Worley cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, no. It would appear I have been cheated.”

“Then perhaps you would like to take this back, milord, so that you may seek proper recompense for the effrontery.”

“No, no, you keep it. At least for the present. I shall let it serve as an object lesson to me to seek a more qualified opinion before I make a similar purchase in the future. You intrigue me, Mr. Smythe. For a number of reasons. You shall have your forge. Come to my estate at your convenience. Most anyone of consequence in London can direct you. We shall put your claim to the test. If you make good upon it, I can warrant that I shall have employment for you. If not, then you shall owe me the price of the materials and forging costs. If you lack the funds, then I shall take it out in labor. Fair enough?”

“More than fair, milord,” Smythe said, with a small bow.

“Excellent. Marlowe, be so good as to find a likely lad to have my carriage brought around. The coachman doubtless prudently drove off when that riot began outside, and he’ll be somewhere on a nearby side street, or I’ll know the reason why. Oh, and Mr. Shakespeare, if you are even half as confident in your abilities as your friend seems to be in his, then perhaps there is a chance that you might find employment with the Queen’s Men. They are keen to compete with Marlowe here, and Kyd, and as yet have found no resident poet who can measure up. That morose old stewpot, Greene, is lately drowning his rather mediocre talent in a bottle, and Lyly’s shot his bolt, I think. They could do with some new blood.”

“You will doubtless find the company disporting themselves at The Toad and Badger, in St. Helen’s,” Marlowe added. “Ask for one Dick Burbage and give him my compliments.”

“Thank you,” Shakespeare said. “I shall do that, Mr. Marlowe. I am in your debt.”

“Well, now there’s a switch,” said Marlowe, with a grin. “ ‘Tis usually I who am in debt to others.”

“My carriage, Kit,” said Worley.

“Your word is my command, milord.” Marlowe gave a sweeping bow, winked at Smythe, and left.

“I think he likes you,” Worley said.

“And I like him, milord,” Smythe said. “He seems a most amiable young man.”

Worley raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “Amiable? Aye, well, that’s one way of putting it, I suppose. ‘Tis a good thing he has talent, else I should find his company insufferable. But one must make allowances for talent. ‘Tis a rare commodity, and often does not come without some baggage.”

“Your carriage awaits, milord,” said Marlowe, sticking his head inside the door. “ ‘Twas standing by just around the corner.”

“Well, at least my coachman does his job properly,” said Worley. He turned to the tavernkeeper. “You may send me a bill for the damages, but see that you do not inflate it.”

“Very good of you, milord,” the tavernkeeper said.

“Oh, and add something for these two young chaps,” said Worley. “They look as if they could use a meal and a drink. Good night, gentlemen. And good luck to you.”

He followed Marlowe out the door.

“What a splendid gentleman!” said Shakespeare. “Tavernkeeper, two ordinaries and a couple of ales! Ah, yes, indeed! There, you see, Tuck? That is the sort of patron a poet truly needs! A cultured man! An educated man! A titled man! A…”

“A highwayman,” murmured Smythe.

“What?”

“A highwayman,” he repeated, keeping his voice low. “An outlaw. A road agent. A brigand.”

“What in God’s name are you talking about?”

“Do you recall when we met and I told you how I was accosted by a highwayman upon the road? And how instead of robbing me, because I had no money, he tossed a crown to me, instead?”

“Yes, I recall you told me that. A singular occurrence. But what of it?”

Smythe pointed toward the door. “That was the man.” “Sir William?” “The very same.”

Shakespeare stared at him with disbelief. “Sir William Worley? Are you mad?” He glanced around quickly and lowered his voice when he noticed he was attracting some attention. “Tuck… Sir William Worley is one of the richest men in London! And a knight of the realm, no less.”

“Well, he is also a highwayman,” said Smythe, softly.

“You must be joking.”

“I am in earnest, I assure you.”

“Then you have lost your senses. Why in God’s name would one of the wealthiest and most prominent citizens of London, a man knighted by the queen herself, put on a mask and ride off to rob travelers out on a country road? ‘Tis preposterous!”

“It does seem mad, I must admit,” said Smythe. “And I cannot account for it. But I know what I know, Will.”

“Wait! He wore a mask! You said the road agent wore a mask! So, of course, you never saw his face! How, then, could you possibly assert so firmly ‘twas Sir William?”

“I saw his eyes” said Smythe. “And at first, I must admit, I did not recognize him, but when he inclined his head and touched his hat that way…” Smythe copied the way he did it, “ ‘twas the very same gesture I saw the brigand make. Exactly the same. And then I realized that his eyes were the very same eyes I had seen above the scarf he wore over the lower portion of his face. And then everything else about him suddenly seemed familiar. I noticed that his build was just the same, and his bearing, and his coloring, even to the color of his clothes.”

“A chance resemblance,” Shakespeare said. “Wasn’t that what you had said yourself? I had no idea what you meant when you said it, but… this? ‘Tis absolutely ludicrous. Surely you can see that!”

“Aye. Believe me, Will, I can appreciate just how mad it sounds. But ‘tis nevertheless the truth. I am quite certain of it. As I said, I cannot account for it, nor understand why, but I know he was the man. And what is more, Sir William knows I know.”

Shakespeare leaned back against the wall, where they sat at a small plank table in the corner. The ales came and for a moment they did not speak as the tankards were set down before them. Then, when the serving maid had left to bring their dinners, Shakespeare leaned forward once again, putting his elbows on the table.

“Assuming for the moment that this ludicrous idea is true,” he said, in a low voice, “even setting aside the whys and wherefores-which are certainly not lightly set aside, considering the circumstances…” he shook his head with disbelief. “Then if Sir William is indeed the man you think he is… an outlaw… and if he knows you know his secret, as you say… then you are in grave danger.”

“No, I do not think so. I saw nothing threatening or intimidating in his manner,” Smythe replied.

Shakespeare snorted. “Why should there be? He owns a fleet of ships, my friend, several of them privateers sailing under letters of marque from Her Majesty herself. He may not himself be a Sea Hawk, but he is unquestionably their falconer. His investments are many and varied, and all quite successful, I am told. He is one of the most admired and respected men in England. And one of the most powerful. All he needs to do is flick his little finger and you would be swept away like a cork upon the waves.”

“Oh, I have no doubt of that,” said Smythe. “Only why bother?” He shrugged. “What threat am I to him? Who would take my word over his, the word of a penniless commoner over that of a wealthy and influential peer?”

Shakespeare grunted. “Aye. There is that. No one would believe it.”

“If I stop to think about it, I am not sure that I believe it, myself. There is no rhyme or reason to it, no sense at all. And yet…”

Shakespeare stared at him. “And yet… you are convinced of it. Beyond all doubt.”

Smythe merely nodded.

“Aye, I can see that. Astonishing. And you think he knows?” “Why else would he have loaned his sword to a complete stranger?”

Shakespeare shrugged. “With his money, it would seem an act of little consequence. The very rich are not like us, my friend. They are liable to do things on a whim that to us would seem incomprehensible.”