‘Do we know where they are, Sir Robert?’
‘Thomas Digges is at his country home, in Kent. He is writing a new volume on warfare science, but he ails. Frank Mills is organising his protection. Two men watch him day and night and Frank will follow them there.’
‘And Dee?’
Cecil looked pained. ‘Ah, yes, Dee. He is more difficult, and that is your task. Since his return from Bohemia, he has been impoverished. He continually solicits my father and Her Majesty for grants or church livings. It is utterly tedious. He wants the chancellorship of St Paul’s or the mastership of St Cross, but he will have neither. His dabbling in the dark arts makes him most unsuitable for such positions and, anyway, he is an irritant. In truth we wish him away. My father has hinted to him that he might have the wardenship of the collegiate church in Manchester. Dee has now gone there to spy out the land, so to speak.’
‘That is almost as remote as Prague,’ Shakespeare said wryly.
Cecil laughed. ‘I believe he views the prospect with some reluctance, but it is a good living with extensive lands, and he has few options. It would remove his infernal begging and complaining.’
The lanner at last landed on the arm of the young statesman’s falconer with a fluttering of wings and took the shred of meat.
‘Come, John, for we must talk on this further and Sir Thomas Heneage must be included. As he is Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, the palatinate of Lancashire is his domain – and there are local sensitivities in the county. I have asked him to detach himself from Her Majesty’s presence and wait on us in my apartments.’
Ivory’s grey gelding stood patiently in one of the smaller, quieter streets, to the north of Hog Lane. The animal was tethered to a post. Boltfoot slid from the saddle and looked around. There was only one house it could be, the one with the youth sitting outside, idly drinking a gage of ale.
‘How much for a woman?’
The youth eyed him up and down with scornful boredom. ‘For a maggot like you? Sixpence. Tuppence for me, the rest for the wench. Take your pick?’
Boltfoot handed him two coins and went into the dingy hovel. Three girls sat on the floor in the sawdust. The room stank of sweat and scent. Without thinking, the whores bared their breasts to him. He ignored them and examined his surroundings. There were two interior doors, one closed.
Boltfoot pushed open the closed door. In front of him, less than a yard from his face, was Ivory’s white arse. His hose and stocks were down about his calves and ankles and he was at his business with a plump young woman who was moaning by rote. Boltfoot laughed. ‘You’ve got five minutes, Ivory, then I’m dragging you out.’ He closed the door again. He had his man.
Chapter 3
‘WHILE DR DEE is in Lancashire, he is staying at Lathom House with the Earl of Derby. You are to go there and bring Dee away, John. Bring him down south to the home of Thomas Digges in Kent. Once there, you will hand him into the protective care of Frank Mills. That way Dee and Digges will both be in safe keeping.’
Shakespeare acknowledged Cecil’s instructions with a nod, then his gaze drifted sideways and his eyes locked with Heneage’s. The older courtier’s eyes seemed permanently amused and friendly. He was a well-built handsome man in his early sixties, the sort of fellow you liked the instant you met him, the sort you might confide in at short acquaintance. He sat, apparently relaxed, but he was listening intently.
‘But you will tread carefully, John,’ Cecil went on. ‘While I have little time for Dee, for he is a nuisance, the Queen retains affection for him and relies on his auguries.’
‘I understand, Sir Robert.’
Cecil seemed to hesitate. Shakespeare noted it. There was clearly more to this than just the removal of the sciencer and conjuror John Dee from Lancashire to Kent. Shakespeare said nothing. Cecil was not a man to be prodded for information.
‘Bear one other thing in mind, John: Dee’s circumstances are so dire that one must consider the possibility – however unpleasant – that he could be tempted to sell his knowledge of the perspective glass. Such a secret could fetch him much gold.’
Dr Dee had a curious reputation. There had been scandalous talk about him over the years. Some said he was a Simon Magus – a demonic magician with godlike aspirations; others merely called him a conjuror, which was defamatory enough. But never had Shakespeare heard a suggestion that the man might be a party to treason. Still, he had encountered stranger things in his years of working in the world of secrets.
Shakespeare turned again to Heneage, but he still said nothing, merely observing the proceedings with amused detachment.
‘What do we know of Dee’s character?’ Cecil said. ‘Is he treacherous? We have no reason to think so. But we do know that he is easily intimidated. I have seen his terror of my father. His hand shakes like barleycorn in the breeze when he is in the old man’s presence.’
Afraid of old Burghley? That was reasonable enough, given the power he wielded. Only a fool would be duped by his kindly face and white beard.
‘We know, too, that Dee has no guile. That might seem an admirable attribute in a Christian gentleman, but in Dee’s case it simply means he can be deceived. For a man who claims to understand the heavens, he is mighty gullible here on earth. I fear a man would not have to be the most skilful cozener in England to lure a secret from him. Why, a pretended scryer could find out all he wished by informing him that the angels insist he reveal the secret of the perspective glass.’ Cecil laughed again, drily. ‘My father always had doubts about Dr Dee, John, and I share them.’
Shakespeare did not laugh, but he smiled at Cecil’s cruel jest about the scryer and the angels, for he understood its scandalous provenance. During Dr Dee’s years in Prague, he had been persuaded by an ‘angel’ to exchange wives for a night with his scryer Edward Kelley. It was said that the comely young Jane Dee wept uncontrollably as her husband despatched her to Kelley’s quarters to be ravished – while Dee received Kelley’s rather less alluring wife, Joanna, in return.
Yes, Cecil was right, Dee was gullible. There could be little argument about that.
‘Consider, too, the company he keeps,’ Cecil continued. ‘Kelley apart, Dee made some unsavoury friends during his time in Prague. The city is a hotbed of treason and Catholic intrigue. And we know, too, of the Earl of Derby’s unfortunate connection with that city and its English traitors.’
Shakespeare stiffened. From the straightforward task of protecting Dee, Cecil was lurching into high politics. The Earl of Derby, with whom the doctor was now staying at Lathom House in Lancashire, was one of the premier claimants to succeed to the throne of England. This was not merely high politics, but dangerous politics: the earl’s religious sympathies had come under much scrutiny these past months.
Cecil nodded in the direction of Heneage. ‘Sir Thomas, if you would …’
Heneage smiled warmly. ‘Thank you, Sir Robert.’ His eyes met Shakespeare’s again. ‘I have long admired your work on behalf of England, Mr Shakespeare.’
Shakespeare bowed. ‘Thank you, Sir Thomas.’
‘No, no, England must thank you. Sadly, there are those in our country who are not so loyal to our sovereign lady. My own county, Lancashire, I am afraid, has a great portion of such traitors and those who harbour them. Every week, new intelligence reaches my office of Jesuits and seminary priests walking our northern towns openly and without hindrance. It shames me, sir, as Chancellor of the Duchy, that such a state of affairs continues.’