Read Online Shakespeare's Rebel by C.C. Humphreys - Free Book Online
Authors: C.C. Humphreys
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bide? Come then, braggart, and swallow your death.’ He lunged, knocking the blades aside with a great sweep. On their ring, he ran for the ladder, knowing it for a sorry chance with men on his heel. He saw the boat a yard out, oars in the water, felt the rapier’s point driven at his back, noted the one other option that had been in his head like a trace of yesterday’s ale: the crane and its dangling ropes . . . and took it in a leap, clearing the dock side, eluding the thrust, swinging out beyond more of them. In the fraction of a moment of stillness at swing’s end, he looked – to the dock and the three men upon it; to the boat. If he fell into it, he’d sink it and his son with it. There was but one other choice. Sighing, he let go.
The Thames was as cold as he expected it to be – skin-puckering, bollock-shrivelling, head-pounding freezing. Sinking as far as his velocity took him, he kicked up, broke the surface with a gasp that fuelled his cry of ‘Christ’s balls! Get me out!’
He dumped his sword in, grasped the gunnel of the wherry. The boatman yelped and dived for the other side as Ned dragged his father up. Somehow the vessel did not founder and when John slipped in, he spat out water and said, ‘Wh . . . Wh . . . Whitehall Stair.’
As the men on the dock cursed and shouted threats should he fail to return, the boatman plied his oars lustily. Ned bent over him. ‘Father. What can I do?’
‘L-l-little enough, I w-warrant.’ John sniffed at his chest. ‘W-well. Many have c-complained about m-my savour lately. My s-swim has at least cleared the smell of your piss.’
The youth smiled. ‘I am sorry about that, Father. But you were not there when I needed you.’
‘Aye. Well, I am here now. A p-piece of me anyway. Though I am not sure how long I may re-re-remain. How far till we dock?’
Ned looked. ‘The Fleet disgorges its filth to our right.’
John groaned. ‘S-so far yet? I’ll be d-d-dead before the Temple, let alone Whiteha-ha-hall.’ He sneezed violently. ‘For mercy’s sake, talk to me, boy. Distract me from my woes.’
Ned grinned. ‘And what would you talk of, Father?
John felt it, the tiniest flash of heat in the iceberg his body was becoming. ‘Tell me of that cur, Despair. Your mother and he are b-b-betrothed?’
‘Aye, ’tis so. I was called to witness the hand-fasting.’ He shivered, not in sympathy but in distaste.
‘But was it . . .’ John glanced at the boatman, who, despite his labours, was taking an interest in the conversation. ‘Was it de praesenti ?’
Like John, Ned had attended the grammar school. ‘No, they will not marry in haste. Mother wants a full ceremony and at Despair’s estate.’
‘So it is only de-de-de futuro ?’ John nodded, enjoying the little warmth he could have. ‘Good. Such an engagement may be broken off at any time.’
‘Aye. Unless of course there is copula carnalis .’ Ned scratched his chin. ‘In which case, of course . . .’
‘Enough!’ The chill had returned with the Latin. He wasn’t going to discuss copula carnalis with his son. Especially to do with his mother. And he also knew her. All would be conducted correctly. She would fulfil her obligations as a wife – but only in their prescribed time. ‘W-well,’ he chattered, ‘I have some hopes, then.’
‘Few enough, sure,’ replied Ned. ‘Not that you had many before, but this last debauch . . .’
‘No m-m-more!’ John held up a hand, shivered twice as hard as a sluice of water ran down his armpit. ‘I have prospects now to back my hopes. Burbage has sent for me. Perhaps a re-recall to the company?’ He saw the doubt clear in his son’s eyes. ‘Or perhaps he wants you for apprentice and would talk terms.’
The light came into Ned’s eyes, then fled as fast. ‘’Twould be an honour, but . . . but my mother would never allow it. My’ – he ground his teeth – ‘my new father will not either. They would have me a gentleman and there is
The Thames was as cold as he expected it to be – skin-puckering, bollock-shrivelling, head-pounding freezing. Sinking as far as his velocity took him, he kicked up, broke the surface with a gasp that fuelled his cry of ‘Christ’s balls! Get me out!’
He dumped his sword in, grasped the gunnel of the wherry. The boatman yelped and dived for the other side as Ned dragged his father up. Somehow the vessel did not founder and when John slipped in, he spat out water and said, ‘Wh . . . Wh . . . Whitehall Stair.’
As the men on the dock cursed and shouted threats should he fail to return, the boatman plied his oars lustily. Ned bent over him. ‘Father. What can I do?’
‘L-l-little enough, I w-warrant.’ John sniffed at his chest. ‘W-well. Many have c-complained about m-my savour lately. My s-swim has at least cleared the smell of your piss.’
The youth smiled. ‘I am sorry about that, Father. But you were not there when I needed you.’
‘Aye. Well, I am here now. A p-piece of me anyway. Though I am not sure how long I may re-re-remain. How far till we dock?’
Ned looked. ‘The Fleet disgorges its filth to our right.’
John groaned. ‘S-so far yet? I’ll be d-d-dead before the Temple, let alone Whiteha-ha-hall.’ He sneezed violently. ‘For mercy’s sake, talk to me, boy. Distract me from my woes.’
Ned grinned. ‘And what would you talk of, Father?
John felt it, the tiniest flash of heat in the iceberg his body was becoming. ‘Tell me of that cur, Despair. Your mother and he are b-b-betrothed?’
‘Aye, ’tis so. I was called to witness the hand-fasting.’ He shivered, not in sympathy but in distaste.
‘But was it . . .’ John glanced at the boatman, who, despite his labours, was taking an interest in the conversation. ‘Was it de praesenti ?’
Like John, Ned had attended the grammar school. ‘No, they will not marry in haste. Mother wants a full ceremony and at Despair’s estate.’
‘So it is only de-de-de futuro ?’ John nodded, enjoying the little warmth he could have. ‘Good. Such an engagement may be broken off at any time.’
‘Aye. Unless of course there is copula carnalis .’ Ned scratched his chin. ‘In which case, of course . . .’
‘Enough!’ The chill had returned with the Latin. He wasn’t going to discuss copula carnalis with his son. Especially to do with his mother. And he also knew her. All would be conducted correctly. She would fulfil her obligations as a wife – but only in their prescribed time. ‘W-well,’ he chattered, ‘I have some hopes, then.’
‘Few enough, sure,’ replied Ned. ‘Not that you had many before, but this last debauch . . .’
‘No m-m-more!’ John held up a hand, shivered twice as hard as a sluice of water ran down his armpit. ‘I have prospects now to back my hopes. Burbage has sent for me. Perhaps a re-recall to the company?’ He saw the doubt clear in his son’s eyes. ‘Or perhaps he wants you for apprentice and would talk terms.’
The light came into Ned’s eyes, then fled as fast. ‘’Twould be an honour, but . . . but my mother would never allow it. My’ – he ground his teeth – ‘my new father will not either. They would have me a gentleman and there is
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