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Authors: Rory Clements
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‘You are on your own, Billy – and you have but one chance to save your useless, God-forsaken life. Answer my questions, or else I will have you in the Wood Street Counter within the hour and you will be arraigned before the justice who will order you hanged. First, why did you shoot Mr Cooper’s horse from under him?’
‘I didn’t want to shoot the horse. I like horses. I wanted to kill the cripple.’
‘Why?’
Billy shrugged his meaty shoulders. ‘He was trouble. The constable said I had spoken too freely. He said the cripple would talk to Mr Topcliffe and get us in difficulties. I don’t want no trouble with Mr Topcliffe. I would rather cross the devil himself than Mr Topcliffe.’ He suddenly shook his head violently. ‘I should not have said that. Please, master, I beg you do not tell him I said that.’
‘What has Topcliffe to do with all this?’
‘I would tell you, but Tom told me to keep my mouth shut else he would cut out my tongue and stick it up my arse.’
‘I’ll do worse than that.’ Shakespeare almost began to feel sorry for Scavager Billy. He had the wit of an earthworm and had little idea what he was involved in. In attacking Boltfoot he had probably been driven by nothing more than a half-formed idea that he was in danger. ‘Billy, do you know who I am?’
‘A gentleman?’
‘My name is Shakespeare. I represent the Queen of England.’
‘Queen Bess?’
‘So you must answer my questions honestly. Even Topcliffe is subject to the Queen’s law. Now tell me true, how is Topcliffe involved with the death of the man whose body you found in the snow?’
‘The Ethiop? That was the constable’s notion.’
‘You mean the constable killed him?’
‘No, no. The body was found by the apprentices, just as I told your cripple. So I brought the discovery to the attention of the constable, Tom. It was him as went to Mr Topcliffe, because he didn’t know what to do with the body. He was only a blackamoor, but he was dressed in gentry attire, which we could not understand, by no means.’
‘So Topcliffe came to you?’
‘Aye. He laughed when he saw the dead black face.’
‘Did he know him?’
‘Ask him yourself. All he said was he knew just what to do with him, which is what Tom and me wanted to hear.’
‘And what was that?’
‘He told us to take him on the handcart to Mr Peace at St Paul’s. And he said we should sell the dead man’s clothes for our pains. He’s a fair man is Mr Topcliffe.’
‘Topcliffe fair?’
‘If he likes you, he’d do anything for you. If you would damn the Pope and his legions to hell, like a good Christian should, then he is your friend.’
And what if he doesn’t like you, thought Shakespeare. What then? What if you are a Catholic priest or one who harbours them? Then he will tear you apart like a ravening beast and bathe in your blood.
‘What of the crown of holly?’
Scavager Billy laughed in his curious way. ‘That was Mr Topcliffe’s notion, too. He told the constable to arrange for it to be done. I think it was a jest of some manner. But he told us to say nothing and tell no one what he said. I pray to God I will not be in trouble with him now.’
Shakespeare looked at the man in despair. He was just the sort of callous, unthinking idiot that Topcliffe always used for his foul designs. Not innately wicked, merely malleable to an evil man’s will. Men like Billy had been the source of every tyrant’s power from the birth of the world.
‘Shall we take him to the gaol in Wood Street now, Mr Shakespeare?’ Boltfoot said.
‘No. Leave him be. Let him take his chances with Topcliffe. He might wish he had gone to the hangman instead ...’
‘Mr Sh-sh-shakespeare, what a pleasant s-surprise. And Mr Cooper, too. Welcome to my home.’
‘And good day to you, Mr Gregory. I trust you fare well.’
‘Well enough, Mr Sh-shakespeare. Well
‘I didn’t want to shoot the horse. I like horses. I wanted to kill the cripple.’
‘Why?’
Billy shrugged his meaty shoulders. ‘He was trouble. The constable said I had spoken too freely. He said the cripple would talk to Mr Topcliffe and get us in difficulties. I don’t want no trouble with Mr Topcliffe. I would rather cross the devil himself than Mr Topcliffe.’ He suddenly shook his head violently. ‘I should not have said that. Please, master, I beg you do not tell him I said that.’
‘What has Topcliffe to do with all this?’
‘I would tell you, but Tom told me to keep my mouth shut else he would cut out my tongue and stick it up my arse.’
‘I’ll do worse than that.’ Shakespeare almost began to feel sorry for Scavager Billy. He had the wit of an earthworm and had little idea what he was involved in. In attacking Boltfoot he had probably been driven by nothing more than a half-formed idea that he was in danger. ‘Billy, do you know who I am?’
‘A gentleman?’
‘My name is Shakespeare. I represent the Queen of England.’
‘Queen Bess?’
‘So you must answer my questions honestly. Even Topcliffe is subject to the Queen’s law. Now tell me true, how is Topcliffe involved with the death of the man whose body you found in the snow?’
‘The Ethiop? That was the constable’s notion.’
‘You mean the constable killed him?’
‘No, no. The body was found by the apprentices, just as I told your cripple. So I brought the discovery to the attention of the constable, Tom. It was him as went to Mr Topcliffe, because he didn’t know what to do with the body. He was only a blackamoor, but he was dressed in gentry attire, which we could not understand, by no means.’
‘So Topcliffe came to you?’
‘Aye. He laughed when he saw the dead black face.’
‘Did he know him?’
‘Ask him yourself. All he said was he knew just what to do with him, which is what Tom and me wanted to hear.’
‘And what was that?’
‘He told us to take him on the handcart to Mr Peace at St Paul’s. And he said we should sell the dead man’s clothes for our pains. He’s a fair man is Mr Topcliffe.’
‘Topcliffe fair?’
‘If he likes you, he’d do anything for you. If you would damn the Pope and his legions to hell, like a good Christian should, then he is your friend.’
And what if he doesn’t like you, thought Shakespeare. What then? What if you are a Catholic priest or one who harbours them? Then he will tear you apart like a ravening beast and bathe in your blood.
‘What of the crown of holly?’
Scavager Billy laughed in his curious way. ‘That was Mr Topcliffe’s notion, too. He told the constable to arrange for it to be done. I think it was a jest of some manner. But he told us to say nothing and tell no one what he said. I pray to God I will not be in trouble with him now.’
Shakespeare looked at the man in despair. He was just the sort of callous, unthinking idiot that Topcliffe always used for his foul designs. Not innately wicked, merely malleable to an evil man’s will. Men like Billy had been the source of every tyrant’s power from the birth of the world.
‘Shall we take him to the gaol in Wood Street now, Mr Shakespeare?’ Boltfoot said.
‘No. Leave him be. Let him take his chances with Topcliffe. He might wish he had gone to the hangman instead ...’
‘Mr Sh-sh-shakespeare, what a pleasant s-surprise. And Mr Cooper, too. Welcome to my home.’
‘And good day to you, Mr Gregory. I trust you fare well.’
‘Well enough, Mr Sh-shakespeare. Well
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