man like you. Best you go and inquire about that employment.’”
“Did he mean for you to come clear to London? Did he say it as a threat?”
“By all that’s holy, Anne, everything was like a threat that day! And when he left he whispered to me, ‘See you on the stage in London and the shires soon.’”
“Walsingham’s spies and intelligencers have spun a huge spider-web. I fear for you if you get involved.”
“I fear for myself if I don’t. What if I defy these hints—these invitations I keep getting? Oh, I know you think I’m just looking for excuses to come here to try my hand at it all, but the terrible thing is—despite the horror of this Arden mess—I truly love London. I want to come, and in better times . . . Hell’s gates, listen to what I’m saying. Would I be getting in bed with those who will kill my own kin?” he cried, raking his fingers through his hair so hard that his cap flew off behind him.
Before he could retrieve it, I seized his wrists in a hard grip. I was thinking, And would you ever again try to get in bed with me, but I said only, “There’s one thing I am certain of, Will Shakespeare, alias Andrew Whateley and alias my brother that day you saved me at Kenilworth. You can play parts, and I know you can rhyme and write. Whatever you decide to do, you have the God-given gifts for it and have worked hard to increase those. As Father Berowne used to say before he lost his senses, ‘To whom much is given, much is expected.’ Will, if you are taken on by any players, it will be because you are good—and can be great.”
His mouth open, he stared at me. I was as shocked at what I’d said as he. All those lonely, wretched, angry hours I’d rehearsed telling him I hated him and I said that. His distracted gaze finally focused on mine. He lifted his chin and straightened his spine so that he looked strong and settled as he had not in days.
“Two things,” he said, his voice calm and clear, “no three. Above all else, I regret that I have lost you, but I will always love and cherish you in my heart and mind and soul. Anne, swear to me you will not come near Smithfield the day they execute those men.”
“If you will stay away.”
“I swear it, for I could not bear that. But I will see you before I leave the city, I swear that too.”
“Is that the third thing?”
“The third—no, the third is that, if and when I come to make my name and fortune here, it will be alone—alone but for knowing you are here. I will not rear a child in London, and Anne, the murderess of dreams, would never come with me.”
I gasped at how brutally he’d put that, but he dashed a quick kiss on my cheek and was off at a run toward I knew not where.
I did see him again, the morning after the executions; he was leaving the city later that day. He sent a note saying he’d call for me at my back door, and we’d just be two country lads together. So I wore my boy’s garb again and off we went.
Almost like old times, we headed for a river, but the Avon was but a ripple compared to the torrent of the Thames at high tide. I felt that way about Will too. Whatever love I’d borne him earlier and whatever passions I had felt in Stratford were like a drop compared to this sudden surge within me. And yet, I held my tongue and played the part of his friend.
He hired a boat, a cheap one without a canopy, cushions, or Maud Wilton’s sweetbags. I could have afforded a better one, but said naught about that either.
“Where are we going?” I asked as we headed “Eastward ho” on the river.
“Though I spent the time Edward Arden was publicly butchered on my knees in St. Giles’ Church, in prayer and remembrance of his kindnesses to me, I have to see what they’ve done with his head. No one else would understand but you. Someday I’ll write about such passions and power that can turn one’s world upside down and destroy destinies. And I swear I will put the name of Arden in my plays and the name of poor, mad Somerville too.”