“Do so, sirrah, I pray you.” The voice of the Queen was now ominous indeed.
“The fugitives had lain but one night at the inn in the city in the disguise of an Italian music master and his son, when an unhappy distraught man came seeking them. He was the devoted servant of the governor of the castle. His master, it appeared, upon learning his daughter’s act, had repaired straightway to his royal mistress with news of the escape of his prisoner. Moreover, he took upon his own shoulders the whole of the blame. He withheld from the Queen the part his daughter had played in his prisoner’s escape and submitted himself to fate.”
By now there were many who would have stopped the mouth of the player, and foremost among them was the Lord Treasurer. This man, Shakespeare, knew too much. And while some marveled at the madness of his audacity, and all deplored his grievous indiscretion, there was not one among them who might venture an attempt to silence him without affronting the temper of the Queen.
But for that matter it had been impossible to silence the player now. For one thing the Queen, with a face that boded ill, was marking intently every word that fell from the man’s lips. And again the player’s feelings were wrought to such a pitch of interest by the stress of his narrative that he seemed to be carried completely beyond himself. For the consequences likely to ensue he had no care. He was as one transfigured. Let justice, mercy and truth prevail even if his own life was the price to be paid for those brightest jewels in Gloriana’s crown.
“Is there no means of stopping the mouth of that madman?” growled the Lord Treasurer in the ear of Pembroke.
But Pembroke could give no answer. He turned aside, his breast tightening, his shoulders shaking convulsively.
“Pray proceed with your story, Master Shakespeare,” said the harsh voice of the Queen.
“The servant of the governor of the castle,” continued the player in obedience to this command, “an honest, good fellow, no sooner learned his master’s peril, than he pursued the fugitives from place to place over all the midland country-side. Thus it was that in the end he had the good fortune to come up with them at the inn at Oxford. Now I would respectfully crave that your grace remark with particular closeness that which I am about to relate.”
“You can count upon our so doing, Master Shakespeare,” said the Queen grimly.
The player smiled rather wanly. He could not remain insensible to the ominous words and the yet more ominous tone. But there was not a tremor of fear in the dauntless face.