gunpowder the bow had become a poacher’s weapon.
Hamnet shook his head like an old man. “I wish you’d stop getting us into fixes like this, Will. It was bad enough when we were just filching apples.”
“Life will be quiet enough when you’re in the grave,” said Will, giving his friend an encouraging thump on the arm. “Besides, somebody has to goad Old Lousy.”
“Come on, use your eyes!” Sir Thomas Lucy was telling his men. “They can’t have disappeared like vapour!”
“I think I recognised one of them, sir,” said one of the hunters. “John Shakespeare’s boy.”
“Shakespeare!” Lucy pronounced the name as a hateful hiss. “That insolent brogger! He’s been more trouble to me than floods and plague. But if I take his boy up on a poaching charge, that will knock the mischief out of him.”
“Will, they know who you are!” Hamnet exclaimed through gritted teeth.
“He’s just guessing,” said Will. “They weren’t close enough to see our faces. If we can get back to Stratford ahead of them, they won’t be able to prove a thing.”
“And how are we going to do that?” Hamnet asked. “Are you going to conjure up a griffin to carry us on its back?”
“No need for magic,” Will answered. “If we crawl on our bellies through the gorse there, we can make it to the stream without being spotted. Then we can wade through the water till we’re clear of Charlecote.”
“So we’re to be drowned, dirty…and…and…” Hamnet faltered over a final word.
“Desperate,” Will finished for him.
“That’s not what I was trying to say,” Hamnet complained.
“Come on,” urged Will, pulling his friend into the undergrowth beside him. “Desperate men can’t hang around waiting on luck to save their hide.”
Wriggling along on their hands and knees, they pressed through the rough bushes. Again and again they became snagged on thorns and had to carefully ease themselves loose without giving away their position.
All at once the drumming of hooves made them stop dead and press their faces to the earth. The hoof beats came closer and the shadow of a mounted figure passed over them. Hamnet squeezed his eyes tight shut in an effort to ignore the danger, but Will glanced up to see sir Thomas reining in only a few yards away. He could smell the horse’s acrid sweat and hear the breath puffing in its nostrils.
The squire stood up in the stirrups and peered off to the south and west. “Are you sure they came this way? I’ll not be made to look a fool.”
“They came this way as sure as there’s apples,” answered his man Cobb. “That’s not to say they ain’t sneaked past us like adders in the grass.”
“What’s that?” cried a voice.
“Where?” Sir Thomas demanded. “Where?”
“I saw something move, sir! Over there by the rocks!”
Will froze like a statue, but Sir Thomas was not looking in their direction. He spurred his horse into a lumbering canter, waving his men forward.
“Here’s our chance,” said Will, giving Hamnet a sharp nudge. They crawled on their bellies to the bank of the stream, then slid over the edge and into the shallow water.
“Oh, it’s cold enough to freeze your cullions off!” Hamnet moaned.
Will shivered. “It’s only till we get well out of sight, Hamnet. Stay down now!”
Crouching so low it made their backs ache, they sloshed along slowly, careful not to attract attention. They had only gone a short way when Hamnet slipped and plunged completely under the water. Will grabbed him under the arms and hauled him up, dripping and coughing.
“Hush!” Will warned.
They stood as still as stone, listening for some cry of alarm. Leaning on Hamnet’s shoulder, Will pushed himself up on tiptoes to scout around. “It’s all right,” he said. “They’re going the other way.”
Hamnet picked some dank weeds out of his hair and coughed again. “I think I’ve swallowed a minnow, Will.”
“Don’t worry, they’re not poisonous.”
“But I can feel it wriggling inside me.”
“That’s just your breakfast coming back on you. Forget about it. Come on.”
Will started forward then realised Hamnet wasn’t following. Turning round, he saw his friend had turned dreadfully pale.
“I’m going to heave, Will,” choked Hamnet. “There’s no help for it.”
Will backed away so quickly he almost toppled over himself. Hamnet doubled over and threw up with a noise like a drain emptying. He finished with a final cough and straightened up.
“Are you fit to go on now?” Will asked.
Hamnet nodded and forced a wan smile.
“Here, I’ll give you a hand,” said Will, taking his friend by the arm. As they waded onwards he muttered, “And I’ll remember not to fish here for a while.”
At the point where the stream flowed into the River Avon, the boys climbed up on to higher ground and headed south. It was a chilly day, and their sodden clothes clung to them like ice. Clopton Bridge, leading into Stratford, was as welcome a sight as a warm fire and a haunch of mutton. In summer children splashed about under its arches and boys waded about in search of trout and pike. It was too cold for that now and the otters had the run of the fishing to themselves.
Further downriver, the spire of Holy Trinity poked at the sky. The centre of the parish, the church was not the comforting symbol it once had been. Many had fallen foul of the law because of their refusal to attend the new services decreed by the government, Will’s own father amongst them.
Marching briskly up Bridge Street into town, the boys were startled by a sudden uproar of voices off to their left. “An ambush!” Hamnet cried, gripping Will by the arm. Will laughed and shook himself loose. It was only a raucous singsong starting off inside the Peacock Tavern. Weak-kneed with relief, they carried on up the road to the market cross.
“We’ll split up here,” said Will. “Nobody knows you were with me, so there’s no sense you catching any trouble.”
“I’ll take my share if it will help you, Will,” said Hamnet, shuffling his feet on the cobbles.
Will put a grateful hand on his friend’s shoulder and smiled. “I know you would, Hamnet. But for now, the best thing for us both is to lie low for a few days.”
“Will, look!” Hamnet exclaimed suddenly. He was pointing back they way they had come.
Will turned quickly and saw to his horror the mounted figure of Old Lousy crossing Clopton Bridge, with his minions filing along behind him.
“Go!” said Will, giving Hamnet a firm shove.
Hamnet nodded and darted off down the High Street to the Sadler family home. Will dashed up Henley Street to his father’s house. Like the other houses on the street it had a frame of sturdy oak timbers filled in with walls of clay and mortar, the latticed windows shut tight against the cold.
The winter of 1578 had been grievously hard, especially for the Shakespeares, whose daughter Anne had died of a chill aged only five. The new year still hadn’t wriggled loose of winter’s grasp and Mary Shakespeare fretted anxiously over the rest of her children every time they set foot outdoors. Will knew she wouldn’t be pleased to find him soaked