according to him,” Thomas said. “But it matters not to me. Where are my weapons?” He grabbed her arm.

She gasped in pain. “My arm has been injured, Thomas. Let go.”

He loosened his grip. “What happened to it?”

She buried her face in her hands, then looked up and said, “I beg you not to breathe a word of this.”

“I shall decide that later. First, tell me your tale.”

Rebecca regained her composure and cleared her throat.

“My arm was wounded —
slightly
wounded — in a duel which I fought with your swords.”

Thomas stared at her.

“I became embroiled in a fight of honor, cousin.”

He continued gaping at her.

“Sometimes, I dress up like a man—”

“What?”

She took a deep breath and said, “Upon occasion I dress in Ben’s clothing and roam the marketplaces posing as the gallant. I did so today and a certain person took offense to me. I’m not certain what led to the quarrel. Perhaps I offended him in a manner of speech, or perhaps he was simply mad—”

“
You
are mad.”

“Tommy, I swear, I speak with the truth in my throat. A challenge of swords ensued and I was forced to duel with a Tom O’Bedlam lest I shame myself — and you by extension — as a knight.”

“Your imagination knows no limits, Becca. I give you high praise for invention.”

“All I say is true.”

Thomas paused a moment, his countenance softened. He asked, “Where did this duel take place?”

“On the bridge… around three by the clock.”

“On the bridge, you say.”

“Yes.”

“Who was your opponent?”

“By my father’s blood I swear this to be the truth. I dueled with William Shakespeare, the writer of the pamphlet
Venus and Adonis
. He’s also a player—”

“I know who he is,” Thomas interrupted. “Oft he plays the fool.”

“The very one.”

“And you fought a duel with him?”

“Aye.”

“And you swear in your throat what you say to be the truth?”

“A thousand times I swear,” Rebecca said. “We attracted a large crowd. Ask any gentleman who passed his time about the bridge and he would confirm my story.”

“What were you doing on the bridge?”

“I went to Southwark, to the theater to see the great player Burbage. I do so love to look at him.”

“What was the name of the theater?”

“The new one — the Unicorn. It is still incomplete—”

Thomas waved her to silence. He said, “I believe you.”

Rebecca smiled. “You do?”

“Yes. I was at the Unicorn this afternoon.”

“You were?” She burst into laughter. “Then with certainty you saw Shakespeare bolt off the stage in pursuit of me.”

“I saw him run off the platform,” Thomas said. “I didn’t know he was chasing you specifically. Afterward many a gentleman spoke of a duel between the clownish actor and a slight man with fancy footwork. I’m pleased that you’ve retained the steps that I had taught you in our childhood.”

“Oh, Thomas! I could not have survived had I any other teacher but you.” She hugged him, but he broke her hold and stepped away.

“I want my weapons back,” he said.

“I swear on my honor that I will do whatever possible to get them—”

“I will go to Shakespeare—”

“No, you mustn’t—”

“Tell me
not
what to do, cousin.”

“Please, Thomas. There were unspoken words between me and Shakespeare that need to be clarified. I know that if I explain the situation to him, he will be kind and return your weapons. Let me try—”

“Why did you do such a knavish thing, Becca? Borrowing my weapons without my permission. You took what was not yours for the taking. Why?”

“Would you have lent them to me had I asked?”

“No. But you had no right—”

“Aye, I had no right. But I took them because I wanted them. They’re symbols of power, and as a lowly woman, I have no power. Furthermore, I took the
best
of your swords. I’m nothing, Thomas. Simply a future receptacle for some man’s seed. For a brief moment I just wanted
more
. It was knavish to take your weapons, but I don’t regret it. I felt so mighty as I dueled. Exhilarated! For once my life rested in my hands.”

Thomas said nothing.

Rebecca said, “I swear the weapons will be returned to you. I’ll give you whatever I own as compensation if they are damaged.”

He spun around and looked at her.

“Why did you go to him?”

“To whom?”

“To
Dunstan,
” Thomas said. “You must have known the way he spoke about you. The way he speaks about you still.”

Rebecca stiffened. “I know.”

“He laughs at you, Becca. Describes your body to sodden swine he calls his drinking friends. He tells me what he does to you, what he makes you do to him — so open and careless he is in his gossip. Tis a miracle that neither your father nor Grace has ever found out.”

“Dunstan is dreaming in the past,” Rebecca said tightly. “I have not been with him in years. He begs me constantly to bed him and I refuse over and over. His gossip is spiteful.” She clenched her hands until the knuckles turned white. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I’m still
furious
at you. Thou wast
mine,
Becca. Mine and Miguel’s.
We
treated you as a peer while Dunstan spat in your face and mocked you to the world. Yet you kissed his arse and became his whore.” Thomas lowered his head. His voice softened to a whisper: “Dunstan is a callous braggart and an insufferable fop. I want to kill him when he laughs at you. To defend your honor. But more so, I want to kill you for allowing such abasement.”

“There is no more abasement.”

“Or so you say.”

“Tis the truth!” Rebecca insisted. “Yet I seem not to convince you otherwise. How dim is the surface of a tarnished image.” She turned her back to him and stared out the window.

Thomas said, “I still goad Dunstan into sparring with me. Though Lord knows he couldn’t fence his way out of a chicken coop. I play with the churl, then spring upon him, cutting him down until I hold my dagger at his chest. But it seems not to bother Dunstan. He smiles at me with a well-sated smile that said, ‘Aye, you’ve got the sword, but I’ve got Becca.’”

Thomas looked at Rebecca gazing outward. She was hugging herself, kneading her forearms with thin, delicate fingers. He started to speak again, then faltered. Finally he said, “Even if it is over, as you say, why
did
you allow him to humiliate you?”

“He gave me things,” Rebecca said without hesitation.

“You played the strumpet for
trinkets
?”

“For
books,
Thomas.” She whirled around, her face suffused with rage. “For lessons in Latin, Greek, Arabic, French… I
hungered
for knowledge, to know the world about me, and no one else was willing to tutor me except Dunstan. As I grew older, you went off with your fellows and I was left behind with the women. So I paid the piper and became Dunstan’s whore. I’m sorry it hurt you, Thomas. I never preferred him to you. It wasn’t with pride that I did what I did.”