The Fool's Girl Part 14

The heads were bent and devout. Sir Andrew was sitting in the front row. Violetta looked along from him and found Stephano and Guido. A lady sat between them. She wore a gown of rose brocade, slashed at the sleeves and all embroidered in silver. Her thick wheaten hair was caught up under a caul of gold netting, decorated with pearls. Violetta did not have to see her face; she could tell that she was beautiful by the colour of her hair, the narrowness of her waist, the set of her shoulders, the richness of her clothes. They were sitting close, so close as to be actually touching, even though their eyes were closed, their fingers locked in prayer. Near to her sat Lady Francesca, head bowed, similarly devout. She appeared somehow diminished. Her elaborately coiffed hair looked thin and l.u.s.treless, her slender frame merely bony, her pale allure insipid. Her carefully conjured beauty had been quite eclipsed by the girl's youth and bloom.

Violetta's attention was caught by a movement from the priest as he turned to face something that had been placed on the altar between the candles: a domed reliquary, intricately worked, chased and embossed to show the scenes of the Epiphany, silver on gold, bright with enamel and gleaming with precious stones. The doors were closed, but Violetta knew that inside lay the holy vessel that had contained the myrrh used to embalm the body of Our Lord.

What was it doing here? It had been put in great jeopardy: taken from its rightful place, brought to a country that counted such things as baubles, with no more worth than the value of their metal, to be venerated in a chapel no bigger than a closet.

Violetta looked on as fair head leaned towards darker and the two whispered together under the breath of prayer. She remembered those games well. Their promises to each other had not been blessed by the Church, but in Violetta's mind they were just as abiding. Had he not held her in his arms, whispered of his love as they walked by the soft flowing Thames? Had he not pledged first his help and then, taking her in his arms again, himself? They would take the blessed relic back to Illyria; they would return in triumph; they would be married in the cathedral and their true love would make up for their parents' failures. They would restore peace and prosperity to their country and rule as one. Had he not said all that to her only a few days ago? Was he betraying her with the daughter of the Venetian Amba.s.sador, sitting so close a knife could hardly be fitted between them? Malvolio had insinuated as much. He knew how to wound, and he knew too that truth cut deeper than lies. Stephano had been all on fire for them to be married, to go to the Amba.s.sador and be restored to Illyria by Venice's power. How much did he want to be Duke? Feste had been right to doubt Stephano. He had been right and she hadn't believed him. Who was the fool now?

She turned away, no longer able to see. Maria had warned her not to trust the stone, but what did she know? Violetta blinked the tears away and then returned her gaze, clear-eyed, the showing in the stone replaced by her own vision. The relic would be returned to Illyria, set in its rightful place in the cathedral there. Malvolio would be punished for what he had done, even if she had to do it with her own hand. As for Stephano, if he thought that he could replace her, Violetta, with a Venetian wh.o.r.e, he could think again. She would rule as the d.u.c.h.essa, and she would rule alone.

She stood rapt, lost in her thoughts, roused only when the c.o.c.k crowed. She opened her eyes to the first grey light of dawn. The stone in her hands was once again just that, a stone. She looked out to see a young man standing in the yard below, looking up at her window. She thought she was still dreaming. Stranger by far than anything that the stone had revealed to her. It was if she had conjured him. One last gift from Hecate.

*Come down!' he mouthed, his arm beckoning. *Come down!'

She pulled her gown over her head and ran barefoot to meet him, giving the folly stick back to a sleeping Feste on her way.

She approached Stephano slowly. She reached up and touched his face, hardly trusting that he was real.

*I saw you. I saw you with another,' she said when she could find her voice.

*In a dream?' he asked.

*Yes, in a kind of a dream.'

*Who was the lady?'

*I only saw her from the back, but I could tell that she was beautiful,' she said reluctantly. *Richly dressed with wheaten hair caught up in a golden net all embroidered with pearls. You were in a chapel sitting close to her.'

*Dreams can be false. At least that one was.' He laughed. *That is Christiana, the Amba.s.sador's daughter. She's promised to Guido. If I was sitting close, he was sitting closer. There's not much room in those chapels a" they're hardly bigger than cupboards.' He took her hands in his. *I've ridden all day and all night to find you. I am true to you and you only.'

*What I saw . . .' She looked away from him. *It chimed with something Malvolio said.'

*Malvolio?' Stephano frowned. *When did you see him?'

*He was in Oxford,' Violetta said. *He took me captive, him and Sir Andrew. Feste rescued me. Tipped them out of the carriage into a mire.'

*So that's what happened.' Stephano smiled. *They tried to twist it about, said they had been set about by rogues, not a clown and a girl.' His face grew serious. *Don't believe any foulness that comes from his mouth. He takes delight in hurting people a" you said so yourself.'

*Don't let's talk about him now. It's May morning. They have a custom here . . .'

She took his hand and they walked out into meadows heavy with dew. The sun made every blade glisten, as if each one was studded with crystal.

They went up to the ridge behind the village. The air was quite still, with no wind to chill the skin. Violetta stood between the land and the sky and closed her eyes. The strengthening sun held the promise of warmth during that day, and in all the days to come. She breathed in and felt as though she had drunk a great draught of fine Rhenish wine. The air was heady with the scents of earth, trampled gra.s.s and pollen, green growing things. She held Stephano's hand and did not let go of it. He drew her to him and they kissed as larks rose about them and the belling call of the cuckoo welcomed in the spring.

They met other couples coming from the woods laden with armfuls of blossom and garlands of wild flowers: jacinth, cowslips, oxslips, fritillary, lady's smock and b.u.t.tercups. Violetta and Stephano joined them. They came back together, bearing boughs of May blossom for the innkeeper to decorate his lintel, garlands for the horses and wagon.

*Where have you been?' Maria demanded. *I've been looking for you everywhere.'

*It is May Day morning,' Violetta replied. *I have been out in the fields collecting flowers. It is the custom.'

Stephano had left her to find Master Shakespeare. Violetta had wandered out into the yard, feeling dazed, strange, detached from the bustle going on about her.

*For unmarried maids to go to the woods with men before the sun has fairly risen?' Maria frowned. *Is that what they do here?'

*So it seems. They go out to pick flowers.'

*Is that what they're calling it now?' Feste chipped in from the back of the cart.

He had been listening to the conversation with interest while munching on bread and bacon.

Violetta looked at him. *That's what we were doing. Gathering blossom and plucking flowers for garlands. They say it is good luck.'

*I bet they do!' Feste cackled. *There was plucking going on, I'd wager, and not just flowers. I wonder where Stephano is on this bright May morning.' He cupped a hand to his ear. *Does he hear the cuckoo, d'you think?'

*That's enough from you, Feste!' Maria scolded. *You are no more than a vulgar, bawdy mischief-maker. Go your ways. Find something useful to do!'

*Vulgar? Bawdy? Mischief-maker?' Feste threw the rest of his bread to the dogs in the yard. *I'm a jester, mistress. That's why folk pay me. It's my job!'

Violetta laughed. They hadn't seen Stephano yet.

*I don't know what you are laughing about.' Maria turned on her. *I'm the nearest thing you have to a mother, so I will take the liberty. He's a fine young fellow, no mistaking that. But he's a player, with a girl in every town and hamlet, I shouldn't wonder, and who knows how many in London. He's not for you. Do not forget who you are and that you are promised.'

*You think I was with Tod?' Violetta laughed again. *Oh, Maria!' She took her hands. *It was Stephano!' She turned to Feste. *And yes, he did hear the cuckoo. So did I. We heard it together. Up on the ridge.'

*Lord Stephano!' Maria's face was transformed. *Here? Now?'

*Yes. He's inside talking to Master Shakespeare. He rode all night to get here.'

*Well, that changes things.' Maria tore off her ap.r.o.n, tidying her hair as she made for the inn door.

Feste hopped off the back of the cart.

*Rode all night to pick flowers? Now I've heard everything.'

Will was talking to Stephano, but the boy was hardly listening. He had given a good account of himself, the information he brought was valuable, but his first intent was to be with the girl. His eyes kept straying to the window to catch a glimpse of her, or to the door to see if she was entering the room. Will had seen them returning together, laughing, arms linked, Violetta's hair laced with flowers, the boy's dark head crowned with b.u.t.tercups. He had not seen her look like that before. She looked younger, all the worry and care gone from her face. Yet older too. If the girl was the image of her mother, then Viola must have been very beautiful.

The lad had followed them from Oxford, riding through the night, yet he looked as fresh as if he had just risen from his bed, while Will's head ached from the night before and his back pained him from sleeping on hard boards and a thin mattress. He'd crossed the great divide, begun the long slide from youth to age. He thanked Stephano and let him go out to find his girl. They were young. Let them enjoy it while they could.

22.

*More matter for a May morning'

There was no hope of an early start. The cart was left in the inn yard. The whole village was parading down the long main street, with drummers drumming and pipers piping to welcome in the merry morning of May. They were led by the Queen of the May, the prettiest girl in the village, crowned with flowers, borne shoulder high with her attendants around her. She was accompanied by Jack o' the Green, a young man caged all in leaves. The Morris sides were out, their faces blacked, many-coloured ribbons fluttering on their tatter coats, bells jingling, kerchiefs waving, accompanied by hobby hoss and clown. Feste broke away to join them, greeted by shouts of welcome. Will led his company, joining in at the end of the procession to go to the celebrations round the Maypole on the green.

Violetta, still wearing the garland of flowers fas.h.i.+oned that morning, took Stephano's hand and led him into the dance. The steps were simple, like the circle dances of their native land. Stephano cut an exotic figure in the intricate courts.h.i.+p of the dance. He had stripped off his doublet, and his fine cambric s.h.i.+rt billowed as he danced, showing glimpses of burnished, golden skin, so different from the poultry-white local boys. His long dark hair flew out as he turned, and his earring flashed. All the girls looked in his direction. Every maid, every matron, wanted a turn with him, but his gaze never left Violetta. He wove through the dancers with grace and energy, but his only aim was to return to her. She was his Queen of the May. None more beautiful would be crowned that day.

Ever the watcher, Will stood to one side, supping his ale, refusing all entreaties to join the dancers. He was impatient to get home, but he would let them dance yet awhile. It was a perfect day for it. No chilling rain, as in recent years, or rough winds to spoil the promised arrival of summer. He'd been wondering how young Tod would take the sudden appearance of a rival, but Violetta did not seem to have bruised his heart too much. One minute he was dancing with the Queen of the May; the next, Will saw them slipping away.

Stephano left them and they went on, a merry party. Some of the villagers were coming along with them to visit other towns and villages on the way to Stratford, the Queen of the May among them, riding on a pony, her crowning garland slightly askew. Not far to go now. Will felt his heart quicken in both dread and antic.i.p.ation as he noted the landmarks that meant he was nearing home, crossing the Stour at Newbold, sighting the windmill above Alderminster. A few miles on, just off the road on the left, stood the lone boundary oak. Behind the antler-spread of its bare upper branches lay the long back of Meon Hill. Woods cloaked its slopes like a dark mantle. At the summit, a lone thorn tree stood stark against the sky. Another witches' hill. It was several miles across country, but he could almost smell the smouldering embers of the Beltane fire that had blazed there last night.

It was late afternoon before they came to the bridge that would take them across the Avon into Stratford. The sun was bright, but Violetta s.h.i.+vered.

*It is always cold down by the river,' Will said to her as the cart began to rumble over the nine spans of the bridge.

He felt a chill of his own as boys left off fis.h.i.+ng and messing on the bank and came to run alongside them, attracted by the painted wagon. He caught himself looking for his own lad, Hamnet, among them, although he'd have been too old to play by the river. He was eleven when he was taken by a sudden fever. He lay in Holy Trinity churchyard now, eleven for ever. There was a fair at the bridge foot and up Bridge Street. Will directed Tod along Waterside, up Sheep Street and into High Street. Chapel Lane would be too narrow for the cart.

New Place occupied the corner plot, opposite the Guild Church. It was an impressive building of brick and timber, built on three storeys with five gables. News of their arrival had already spread and Anne and his daughters were standing outside ready to greet them, with caps straightened and ap.r.o.ns hastily discarded. His wife was a tall woman, still handsome, with fine grey eyes. Her face was smooth, but lines of care and worry were beginning to show about her mouth and across her forehead. She was already casting an eye over the company, calculating how many beds they would need, how many mouths there would be to feed. Next to her stood two girls of about sixteen and eighteen; the younger was shorter in stature, with an open, pretty face. She darted forward to embrace her father as soon as he had dismounted. The older and taller of the two held back, looking on with her father's dark eyes and watchful expression, waiting for her mother to make her husband welcome, as was seemly. Anne Shakespeare did not look to be a woman who wore her emotions for the world to see, but there was a tear in her eye as Will came forward and put his arms round his family. After a moment's quiet, they were all talking at once, countering one question with another as they walked through the gate and to the door of the house. Violetta could barely look at them. No matter where she went or how far she travelled, she would never again feel a mother's hand on her shoulder, a father's arms gathering her into his embrace.

Violetta wandered the garden, shooed out of the kitchen by the other women. Maria was making herself useful, but Violetta was more hindrance than help. She had many talents, but cooking and sewing were not among them. Will had gone off to visit his father, who was sick, Mistress Anne said, and to see the town council, to seek permission to perform in the guildhall. He had known most of them since boyhood, so did not antic.i.p.ate any problems with that. The company had repaired to the Bear. Mistress Anne was glad of that. She didn't want players cluttering up the place, eating them out of house and home.

Mistress Anne told Violetta not to go out on her own. She did not know who this girl was, but there was more to her than Will was saying at the moment. He'd tell her in his good time, no doubt.

*This is a small town,' she'd said, wiping her hands on her ap.r.o.n. *You'll stick out like a jay in a flock of starlings. So no further than the garden gate.'

Mistress Anne had a frank way of speaking and a stern manner. Violetta had no intention of disobeying her. She looked round the garden. Mistress Anne had already started her planting. It was a fine plot, with sunny walls for vines and fruit trees. There was an orchard off to one side, with the apples and pears, cherries and plums all in blossom.

*It's a good garden and will come better.' Mistress Anne had come out in search of herbs for the stew she was preparing. *Once the builders have gone.' Half the land was trampled and piled with blocks of stone, stacks of bricks and lengths of timber. *No sooner do they finish one thing, then they find something else needs doing. I want Will to have a word with them. Here he comes now. Tell young Lambert,' she said to her husband, *I want this lot cleared up and I want them out within the month.'

She went back into the house with her bunch of herbs. When Will had talked to the builder, he came back to Violetta. They walked about, Will asking her opinion on where they should have flower beds.

*After I'd been to father's house, I went to the Swan,' he said as they walked from one part of the garden to another. *I found my old friends there. They welcomed me in, making room in their circle as if I'd never been away. We talked of this and that a" they are important men in the town now and I had favours to ask a" then Richard Quiney said, "I hear you travel with a princess from a foreign land and her clown. A droll little fellow, by all accounts." I near choked on my ale.'

*Who told him that?' Violetta looked at Will, alarmed. *How could he know?'

Will shrugged. *News travels quicker than fire through straw round here. Some sparks fly east, some fly west, some down to London and some t'other way.' Will had felt the town close round him. *No man's business is his own in a place like this. Cecil's spies have nothing on the good people of Stratford. I told them that there was a young woman who joined us for safety, travelling north to visit kin, but I don't like it. I have to get you away.' He was silent for a while, thinking. *When I come home, I like to go to the churchyard,' he said. *Put some flowers on my lad Hamnet's grave. Perhaps you would care to come with me? There's someone there that I think you should meet.'

Violetta helped him pick flowers to make a posy. A graveyard was a strange place to meet someone. Who could this be?

They walked down a long avenue of limes towards an old woman sweeping winter leaves from the porch. She left off sweeping as they approached and leaned on her broomstick to watch.

*Old Meg.' Will nodded to her. *She sweeps the church porch and keeps the paths tidy. She'll be over shortly. You'll see.'

Will found the little mound that marked his son's grave and bent down to lay his flowers.

*He lies next to my sisters,' he said, reaching out to pa.s.s a hand over the short growing gra.s.s that covered three other mounds. *They all died young.'

The graves were near the river, under the church elms. Will stood looking down at the brown swirling water. He was thinking about poor Kate Hamlett. She'd been in his mind lately, partly to do with the play he'd been writing. She'd drowned near here while gathering flowers, or that's what the family put out, but they might well have said that to get her a Christian burial. The gossips whispered that she had drowned herself, in grief over a lost lover. Will saw her drifting, buoyed up by her billowing skirts, her hair spreading out, mixing with the weed, starred by the white flowers of crowsfoot, her posy slipping from her slackening grasp. Flowers of the water margin: daisies, white nettle, flag iris, purple loosestrife . . .

*What are you thinking?' Violetta looked at him.

He thought of her drowned mother, the bodies she'd seen floating in the harbour.

*Nothing. A poet's fancy,' he said.

*Master Shakespeare.' A voice came from behind them. *Back from London. Who's this young miss?'

*This is Violetta.' Will introduced her. *Meet Old Meg a" she keeps the graveyard.'

*Mother Margaret to you, Will Shakespeare. Let's have a bit more respect.' She turned to Violetta. *Not from round here, are you?' She eyed the cimaruta around her neck, and her eyes sparked with recognition. *Long way from home, I'd say.' She turned back to Will. *Your old man's grievous sick, so I hear. s.e.xton will be making s.p.a.ce for him before the leaves turn.' She nodded to the plot that contained the other Shakespeare graves. *Damp down this part,' she added. *Safer in the chancel.' She nodded towards the church behind them. *Bones don't last long out here.'

*He won't be planted in there,' Will remarked. Only gentry and men of importance were buried inside the church.

*He might not, maister, but you might be. Don't touch him. He scratches,' she said to Violetta as a grey-striped, hollow-sided, lop-eared cat began to rub himself about her legs. She looked up at Will. *What do you want then?'

*I want a message taken to the lord and lady.' He nodded towards Violetta. *I need their help.'

*Don't know if they're about. Might have gone travelling. Could be anywhere from here to the Severn.' Will gave her one coin, then another. *I'll see what I can do. My cousin Janet and her la.s.s Eliza, visiting from Balsall way, going back tomorrer. They might oblige.'

She nodded to two women who had sprung from nowhere. The girl regarded them boldly, with large black eyes. She was one of them, learning the craft. They weren't all old hags.

*We'll let you know.'

Old Meg hobbled off, her silent companions in attendance, followed by the brindled cat.

*Who are these people you want to get a message to?' Violetta asked.

*Lord and Lady Eldon. I want you to go and stay with them.'

*Why don't you send Tod or Ned, or George Price?'

Will looked over to where the women had turned to watch them again.

*That's not how these things are done. If you will excuse me, I have to see the s.e.xton. Here's Master Price to see you back safe.'

23.

*Not to be abed after midnight is to be up betimes'

*I didn't even know you were there,' Violetta said.

*My job is to watch you, so I watch. You might not have noticed, but those old beldames did.' George Price laughed. *My master's spies have got nothing on this place.' He offered her his arm. *Would you care to see something of the place? There's a May fair down by the river.'

The fair spread up from the Waterside, branching into the main streets of the town. Tod was there with his May Queen, buying her ribbons from a chapman, a pretty comb for her hair. It was a cheap thing made from horn, the jewels upon it coloured gla.s.s, but the girl looked on it as if it was turtle-sh.e.l.l and crusted with rubies and emeralds. Next they saw him at the sideshows, making a great deal of noise about winning things for his new girl.

*He's got a good eye,' George Price said. *For a target and for a girl.'

*Yes,' Violetta agreed. *She is very pretty.'