Ruled Britannia by Harry Turtledove

Author:Harry Turtledove
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2002-09-28T16:00:00+00:00

A SQUAD OF Spanish soldiers at his back, Lope de Vega strode along the northern bank of the Thames, not far from London Bridge. Not so long ago, he’d taken a boat across the river with Nell Lumley to see the bear-baiting in Southwark. He kicked a pebble into the river. He’d crossed the Thames with his mistress—with one of his mistresses—but he’d come back alone.

He straightened, fighting against remembered humiliation. Hadn’t he been getting tired of Nell anyway? Now that he was in love with Lucy Watkins, what did the other Englishwoman matter?

One of the troopers with him pointed. “There’s another boatman, señor.”

“Gracias, Miguel. I see him, too,” Lope answered. He shifted to English to call out to the fellow: “God give you good day.”

“And to you, sir.” The boatman swept off his ragged hat (which, in an earlier, a much earlier, life had probably belonged to a gentleman) and gave de Vega an awkward bow. “Can’t carry you and all your friends, sir, I fear me.” His gap-toothed smile showed that was meant for a jest.

Lope smiled back. Some wherrymen took their boats out into the Thames empty to keep from talking to him. He’d do what he could to keep this one happy. With a bow of his own—a bow he was careful not to make too smooth, lest it be seen as mockery—he said, “Might I ask you somewhat?”

“Say on, Master Don. I’ll answer.”

Better and better, de Vega thought. “Were you here on the river night before last?”

“That I was, your honor,” the boatman replied. “Meseems I’m ever here. Times is hard. Needs must get what coin I can, eh?”

“Certes,” Lope said. “Now, then—saw you a gentleman, an English gentleman, that evening? A man of my years, he would be, more or less, handsome, round-faced, with dark hair longer than mine own and a thin fringe of beard. He styles himself Christopher Marlowe, or sometimes Kit.”

He looked for another pebble to kick, but didn’t find one. He did not want to hunt Marlowe, not after spending so much time with him in tiring rooms and taverns. But if what he wanted and what his kingdom wanted came into conflict, how could he do anything but his duty?

The wherryman screwed up his face in badly acted thought. “I cannot rightly recollect, sir,” he said at last.

“That surprises me not,” Lope said sourly, and gave him a silver sixpence. He’d already spent several shillings, and got very little back for his money.

Nor did he this time. The boatman pocketed the coin and took off his hat again. “Gramercy, your honor. God bless you for showing a poor man kindness. I needs must say, though, I saw me no such man.” He spread his oar-callused hand in apology.

A couple of Lope’s troopers knew some English. One of them said, “We ought to give that bastard a set of lumps for playing games with us.”

Maybe the boatman understood some Spanish. He pointed to the next fellow with a rowboat, saying, “Haply George there knows somewhat of him you seek.

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