arrangements. John Shakespeare had to seek out that hole and close it. First, however, he had to send a message posthaste to Walsingham.
‘I will need access to every part of the castle and everyone within it.’
‘As you will, Mr Shakespeare, though I cannot believe you will find anything that Mr Beale missed when he was here last year. He was painfully thorough.’
‘What of guards? Is the garrison at full strength? Do you require more?’
‘And what if I do? Will you give me some?’
‘My lord, you continually answer my questions with questions.’
‘And you are damnably impertinent questioning me in this manner. If you wish to know about the sentries, speak to the chief of guards.’
‘No, sir, I desire your opinion. If you need greater strength, I am certain the Privy Council will provide it.’
‘Mr Shakespeare, who do you think pays for all this?’ Shrewsbury swept his long arm in a circle to indicate the entirety of his property. ‘Who do you think pays for the two hundred sentries that patrol this castle and grounds? I do, sir. All of it. I pay, too, for Mary and her entourage. Her gentlemen demand eight dishes at every meal, while her ladies consume five apiece. All their wine and food and depredations are costed to my purse. Her courtiers are barbarians. They ruin or purloin my plate and they despoil my hangings. An inventory has been done this year and I am appalled at the loss that my stewards have uncovered.’
‘Surely this will be paid for, my lord? Does the Scots Queen contribute nothing for her own keep?’
‘Nothing, nor will she while she is not allowed her freedom. Worst of all are the habits of her people. They care not for privies or garderobes, taking their easement where they will, in the corners of their chambers. Her apartments stink like a midden! And for this, I am paid thirty pounds a week – reduced , I say, from fifty-two! Do Her Majesty and her Council think this is enough to pay for a royal court, for that is what Mary has here? I tell you it scarce covers the wine and food they consume each day! I have worn out so many quills requesting Burghley for more money that I fear Yorkshire will soon be void of geese. I do believe my letters are the source of much merriment for the Lord Treasurer and Her Majesty. Ha-ha, the old fool George Talbot is asking for money again!’ He paused for breath and shook his head wearily. ‘It seems you have no notion of the way things work.’
‘Then I must learn, my lord.’ And quickly, he thought.
‘Well, you are here now and I know you will report everything you see and hear to Mr Secretary, so it is better that you hear my side too. Come to me at noon.’ The earl’s tone seemed a little less sharp. ‘We will eat together and I will answer your questions. My friend Mr Topcliffe will most likely join us after his morning hunting.’ Shrewsbury smiled and waved his hand in dismissal.
S hakespeare and Boltfoot walked to the guardhouse. The sentries eyed them with suspicion.
Their leader, the sergeant of guards, took the paper Shakespeare proffered. It contained instructions from Shrewsbury that they were to be given all the assistance they required. ‘I have seen it all before, Mr Shakespeare,’ the sergeant said, giving the paper the most cursory of glances. ‘Every year there is a supposed plot to break her from her gaol. And every year someone like you comes along and tells the Privy Council she should be moved somewhere more secure. It all comes to nothing, of course. No plot, no move except for the occasional sojourn at the manor or summer trips to take the waters at Buxton. But we’ll go through it all with you as always. Now, where do you want to start?’
Shakespeare was silent for a few moments as he looked the man in the eye. The sergeant, a strong-armed man with a shaven face and no neck, looked straight back at him, unblinking, his open face a portrait of benign innocence. But Shakespeare knew better. This was
‘I will need access to every part of the castle and everyone within it.’
‘As you will, Mr Shakespeare, though I cannot believe you will find anything that Mr Beale missed when he was here last year. He was painfully thorough.’
‘What of guards? Is the garrison at full strength? Do you require more?’
‘And what if I do? Will you give me some?’
‘My lord, you continually answer my questions with questions.’
‘And you are damnably impertinent questioning me in this manner. If you wish to know about the sentries, speak to the chief of guards.’
‘No, sir, I desire your opinion. If you need greater strength, I am certain the Privy Council will provide it.’
‘Mr Shakespeare, who do you think pays for all this?’ Shrewsbury swept his long arm in a circle to indicate the entirety of his property. ‘Who do you think pays for the two hundred sentries that patrol this castle and grounds? I do, sir. All of it. I pay, too, for Mary and her entourage. Her gentlemen demand eight dishes at every meal, while her ladies consume five apiece. All their wine and food and depredations are costed to my purse. Her courtiers are barbarians. They ruin or purloin my plate and they despoil my hangings. An inventory has been done this year and I am appalled at the loss that my stewards have uncovered.’
‘Surely this will be paid for, my lord? Does the Scots Queen contribute nothing for her own keep?’
‘Nothing, nor will she while she is not allowed her freedom. Worst of all are the habits of her people. They care not for privies or garderobes, taking their easement where they will, in the corners of their chambers. Her apartments stink like a midden! And for this, I am paid thirty pounds a week – reduced , I say, from fifty-two! Do Her Majesty and her Council think this is enough to pay for a royal court, for that is what Mary has here? I tell you it scarce covers the wine and food they consume each day! I have worn out so many quills requesting Burghley for more money that I fear Yorkshire will soon be void of geese. I do believe my letters are the source of much merriment for the Lord Treasurer and Her Majesty. Ha-ha, the old fool George Talbot is asking for money again!’ He paused for breath and shook his head wearily. ‘It seems you have no notion of the way things work.’
‘Then I must learn, my lord.’ And quickly, he thought.
‘Well, you are here now and I know you will report everything you see and hear to Mr Secretary, so it is better that you hear my side too. Come to me at noon.’ The earl’s tone seemed a little less sharp. ‘We will eat together and I will answer your questions. My friend Mr Topcliffe will most likely join us after his morning hunting.’ Shrewsbury smiled and waved his hand in dismissal.
S hakespeare and Boltfoot walked to the guardhouse. The sentries eyed them with suspicion.
Their leader, the sergeant of guards, took the paper Shakespeare proffered. It contained instructions from Shrewsbury that they were to be given all the assistance they required. ‘I have seen it all before, Mr Shakespeare,’ the sergeant said, giving the paper the most cursory of glances. ‘Every year there is a supposed plot to break her from her gaol. And every year someone like you comes along and tells the Privy Council she should be moved somewhere more secure. It all comes to nothing, of course. No plot, no move except for the occasional sojourn at the manor or summer trips to take the waters at Buxton. But we’ll go through it all with you as always. Now, where do you want to start?’
Shakespeare was silent for a few moments as he looked the man in the eye. The sergeant, a strong-armed man with a shaven face and no neck, looked straight back at him, unblinking, his open face a portrait of benign innocence. But Shakespeare knew better. This was
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