Читать книгу My Dark Lady: Shakespeare's Lost Play - Dan Walker - Страница 15

Surrounded by the City of London, the Lord Chamberlain's Building frowned down on all who approached its closely guarded gates. This formidable stone structure was the nerve center of Burghley's spying and censorship operations. Room after room was stuffed with desks and shelves overflowing with books, documents and files. Hundreds of grim, inky-fingered scribes scratched away copying manuscripts.

Burghley entered the Lord Chamberlain's Building with Elizabeth's applause for Edward's dedication still ringing in his ears. Alone in his office, he schemed how best to profit from his precocious ward's successes at Court.

All too soon, it was time for his weekly meeting with Sir Francis Walsingham, Elizabeth's chief spymaster. Walsingham, a tall, sallow-faced man with a shovel beard, bustled into the office bursting with a week's worth of secrets. The spymaster's words quickly crowded all thoughts of Edward from the Lord Chamberlain's mind.

Pope Pius V had recently intensified religious hatreds by excommunicating Elizabeth. To the true believers amongst her subjects, this meant that the souls of those who fell in battle fighting for England would be barred from entering heaven. Clearly, Spain was seeking to undermine English morale in preparation for invasion.

To Burghley's great delight, Walsingham's spy network had once again proven its worth. His secret agents had intercepted one of Rome's word-of-mouth emissaries, a Jesuit priest called Ridolfi. The priest had been captured returning from a furtive meeting with Mary, Queen of Scots. Spain's unlucky messenger was being held deep in the Tower of London.

That night, the Lord Chamberlain visited Father Ridolfi's dark, damp dungeon. When the overweight Jesuit priest stubbornly declined to answer Burghley's questions, he became irritated with him. Summoning two guards, Burghley had the man dragged along a subterranean passageway and thrown into the torture chamber.

The Tower's lieutenant, William Waad smiled as Ridolfi landed at his feet. Waad never cleaned his teeth. As a result those that were left had turned green, giving the Tower's lieutenant a particularly unpleasant smile. Now you are delivered unto me, it said, here begins a time you will long regret.

Fighting back a sickly claustrophobic panic, Ridolfi looked around the vast room. Every inch of its bloodstained stone floor was crowded with torture instruments: The wheel, the rack, the water bag and the hot pincers.

Callused hands hauled Ridolfi to his feet and began fastening him onto the rack. Soon he lay suspended, legs tied to a fixed bar at the bottom end, wrists strapped to a movable bar above his head.

Burghley turned to Waad. "I'm in a hurry, use the stone."

"Aye, milord," said Waad. He nodded to his henchmen who forced a large, sharp-edged stone under Ridolfi's spine.

Burghley raised his hand like a priest. Two bulky guards set their shoulders to the turnstile levers. Dry axles groaned. The guards strained with all their might. Ridolfi's futile attempt to utter a comforting prayer quickly tailed off into frantic agonized gasping.

In pale-faced desperation, he tried concentrating on the chamber's ancient candleholders as they cast eerie flickering shadows against the damp walls. But the pain had taken on a life of its own, one which would not be denied. Soon, it was almost past bearing.

Waad bent close and yelled into Ridolfi's ear. "Confess your sins, father! Shall we stretch you out longer? Confess before you greet your maker!"

Ridolfi screamed in agony as his cracking joints began to dislocate. The unyielding stone burrowed into his back like a live thing, compounding the unfortunate man's sufferings.

"Confess! Or you'll be meeting your maker in two parts!"

"Enough, enough, for pity's sake," Ridolfi screamed hoarsely. Waad looked to the Lord Chamberlain, standing impassively, his face a mask, one hand still raised as if in benediction. Almost regretfully, Burghley lowered his hand. The two guards eased off on the turnstile levers. Ridolfi's body slumped down onto the rack. He gasped for air, wheezing painfully. Burghley stepped forward and bent close to whisper into the priest's ear.

"Tell me your business with Mary, Queen of Scots, and I don't want to hear any nonsense about spreading the Word."

"I am to marry her...to a young nobleman of royal blood...strengthen her claim to the throne."

"And what of the woman who presently occupies that throne, Elizabeth our blessed Queen?"

"She is to be kidnapped...and burned, along with the other heretics."

Burghley raised his hand, and the two guards threw themselves against the bar, jerking Ridolfi back into the air with savage cruelty.

"Aaah! Aaah!" the unfortunate priest screamed as his weakened joints snapped apart.

Burghley nodded, and the guards let Ridolfi's ruined body fall back down onto the rack. "You must of course, die for your treacheries. You'll find this process somewhat less painful if you refrain from speaking disrespectfully of our beloved monarch. Now, the name of the Scottish whore's unfortunate suitor."

Ridolfi opened his mouth to speak but only a deep, blubbery shudder escaped his lips. With a thin smile, Burghley leaned closer.

"Come man, we haven't slit your tongue yet. Tell me the name of the traitorous suitor who seeks Mary's hand."

With the last of his remaining strength, Ridolfi sobbed out, "Thomas Howard."

-:-:-

Edward looked through the narrow window in Thomas's cell. By standing on tiptoe, he could just see across the Tower of London's moat to the river Thames below. Turning from the window, he walked over to where his cousin sat on the small bed.

Acting on Burghley's advice, Elizabeth had summoned Thomas to London and ordered him thrown into the Tower. The prisoner had recognized his cell in the Cradle Tower immediately. Thomas's father, the second Duke of Norfolk, had occupied it before his execution in 1553. Thomas was sure that the coincidence was far from accidental.

Walking over to the bed, Edward sat down next to his cousin, "The charge is high treason. Why did you just come here when the Queen sent for you?"

Thomas turned to Edward with a question of his own, "Why should I run from her Majesty? She knows I mean no treason. Our nearness of blood..."

"Speak lower. It is not Elizabeth but Burghley who seeks your fall."

"That upstart?"

Edward nodded. "In every great house, he pays at least one servant to spy on his master."

"May all the plagues light upon him."

"Amen to that, but until then, Burghley grows fat on our noble family's misfortunes."

"But didn't he make his fortune from bribes and wine monopolies?"

"Those too, but above all, the Master of Wards is master at bleeding his wards dry."

"That's not what I've heard."

"What have you heard?"

"Why, that my cousin is given to overspending."

"Malicious gossip."

"You didn't squander your inheritance?"

"No, of course not. Burghley encourages his wards to spend over freely. Then he settles the debts by selling our lands to himself for trifling sums, through middlemen."

"The Court's full of such rascals, made proud by their purses." Thomas shook his head dismissively, "Burghley's not fit to hold my stirrup."

"True," Edward conceded. "But you must take him seriously."

"Why should I, pray?"

"Why? Why? Why, because Thomas, you're the richest man in England. What happens to your estates if, God forbid it, you should be executed for treason?"

"Forfeit to the Crown..." murmured Thomas, dismayed at the turn their conversation was taking. "But before then there must be a trial."

"No trial. No jury, save Burghley."

"What!" Thomas shouted.

Lifting a warning finger to his lips, Edward stood up and crossed to the door. As he listened for eavesdroppers in the corridor, Thomas continued in lower tones, "Am I to be condemned without the course of law?"

Edward nodded grimly.

"Go to the Queen. In faith, she knows me to be more interested in my lands and dogs than treasons or the law. Plead my case with her, cousin."

Edward turned from the door and opened his tunic. He began unwrapping a length of thin cord from around his waist.

"Such pleadings would be futile," Edward said softly. "Our hopes now lie outside both Queen and law courts. You must flee to Spain. I've charted a swift vessel to take you there."

-:-:-

Late that night, under cover of darkness, Thomas tied a candlestick to the end of the cord Edward had left with him. Reaching through the cell window he managed to hurl its weight across the moat and Tower Wharf. It landed in the river Thames, making a small splash near where Edward was waiting in a moored rowboat.

Edward tied a sturdy rope to the cord. Thomas pulled the rope back through the window and tied it securely. Squeezing through the window, he lowered himself down the rope and into the rowboat. Casting off, Edward pulled fiercely on his oars.

The rowboat cut through the flashing moonlit water, heading downstream towards the Thames Estuary. Thirty minutes later, it tapped gently against the side of "The Grace of God," a fast sailing ship. Edward and Thomas clambered on board.

Without warning, guards rushed from hiding and attacked them. In a fierce but uneven struggle, the two cousins were quickly overpowered. Burghley stepped from the shadows, smiling grimly.

-:-:-

Thomas was taken to a dungeon buried deep within the Tower where he was chained and shackled. Edward followed an armed escort to Burghley's office in the Lord Chamberlain's Building.

Burghley sat waiting behind his desk. The guards guided Edward into a chair. Burghley waved them out of the room.

"It was brave but foolhardy, just like you, Edward. Unlike you, it was disloyal and stupid."

Edward realized that the Lord Chamberlain's anger was tempered by his joy at having the whip hand over him.

"Disloyal to her Majesty. Treasonable even. Why do you try to outwit me? You know I have eyes and ears everywhere."

"Especially when lovers are enjoying private trysts."

"Juggling words with me won't help you or Norfolk."

"My cousin already stood in grave danger."

"Norfolk's treason rests in her Majesty's hands. For you, were better she never hears of this night's sorry work."

"That you can arrange."

Burghley nodded.

"And the price? What's left of my lands?"

"Listen to me, now. I swore a solemn oath to your mother that I'd treat you like my own son...I have a daughter."

"Claire."

"I know that she cares for you."

"What of it?"

"It has always been a wish of mine for her to marry into some great family."

"Your daughter, my wife?"

"She thinks very well of you."

"But - we grew up together. She's like a sister."

"No blood relation."

"The girl's barely sixteen!"

"Such an impediment has never hampered you before..."

Edward leapt to his feet. "Disdain! Rather corrupt me ever!"

"Come now sir, surely an arranged marriage is no novelty to one of your high blood."

"To another of high blood, perhaps."

"So, it is only blood you reject in her. Yet, our bloods poured together quite confound distinction."

"Tied down in marriage...to Claire. I don't love her."

"What is this word 'love,' I wonder?"

Edward turned his back on Burghley, refusing to answer. Unconcerned, Burghley continued, "Whatever vague, will o' the wisp thing 'love' is, as an Earl, you must know that earls do not marry for its fleeting affections. Great men with great titles wed for property, progeny and advantage. Thus, they ensure that their sons will also be great men with great titles."

"My father married for love."

"Did he, indeed?" Burghley questioned.

"What mean you?"

"Nothing, nothing at all. Edward, hear me out, I know her Majesty favors the match."

"You've broached this with the Queen?" The Earl could hardly believe his ears.

"Of course."

"How dare you!"

Burghley dismissed Edward's angry protest with a wave of his hand. "Her Majesty feels that this would be a particularly good time to take one of England's noblest families away from the Catholic fold. As you know, she's just been excommunicated by Rome..."

"Like her father before her."

"The Queen is anxious to strike back."

"Isn't the Jesuit priest 'strike' enough? How many do we have to consign to the gibbets? Will a thousand martyrs suffice? Ten thousand? When will it end?"

"Never while the Pope sends spies like Ridolfi to England."

"Those who build the scaffold are the heretics not the poor unfortunates who swing on the rope!"

"You overstep the mark! Remember, I have the power to humble you."

"So my poor cousin Thomas is to die?"

"I do fear greatly for his head, unless..."

"I wed Claire."

"Were our two families united, it would only be natural for me to intervene on the Duke's behalf."

"You'd do everything in your power?"

"Everything, rest assured, my son."

-:-:-

Edward and Claire were married in Westminster Abbey on Christmas Day, 1571. Elizabeth graced the solemn proceedings with her regal presence.

Throughout the ceremony, Burghley kept a sharp eye on his young son Robert. This dwarfish 8-year-old had a hunchback and an unpleasant habit of brooding for days over imagined wrongs. When told of Claire's betrothal, Robert had sunk into a sullen silence. Spoiled like his sister, he bitterly resented the personable Earl of Oxford.

The only person who could control Robert was Claire, the elder sister he adored. Finally, Burghley had sent her, loaded down by her wedding fineries, to collect the sulky youth. Having been reassured that sufficient attention would be paid to him, Robert had grudgingly acquiesced. Burghley found it especially annoying that his own son behaved more like a self-centered child of the nobility than any of his swelling collection of blue-blooded wards.

The wedding feast was held at Burghley House. Smiling for once, Burghley toasted the newlyweds. The thrifty Lord Chamberlain then deeded one of Edward's purloined estates back to him, as a wedding gift.

-:-:-

Before the nuptial feast had cooled, Edward learned that Elizabeth had signed the warrant for Thomas's execution. He rushed to his cousin's side. Three days later, Edward accompanied him to the executioner's block on Tower Hill.

A pale winter sun bathed frost-covered trees and thousands of chilly onlookers. With a curt shake of his head, Thomas refused the offer of a handkerchief with which to bandage his eyes. The two cousins embraced for the last time.

Kneeling before the bloodstained block, Thomas gazed calmly out at the vast crowd. In a loud voice, the Lord Keeper offered thanks up to heaven that, "We are delivered and made free from the bondage of the Roman tyranny."

Thomas lowered his head onto the block. The headsman stepped forward. He swung his ax high in the air. It whirled downward. There was a dull thud. Thomas's head flew from his body. It missed the basket by three feet.

The headsman rushed forward, snatched up the bloody head and held it high. In a loud voice, he shouted, "God save the Queen!" The crowd roared in patriotic approval.

At Thomas's funeral, Edward read a eulogy he had written for his favorite cousin, "Nothing in his life became him like the leaving of it. He died as one who had determined to throw away the dearest thing he owned as if it were a careless trifle."

-:-:-

Edward rolled into a seated position amongst the remains of their picnic. He stared hard at the tranquil river.

Anne heard herself saying, "There is no love lost between you and your father-in-law."

"That is most assuredly correct, Anne."

"And yet the Queen holds him in the highest esteem."

"Her Majesty is grievously deceived. Take my advice and stay clear of the villain."

"I will, rest assured, milord."

"Then I am once more a happy man," said Edward, reaching to take her hand. She surrendered it, and he lifted her fingers to his lips.

"Would that you could cast this forced marriage off," Anne murmured, retrieving her hand.

"I view it almost as an obligation of my birth."

"The trappings of nobility."

"Quite."

"It's ironic, don't you think?" Anne said, turning to watch two swans waddle onto the riverbank. "The woman who shouldn't bear your name does, while the one who should doesn't."

"I'd never thought of it quite like that..." Edward fell silent. He had spoken of his marriage on the spur of the moment, without really considering the consequences. Had he said too much? Could this woman be trusted? Was Anne prying or merely speaking in innocent curiosity?

He examined her closely. She was sitting in a secluded field alone with him. She certainly found him trustworthy. Anne turned to see why Edward had stopped talking. He looked deep into her eyes. They gazed back at his, sincere and beautiful, innocent and yet somehow, exquisitely provocative. He began imagining what those clear orbs and full, sensuous lips would look like heavy with youthful passion.

Edward began to feel considerably warmer than the sunny afternoon merited. His body coursed with urgent temptations. Suddenly, he desperately wanted to lean forward and once again, crush his lips against Anne's.

"What mean you?" pressed Anne, pushing back a braid of black hair which had cascaded down her face.

"Oh, only that at least you now know the real reason I felt sorry for that poacher; forced wedlock is a hell."

"Of course."

"Like that poor fellow's, my wife, alas, must remain mine for all eternity."

"So long a time..."

"Doubly so, now that my heart has met its true match."

Anne opened her mouth to reply, but Edward hushed her lips with tiny kisses. Then, his lips still close to hers, he whispered, "Having thee, of all men's pride I boast. Wretched in this alone, that thou may take all this away and me most wretched make."

Laughing, Anne broke free. Kneeling, she favored Edward with a brief, gentle kiss before jumping up and running off along the riverbank. Edward leapt to his feet and gave chase. Startled, the swans stretched to full height, beaks jutting and wings beating, as Anne raced by laughing loudly.

That evening, they sat close together in Edward's small open coach while he composed a sonnet to their love:

"Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the mover to remove.

O, no! It is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor ever loved."

That enchanted day ended, like the others, at the door to Anne's bedchamber. There on her urging, Edward reluctantly took his leave, but not before many fond kisses. She stumbled inside and leaned weakly against the closed door as sensual stirrings of an almost uncontrollable intensity washed through her.

-:-:-

Edward returned to his lonely room, his mind ablaze with thoughts of Anne. Sleep was difficult. He wrote late into the night, his time with Anne providing natural inspiration for page after page of lyrical romantic verse.