Page 43 of Love, Will

“May I ask about your unusual selection of play today?” he raised his eyebrows, showing this was not time for pleasantries.

“We were only fulfilling the Earl of Southampton’s request, your Lordship.” Richard took the lead while my eyes shot at him. No, this was not the time to blame Henry. He must be already in trouble. I had to do something, take the blame somehow without accusing my Earl or the men.

“I am the writer of the play, your Lordship,” I stated and stepped forward to meet his gaze.

“Yes, Shakespeare, I remember that from a few years back, my memory is not as poor as they say,” he spat, still looking at Richard.

“But why did Southampton want this play today?” he continued to address Richard

“I suggested that…” I tried to speak, but my friend pushed me back and took over the conversation.

“We do not know your Lordship,” he admitted. “We were on the stage yesterday, rehearsing while the Earl barged in and demanded this play, with the added scene.”

No, no, no, this was not happening. We could not blame Henry like this. He would be in trouble, possibly fined again. My mind started racing, thinking of the best phrases to say or do so I can keep him away from more blame. I did not care about what would happen to me, as long as Henry was spared. And I would do anything in my power to make it so.

“I see. And why did you accept, knowing the play had already been censored?” he raised his eyebrows.

“Your Lordship, it is all my fault,” I said, escaping Richard’s push. “I was joyous to have such an old play again on the stage and gladly accepted it. And added the censored scene. I was happy to do it,” I reinforced my message, hoping this would help Henry.

“Yes, Will here is very proud of his creations being played all the time, as you can imagine,” Richard uttered, pinning me with a sharp gaze. I breathed easy for a second. He understood what I was trying to do and supported me. A friend till the very end.

“That, and also the fact that the Earl paid us and when we expressed our concerns about the play, he threatened to close down our theatre,” he said dryly, shifting his gaze from me to Cecil.

“So you felt threatened to perform this?”

“Yes, your Lordship.” Richard nodded.

Before I had the time to say anything else, the other men joined in his affirmation, confessing they felt threatened by Henry and his words.

“Thank you, Master Burbage. You can continue where you left off from tomorrow, with newer material this time.” He greeted Richard and proceeded to leave.

I faced my friend then, betrayed and fearful for Henry’s fate. I wanted to jump from the stage and chase Cecil but Richard grabbed me by the chest and whispered carefully, “Don’t do anything stupid, your life depends on it, as well as ours.”

He then released me and went backstage. I took a deep breath and tried to calm my nerves, then stepped towards Cecil, who was mounting his horse and asked, “Your Lordship, could you tell me if the Earl is still at court?” It was a silly question, both him and I knew it, but he humored me nonetheless.

“Shakespeare, I like you and we all know Southampton is your patron, but try not to get involved in his politics,” he advised while fixing his saddle.

“I apologise to the Lordship, it is not my intention to pry. I merely wanted to write to my patron regarding a fee I am owed and did not know to which location to address my letter,” I tried a more reasonable excuse.

“I suggest you find a new patron, Shakespeare,” he said, smiling, pleased with something I did not understand. Did not know.

“Oh?” I stopped.

“Well, the one you currently have is in a prison cell, after all,” he stated, proud of his achievement.

My heart sank. “I see,” I barely managed to say. My eyes filled with tears, but I tried to hold myself together for another while. “Do you happen to know when he will be released?” I murmured.

“I wouldn’t count on that, Shakespeare. Get your coin elsewhere,” he said, annoyed.

“So a long time then…”

“He tried to start a rebellion, after all,” Cecil said while kicking his horse.

I spent the next two weeks driven insane by the thought of my sweet Henry in a prison cell, not knowing if he was to live another day. I knew how much he enjoyed luxury and fine food, how he would wake from bed at crazy hours at night to watch the stars and think, and how much he loved the sunset. I imagined him locked away, maybe even tortured, crammed into a damp cold cell, unable to feed his lungs with fresh air or his belly with good food. I had nightmares of him shivering at night, too cold and too sick to even fight for his life and liberation.

I spent these days wandering the streets like a lunatic, asking everyone that had any connection to the Privy or the court, maids, consorts, nobles, footmen, stewards, if they had any news of the rebellion and when the trial was going to be held. Finally, we learnt something new, that Essex was trialed and found guilty of treason, therefore executed at court. By some miracle, some say because of Cecil himself, Henry’s life had been spared, and sent to the Tower of London instead.

The heaviness of my heart relieved for a slight moment, knowing that my prayers had been answered and my lover’s life spared, until I thought about what this would do to his soul. I knew this punishment weighed harder on him than losing his life. One of our many nights together, he told me the story of his father, how he too was banished in the tower for several years and how he caught the cough sickness.

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