The water-stairs were crowded with tilt-boat oarsmen touting for business. They had brought hundreds of Londoners here to Greenwich and were waiting for fares back again at the end of the races. Shakespeare stepped into the first boat in line and settled back beneath the awning, unaware that the man who had followed him all the way here was about to step into the boat immediately behind his.
The magnificent southern facade of Essex House, with its high square turret and tall windows, dominated the Thames just before the river curved in a graceful arc upstream towards Westminster. Shakespeare paid the watermen and stepped ashore on the Earl of Essex’s private landing stage. He glanced up at the turret. Inside the room at the top lay the hub of the earl’s own intelligence network.
Shakespeare was immediately confronted by two halberdiers barring his way with long axe-pick staffs.
‘I am John Shakespeare, an officer of Sir Robert Cecil. I am here to see Don Antonio Perez.’
Beyond the pleasant riverbank stood an eight-foot high wall. The water-stairs led directly to a narrow, arched gateway that gave on to the earl’s beautifully tended gardens. The gateway was the only way in.
‘I do believe you are not to be allowed admittance, master,’ one of the guards said. ‘I will look at the list of proscribed names, but it is my recollection that you are at the top.’
‘This is nothing to do with my lord of Essex. This is a Privy Council matter involving Sir Robert Cecil and Don Antonio and there must be no delay. If you do not let me pass, you may expect the full force of Her Majesty’s law to descend upon you.’
The guards looked at one another doubtfully. The one who had spoken before lowered his halberd. ‘Wait here, Mr Shakespeare. I shall seek advice.’ A minute later he returned with Edward Wilton, the chief of guards from Gaynes Park Hall. Wilton eyed Shakespeare with distaste.
‘Keep turning up where you are not wanted, don’t you, Mr Shakespeare.’
‘This is Council business, Wilton. I must confer with Don Antonio. Bring him to me here if you will not admit me to the house.’
‘You can write him a letter. I will deliver it for you personally. An ardent letter writer, the Spaniard. I am sure he will like to have one from you.’
‘Bring me quill, ink and paper.’
‘Come with me…’
Wilton walked Shakespeare through the gardens towards the guard room, which was at the side of the house. A dozen or so guards were lounging around, playing cards. They rose to attention at the sight of Wilton, but paid Shakespeare no heed.
‘Here you are, Mr Shakespeare,’ Wilton said pushing a paper and quill to him across a table. ‘Write away.’
Shakespeare wrote a simple note: Sir Robert Cecil would see you with utmost urgency at Greenwich Palace this evening at six of the clock. It will be to your great advantage to be there. He considered adding that a failure to attend would be viewed with utmost disfavour, but decided against it. He folded the paper and handed it to Wilton.
‘I will await a reply.’
‘Not in here you won’t.’
‘I will be by the river. Do not fail me, Mr Wilton. You are not above the law of the land.’
As he strode back through the garden with Wilton two steps behind him, clutching the letter, Shakespeare caught sight of a familiar figure, the Earl of Essex’s beautiful sister Penelope Rich. She saw him at the same time and walked towards him. She had a posy of new-cut flowers in one hand and a small pair of garden scissors in the other.
‘Good day, Mr Shakespeare.’
He bowed. ‘Lady Rich.’
‘I heard-’
He met her black eyes. ‘Please, my lady.’
‘Indeed. I am sorry. Truly sorry, whatever our differences.’
He said nothing.
‘Yet I am surprised to find you here. I had not thought that you would dare come to Essex House again.’
‘I must speak with Don Antonio.’
‘Ah, yes, of course. I understand. My charming little Spaniard is much in demand suddenly.’
‘Would you bring him to me?’
‘I am not certain my brother would like that, Mr Shakespeare. He does not have a good opinion of you.’
‘I have come here openly, on a matter of great import to the realm.’
She looked at him a moment. He recalled a time when he had looked into those dark eyes and wondered whether she might lead him to betray Catherine. He felt none of the stirring now that he had felt then.
She was dressed in a summer gown of light worsted, with an exquisite mulberry bodice and sleeves of yellow gold — a colour which perfectly complemented her abundant fair curls. Even cutting flowers, at home in the garden, she looked a match for any woman in the land. At last she nodded to him and smiled. ‘I will speak with him. Wait here. Mr Wilton, have a footman bring refreshment to Mr Shakespeare.’
Wilton was clearly put out. As Penelope departed indoors, he handed the letter back to Shakespeare. ‘Won’t be needing this. What refreshment would you like? Spirit of monkshood? Henbane beer?’
‘I would not wish to deprive you, Mr Wilton. Common ale will suffice.’
Shakespeare sat in the sun on a garden bench. Within a few minutes, Penelope Rich reappeared. ‘He will be with you presently, Mr Shakespeare. I think it best that you meet here in the garden.’
‘As you wish, my lady.’
She smiled. ‘Though the circumstances are full of sorrow, it has been a pleasure to meet you again.’ She extended her hand.
Shakespeare took her elegant fingers and bowed to kiss them, then watched as she disappeared into the house. He sat and drank the ale that had been brought to him. It was half an hour before Perez finally appeared at the doorway. He stood for a moment on the steps leading down to the garden, blinking like a creature that has been deprived of light suddenly emerging from its hole. He looked small and much reduced. In his tremulous hands, he clutched his gold box, close to his chest. Once again, Shakespeare found it difficult to think that this feeble, insignificant thing had been the most powerful man in the world. He rose from the bench and walked towards the Spaniard.
‘Don Antonio, thank you for coming to me,’ he said slipping more easily into the Spanish tongue than he had at Gaynes Park.
‘Did Pregent’s little Barb filly win her race?’
‘I fear I do not know,’ he said truthfully.
‘No matter. I shall discover soon enough. So, am I correct in thinking Sir Robert has the gold ready for me?’
‘Indeed. I am sure Dona Ana has explained the details to you. But Sir Robert is eager to meet you in person. He will recommend to the Queen that you be received by her in the presence-chamber, without delay.’
‘That is good. Good. But to think I am come to this, begging for a few ducats of gold when once I controlled the treasure fleets from Peru.’
‘I believe it is more than a few ducats, Don Antonio.’
‘But I need riches, Mr Shakespeare. I am not a well man. I ail.’
Shakespeare could not pretend to be either concerned or amused. ‘Can I take you now, perhaps, to Greenwich Palace?’ His voice was brittle. ‘Sir Robert will be there this evening. It is but a short journey by tiltboat.’
‘I am not well enough for such a voyage. Can Sir Robert not come to me?’
‘No you must go to him. He has promised you the gold. He will keep his word.’
Perez hesitated. At last he sighed. ‘You are a man of honour, Mr Shakespeare. If Sir Robert has agreed to pay me the gold, then I must believe he will pay. I shall reveal my secret to you now, and you will bring me my reward. Come.’ He lowered himself on to a bench at the top of the steps and patted the space beside him with his soft white hand. ‘Let us sit here in the glorious sun and I shall tell you a tale of such intrigue that your astounded heart will beat like the sails of a windmill.’