‘And what is your role in this, Mr Ickman?’
Ickman held out the Y-shaped stick, one twig in each palm. ‘This is my virgula divina, Mr Shakespeare. It may seem as naught but a stick to you, but to those with the power of divination, it is the guide to untold riches.’ He turned his hands to lay open his soft palms. ‘It is all in the sensitive touch of the hands. In this, I am merely the good doctor’s tool in his quest for electric bodies. Are you sensitive, Mr Shakespeare? Would you care to hold my stick and see what you find?’
Shakespeare glared at him. ‘Be careful, Mr Ickman. I am not a man to be toyed with.’ He glanced again at Dee. ‘You have not answered the second part of my question. Why did you not tell me of this man’s presence here? How can I protect you if you keep secrets?’
‘I had not thought it relevant. Mr Ickman is an old friend—’
‘Is he roomed at Lathom House?’
‘No.’ Ickman spoke for himself. ‘I have lodgings in Ormskirk.’
Shakespeare strode over to the new-dug hole and looked in at the diggers, thick with peaty earth and sweat. ‘How much gold have you found thus far, Dr Dee?’
Ickman arrived at his shoulder. ‘None as yet,’ he said, twiddling his divining rod too close to Shakespeare’s face. ‘But given time, we will. I am certain we will.’
Shakespeare gripped the man’s slender wrist.
‘Be careful not to answer for others, Mr Ickman, lest I take you for someone other than you are. You may find I treat you with less gentleness than you believe you deserve.’
Shakespeare found his brother at the base of an oak tree, eyes closed as if asleep. Will was wearing a fantastical green costume with fringes of many colours and gossamer decorations, like a sprite. At his side lay a cheap crown of gilded tin.
‘Will?’
‘Brother …’ Will opened his eyes.
‘Did I wake you?’
‘A daydream. This place is full of strange magic. I feed off such dreams.’
‘Strange indeed. Stranger yet is the sickness, then sudden recovery, of my lord Strange, the Earl of Derby.’
‘Yes. And now he is insisting we proceed with our performance this evening. Half of me fears he will die during the first act, yet the other half is greatly relieved. I do not wish to stay in these parts a moment longer than necessary for the discharge of my duties to the good earl.’
‘You call him the good earl, Will? I confess I have always liked him well enough, but there are those who speak of him as having so haughty a stomach, and so great a will, that he believes himself fit for a crown. They say, too, that his arrogance will one day be his overthrow. When I saw him last night, I rather thought that day had come.’
‘I will not listen to such talk. He has been a fine patron of players over the years. He gave me this life, you know. His troupe accepted me when no one knew my name. He is there for us still, even at this troubled time.’
Shakespeare prodded his brother with a foot and laughed. ‘Never mind Derby’s ambitions. You look as if you would be king.’
Will rose to his feet and bowed. ‘Oberon, king of the faeries,’ he announced with a flourish, then paused before sighing wearily. ‘And my lady, the Countess Alice, will be my queen, proud Titania. What would the Master of the Revels say about a lady playing on stage?’
‘Mr Tilney is not here, so fear not.’
‘But usurping the role of a queen, a faerie queen? How would that news fare at court?’
‘Not well, so say nothing.’
‘Come, let us find cider, John. I have a thirst.’
Shakespeare followed his brother into a tent where a boy served them a powerful draught of apple cider from a flagon. They went outside once more and settled by a tree with a fine view of the magnificent old palace. It seemed a good time to talk.
‘John, you are in a dark humour. You still grieve deeply.’
He shook his head. ‘It is not just that. I have many worries. No, more than that – fears. Fears that I find hard to share.’
‘This place would make anyone feverish.’
‘I have as great a desire as you to be away from this place. I must take Dr Dee to Kent. But that is not my only concern. I also fear what lies behind this illness of the earl. And I worry about my boy, Andrew.’
‘I will not ask why you must remove Dr Dee, and I can understand your concerns about Derby. As for Andrew, yes, I can see how he might give you sleepless nights. A lad of strong will.’
‘He is thirteen, but he has the passions of a man. He has lost everyone he loved – his mother, his father and now Catherine, whom he loved as his own. He rages against their deaths and blames the English Church and this government for all that has happened. He sees me working for Cecil against the interests of Rome.’
‘But now he is at Oxford. I am sure a change of place will help him. He will meet new people, immerse himself in a new world.’
If only that were the case. Shakespeare sighed.
‘Am I not right, brother?’ Will persisted.
‘I pray it is so. But I worry that the opposite will happen. He would have no college but St John’s. I had to engage the assistance of Cecil himself to persuade the Merchant Taylors to give him a place. I had to do something – Andrew was going as mad as a caged lion. We were all deep in mourning for Catherine, yet Andrew’s dark presence left no room for light. Our house at Dowgate was a dungeon of despair.’
Will smiled. ‘You have been through a great deal.’
‘And so I arranged for him to go to St John’s, even though I understood the perilous reason why it had to be that college. It was the alma mater of the Jesuit martyr Campion, you see. Andrew had heard tales of him from Catherine’s lips and discovered some ill-founded inspiration there.’
‘You think he wishes to emulate him and seek martyrdom?’
Shakespeare nodded. It was exactly what he feared.
The brothers were silent for a while. There was nothing to be said. Both knew the dangers. As children they had seen the passion of the old faith in their own home. It was a passion that did not easily die nor succumb to threats. They drank their cider and refilled their cups. At last, Will touched John’s shoulder.
‘Walk with me a little way further, John. I would rather speak in low voices. Trouble dogs you, and I do not wish to be bitten.’
They strolled into the woodland. John, six years older and a little taller than his brother, was more soberly dressed in his felt cap, black and brown striped woollen doublet and black hose.
‘Well?’
‘They say he is bewitched, you know. All say it. The players, the ploughmen in the alehouses, the goodwives at their looms, the drovers with their cattle. All say the earl is bewitched.’
‘He believes it himself. I think poison a more likely cause of his ills.’
‘Indeed, but you should know what people say.’
‘Thank you, Will. So who has bewitched him – and why?’
Will stopped. He looked about him, then his voice sank to a whisper. ‘Some say the Pope, others say Dr Dee.’
‘Dee!’
‘They fear him. Children run screaming from his presence. The men call him conjuror and necromancer. He wanders about in a cloud, looking for gold, unaware of men’s distaste for him and his ways. They do not trust him. Many would burn him as a witch.’
Shakespeare could not help laughing. Dee a witch! Had England not rid itself of such superstition along with relics and incense? Laughable as it was, however, that did not mean there was no threat.
‘Thank you, Will. You have strengthened my resolve. I will remove Dr Dee from Lancashire as soon as I may.’
Chapter 11