Traitor (25 page)

In the main square of the small town, well-to-do yeoman farmers talked prices with wool factors, chapmen drank with common herders, all crowding the taprooms around the market place. Much strong liquor had been taken during the day and some of the men wouldn’t get home tonight.

Andrew and Ursula stood on the north edge of the square. She put her small, callused hand to his lips.

‘Just keep your mouth shut. Watch and learn.’

Three men emerged from a tavern on the east side of the market. The early evening sun lit them. They stopped and gulped in the fresh air. They were well dressed in the staid garb of merchants or town burgesses, but that was the only sober thing about them. They were drunken and loud.

They shook hands with each other. Two tottered off southwards, the third ambled north. Ursula squeezed Andrew’s hand.

‘Sharking time. Stay here. Don’t run. Do nothing but watch.’

She stepped forward and began walking down the street. Andrew was amazed by the way she moved, decorous and
elegant, as though she had been born into the gentry. She walked past the drunken yeoman, then stopped, turned back and tapped him on the shoulder. He stumbled back a little and tried to focus on her. She threw her arms around his neck.

‘Uncle Jack!’ she exclaimed, then kissed him on both cheeks and pressed herself to him.

The man looked bemused but happy to be embraced so. Ursula stood back from him and smiled, pushing out her small breasts provocatively. Then her eyes widened in seeming horror and she put a hand to her mouth.

‘Oh, in the Lord’s name, I am sorry, sir,’ she said, aghast. ‘A thousand apologies. I thought you were my uncle. Can you forgive me?’

‘There is no injury, young lady. No injury at all, so nothing to forgive.’ He grinned inanely and proffered his bearded face. ‘You may kiss me again if you so wish.’

He tried to take her back into his arms, but she stepped away, like a demure young woman, mortified by her error. She lowered her head in shame and walked on. The drunk watched her go, shrugged his shoulders, then resumed his stumbling walk until he disappeared into one of the side streets.

A minute after he had gone Ursula was back at Andrew’s side.

‘That’s lesson one. Now, let’s leave town directly but slowly. If you run or walk fast you will arouse men’s notice, and their suspicions. That’s lesson two. A fair day’s work. A pigging fair day, I do say.’

Bewildered, Andrew went where she went, walking at her side at a steady pace back out of town into the countryside. Only when they were deep in woods, on a well-trodden path, did she stop. She fished a goatskin purse from inside her skirts and held it up.

‘How much do you reckon?’ she said, weighing it with her hand.

‘Where did that come from?’

‘That came from Uncle Jack – he gave it to me. And all for a kiss.’

‘You cut it from him!’

Ursula lifted her eyes to the heavens and shook her head in exasperation. She loosened the ties of the purse and poured the contents into the palm of her left hand.

‘Now what have we here?’ She counted the coins. Eight of them. Then she held up the prize. ‘A gold sovereign. Look at that, Andrew Woode! We’ll eat for two months on that alone. And a noble, an angel, three crowns and two groats. Did you ever see such pigging bounty!’

‘But you’ve stolen it. You can’t just take money from people.’

‘Why not? What’s the world ever done for me? We’ve all got to live.’

‘Well, I want none of it.’

‘Suit yourself. Go hungry. Starve if you want.’ She counted the money again.

Andrew stared at her and wondered how something so beautiful could be so rotten. Still clutching the purse, she put her hands on her hips and glared back at him. Without a word, he turned and set off back the way they had come, towards the town. He had no idea what he was going to do, but there was no future with this girl or her villainous friends. She ran after him and stopped him.

‘Pig’s arse, Andrew, you’re stubborn and stupid,’ she said. ‘What do they teach you at that pigging school you go to?’

‘That theft is a mortal sin.’

‘And if you got no money and no food, what then? Are you supposed to starve?’

‘No. You work.’

‘And if there’s no pigging work to be had because the crops have failed, if your parents are dead, if you’ve got no trade, if the commons are enclosed and the headboroughs drive you away, what then? You supposed to lie under a hedge and die, is that it?’

He didn’t know what to say.

‘Well? Why should I die? I’m seventeen years of age. Why should I lay down and pigging die? And you, what have you done that’s so bad you deserve to have your neck stretched? Haven’t killed anyone, have you?’

He shook his head. ‘No.’

‘Anyway, you’re a fine one to go all holy book on me. You’re already a receiver of stolen property. You ate that pork at the Dogghole, didn’t you? You drank that ale? Where do you think that pigging stuff came from? Do them rogues and beggars
look
like pig farmers or brewers to you? Think they got that food and drink legal?’ Suddenly her voice softened a shade. ‘The Upright Man has told me to look after you, so you better come with me, otherwise he’ll take it out on me.’

He reached out and grabbed the hand that held the stolen purse. ‘What are you going to do with it?’

‘Eat and drink.’

‘Why don’t you at least do something good with it? Buy yourself a stall at market – earn an honest living.’

‘Because the whole world’s spoken for, that’s why. And I’m not part of it. They’ll never let a girl like me in my tatters set up stall. If I went to the burgesses and asked for a stall, they’d have a good laugh, then whip me at the cart’s arse for impertinence.’

‘Well, at least buy that dress you’re wearing. You look something in it – like a lady.’

‘I can’t go round every day dressed like this! This is work
clothes, for sharking and getting of bungs. You’ve a lot more to learn, Andrew pigging Woode.’

‘Well, you do.’

‘What?’

‘Look like a lady.’

She was about to say something sharp, but she paused, pulled back her shoulders and held her head at an angle. ‘Do I?’

‘Yes. You look like a London gentlewoman … or a duchess.’

She hesitated a moment longer, then shook her head and pushed him in the chest. ‘You’re daft as a pig. Come on. It’s getting late and I’ve got to feed you and tell you what’s what. No pigging horsebread for us this night!’

With strong, gentle hands, Joshua Peace turned the frail body of the fifth Earl of Derby over on to its front. He began to examine every inch of the bony back, starting at the nape of the neck and working down. The skin was a pallid, mottled blue. He did not expect to find any clues to the noble earl’s death, but Peace was painstaking in his work.

He looked up as the door to the chamber opened. A stranger stood there. He wore a sober doublet of black and silver and his hair was cut close to his head.

‘Mr Peace?’

‘Yes.’

‘You are to come away from this chamber. Immediately.’

‘I have been instructed to examine this corpse.’

‘The instruction is rescinded. Please come with me.’

‘And who, might I ask, are you?’

‘I am the Earl of Derby’s steward. The
sixth
earl’s. He wishes you to be out of Lathom House within the hour.’

Peace frowned. ‘But I had thought Mr Cole was steward here.’

‘He has been dismissed. Now, if you please. Make haste or I shall have you removed.’

‘But the commissioners, Egerton and Carey, they will require my report.’

‘Indeed they will not. The matter is decided. The late earl was beguiled to his death and they will have him prodded no more. He will be allowed to rest in peace before he is taken away for burial. Good day, Mr Peace.’

The stranger turned on his heel and was gone.

F
IVE MILES NORTH-WEST
of Oxford, John Shakespeare stopped and considered the position. Where could they lodge in the city to garner least attention? He looked closely at Dr Dee. On the journey down here his disguise, such as it was, had been secure enough. But there were likely to be those in the colleges of Oxford who recognised him, for he had been among England’s leading men of learning for decades.

It seemed he had four options: take Dee to the town gaol and have him held secure there; enlist the aid of the mayor or local justice and lodge him in their house; take him to a nearby great house or manor where the lord or lady of the estate might be glad of the opportunity to be of service to Cecil and the Queen; or go anonymously to one of the large coaching inns and keep Dee incarcerated under the watchful eyes of Oxx and Godwit.

None of the options was perfect, but the first three seemed the most flawed, for they involved entrusting secret information to new people. He had already done that once, in Lancashire, and had felt uncomfortable, even though Oxx and Godwit had proved themselves stout, reliable men. He did not want to increase the peril in a town like Oxford, where tittle-tattle would be rife.

Dee had been sullen and disconsolate the whole journey,
complaining at regular intervals about being taken away from his treasure hunting and bemoaning the leaving of his precious books and other possessions at Lathom House. Yet it was the loss of his beard and dazzling gown that most irked him.

‘You will be my servant in Oxford, Dr Dee, along with Mr Oxx and Mr Godwit. We need a cover story in case anyone should question us.’

Dee said nothing, but looked at Shakespeare with indignation.

‘Do you understand?’

‘Mr Shakespeare, I see straightway what you are getting at and I consider your proposal outrageous. Your ruse might work with a lesser-known man, but putting me in workday clothes and cutting off my beard will fool no one. I am acquainted with many of the Fellows and senior members of the Oxford colleges.’

Shakespeare laughed. ‘I doubt one of them will ever have seen you clean-shaven or in other than your alchemist’s robes. They will not be expecting you, Dr Dee, especially in the role of a servant, carrying my bags and tending to the horses. Besides, you will be confined to our chambers most of the time.’

‘Tending horses! Carrying bags! I am sixty-seven years old!’

‘And as fit as a fighting dog.’

Dee gritted his teeth and looked away with studied disdain.

Shakespeare sighed and shook the reins of his horse. They rode on. He began to survey the fields and woods and farmhouses in vain hope of spotting Andrew. They kept well away from the main road, travelling along farm tracks to ensure they were not followed or watched. They saw shepherds and tillers in the fields and peasant women in the farmyards, but no one else. The countryside was rich with burgeoning crops, fresh green leaves and wild flowers.

An hour later, the four men rejoined the main road. A multitude of church spires loomed in the near distance: Oxford. Soon they entered the busy city, finding their way through the wagon-clogged streets to the Blue Boar Inn. The large stableyard was a din of noise and movement. The hammering of blacksmiths’ hammers on anvils rang through the warm summer’s air; the smell of horse-dung was all-pervasive. An ostler took their tired mounts and Shakespeare strode into the inn. Dee struggled behind him under the weight of a pack-saddle, with Oxx and Godwit at the rear, carrying the bulk of their baggage.

‘You could not have found a more public place in all of England, Mr Shakespeare,’ Dee said angrily as they settled into a large room looking out over the yard at the back. ‘I believe this place must have thirty or more chambers.’

‘Easier for us to get lost in, and not be found.’

‘I suspect you were never a scholar of Oxford or Cambridge, sir, or you would have a better grasp of logic.’

Shakespeare ignored the barb. ‘As my servant, I should command you to go now and order food for us, but it is probably more circumspect if Mr Oxx or Mr Godwit were to carry out that task. And remember, you will refer to me as master. Like a true and faithful servant. I must give you a name. Mustard, I think. Yes, I shall call you Mustard, for I am certain you will serve me keenly.’

Dr John Dee, Master of Arts from the University of Cambridge, adviser to the Queen, communer with angels and reckoned by many to be the most eminent man of science and letters in England, hesitated a moment. At last he sighed and his shoulders fell.

‘Well, I suppose if we are to do this, we must do it properly.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Here you are. That’ll make you fall over.’

Ursula passed Andrew a flagon. He sniffed it and grimaced.

‘Just drink it!’

Andrew sipped the liquor. His face creased up with disgust.

‘Now then, let’s put you straight about a few things. First thing you got to know is, you’re a vagabond now, and you’re in a vagabond band. There’s a hundred of us or more at the moment. More you have in a fraternity, the stronger you all are, because it makes it harder for the villagers and farmers to drive you away. But it also means you’re more visible. Gets harder to do your business, because doors get locked and purses get hid. If the band accepts you, you’ll be looked after. If not … well, you don’t want to know about that.’

Andrew nodded. He looked around. They were deep in the woods in an area of thick bracken. Ursula had told him they would be staying the night there. He had accepted this without demur, for he knew of no other place to go.

‘So, listen, you need to know a few more things,’ Ursula continued. ‘As Upright Man, Staffy has rights over every rogue and every doxy. No man may break a dell – that’s a maiden to you – until the Upright Man has had his turn. What he says goes. No man argues with the Upright Man. Got that?’

Andrew nodded again. He had no intention of arguing with Staffy, nor anyone else. He took another tentative sip of the liquor. He gasped and his eyes widened.

‘Next after the Upright Man is the Curtall – and in this band that’s pigging Reaphook, like I told you. He’s a mean one and wants to be the Upright Man, but Staffy’s bigger, stronger and meaner still. Except with me, that is. Staffy’s always looked out for me, and I’ve been with the band since my mother died when I was in swaddling clothes. And he hasn’t broken me,
though I couldn’t say why. There’s times I wish he would, just to get it pigging over and done with.’