This is rebellion! Why did you not bar their way? Why do you not arrest them?’
The soldier winced, under further blows and furious words. ‘They said they was with you, milord. Your men. They wear your colours.’
‘My colours?’ The shout would have raised the dead and certainly filled the busy yard. It probably carried to the palace above, which may have been the intent. Robert Devereux had the stage and he was going to fill it. ‘You think that I – I! – would bring rebellion into her majesty’s presence, broach’d on my sword? I, her most loyal slave?’ He strode forward, swept his rapier against Tomkins’s, ringing steel. ‘Put up, ye dogs, put up!’ Essex swivelled. ‘And you, Despair? You dare to claim that you carry out this abduction in my name?’
The fat knight wilted, as his men hastily sheathed. Ned slipped away and ran to John’s side, rubbing his neck. ‘Not ab-abduction, my lord. And may I say it is . . . D’Esparr,’ he bleated.
‘You dare to correct me . . . twice!’ The earl thrust his face close to the other’s, spittle flying. ‘I have a mind to disclaim your allegiance to me and exile you from my regard.’
‘Oh please, my lord, do not do so!’ D’Esparr was bending so low now he had resolved into a large tangerine-tinted footstool. ‘I only came to fetch what is mine.’
‘Yours?’
‘My – my son, my lord.’ A sausage finger was raised, pointed.
The earl turned. ‘This boy? I know this boy. He stands before his father, my most loyal servant, John Lawley. I know his mother.’ He turned back. ‘You are not married to her.’
‘We are plight-trothed, my lord, and—’
‘It is not the same thing. It is a prior contract and not a contract itself.’
‘’Tis true, my lord,’ a gentler voice intruded. ‘Indeed the only contract that exists is the one between the youth and the Lord Chamberlain’s Men. For Ned Lawley is apprenticed to us.’
All turned to look at the speaker, William Shakespeare. It was news to many there, for Ned was on trial and had not yet signed his articles. But John, as all the other players did, kept his face blank while Will continued. ‘So if you would like to contest contracts, Sir Samuel, I am at your service. My family is one of the most litigious in the realm. It is why I draw lawyers so well.’
A laugh came. D’Esparr gaped like a gaffed codfish. Yet before he could rejoin, Essex spoke again. His tone had become more reasonable. ‘Besides, Sir Knight, this is not the time to think of marital matters . . . but of martial.’ He nodded at the playwright. ‘An appropriate conjunction of words, Master Shakespeare, do you not think? You are at liberty to use it, if you wish.’
‘I am . . . indebted to your lordship.’
Essex turned back. ‘Yes, indeed, D’Esparr. Tomorrow I issue the call to arms. And I do not want men to answer it, to prove their martial virtues on Erin’s fated green shores, who are forever casting lingering glances back to the marital bed.’ Like a dog with a bone, Essex worried the phrase – and then he looked back at John and winked. ‘No,’ he resumed, ‘leave off such soft thoughts till we have returned in triumph. And then’ – his eyebrows raised, a new light in his eyes – ‘let us have a wedding that befits a knight of my household.’ He beamed. ‘Which I and my countess shall, of course, attend.’
Given that his dealings with him were mainly amidst the chaos of war, John could forget that the man was also a politician and could not have survived so long at court if his only weapons were bluster and bravado. He had frightened Despair, then dangled delight before him. Having the foremost couple in the realm at your wedding removed any stain there might be from a baronet marrying a tavern mistress, howsoever gently born. Yet the wink had showed something else – John Lawley, as enmeshed as his rival, both men flies now in Robert Devereux’s web.
D’Esparr was not so foolish as
The soldier winced, under further blows and furious words. ‘They said they was with you, milord. Your men. They wear your colours.’
‘My colours?’ The shout would have raised the dead and certainly filled the busy yard. It probably carried to the palace above, which may have been the intent. Robert Devereux had the stage and he was going to fill it. ‘You think that I – I! – would bring rebellion into her majesty’s presence, broach’d on my sword? I, her most loyal slave?’ He strode forward, swept his rapier against Tomkins’s, ringing steel. ‘Put up, ye dogs, put up!’ Essex swivelled. ‘And you, Despair? You dare to claim that you carry out this abduction in my name?’
The fat knight wilted, as his men hastily sheathed. Ned slipped away and ran to John’s side, rubbing his neck. ‘Not ab-abduction, my lord. And may I say it is . . . D’Esparr,’ he bleated.
‘You dare to correct me . . . twice!’ The earl thrust his face close to the other’s, spittle flying. ‘I have a mind to disclaim your allegiance to me and exile you from my regard.’
‘Oh please, my lord, do not do so!’ D’Esparr was bending so low now he had resolved into a large tangerine-tinted footstool. ‘I only came to fetch what is mine.’
‘Yours?’
‘My – my son, my lord.’ A sausage finger was raised, pointed.
The earl turned. ‘This boy? I know this boy. He stands before his father, my most loyal servant, John Lawley. I know his mother.’ He turned back. ‘You are not married to her.’
‘We are plight-trothed, my lord, and—’
‘It is not the same thing. It is a prior contract and not a contract itself.’
‘’Tis true, my lord,’ a gentler voice intruded. ‘Indeed the only contract that exists is the one between the youth and the Lord Chamberlain’s Men. For Ned Lawley is apprenticed to us.’
All turned to look at the speaker, William Shakespeare. It was news to many there, for Ned was on trial and had not yet signed his articles. But John, as all the other players did, kept his face blank while Will continued. ‘So if you would like to contest contracts, Sir Samuel, I am at your service. My family is one of the most litigious in the realm. It is why I draw lawyers so well.’
A laugh came. D’Esparr gaped like a gaffed codfish. Yet before he could rejoin, Essex spoke again. His tone had become more reasonable. ‘Besides, Sir Knight, this is not the time to think of marital matters . . . but of martial.’ He nodded at the playwright. ‘An appropriate conjunction of words, Master Shakespeare, do you not think? You are at liberty to use it, if you wish.’
‘I am . . . indebted to your lordship.’
Essex turned back. ‘Yes, indeed, D’Esparr. Tomorrow I issue the call to arms. And I do not want men to answer it, to prove their martial virtues on Erin’s fated green shores, who are forever casting lingering glances back to the marital bed.’ Like a dog with a bone, Essex worried the phrase – and then he looked back at John and winked. ‘No,’ he resumed, ‘leave off such soft thoughts till we have returned in triumph. And then’ – his eyebrows raised, a new light in his eyes – ‘let us have a wedding that befits a knight of my household.’ He beamed. ‘Which I and my countess shall, of course, attend.’
Given that his dealings with him were mainly amidst the chaos of war, John could forget that the man was also a politician and could not have survived so long at court if his only weapons were bluster and bravado. He had frightened Despair, then dangled delight before him. Having the foremost couple in the realm at your wedding removed any stain there might be from a baronet marrying a tavern mistress, howsoever gently born. Yet the wink had showed something else – John Lawley, as enmeshed as his rival, both men flies now in Robert Devereux’s web.
D’Esparr was not so foolish as
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