The Heretics by Rory Clements

The Heretics by Rory Clements

Author:Rory Clements [Clements, Rory]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯), historical
ISBN: 9781848544338
Publisher: Hachette UK
Published: 2013-01-01T00:00:00+00:00


Chapter 25

HE DRANK A good deal too much brandy and danced late into the night. The dancing, which had started sedately with the pavane, progressed to a vigorous volta and a riotous galliard. Lucia was like a feather in his arms when he lifted her and held her. They danced with abandon.

He had not drunk this much in many years. It was the headiness of the night, the long ride here – and his desire for her. He could not go to his chamber while she still danced, and so he stayed. Yet each time that he felt he could carry her away, she kissed his cheek and fluttered off like a butterfly, to the company of others. Then, as he consoled himself with one more silver goblet of brandy or wine, she was there again.

At last, some time in the early hours, the music stopped. Sir Francis Godolphin clapped his arm across Shakespeare’s back.

‘You, sir, will be the worse for drink, come morning. But, damn me, I say you hold it well, for you have downed enough to drown a horse.’

Shakespeare couldn’t speak.

Godolphin laughed. ‘Come, I will have a bluecoat show you to your chamber and fling you on to the bed.’

Shakespeare looked around through a fog of liquor. Where was Lucia? He groaned as he tried to find her in the crowd of dispersing guests.

Godolphin was at his side again. ‘She has gone to her chamber, Mr Shakespeare,’ he said quietly. ‘Alone.’

He woke late in the morning. Sun streamed through open shutters. He rose from the bed and wondered what had come over him. He could not recall a time when he had been so drunk. It was not his way. Now his head hurt and he felt in great need of a bath to cleanse the dust of the road from his face and body. There was a knock at the chamber door.

‘Enter.’

A servant came in and bowed. ‘Sir Francis’s compliments, sir. He has urgent business at Penzance and would like you to accompany him. He leaves within the hour.’

‘What business?’

The footman hesitated, but then decided it was safe enough to talk. ‘It is said that Spanish men-at-arms have landed in Mount’s Bay, Mr Shakespeare. The whole house is in turmoil.’

Shakespeare looked at the man as though he had not quite heard him properly. ‘What did you just say?’

‘The Armada has come, master. We are being invaded.’

‘Bring me water to wash, and some milk, bread and meats to wake me. Quickly, man. And tell Sir Francis I will be down very soon.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The servant bowed and backed out of the room.

Shakespeare sat down on the bed and held his head in his hands and, through the cup-shotten stupor that passed for a brain, tried to make some sense of what he had just been told.

Two dozen men were already mounted in the stableyard when Shakespeare arrived. He had scrubbed himself in haste, and had thrown food and milk down his throat.

Sir Francis Godolphin was just mounting up.



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