Kissing Shakespeare (8 page)

“Not well, I fear. I am cold and wet.” He’d probably think I was a whiner.

“I see a clearing sky yonder,” he said, pointing. Ahead, the clouds were separating, and the sun broke through in gauzy rays. “We shall be dry before too long, I think.”

“I hope you are right.” Not only was I wet, but with every step Peg took, mud shot up onto the hem of my skirt. I could have killed Stephen for getting me into this. Maybe I’d catch pneumonia and die. Then what would he do?

Take a deep breath, Miranda
. “Where is your home, Master Will?”

“I come from Stratford, upon the Avon River. ’Tis a fair-sized market town south of here.”

“And your family?”

“My father is a glove maker, and I sometimes assist him. But I don’t wish to follow him. ’Tis not for me, the glover’s trade.”

“I would give anything for a pair of gloves right now!” I said. “My hands are frozen.”

He gave me a questioning look, probably wondering why I wasn’t wearing any.

“And what would you like to do? Besides write poetry?”

“You will not approve,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “I hope to make my way to London to be a player.”

“You wish to perform?”

“Aye. Do you care for the stage, mistress?”

“Very much.”

“Then you have seen the Corpus Christi and Passion plays?”

“Uh—” Luckily I was spared having to bluff my way through a response, because Thomas Cook conveniently rode up and drew Will’s attention away from me. From the names, I could tell the plays were religious, but I knew I’d better get more specifics from Stephen in case the subject came up again.

Master Cook rode off after a few minutes, and Will turned back to me. “He seems a fine gentleman,” I said.

“Thomas? He is a most learned man,” Will said fervently. His expression, as well as his words, suggested great respect, maybe even devotion, I thought.

After a few more miles, the drizzle stopped completely and the fog lifted. The countryside gave way to the outskirts of a town. We passed some thatch-roofed huts, and the children who lived in them chased after us, running barefooted and calling out. I realized this visit from the local gentry was not only expected, but much anticipated. No wonder Alexander had filled the carts to the brim with meat pies, cakes, sweets, loaves of bread, and kegs of ale.

Our horses’ hooves clip-clopped over a stone bridge spanning the River Ribble, letting the town know we’d arrived. Preston looked like a medieval village, with one main street, a market square with a large stone cross, a church, and a few other buildings, some of them abandoned and in ruins. I could see men hauling wood near the square. An open gutter, filled with garbage and human waste, ran down the middle of the narrow street, and I nearly gagged at the stench. When we reached the church, a man stepped out to greet us. He wore clerical garb, including a square cap; I assumed he was the local minister.

“Good morrow to you, Master Devin,” Alexander called.

Master Devin tipped his head. “And to you and your party, sir.”

Will helped me dismount. When my feet touched the ground, I had to grab his arm or I would have fallen.

“Are you unwell, Mistress Olivia?”

“Nay, sir. Only, my legs feel a bit stiff.” I also had the odd feeling that the earth was actually swaying beneath me, but after a few more steps it passed.

Master Devin was trying to organize the people who had gathered. By now, the news of our arrival had spread. Men, women, and children of all ages stood before us with watchful eyes. Several older boys elbowed their way to the front, nearly trampling the smaller ones. Alexander signaled with his hand, and the crowd settled down.

“Good people of Preston,” he began. “We have come on this Holy Thursday to reward your sacrifices during the Lenten season. We bring gifts of food and drink for your Easter celebration. There is enough for all. My young friends will pass out our gifts to those who patiently wait.”

Each of us lugged a basket. Mine, filled with meat pies, weighed a ton. I’d already decided to situate myself under a giant tree, its branches spreading like tentacles. As I made my way there, Stephen appeared beside me.

“Need some help with that?” He grasped the handle and I gladly let go.

“Whew!” I said. “Thanks. It’s much heavier than I expected.”

By the time we reached the tree, several women, most of them with thin faces and missing teeth, were already crowding around, waiting. Hands darted out and grabbed the pies as fast as we could get them out of the basket. The women wore white caps on their heads and aprons over their skirts. Many of them had bare arms despite the cold, and the hands that grasped the pies were red and rough. Their days must be filled with an endless round of hard work, I realized. When I had a chance to look, I noticed the children flocking around those who had baskets of sweets, and men lining up at the ale kegs, holding flagons in their hands.

I glanced up at the sound of riders approaching. A wave of excitement rippled through the crowd. Clutching their gifts, parents gathered their children and dispersed quickly. Stephen and I locked eyes, both of us wondering what was going on.

About half a dozen men rode up to the church, and when Master Devin came bustling out, they alighted from their horses. They wore swords at their sides, and the leader had some sort of symbol emblazoned on his doublet.

“Bring out the prisoner,” he said to Master Devin.

“Gladly, Sheriff,” Devin responded. He scurried back into the church.

I grabbed hold of Stephen’s arm. “What’s happening?”

“Let’s find out.”

Alexander approached the sheriff, our group at his heels. “Good sir, who is this man and what is his crime?”

He gazed at us with contempt. “The prisoner is a Jesuit, discovered hiding in the home of a gentleman. He is to be burned.”

I gasped and tightened my hold on Stephen.

“That is hardly a burning offense,” Alexander said. “In these cases, the offenders are most often put in prison for a few months.” He smiled, and I could see he was trying to ingratiate himself with the sheriff.

“He was tried and found guilty as a traitor, for attempting to persuade citizens to leave the Church of England for the Church of Rome.”

“And that is treason?”

“It is, sir, by an act of Parliament.”

“But it is Eastertime! Surely you can show some mercy.”

“You would be well advised to look to your own actions, sir. Mayhap you have something to hide?”

“Indeed I do not.” Which, from what Stephen had told me, was not exactly true.

“Then stand aside, sir. I have an execution to carry out.”

Alexander bowed curtly and strode toward us.

This cannot be happening
. My mouth had gone dry. Stephen patted my hand, and I was stunned when he pried my fingers off his arm. When he started to walk away, I shouted, “Where are you going?”

“Do not move from that spot,” he said, his eyes boring into mine.

As if
.

Now I understood the activity around the market square. They’d been building the platform … pyre, whatever it was called. Fear spiraled through me, and all I wanted was for us to get out of this town as fast as we could.

Alexander, looking shaken, walked over to speak to us. “I will not allow you to witness such a vile act. Wait until the prisoner is brought out, when the sheriff’s attention is diverted. Stand near your horses.” I noticed Stephen speaking to one of his uncle’s liveried men, probably about our need for a hasty departure.

The townspeople, who had returned to their wagons or homes to safeguard their gifts, now streamed back into the town toward the market square. In a moment, the prisoner was brought out in a cart. Hands tied behind his back, he shifted from foot to foot to keep his balance. He’d obviously been tortured. A torn and bloodstained shirt hung on his gaunt body, and his face was scratched and bleeding. When the cart began to move, he fell against the side and cried out. For a brief moment, his gaze latched on to mine. I stared at him in horror. His eyes shone with a brilliant desperation, and I gasped and looked away. When the cart jolted on, I felt like a coward. I should have said something comforting, or tried to reach out to him. The touch of another person might have let him know he wasn’t completely without friends.

“Now!” Alexander shouted, gesturing toward the horses.

I tore my gaze from the prisoner and looked around for Peg. Just when I began to panic, Stephen rode up. “You will ride with me.”

“But Peg—”

“One of the men will lead her.” He leaned down. “Put your foot on mine in the stirrup and I’ll pull you up.” Grasping his hand, I did as he said and tumbled awkwardly into the saddle in front of him. I fumbled for something to grip.

“Do not worry. I will hold on to you,” Stephen said.

I kept looking back toward the prisoner, surrounded by the sheriff and his men. Our horse pranced and shook his head, as if he could sense the unrest. Stephen leaned around me, patting his neck and talking softly to him until he calmed. The crowd was growing unruly, and a few people shouted at the prisoner as the cart passed them.

“Evil papist!”

“Antichrist!”

The prisoner, who had righted himself, ignored the taunts. He seemed to have retreated into a different reality.

“Let’s go,” Alexander said.

We kept our horses at a walk, probably so we wouldn’t attract attention. But in a moment I heard hoofbeats, and suddenly three of the sheriff’s men surrounded us.

“Where are you going, sir?” one of them asked.

“We have no stomach for this,” Alexander said.

“The sheriff wishes you to be present. As witnesses.”

“I shall stay if I must, but please let these young people return home. You have many witnesses.” Alexander motioned to the crowd.

“You must all stay. The sheriff commands it, and it would be unwise to disobey his order.”

“I beg you, sir, to allow—”

“To the square, now!” Obviously, there would be no further argument. The sheriff’s man turned his horse, expecting us to go ahead of him.

White-faced, Alexander said, “We must do as he says or risk arrest.”

And in a moment we found ourselves part of the crowd spread out in the town square, encircling the pyre. The cart holding the prisoner rolled over the cobbles, with the sheriff and Master Devin following closely behind. Between gulps of ale from their flagons, a few rough-looking men continued to jeer and shout at the prisoner. Although it seemed loud, I realized they were the only ones actually taunting the poor man. Most people looked as solemn as we did.

Soon the sheriff and his men were hauling their captive up onto the raised planks that held the pyre. Then Master Devin stepped forward and started reading from the Bible.

The condemned man shouted over him, his voice breaking. “I am innocent of treason. I love my queen and country, and want only to minister to my people. If that is a sin, then may God forgive me!”

The sheriff’s men stepped forward and dragged him to the pyre. They chained him to a stake, which seemed completely unnecessary.

Stephen had put his arm around me, and I turned and buried my face against him. My chest felt tight, and my breathing was shallow. Glancing up briefly, I wondered what had become of Thomas Cook. “Do you see Thomas?” I asked, suddenly fearful for his safety.

“Nay. Perhaps he was able to slip away.”

Two men with torches stepped forward and lit the fire. “Oh, no!” I looked up at Stephen. “Can’t we do anything?”

“I fear it is too late. Do not watch.” Gently, he pushed my head against his shoulder.

“May God have mercy on your souls!” the man shouted. “I am innocent! I have done nothing wrong!”

The flames crackled and the wind fed them. They grew higher and now the prisoner’s garment caught fire. He continued to shout, but I could no longer make out the words. And then the keening began, quickly followed by prolonged screams as the heat seared his flesh. I covered my ears, not moving from Stephen’s side. Right before I closed my eyes, I’d glanced over at Jennet and Will, standing together. His wide, sorrowful eyes met mine for an instant before he lowered his head. It was Jennet’s manner that shocked me. Arms crossed in front of her chest, she watched intently, seemingly composed. Perhaps she’d seen this many times and was inured to the horror. I didn’t know what to think.

Stephen pressed his cheek against my head. I opened my eyes long enough to see that his were squeezed shut. Smoke now hung thick in the air, stinging my nose, and there was another smell as well. I understood that it must be burned flesh. The screams kept on. “Please, Stephen, can’t we leave?” I begged.

We began backing away, and then he released me. “Run to the horses!”

Before long all of our party except Thomas had gathered and mounted. I noticed Jennet was now riding with Will. Alexander gave the signal to move out.

“Sir!” Will shouted. “What about Thomas?”

“Thomas is safe. Do not concern yourself.” Alexander whipped his horse into a gallop, and the rest of us followed. Stephen held me tightly, and his strength was the only thing that kept me from hysterics. Tears streamed down my cheeks and little sobs burst out, even though I tried to hold them in.

We didn’t break our silence until we’d ridden about halfway home and finally slowed our pace. When I felt enough in control of my emotions I said, “If Shakespeare becomes a priest—a Jesuit—could this happen to him?”

“I do not doubt that it could. The Jesuits are willing and prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice, which would place Will Shakespeare at grave risk if he joined their ranks.”

For the first time, I understood the danger to Shakespeare and the urgency Stephen felt. I recognized the zeal in the prisoner’s eyes, and understood that a young and sensitive boy could be influenced by such fanaticism. I knew and accepted that we had to act while there was still time.

I twisted around toward Stephen. I wanted to make sure he could hear every word I was about to say. “I know I’ve been hesitant about saving Shakespeare. But after this, I’m in. You can count on me to do whatever it takes.”