The lawyer’s eyes widened and his shoulders stiffened. He stopped and glared at his host. ‘What are you saying, sir? Do you tell me Catholics are not persecuted in this realm? Do you tell me that no one has been torn apart on the scaffold for the crime of being a priest?’
Shakespeare did not answer, for he could not deny it. And yet he knew, too, that not all priests had benign intent. He knew that the exiles Father Persons and Cardinal Allen would back an invasion of their own country by the Catholic powers of Paris, Rome and Madrid.
Tort seemed to read his mind. ‘And before you ask me the bloody question – would I support the Pope if he were to lead an army of invasion – the answer is no. I may be a Catholic, but I am loyal to my sovereign lady Elizabeth, Queen of England, and I would rather be sliced open by a Tyburn butcher’s knife than have any foreign power invade this realm. I would take up weapons against the Pope himself rather than any Spanish or French man-at-arms walk along Cheapside. So please, I beg you, listen to me: Dominic de Warre is a sensitive youth, an innocent and foolish boy. He is on the path to perdition. They all are. Everyone knows it. You know it, Mr Shakespeare. And so I entreat you: save him.’
Shakespeare very slowly and very deliberately shook his head. ‘I can do nothing for you or for Dominic because I know nothing of these things. You are his stepfather; if you do not like the company he keeps, then forbid him to meet these people you talk of. This is your fatherly duty, not mine. Now if that is all, I have much work.’ He stood and began to move towards the door to show his visitor out.
Tort grabbed hold of his sleeve. ‘No, I will not be dismissed so easily. Help me, Mr Shakespeare, and I will help you.’
‘Mr Tort, I understand that you are in anguish over your boy, and I sympathise, but there is nothing I can do for you and nothing I need from you. In truth, I do not know why you wish to help him, for from what you say he seems to be singularly lacking in any sense of filial duty to you. To speak plain, he seems to have no time for you, sir.’
‘He resents me for living when his father and mother are both dead. He has never known that I love him as much as any father ever loved his son. I see his mother in his eyes and I love him all the more. If only . . .’
‘If only what?’
‘If only he would love me as I love him.’
The lawyer closed his eyes. His teeth were now clenched tight and his lips were no more than a line, a gash in his face, as though he had words to spit out but his heart would not let him; as though his mouth would never open to utter words again.
Shakespeare lifted the latch and held open the door. ‘Well, sir, I think we are done here. We share a bond of care for Kat Whetstone, but that is all. If you will forgive me, I have work to do.’
Tort made no move to exit. He opened his mouth like a fish, but no words came out, only a sigh.
‘If you have something else to say, then speak, I entreat you, for the morning moves on apace.’
‘If I give you this, you must help me.’
‘Give me what? I told you, there is nothing I need from you. And nothing I can give you, for I have no knowledge of this conspiracy you claim to have uncovered.’
‘Then I must tell you what I know, but in doing so, I place my trust in the honour and decency that I hope to find in your heart. Help Dominic, I beg you. And if you ever make use of the information I impart, you can never say that it came from me.’
Once again, Shakespeare declined to speak, merely waited for Tort.
‘Very well.’ Tort nodded. ‘I am about to tell you a great secret. It is a matter of import that touches on the very governance of this land – and involves both the Giltspurs and the felon known as Cutting Ball.’
Chapter 37
Shakespeare listened in silence, astonished and yet believing. The tale Severin Tort told him was simple enough and credible, but agonising to listen to, for it seemed to eat at the very cornerstones of the England he believed he knew and loved.
‘Almost all of my practice as an attorney-at-law has been in the service of Nicholas Giltspur,’ Tort said. ‘Over a long period of years – since I was a young man – I have been entrusted with intimate knowledge of much that is private touching the family’s affairs. It is this position of trust that I am about to betray to you, though it cuts my conscience sore to do so.’
‘Continue, Mr Tort. What is this secret?’
‘What do you know of the criminal practices of Cutting Ball, sir?’
‘He extorts money from the merchants. Some say he demands one part in a hundred of every cargo landed in the wharfs of London, and that those who refuse to pay have their ships burnt or their merchandise destroyed. I know, too, that he and his sister run bawdy houses and take a portion of the whores’ earnings. I am sure they are guilty of many other crimes, including violence against the person. Even murder.’
Tort nodded. ‘You are correct in almost every detail. How, though, does such a man continue to prosper when you might expect him to be swinging from the Tyburn tree? How does he walk free when every other highwayman, cutpurse and footpad is rounded up and dispatched?’
‘It is a question I have asked myself, sir.’
‘Well, I can satisfy your curiosity. He is not arraigned, nor ever will be, because he is protected by powerful men.’
Shakespeare did not like the way this was going, but he needed to hear it out. ‘Please continue.’
‘I will explain. Yes, Ball takes one part in a hundred of every cargo landed from Katharine’s Dock to the bridge and beyond. Sometimes more. But he keeps only a small part of it, paying out nine parts in ten of his own portion to the Treasury of England. It is, if you like, an unofficial tax on the merchants by the Lord Treasurer, Lord Burghley.’
‘Is this true?’
Tort nodded, his face drawn. ‘Yes, it is true, though it pains me to say so.’
‘And this sum is over and above the common levies that all traders must pay at the Custom House?’
‘Over and above.’
‘Burghley is involved in this?’
‘Faithful, trustworthy, God-fearing, white-bearded Burghley himself. Elizabeth’s most loyal minister and England’s truest friend.’ Tort smiled. ‘Treating with the commonest of common criminals.’
‘God’s blood but that must be a vast amount of money.’
‘Much needed, I believe, for the Commons subsidies go nowhere near the amounts required to protect the realm. A great deal of these unofficial earnings are passed on to Mr Secretary to pay for his covert dealings. I doubt not but that your own wages come from this source.’
Shakespeare was reeling, but he wanted the whole story.
‘How does this involve the Giltspurs? Do you mean that they, too, have faced such extortion?’
‘No. They were excluded, because they had a much more important part to play in the enterprise. They were the linchpin that kept the wheel turning.’
Shakespeare was beginning to understand. Tort continued.
‘The Treasury could never be seen to be taking such ill-gotten gains. If the merchants learnt that the money extorted from them was, in effect, a tax, there would be uproar. They have often complained to the Privy Council of the activities of Cutting Ball and his crew and they become infuriated when nothing is ever done to stop the man. The excuse by Burghley is always lack of resources, empty coffers and not enough men. And then when pressured he makes promises that he will find a way to deal with the felon . . . promises that are never kept.’