The Book of Air and Shadows - Michael Gruber [131]
W.S. is verie easie with mee & with mee alone speakes of the theatre & plaies & the plaie of Mary he is comanded (soe he thinks) to write; yet for manie daies he doth no writing whilst here, or but a little in hys smale booke. We are abroad muche & I with my newdevized angle-rod holped hym survey som land neare Rowington which hys neighbour disputeth the boundes & pleazed hym muche therbye. His wyfe though passing olde is yet lively and manages alle; her accomptes all a-hoo (I have stolen a looke) yet she knowes her every ell of lande theyre rentes & where lieth the last pepper-corne. The youngere daughter somewhat ill-favoured; not married nor none in prospect; lykes me not & I doe not know why for I traite her with best courtesie. But I listen behinde door to servantes prattel & heare she is jealous of this elder sister that her father loveeth beste or soe she thinkes; soe too there wase a sonne her twin who hath died some yeares past & W.S. wisheth it ben her who died & not her brother; seeminglie am I of an age with this dead boye or a little younger & am somwhat lyke in hys eies, therefore hee doth favour mee & this daughter hateth mee for it. Thus they speake & whether it be trewe or no shal we see hereafter; but if trewe it doth advaunce oure enterpryse I thinke.
I have scaped a dangeur that I shal relate you. He hath upon an evening come into my chamber in hys howse & I was cyphering with mye grille & he askes what it is I doe & I wase much discountenanced yet spake brave saying I reade holie scripture. He asketh what is that sheete of metall & answered tis a copie I hath made of a lanthorne that adorneth the crypt where lieth my mother, a remembrance of her. Then asketh: art a poet too Dick I see you have quick hid what you write upon when I cam in as som poets doe & I with ’em. Nay cosen saith I tis som mathematick idlinge I doe. He saith: ho, holie writ & nomberes all at onece thou art a wonder, no wonder thy skull lacks room for witte. Soe he left me safe.
Now heere is a secret I have uncouvered of hym: a-Sundaies ’tis hys habbot after divine servise he taketh horse & quits the towne with the fellowe Spade soe hee saies to ryde in the forest of Arden nearebye. Upon such a day I take horse and follow them on a road through the forest north-west up the vale, five miles or more it must have ben & come to a rise in ground and can see at some littel distanse the castle of Warwick, its tours. I come to theyre horses and I dismount too and walk upon a track through the woode. After a tyme I come to a ruine of som olde priorie or such romish howse shut sence King Henries daie where are manie folke about kneylyng & telling bedes & a man there no dowt a popish priest with hys cuppe & mumbles; & W.S. there too among them all. I watch & listen & then the folk leave the place & W.S. speaketh with the priest for a tyme & I venture closer to heere them theyre develish plots mayhap when I am seized from behynde & a grete hande clappit ovr mye mouth & then pressed to earth with a heavie weight & feele a point gainst my cheke & a voise saith quiet or you are dead man. Soe for a while; then am lifted up & I see there is W.S. & it is Spade who hath me & his daggere still drawen.
Quoth W.S. Dick why skulk in shadoues why not com to mass you are a goode Catholicke are you not? I answer sir I was afeared an it might be a snare set by pursuivantes to take names of thos sekeing holy masse as if oft done these tymes. Nay he saies they are but good folk of the countrey who cleve stil to the olde religioun. And you amongst them, say I. In parte, he saies, for I am a goode Kinges man & temper me to the requisites of pouwer & shew my face a Sundaies where pouwer demandes it. Quoth I: And believeth not? That, saies he, is for God alone & not such as you, nor yet the Kinges majestie to know; but though Jack Calvin & all the bischops saie I can not praye for the sowles of my parentes & of my littel sonne, yet I will: if it damn mee to hell I will do it. And hym sayeing this looketh