man in his early twenties, followed closely by two brawny gamekeepers. As they drew near, Fulke nodded and tugged his forelock respectfully.
The four men stood aside to let Edward and Anne ride past on the narrow path. As the Earl drew level with them, the young man suddenly leapt forward and grabbed hold of Edward's stirrup. Clinging to it with desperate strength, he looked up at Edward beseechingly.
"Mercy, milord. Have pity on a poor, hungry man whose only crime was tryin' to feed his family, milord!" the man cried in a thick rural dialect.
Recovering from their surprise, the two gamekeepers sprung forward and began prying the man's white-knuckled fingers loose from Edward's stirrup. Hanging on, he kicked at his attackers, and shouted, "I beg you milord!"
"Quiet you!" yelled Fulke lifting the trussed hares high. "Caught him helpin' 'imself to your lordship's hares, milord."
"Mercy, milord, I beg you."
"'Tis not his first offense, milord. It's a good whipping and off to the magistrates with 'im."
"Then jail?"
"Most assuredly, milord."
"Pity! Pity, milord. Pity," moaned the unhappy poacher.
Bending the poacher's fingers back, the gamekeepers succeeded in freeing Edward's stirrup. As they began dragging the unfortunate man away, Fulke aimed a smack at his head. The glancing blow brought forth a fresh flood of pleadings.
"Take pity on me, milord, a poor man tricked into marriage. I've got a wife and three bairns t'feed..."
"Fulke," commanded Edward. "Bring the fellow here."
The gamekeepers dragged the wretched poacher back to Edward.
"Thank you, milord. Thank you. I 'ave to put food on the table. I'm their only support..."
"Quiet man. You say you were tricked into marriage?"
"Aye, milord."
"How?"
"The woman was pregnant."
"Aye, with thy child, Will!" chortled one of the gamekeepers. The other gamekeeper burst out laughing.
"I speak true, your honor. Susanna was born not six months after the wedding. Then the twins. Five mouths t'feed. Take pity..."
"Enough," Edward said. Turning to Fulke, he asked, "Do you know this fellow?"
"Aye, milord."
"What's his name?"
"Will Shakespeare, milord. He's from Stratford, just down the river."
"Was he forced into marriage, as he claims?"
"Well, milord, his wife is...overripe in years."
The gamekeepers exchanged coarse sniggers. Fulke quieted them with an angry glare before continuing, "And the Hathaway brothers are all heavy-handed varlets."
Edward turned back to the poacher and asked, "'Twas indeed a forced match then?"
"Aye, 'twas that, milord," Will said sadly.
"A loveless marriage is an unwished yoke."
"Aye milord, and mine is the worst ever hung on a suffering man's neck."
"I doubt that very much," Edward said with a tight smile.
"Milord?"
"No matter. You have argued well. Fulke, is this man a frequent poacher?"
"Well, err...No milord, more of a dabbler, I'd say."
"Do you have any trade other than poaching?"
"I can make a lovely soft pair of gloves for milady and a fine, strong pair for you, milord."
"Fulke set him free. He can go."
"Thank you, milord. Thank you, a thousand..."
"See that you leave off poaching. Stick to your glove making."
"I will, milord. I promise you that. Thank you, milord. Thank you."
Edward and Anne spurred their horses forward along the leafy path.
"That was merciful of you, Edward. Did you do it to impress me?"
"No, I just felt sorry for the poor man. I fought with several Shakespeares from these parts in the Scottish wars. Brave men and true. They may have been his kin."
"You must have been young then."
"I was."
"Why did you go?"
"It was my guardian's idea." Again, Edward fought the urge to speak openly of his hatred for Burghley. "I suppose that he thought the battlefield would round off my education."
SCOTLAND
It hadn't taken Burghley's spy, Hugh Brincknell, long to discover Edward's nocturnal excursions. He began shadowing him through London's dark alleys, past the tavern signs and shuttered house-fronts, to the Boar's Head. Burghley received regular reports:
"The Boar's Head again, Brincknell?"
"Aye, milord. Disguised as a player."
"With Lyly and the same unrestrained companions?"
"Aye, they're all base and common fellows. A looser bunch would be hard to find, milord." Brincknell yawned sleepily. "A thousand pardons, milord. Oxford mocks the midnight bell."
"A plague on his wanton ways. What else?"
"Lyly and he move from tavern to tavern, trading lines, milord. At times, the Earl shouts at the moon, swaying from side to side, then he falls against Lyly roaring with laughter."
"Don't their antics attract the night watch?"
"Lyly keeps an eye open for them, milord. He looks after the Earl when he's in his cups."
"What else? Wenching? Gambling? Brawling?"
"No, milord."
"Is he still 'acting' in public?"
"The Earl does indeed join in on occasion, undercover, with a few of the alehouse players."
"Gives he no thought to his station?" Burghley complained.
"The Earl takes parts that match him, milord, kings, and the like."
Burghley snorted derisively.
"He's good. The crowd always cheers him loudly..."
Burghley silenced the man with a raised hand. "Don't defend him. The young fool is belittling his rank in life."
"He
