A Mystery Of Errors

“Or else there is no such man at all,” said Smythe. He ladled some meat out of the common bowl and put it on his trencher, then tore off a piece of bread and popped a piece of stewed mutton in his mouth.

Shakespeare gulped his ale and set the tankard down, frowning. “What?” His eyes grew wide. “Oh, I see! You are suggesting that Sir William knew all along the truth about the blade, and he merely said that it was from Toledo just to see if you would know the difference?”

“I suspect so,” Smythe replied, washing down the bread and meat with some ale. He felt ravenous and grateful for the free meal.

“Well, I can see the sense in that, I suppose,” said Shakespeare, filling his own trencher. “But then, why would a man of his position wear a merely ordinary blade? I should think that he would wish to purchase nothing but the best.”

“Indeed. One would certainly think so.”

“So then… why not the best? Why not a genuine Toledo?”

“Well, in all the commotion just now,” Smythe said, “you most likely did not notice Marlowe’s weapon, did you?”

“Marlowe’s weapon? Tuck, my friend, I was much too busy staying out of the way of those blades to pay much mind to their quality of manufacture.”

“Well, in all likelihood, most people would probably have failed to notice, too,” said Smythe, “unless, that is, they were apprenticed for seven years to a master smith and farrier, who taught them everything he knew about the art of weaponscraft. Marlowe’s rapier, as it happens, was an exquisite example of the finest Spanish craftsmanship. Its cup hilt was worked with gold and its scabbard was bejeweled in a manner I would not think a poet could normally afford.”

“You think they had exchanged blades?” Shakespeare said.

“But why? It could not have been to test your knowledge, for Marlowe must have already had that blade in his possession before we had arrived.”

“True. Perhaps Sir William gave it to him, either as a gift or perhaps as payment for some service rendered.”

“An extravagant gift, indeed. Especially since Sir William seems not to like Marlowe very much. Or at the very least, he disapproves of him.”

“He did make that rather strange remark,” said Smythe. “About making allowances for talent or some such thing, because otherwise the man would be insufferable. I am not sure what he meant.”

Shakespeare smiled. “He was alluding to Marlowe’s tastes.” “His tastes?”

“When Sir William said that Marlowe seemed to like you, he meant he… liked you.”

“What do you mean he… oh! Oh, God’s wounds!”

Shakespeare chuckled. “That is why Sir William was so amused by your response. Amiable, indeed. But never fear, Tuck. I shall protect you from predatory poets. If you, in turn, protect me from murderous drunkards with rapiers.”

“Done,” said Smythe. “Now let’s see about finding a place to sleep tonight, and then we shall seek out the Queen’s Men.”

5

THE BRIEF LETTER HAD ARRIVED by messenger. Had it not been sealed and delivered directly into her hand, Elizabeth was certain that her mother would have opened it and nosed through its contents first before she gave it to her. However, the messenger had insisted on delivering it to her in person, firmly stating that those had been his master’s specific instructions, and that he was to wait for a reply. So now Elizabeth ’s mother hovered around her like an anxious hen, fluttering her hands and making clucking noises.

“Well? What is it? Who is from, Bess? What does it say?” “Why, it is from Mr. Anthony Gresham,” Elizabeth said with surprise, feeling a tightness in her stomach as she broke the seal and read the note. “He requests the honor and pleasure of my company in order to discuss a matter of mutual import.”

“Oh, how splendid!” Edwina Darcie clapped her hands together like a small girl delighted with an unexpected present. Elizabeth rolled her eyes. It seemed as if her mother was liable to start jumping up and down with glee at any moment. “But this is wonderful news! A matter of mutual import! He means to discuss the wedding plans, no doubt. Upon what date does he invite you?”

“Tonight,” Elizabeth said. “This evening.”

“Tonight? Tonight! Why… why this is most irregular! Tonight! Such short notice! Barely even enough time to get dressed! Whatever could he have been thinking? Goodness, I… I haven’t even the proper time to decide what I should wear!”

“I believe the invitation is for me alone, Mother,” said Elizabeth.

“What? Oh, nonsense, don’t be absurd. Why on earth would you think such a thing?”

“Because that is what the invitation says, Mother,” Elizabeth replied. “It says, a matter of import that he must discuss with me alone.”

“Let me see that!” Her mother snatched the letter from her hand. Her eyes grew wide with affronted dignity as she read it to herself. “Well! I have never heard of such a thing! To invite a young girl out without a proper chaperone… It is most irregular! Most irregular, indeed! We shall have none of this!”