Free The Queen's Man by Rory Clements Page B

departing Topcliffe. ‘Your man’s the devil made flesh, do you know that? Do you not note the stink of brimstone about him? He’s Satan himself. And that makes you his familiar. Whoever you are, I want nothing to do with you and would not accept water from you even though I were dying.’
    Shakespeare stayed him. ‘Wait, did I not pull him off you?’
    ‘I have nothing more to say.’ The Scots youth shrugged off the hand, gasped with pain from the movement of his damaged shoulder, and hobbled away, back towards Mary’s quarters. The English guards grinned scornfully at him as he passed.

Chapter Eight
    S HAKESPEARE LOOKED INTO his goblet of brandy, swirled the dark liquid, then inhaled its powerful fumes. This place was making him despondent. There was something horribly unwholesome about these two communities – captors and captives – living so close together but so far apart.
    After the brutal incident with Topcliffe and the young Scotsman, he had sought out the sergeant of guards and demanded to know what would be done.
    ‘The young man’s name is Mr McKyle. I have heard all about it. Has he complained?’
    ‘Not to me, but I witnessed an appalling, unprovoked assault.’
    ‘Then you are free to lay a complaint, Mr Shakespeare, if you so wish. But the way I heard, it was McKyle that provoked Mr Topcliffe.’
    There was no point in complaining to the sergeant of guards, Shakespeare realised; the only hope of redress would be with the earl himself. In the meantime, he resumed his examination of the castle and its inhabitants. He was particularly anxious to find Buchan Ord, the man who was said to have accompanied François Leloup when he met Mary, but no one knew where he was.
    Shakespeare tried to gain access to Mary’s apartments, but was barred by the English guards. Now he was in the room that passed as his office, awaiting another meeting with the earl. Through the window, he saw that night was closing in. There was a knock at the door and a bluecoat appeared.
    ‘His lordship will see you now, Mr Shakespeare.’
    He downed the brandy and enjoyed its warm descent through his gullet, then followed the servant through to a comfortable withdrawing room where he found Shrewsbury and Topcliffe standing before the hearth, warmed by a log fire.
    ‘Mr Shakespeare, you wished to talk with me.’
    Shakespeare bowed to the earl and ignored Topcliffe. ‘I need to see the Scotsman named Buchan Ord. No one seems to know where he is.’
    ‘That is because he is no longer here.’
    The surprise and irritation were evident on Shakespeare’s face. ‘Where then has he gone?’
    The earl shrugged helplessly. ‘I know not. After our midday repast, I was summoned to the presence of the Scots Queen . . .’
    ‘The Scots heifer . . .’ Topcliffe put in.
    ‘The Scots Queen asked to see me.’
    ‘And so you crawled to her like a dog.’
    Shrewsbury looked at Topcliffe and shook his head, as though he had heard it all before. ‘We may not like it, Dick, but she is a Queen and must be treated as such. She may, indeed, be our Queen one day. More than that, she is a lonely woman of thirty-nine years and fears herself abandoned and forgotten.’
    ‘Do you know what the world says about you and the heifer, George?’
    ‘Yes, Dick, for you have told it me before. Many times.’
    ‘It behoves me to say it again, however, lest you be in any doubt or forget it. They say you are a slave to her, that she is a lewd Romish worm, with succubus talons and teeth between her legs, and that you obediently grovel beneath her skirts and scrape at her rough-scabbed vileness with your tongue. That everything you do is at her will. That she has borne you two bastards. That is what the court says. That is what men say.’
    Shrewsbury sighed. ‘Then tell them the truth, Dick, for you know me as well as any man.’
    ‘I should tell them you have gone soft, that you are a jelly of a man. And I would do so, but for the love I bear