Martyr by Rory Clements Page B

vivid tales of a world beyond these shores. Yet now, when England needed him most, he found himself washed up and out of favor. And he could not contain his rage.
    He eyed Shakespeare warily.
    Tell me then, sir. Why are you here? Some threat to my life, I am told.
    A threat that Mr. Secretary takes exceeding serious, Admiral, coming as it does from a ciphered message between Mendoza and the Spanish King.
    Drake laughed, a long crashing wave of a laugh. The Spanish King kill me? I will nail his ears to the flummery altar in his Escorial palace before he kills me, Mr. Shakespeare.
    We believe Mendoza has found a seasoned mercenary, a paid assassin, to do his work for him. The price on your head, Sir Francis, has increased considerably.
    Well, well, and what are the Spaniards offering now? Twenty thousand ducats it was last time, I do believe.
    It is now seventy thousand.
    Drake clapped his hands, like a river fisherman who has just landed a twenty-pound pike. They will be offering ten times seventy thousand before I am in my grave, Mr. Shakespeare. What say you, Captain Stanley?
    I agree entirely, Sir Francis. But perhaps it would be prudent to hear Mr. Shakespeare out. The world knows you are invincible at sea, but now you are ashore, you are not so safe.
    Indeed, sir. And do I seem afraid? Is John Doughty at large again with his wooden sword to scare me into my mother’s bed?
    This was going to be difficult. Shakespeare understood that it was vital to play to Drake’s vanity. No, Sir Francis, you seem anything but afraid. And that, we believe, is the card Mendoza and his hireling will play. Because you are so very visible at Deptford, at Gravesend, and at court, you are a tempting target—dare I say an easy target—for a determined killer. I understand that you do not fear for your life and never have, but we must all fear for the life of Her Majesty and for the future of England. If you should fall to a Spanish ball, bolt, or blade, we will all be lost.
    Drake stood up and started pacing again. His face was florid now, a hot red. He was silent a while, then he turned sharply toward Shakespeare and Stanley. So then, what does my friend Mr. Secretary propose?
    Shakespeare sighed. He wants me to protect you.
    And how would you do that?
    Firstly by asking you to curtail your movements. To make yourself less visible, surround yourself at all times with trusted lieutenants. When you board a ship to inspect its caulking and provisioning, spend as little time on deck as possible. When you are at court, avoid the public areas. When you are in the dockyards or chandleries, keep a watchful eye at all times and do not tarry long in one place. Take no chances, Admiral. Your apparel—he nodded toward Drake’s brilliant velvet gown—is very visible.
    Drake’s brows knitted in amusement. You don’t think I wear a cloak like this outside court, do you? I’m a mariner, Mr. Shakespeare, I dress in sea clothes. So how else would you protect me if God wills it otherwise?
    This was the hard bit. Shakespeare took a deep breath. I would assign Mr. Boltfoot Cooper as your personal guardian, Sir Francis.
    Drake exploded with laughter. Cooper! My personal guardian!
    He is very handy with his caliver and cutlass, Sir Francis. He knows your ways …
    Never. In God’s faith, never.
    Shakespeare played his final card. Mr. Secretary Walsingham, your friend, requests this of you. He understands your reluctance and the bad blood, caused I am sure by Mr. Cooper’s avarice, but he begs this one indulgence.
    Drake began pacing again. His right hand was gripped on the hilt of his sword, but the weapon stayed firmly in its scabbard. Boltfoot Cooper protect my life? I have sailed tempests and seen strange sea monsters and been at one with God on the empty ocean, but never have I heard such a thing. What say you, Stanley?
    He has courage, sir.
    Aye, I’ll give you that. Cooper has courage. He was always a fine man in a fight with the Spaniard. Never did