With difficulty, it proved, but they had made the river passage with hours to spare before the performance, and Will helped haul trunks with a light heart. His hands didn’t shake and his balance didn’t fail, although he was aware of Burbage’s supervision. In case I should glimpse a Devil, doubtlesss.Will punched his thigh with a fist, stilling a shiver. We re here to play a play.

Servants showed them within, through tapestried halls whose floors were covered like any housewife’s with a scatter of herbed rushes. The presence chamber was large, Queen Elizabeth’s chair already in place and identifiable by its weight of gilt and crimson cushions.

Burbage, son of a carpenter, got down on one knee among the rushes and poked his head under the stage as soonas their escort withdrew.

“Will, a light.”

Will looked up, and Kemp did too, but Kemp was the first one to go in search of a candle and spark. Will simply mounted the stair and tested the boardswith his weight, so that Burbage pulled back cursing and brushing sawdust out of his blond-red hair.

“Seems sturdy,” Will said, hiding a hesitation in his right leg that wanted to become a limp. Burbage opened his mouth to curse and sneezed instead, his eyes screwing into slits.

Edward, well bearded now and beyond playing girls, hauled rolls of painted cloth, stifling a laugh.

“As sturdy as thee, thou beggar.” Burbage levered himself up against thestage. “Twill serve. If thou dost not stomp like a carthorse.”

“What’s the hour?”

“Two of the clock. Her Majesty will enter after six.”

Burbage brushed fragments of rush from his knee. “So let us make haste.”

The sets were less even than what they used on the bare boards of the Theatre, but the rig to hold the painted backdrop took three cursing players to erect. Will stayed back, knowing he hadn’t the remaining strength to be more than an annoyance. Instead he sorted through trunks and laid out costumes and changes in the order they would be needed, taking advantage of a trestle that had been provided for the players convenience and concealed behind a red-and-green tapestry.

By the time servants came with lamps to augment the failing light from the windows, the whole improbable structure was cobbled together and stood up to Edward swinging on the crossbeam to test its strength. The players tidied themselves and dressed and hastily ate, beer and bread and a bit of cold meat.

We’ll have an appetite for our suppers,Will thought, pinning gold lace with his fingers while Will Sly basted it. They were just finishing when the lord Chamberlain arrived, his starched ruff standing high under a gray fringe of beard. Lord Hunsdon wore a black doublet fretted with golden stitchery, a sapphire glinting almost black on the little finger of his broad left hand. He drew up a few steps short of Burbage, who hopped quickly down from the stage and bowed. Will thrust the mended costume at Sly and moved to flank Burbage, bowing also.

“Master Burbage, Master Shakespeare. Is all in order?”

“My lord.” Burbage glanced at Will, who nodded. “All is well.”

“Expect Her Majesty within the hour. The court will be admitted first: the players may stand at the back of the reception line. Where are your liveries?”

“Ready, my lord.”

Lord Hunsdon nodded. His eye caught Will’s. “Master Shakespeare.”

“Yes, my lord?”

“I must speak with you a moment.” His gesture made it plain he meant for Will to follow him, so Will fell in behind.

Hunsdon lowered his voice as they walked to the center of the presence chamber, far from the tapestried walls. He paused beside a heap of jewel-toned cushions intended to provide comfort to the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting as they sat upon the floor.

“Tell me what you saw last night, William.”

Will looked up, surprised. “My lord, how did you hear?”

Hunsdon just smiled.

“I believe I saw the Prince of Darkness. My lord.”

“Well, I cannot say Sir Francis lived in a good expectation of God’s eternal grace, but that is unsettling. And a bad omen on top of ill auguries, and Dee’s horoscope for the coming year.” Hunsdon rubbed his chin one-handed, hard enough that Will heard the wiry rasp of threads of beard against hiss kin.

“This is the Queen’s nine-times-seventh birth day, and Dr. Dee’s charts indicate that it will be an auspicious night to bring forces to bear against her such as we have not yet encountered.”

“Worse than the plague?” No answer but a level look, and Will swallowed and glanced up at the beamed ceiling, far overhead.

“Yes. What think you of Tom Walsingham?” A level look from the lord Chamberlain. Kit trusted him. But that wasn’t what Hunsdon asked. Will closed his eyes, feeling in a pocket for the slick outline of his now-habitual shilling. He turned it in his fingers, staring down in thought.

[Mine impression of him is very fair, my lord. Quick to act. Protective of those around him.”

“Could he serve his Queen?”

“As well as any man, I warrant, although I’m not sure he has his cousin’s …”

Hunsdon, inimitably plainspoken, smiled. “Ruthlessness?”

“Yes.”

“That can be achieved. You may find yourself opposed tonight.”

“My lord, how does one oppose a play?”

Hunsdon’s elaborate doublet, covered by a gown, rose and fell over the narrow old-man’s shoulders it padded. He knotted his fingers to control their palsied trembling; Will looked away.

“On a day when devils arise from Hell to pull down our allies, anything is possible.” He stepped away, turned back, the pointed tip of his beard quivering. “Long live the Queen.”

“Long live the Queen,” Will replied.

16 August 1596

I write not knowing if I will have the courage to send this, or, if I attempt its dispatch, if or when it may reach thee. Forgive the abomination of my much distorted secretary’s hand: I scribble this missive in the belly of Tom Walsingham’s coach, where I have begged a ride for as thou knowst I am no assured horseman & I have need of very much haste: we were touring in Kent near Tom’s house when the news came, for the new lord Chamberlain has closed London’s playhouses. I race ahead. I race ahead. I may burn it, the letter I mean: I have no secret inks & no privacy in which to use them, although I suppose I could thrust my quill into an onion & squeeze the milk thereof. But that will come later. First I must acquaint thee with a year & two months that have passed since last we spoke. Thou hast been true to thy word in keeping from me, & I have not wished to trouble thee with my letters. Forgive me for writing now: I am very much in need of the comfort of thy presence in this hour; Sir Francis is dead. I do not know if thou wilt have heard, he passed this Sep. previous, attended by devils as befits the sorcery he oversaw. God forgives not crimes in good cause. The devil is fair; if thou shouldst encounter him be not o’erawed by his beauty, as I was. The morn of that night lord Hunsdon’s Men no, we were still at that date the lord Chamberlain’s Men & myself did betake us to Greenwich, where we performed Richard III before the Queen & her court to much approval. It was her anniversary of her birth, & my master commended me to have extra care in the performance, that forces might oppose us. Kit, they did. It is Essex & his troupe, and I think them allied to Baines & yr Inquisitor. The Queen might have died that night or fallen ill: it was a terrible thing, a black miasma that seemed to overtake the performance, made us stumble lines & the prompter lose his place. I could feel it, as if I waded the current when the Thames drops with the tide & thou canst walk the breadth standing upright, the water not even cresting thy knee, much to the dismay of the watermen. But I contrived to trip on a board that was really not so loose after all & drop a bladder of pig’s blood over Essex & some book he was reading in his lap, where he sat beside the stage. Her Majesty, thankfully, was unstained. With that action came an easing of the tide & brief interruption of the play although Her Majesty being much amused insisted we continue to completion. Much to Essex’s dismay. The ensuing acts proceeded smoothly, & all could recall their lines as necessary. That little action has earned me Oxford’s enmity: I believe he has decided with Sir Francis death of which he seemed unaccountably early advised, for I know neither Tom Walsingham, Burghley, Burbage, nor the lord Chamberlain informed him that he may well end his pretense of alliance with us & show his true colors in courting Essex. Fortunately with lord Hunsdon’s protection I shall be safe. Our little magic worked, Essex’s counterspell so I believe it being thwarted, & our gracious Queen was in very good spirits after & consented even to dance with rude players & commend her ladies likewise, for as I am sure thou knowest she is a great dancer esp. of galliards. Forgive thee me if I ramble overmuch. I find the core of this tale wiggles from my quill like a fish in weir; penned, but seeking escape. In November of last year, a book was published which caused great furor, but it seemed the Queen’s will & a playmender’s small magics still held all things concise. That book was called A Conference about the next Succession to the Crown of England, & dedicated to Essex, which I am sure thou wilt see as the bold move on the part of his supporters it was. While I am not o’ermerry at the thought of James VI as our next King, there are those in mine acquaintance who think it no bad thing, & the Queen herself seems to have made him the best of a bad lot. Oh, I shall have to burn this letter, my friend & surely he would be better than that popinjay Essex, whose sole recommendation is that Gloriana once thought him handsome. The fuss that followed was something to behold. My distant cousins Robert Catesby and Francis Tresham were jailed in London with many Catholics and suspected Essex sympathizers; I did make shift to see them fed & clothed during their stay at the Queen’s hostelry, although it was not so long as some.