"I know, I know, but you can go other places, you can go to Bodyshop-"

"What! Bodyshop is pretty boys and girls in designer outfits and fat guys on treadmills reading the Wall Street Journal Wall Street Journal. Bodyshop sucks."

"So someplace else. You keep coming here they make me to spy on you and if I say no...I don't want my place burned up and I have family. I mean it, Jake. You don't know these peoples. If you got something they want, is my advice give it to them."

I saw Arkady had a point, so we shook hands and I left, with my gear in a Nike bag. I felt like I'd been expelled from school because someone else cheated. But the mention of family was what had really struck home. I recalled that I had one too.

My diary says simply "A." in the slot for six-thirty on the day in question, which was the first Wednesday in November, so it was my evening to dine simply "A." in the slot for six-thirty on the day in question, which was the first Wednesday in November, so it was my evening to dine en famille en famille at my ex-wife's brownstone on East Seventy-sixth Street, our arrangement on the first Wednesday of every month. Not exactly "ex," because officially, in the eyes of the state, the church, and my wife, we are still married. Amalie will not agree to a divorce, partly on religious grounds, but mainly because she believes we will get back together after I cure my mental illness. She thinks it would be shameful to desert me while I am sick in this way, and the fact that my mental illness is philandering does not signify. I don't know anyone else who has this sort of relations.h.i.+p, although I don't for a moment believe we are unique. My three law partners have, I think, eight or so wives among them, and in every case I have been treated to the whole litany: the insanity, the vicious revenges, the manipulations of children, the financial extortions, and I find I cannot produce a fair exchange of marriage-h.e.l.l narratives. I do suffer excruciatingly, but through my own fault rather than via the malice of my wife, for she is generous, kind, and forgiving, and so I have to carry the whole f.u.c.king load myself. Jesus had a point, you know: if you really want the evildoers to suffer, just be nice. at my ex-wife's brownstone on East Seventy-sixth Street, our arrangement on the first Wednesday of every month. Not exactly "ex," because officially, in the eyes of the state, the church, and my wife, we are still married. Amalie will not agree to a divorce, partly on religious grounds, but mainly because she believes we will get back together after I cure my mental illness. She thinks it would be shameful to desert me while I am sick in this way, and the fact that my mental illness is philandering does not signify. I don't know anyone else who has this sort of relations.h.i.+p, although I don't for a moment believe we are unique. My three law partners have, I think, eight or so wives among them, and in every case I have been treated to the whole litany: the insanity, the vicious revenges, the manipulations of children, the financial extortions, and I find I cannot produce a fair exchange of marriage-h.e.l.l narratives. I do suffer excruciatingly, but through my own fault rather than via the malice of my wife, for she is generous, kind, and forgiving, and so I have to carry the whole f.u.c.king load myself. Jesus had a point, you know: if you really want the evildoers to suffer, just be nice.

These dinners are an example. What could be more civilized? A little family sits down to a meal and demonstrates that despite whatever differences Mommy and Daddy are having there is still love, the daddy who has left the family still loves them very much, or to put it another way (as I recently heard my daughter explain it to her brother), "Daddy likes to boink ladies more than he wants to stay with us." In the wrong, in the wrong! Even the babes can see it, even Niko, who has only the faintest interest in other humans, can draw this fact into his vast mental library, and feel (a.s.suming he feels anything) contempt.

I know there is no point to my boinking of ladies, as does my wife, for as I believe I have already mentioned, Amalie is in that department the acme of delight. How does she know she is tops, having so little experience besides me? Answer: she is great friends, intimate intimate friends with my sister, who is an encyclopedia of the f.u.c.k, and she has I believe conveyed to Miri every lubricious detail of our s.e.x lives with her Swiss clinical frankness, and Miri has a.s.sured her that she lacks nothing in that department, and further, that I am the a.s.shole of the Western World for cheating on such a prize. I can't bear it; but I go anyway to these ghastly meals, as penance maybe. It doesn't work. friends with my sister, who is an encyclopedia of the f.u.c.k, and she has I believe conveyed to Miri every lubricious detail of our s.e.x lives with her Swiss clinical frankness, and Miri has a.s.sured her that she lacks nothing in that department, and further, that I am the a.s.shole of the Western World for cheating on such a prize. I can't bear it; but I go anyway to these ghastly meals, as penance maybe. It doesn't work.

Before I went over, I had the driver take me, as on many of these occasions (penitentially perhaps), to an obscure little shop off First Avenue in the Forties that sells very expensive orchids, and I bought one for Amalie. She collects them, and although she could buy out the Amazon herself with her own money, I think it is still a nice gesture. This one was pale green with magenta speckles on the usual pudendalike blossom, a Paphiopedilum hanoiensis Paphiopedilum hanoiensis, endangered in its native Vietnam and illegal as h.e.l.l. I believe Amalie knows these orchids are smuggled, but she always accepts them, and it gives me a perverse pleasure to see my saint debauched by her l.u.s.t for flowers.

Ras.h.i.+d dropped me off and the door was opened to my ring by Lourdes Munoz, my wife's servant, a refugee from the Salvadorean wars. Amalie essentially saved her life through one of her do-good charities, and in contrast to the dictum that no good deed goes unpunished, which always works for me, the result of this selfless charity was the creation of the perfect house-servant and nanny. Lourdes does not trust me and has been proven correct. I got the usual stone-faced greeting, had my raincoat taken, and entered my wife's home with my orchid.

I heard the sound of laughter coming from the living room and followed it in, with a little dread building up because I knew the source of the fun, recognizing as I did the loudest contributory voice. The family tableau, minus Dad: Amalie in her working costume of pale silk s.h.i.+rt and dark tailored slacks, her hair piled on her head in its golden coils, sitting in her leather sling chair with her feet pulled up under her; on a leather sofa soft as thighs sits Miri, my sister, and on either side of her my children, Miri and Imogen as beautiful as the dawn, pink and blond, and then there is poor Niko, our dark little Nibelung. Both children love their aunt Miri. Imogen loves her because she is a font of stories about celebrities. Miri knows everyone (that is, everyone rich and famous) in New York, and a good many in London, Rome, Paris, and Hollywood, and sometimes it seems she has been married to or had affairs with around 10 percent of this population. She has a Rolodex the size of the nosewheel on a 747.

Niko likes her because Miri was married briefly to one of the most famous stage magicians in the world, and learned during this time to do sleight of hand, a skill that fascinates him. She claimed that the man was as stupid as one of his hat rabbits, and if he could make things disappear so could she. She's pretty good at it, for it is generally hard to attract Niko's attention, and this she can do nearly as well as Amalie or Lourdes. Also she burns with love for them; she can't have children of her own apparently and so aunting is one of her chief joys.

The laughter died away as I entered the room. They all looked at me, each in their different ways, except for Niko, who hardly ever looks at me. He was still staring at my sister's hands, which semiconsciously twirled and vanished several small colored sponge b.a.l.l.s. My daughter's look challenged me to be something I was not, a perfect father to complement her own perfection, and my sister's was, as usual, ironic and tolerant. She is no longer the most beautiful woman in the city, but she is still pretty rare and has the means to preserve and enhance her looks to the fullest extent medicine and fas.h.i.+on allow. She was wearing black Dior head to toe and glittered with chunky jewels. As for Amalie, she can never help herself, she always smiles at me with love in her eyes, before she recalls the situation and retreats behind her formal Swiss persona. Still a lovely woman, Amalie, if no longer exactly the one I fell in love with. Two kids and the strain of marriage to me have added soft flesh on the body and lines on the face. I could not help thinking of Miranda at that moment, and the long-sought second chance.

I kissed them all on both cheeks in the European fas.h.i.+on that has long been our family custom (Niko flinching slightly as usual) and presented my orchid. Polite thanks from Amalie, eye-roll from Imogen and Miri (and it is exactly the same same expression of amused contempt on both lovely faces; is it genetic or was it taught?) and from Niko a brief recitation in his curiously robotic voice of the taxonomic position of this particular species, and the details of blossom morphology that make this obvious. Niko is interested in orchids, as he is in nearly any complex subject requiring memory and a minimum of human relations.h.i.+p. expression of amused contempt on both lovely faces; is it genetic or was it taught?) and from Niko a brief recitation in his curiously robotic voice of the taxonomic position of this particular species, and the details of blossom morphology that make this obvious. Niko is interested in orchids, as he is in nearly any complex subject requiring memory and a minimum of human relations.h.i.+p.

I asked Miri what they had all been laughing about when I came in and she retold the story of the world-famous actress and the woman famous for b.r.e.a.s.t.s-and-appearing-on-talk-shows and how they were getting face packs at the same high-end salon when their tiny dogs got into a dogfight, and it was a fairly amusing story about dripping mud and flying fur and screaming h.o.m.os.e.xuals, and she continued it as we went down to the dining room and sat around the oval teak and gla.s.s table. Amalie had cooked our dinner herself, a kind of ca.s.soulet made with chicken sausage, lamb, and white beans, one of my favorite meals as it happens, with an artichoke salad and a bottle of Hermitage. Given what her time was worth nowadays, it was probably among the most expensive meals on earth. Niko had his bowl of Cheerios, which foodstuff comprises 90 percent of his diet.

During dinner, Amalie and I struggle to keep the conversation flowing, and some of what we talk about is business. My wife, despite her disdain for making money (or perhaps because of it), is a financial whiz. She publishes an on-line report called Mishkin's Arbitrage Letter Mishkin's Arbitrage Letter, in which she tells her fifteen hundred or so subscribers where the currency markets are going during the next week. Naturally, the smart players take her info into account, which changes the market, and the even smarter players are taking that that into account and planning their yen-dinar-renminbi swaps accordingly, in an infinite regress that makes some of them billionaires. I consider myself a useless parasite compared with people who do real work, like writing songs, but I am a civil engineer compared with these guys. Amalie, however, has no problem charging twenty-five grand a year for a subscription, since she pumps maybe a third of her profits into good works. I occasionally run into people who have business in this rarefied world and they often ask me if I know into account and planning their yen-dinar-renminbi swaps accordingly, in an infinite regress that makes some of them billionaires. I consider myself a useless parasite compared with people who do real work, like writing songs, but I am a civil engineer compared with these guys. Amalie, however, has no problem charging twenty-five grand a year for a subscription, since she pumps maybe a third of her profits into good works. I occasionally run into people who have business in this rarefied world and they often ask me if I know that that Mishkin. I always say no, but feel an odd pride all the same. Mishkin. I always say no, but feel an odd pride all the same.

The meal ended and Aunt Miri went off to play with the kids, as is the custom. Having none of her own she has her fill of adult conversation. Lourdes served coffee; Amalie and I could now talk companionably about our children. We are civilized. She asked about Ingrid. She knows about Ingrid, we are very open about this aspect of my life. I said Ingrid was fine, and she said, "Poor Ingrid." I asked her why and she said, "Because you have a new woman." I felt the blood rise to my face, but I pasted on a smile and asked her why she thought that, and she sighed and said, "Jake, I am neither stupid nor un.o.bservant. In the years when I trusted you, of course, I never looked for these signs, or misinterpreted them, but now that I know to look it is all very transparent. Who is she?"

"No one," I lied. "Honestly."

She stared at me for a long moment, then dropped her eyes to the table and sipped her cooling coffee. "Whatever you say," she said. She put the cup down and rose and walked out of the room without another word or look. Lourdes came in and started clearing the plates, also ignoring me.

Then the Invisible Man went upstairs to the children's playroom. Niko was at his computer with headphones on, and Miri and Imogen were watching MTV, sitting closely together on a ratty velvet love seat, made rapt by glitz.

Feeling more of a jerk than usual, I upped the fool ante by asking Imogen if she had done her homework and without taking her eyes off the screen she answered in a tone laden with tedium, "I did it at school." I thought of asking for it. I also thought of taking the aluminum ball bat in the corner and smas.h.i.+ng the television, and the computer, and holding the children hostage until they gave in to my demands. Which is for everything to be different, for me to have the love and admiration of my children and the devotion of my wife, but also the thrill of romance, and to never grow up and forever fly in and out on a wire, dressed in green tights....

Instead I sat down next to Miri and studied for a while the tiny scars of her face-lifts and the peculiar s.h.i.+ny dead areas left by the Botox and I was nearly overcome with compa.s.sion and I reached out and grabbed her hand. Miri is, I suppose, the person I feel closest to in the family now. We were a refuge for each other all during childhood, and she turned out even worse than me, so we have a basis of understanding. I was thinking about how she always came and grabbed my hand when Dad was on one of his rampages; I have no idea what she was thinking now, if anything, but she squeezed my hand back, and we stayed that way for a while watching the soft-core p.o.r.n that our civilization uses to entertain the young. Then a little tune played and Imogen pulled out her cell phone, checked its tiny screen and disappeared for an episode of chat with some acolyte.

Miri muted the set, turned, and gave me an appraising look. "So who's the new lady?" she asked.

"You too?"

"It's obvious. You have that fevered look, and you're less morose than usual. You need to grow up, Jake. You don't want to end up like one of those old farts chasing little girls."

"Oh, that's rich, getting recommendations on continence from you."

"Don't be nasty, Jake. We're a pair of s.l.u.ts, you and I, but I at least don't have a family I drag into it. And especially doing it to someone like Amalie."

This was not a conversation I wished to have at the moment, so I said, "How's Dad?"

Miri is the only one of we three who retains any contact with the old gangster. She is parsimonious with information about this relations.h.i.+p, however, perhaps at his insistence. That would be like him.

"Dad is fine. I saw him about three weeks ago. He looks good. He had to get a stent put into a coronary artery."

"I hope they used an especially corrosion-resistant material. Brick would be my suggestion. Where was this meeting, by the way?"

"Europe."

"Could you be more specific? Cannes? Paris? Odessa?"

She ignored this. "He asked after you and Paul."

"Oh, that was kind of him. I hope you conveyed to him that he's always in our thoughts. What's he up to nowadays?"

"This and that. You know Dad, he always has some kind of hustle going. You should go over and see him. Take Amalie and the kids."

This made me laugh. "That's a good idea, Miri. I really can't think of anything that would be more sheer fun fun than such an expedition." than such an expedition."

"You know," said my sister after an offended pause, "have you ever noticed that your wife is never sarcastic? You might take a tip from that. You might try a little forgiveness too. I mean you sure get get a lot of it." a lot of it."

"And religious advice tonight as well. Are you sure you're not Paul in drag?"

"If you're going to be s.h.i.+tty, then I'm leaving. I need another drink anyway."

She tried to pull her hand away from mine, but I held on and she fell back on the love seat.

"What?"

"I just thought of something I needed to ask you. In your dealings with the demimonde have you ever come across a Russian gangster named Osip Shvanov?" I was watching her face closely as I asked this and I saw a little tremor run across its sculpted surfaces. She licked her lips with a pink tongue-tip.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because his goons are after me. He thinks I have something he wants. I think." I provided a brief explanation of the Bulstrode/Shakespeare affair as background, omitting to identify Miranda by name. "Do you know him?"

"We've met."

"A client?"

"In a way. He entertains a lot. Some of my girls have been at some of his parties."

"Could you get us together? I mean socially."

"I don't think you want to do that, Jake."

"Because he's such a bad guy."

"He's pretty evil. I mean evil evil guys think he's evil." guys think he's evil."

"Bad as Dad?"

"The same type of person, the two main differences being Dad never played rough and Shvanov is not our dad. Why do you want to meet him?"

"A frank exchange of views. Anyway, will you?"

"I'll suggest it to him. Will he want to see you?"

"I believe so. We share an interest in old ma.n.u.scripts. I'm sure we'll have lots to talk about. You should come too. It'll be a fun evening. We can plan our trip to Israel to see old Dad."

She stood up. "I'll call you," she said and walked out, leaving me alone except for the strange being tapping away at the keyboard. I stood behind Niko and looked at his screen. It was colored a flat, pale gray, across which field incomprehensible blue letters appeared and vanished like winds.h.i.+eld rain. Niko was programming. I should say that for a working lawyer I am computer literate. Most lawyers believe their skin will rot away if they touch a keyboard, but not me. I suppose I am about where Niko was when he was four. I lifted one of his earphones and asked, "What are you doing?"

I had to repeat myself several times. "Search engines," he said.

"Oh, search engines," I said knowingly. "What are you searching for?"

"Anything. Let me go." He shook his head and tried to tug his earphones down, but I lifted them off and spun his swivel chair around so that he faced me.

"I have to talk to you about something important," I said. His body was starting to stiffen up and his gaze was directed at an upper corner of the room.

"Focus on this, Niko! Gangsters are after me and I think they may want to hurt you and Imogen and Mommy. I need you to help me out."

This seemed to get through. He asked, bored, "This is pretend, right?"

"No, not pretend. For real."

"Why are they after you?"

"Because I have some papers they want. A client of mine gave them to me and they killed him. They tortured him, and before he died he gave them my name."

Yes, pretty strong stuff for a kid, but Niko is hard to reach. It's not like he was sensitive. I imagine that if someone were torturing me he would watch with fascinated interest.

"Why do they want the papers?"

"I'm not sure. I think they think they could lead to a treasure." He considered this for a moment, and I imagined the peculiar wheels in his head whirring like a fine clock.

"For real?"

"They think so," I said.

"We should find the treasure," he said. "Then they would probably leave us alone."

I believe this is one of the few times Niko has used the p.r.o.noun we we to include myself with him. I said, "That's a very good idea. Now, there are two things I want you to do. The first is I want you to keep careful watch on the street and call me immediately if you see anything suspicious. These guys are Russians and they go around in black SUVs, so call me if you spot them, okay? The next thing is I want you to search for a man named Richard Bracegirdle. He died in 1642 in England." I wrote this down on a sheet of paper from his printer. to include myself with him. I said, "That's a very good idea. Now, there are two things I want you to do. The first is I want you to keep careful watch on the street and call me immediately if you see anything suspicious. These guys are Russians and they go around in black SUVs, so call me if you spot them, okay? The next thing is I want you to search for a man named Richard Bracegirdle. He died in 1642 in England." I wrote this down on a sheet of paper from his printer.

"Who is he?"

"The man who buried the treasure. Find out about him and his descendants, and if there are any of them still alive. Can you do that?"

"Yes, I can," said Niko. I'm not sure why I engaged him in this way, although Niko is about as expert a data searcher as any I know, he's won prizes for it, and university professors correspond with him without knowing he is eleven years old. Clearly I could have hired a commercial firm to do the search, or we have people at my office who are good at it. Perhaps I was feeling lonely and here was something Dad and son could do together, like a hike in the piney woods. Thinking on my feet, like philanderers learn to do. Of course, that was the easy part. Now I had to go down and tell his mother all about it.

THE B BRACEGIRDLE L LETTER (9) (9).

This fellowe says he is named James Piggott and is servant to my lord Dunbarton a man high in counsel to the Kinges majestie & askes me if I am of the pure religion & this man had the whey-faced, cold-eyed look I recollect from daies of my youth as markes youre canting Puritan & so I sayd oh yes sir, truely I am and fall to my meate a capon pastie & ale. Whilst I ate he quizzed mee upon all matters bearing upon religion as: depravity of Man, predestination, inefficacy of workes, revelation soley through Scripture, salvation through faith alone &c. & seemed well-pleazed with my answeres & then sayde Mr Hastynges gives a good reporte of thee & I answer hym Mr Hastynges a goode man and of the true religion I have found & after speaking somewhat of Mr H. he of a sudden says, I heare that your mother was a papiste and brat of a papistical traitor. What say you to that? At this I was much surprized and wroth but I stanche my ire and say that she wase upon a tyme mayhap but repented her error and was a faithfull adherent of the Reformed church her whole lyfe after. He asked of mee was she an Arden of Warwicks.h.i.+re & mee replying she was he saieth that hath saved thee from the gallowes my lad for my lord Dunbarton hath need of someone such as thee, of pure religion but papiste connectiones and those of your motheres family most particular. Now he asketh, hast evere heard a playe?

I sayde I had not for were they not verey wicked thynges? Aye, quoth he, and more than you know. For struttynge actors stand in full light o' day & hatch treason. How you say? By three means. First, playes doe corrupt the mindes and soules of men who heare them by shewing lewd actiouns as: murther thefte, rapine, bawdrey, fornicatiouns, soe that those heareres may imitate them thereafter and soe disorder the state and lose theyre owne sowles to h.e.l.l. Next, these playes o'erthrow G.o.ds lawe for they shew boys dressed as women which is itselfe sinne but far worse they doe unbridyle the filthie l.u.s.tes of Sodom, which I do not doubt me these playeres doe sinke themselves in soe they are a stenche to heaven. Thirdlie and worste: theye are all but a maske for papistick treasones & he saith again: a maske, but a maske.

And he goeth on: for well you know the Harlot of Rome uzed to delight in rich shewes and silken costumes and men dressed as women to bedazzle the people and turne them away from the true wors.h.i.+p of Christ. What is theyre gibbering ma.s.s but a playe? Now we have stoppte theyre ma.s.ses will they not trye another waye to turn folke from true faith? What, quoth I, think you these players are secret papistes? Nay, says he, they are more subtle, more than serpentes. Now what sayest thou if I tell thee there is a man now abroad the chief of these playeres who, item: doth devise secret libels on the true religion: item, doth hold up papiste priestes in such playes to admiratioun: item, whose father wast a papiste fined many tymes for shunning the protestant church and whose mother wase sp.a.w.n of a family longe reviled for adamant recusancie, doutlesse a papiste herself: item, who conspyred traitorously to ralleye the attainted earle of Ess.e.x his forces when he rebelled gainst our late sovereign Quene by meanes of shewing to his followers on the morn of the rebellion the playe of Richard Second as an inspiring exemple of treason & regicide & should have been taken up at that time but was not, for some of wors.h.i.+p did protect him, dmn their eyies. What saye you of such a one? Quoth I (which I knew well was the onlie mete answer nowe), to the Tower with him hee should not walk abroade one houre.

Hee then smyled a colde smyle saying marry, you spake the truth boy, yet in the kingdomes now disordered state this wee cannot do, or not yet. For look you, the King surroundes himselfe not with the G.o.dly but with lascivious & corrupt favourites, viz. my Lord of Rochester and otheres lyke, of these manie as near to papistes as your s.h.i.+rt your bodie & these delighteth in such vaine shewes as playes upon the stage: even the King hath a bande of playeres of whom he doth bespeake playes to suit his fancies & the one of whom I tolde thee the chiefest amongst these knaves.

Now, he sayeth further, wee have us a prince Henry as good a protestant as ever ate bread, sober, wyse beyond his yeares: yet his father the King can thinke of nothing but to wed him to a popish princesse & this we cannot suffer to befall this lande for it will be the ruine of G.o.ds church in England, the same as the King hath already begun with his depraved and unG.o.dlie rule of bischopes. Soe my Lord D. and other worthie n.o.bles of the true faith, thinking upon this lamentable past, hath brought forth a plan and have looked long for some one to bring it to particular action. And wee have found hym.

Who, quoth I? You, quoth hee. At hearinge this I wase much afrayde & sayde, for why? Thus he expressed it: you know the Kinges mother wase a vain wicked papiste traitor Mary Queen of Scotlande justlie executed by oure late Quene & this hath long rankled the King that all good Englishmen should despise his mother and mayhap thinke them: lyke mother lyke childe. Soe happlie he would looke with favour upon a playe presentinge Queen Mary as a goode woman wronged, & mayhap he should command this knave of whom I lately spake to write it oute. What then boy?

Then I thought mee be clever as you can d.i.c.k for thou art fulle in the power of this one and I sayd 'twould be a scandal to all goode protestants in the kingdom they would not stand it. He says Aye and tis why it is far from the Kinges mind. But suppose one feigning to be in service of some great Lord, a privy councillour even, should go to this maker of playes saying I bear direction from the Kinges majestie: write such a playe and thou wilt be rewarded & gaine favour in the Kinges sight. And suppose such a playe came to be and suppose it were plaied before the King and his courte, what think thee would befall? For know you that no playe can be shewn without a licence from the maistre of the revels: yet in truth no such license would ever issue for such a playe, 'twould be worth the heade of any such officer. Yet suppose further that we have the seal thereof and provide our knave with a false license and then he all unknowing goeth on & giveth the playe. What think you befalls?

Says I he would be ruined I think. You think rightlie boy & gives hym a laugh but with little joy in't, he would be ruined & all this cursed plaieing with hym and not just that: the scandal as thou sayest would race through the kingdom, that the King hath put forth his mother as a goodlie dame unjustlie put down by Elizabeth the Quene, who shall further appear in this playe as a vile scheming b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Soe alarums. .h.i.ther & yon: the King denieth all as he must, this knave I spake of is ta'en up and racked, oh yes I shall see to that myself: and racked he giveth forth the names of all who hath complotted this outrage, viz. first Rochester and all otheres who seek a papiste match for oure prince. They are disgraced, deny it how they may & soe do wee put down for ever this papiste match. What think you of this?

Quoth I, sir, a mightie plan methinkes but agen I ask why chuse d.i.c.k Bracegirdle? He says, because thou art an Arden by thy dam as is hym we aim at, you are cozens or may seem to be and you can feign at need the same demi-papistrie he professeth if truth be knowne. Soe if my Lord Rochester wisht to sende a privy messenger to this one who shall he chuse better than one such as you. Recall this is all to be done close, or so you shall give out, for my Lord desireth to surprize the King at his birthday with a new playe. But say now, are you oure man?

To this there was but one answer an I ever wished to see free aire again soe I said yes and he sware me a greate oathe on a Bible and warned it should at my grave perill should I ever betray't. After-ward I asked pray what is the name of this fellowe and he says William Shaxspure: this the first tyme I ever heard the name.

Soe I wase freed next night and in darknesse pa.s.sed wee by boat from Tower stayres up-river to a greate house in the Strand belonging to my Lord Dunbarton and was presented to my Lord, a verey grave fat man much burdened by affayres, but uzed me kindley enow & sayde I would doe greate worke for England if wee could but brynge oure devizes to fruite. But wee did not in the end, G.o.d willed other wise in His greate wisdom & in later yeares I oft thought mee had wee won all wee had forecaste & hoped mayhap the present broiles that bid fayre to ravage oure sad countrie had therebye been checked. Yet I wase but a smalle peece upon the board & verilie is it sayde His thoughts are greater than oure thoughts Amen.

I stopped some weekes at Dunbarton House, well-tabeled, dressed in cloathes finer than aught I had before but verey sober. Of daies Mr Piggott taught me how to write & reade cypher'd messauges & he wase amazed how well I did in this & I tolde hym my minde had been trayned up in the Mathematick artes long since & your cyphers be somethyng lyke. Soe he was pleazed there-bye. I reade deepe in the Tracktee de Chiffres a French booke late Englished & Sigr. Porta's De Furtivas verie subtle werkes & too the grilles of Mstr. Cardano & this arte lyked mee so welle that I did labour longe at it in the night-tyme, for there was no lack of candels at Dunbarton House and shewed Mr Piggott my werkynges: and after some wekes wase hee not full amaz'd for I had mayde a new cypher the lyke hee had not seen before & hee sayde e'en the Pope could not mayke it oute.

Afterward he had mee increase my skill at recollection of wordes hym saying many score of them and set mee to recall them in the self-same order & set down in writing. Besides, he shewed me lykenesses of men & women & viewes of townes & countrie-sydes all verey prettilie made with paintes & mee made to describe them after onlie a little scant looke. The same: hee & another feigned a discourse of poperie and treasoun, mee conceeled behind a screen & later I am made to tell him all the plot. Here again he admitteth I doe well. Soe now I aske hym be this all the intelligencers art and he answereth nay, this be but the smaller parte, which answer puzzel'd me much.

Yet later I understood hym, for next cometh a man Henry Wales a leering c.o.xcombe he seemed, in modern pretty cloathes fit for one of higher state, but Mr Piggott spake civillie to him & gave him a purse and spake me d.i.c.k, here be your true friend Henry Wales that you have knowne since youth in Warwicks.h.i.+re, now met in London amid greate joie. He is an actor of the Kinges Companie & knoweth Mr Wm. Shaxespur right well. Then Mr Piggott caste on me such a looke as I knew his meaning afresh: that I too wase to be actor but in lyfe not upon stage & this is what it is to be an intelligencer not mere cyphers, listening & recollection & I thought mee then of my first yeare in the foundry when I acted the boorish prentice rough in word and harsh in dede whilst keepyng my true selfe within & thought yea this can I doe & lett the papistes & traitoures feare.

All that befell thereafter you will finde writ in the letteres that I pa.s.sed to Lord D. viz: my approache to this Shaxspure, what pa.s.sed between us, the playe he wrought of that wicked queene of Scots, and what became of it, and at laste how wee fayled and so I shalnot repeate here for I feare me I have not more than a few houres & it straineth me to write more. You know well Nan my lyfe thereafter & I am saddened that I can not relate it to hym as I have those yeares before. Say to hym your sire was a gonner in the German warres in the goode Protestant cause: was at White Mountain and vanquished by the papistes & at Breitenfeilde and Luttzen holped vanquishe them: but tyring of warre & sore hurt in the foote by a bullet then returned, my father having since died & your fishmonger dying also (the which I had prayed for & pray you and G.o.d forgyve mee for it!) and were married 3rd Aprill 1632 St. Margaret Pattens & yeare after had a son, praise G.o.d & maye hee live long and thee.

Some more thinges of import for my time groweth short I can scarce make out the page though it be clare day & I am griped by my mortal agonie you know well my leathern boxe that I keep in my privy closet, in it you shall finde the letteres cypher'd in the fasioun I devized. Doe you keepe them safe and show them to no one. They tell all the tale nearlie of my Lord D. his plot & oure spyeing upon the secret papist Shaxpure. Or so wee thought him although now I am lesse certayne. In that manner & bent of lyfe he wase a Nothinge. But certayne it is hee wrought the playe of Scotch M. I commanded of him in the Kinges name. I find it pa.s.sing strange that all though I am dead and him also yet the playe lives still, writ in his own hande & lying where onlie I know & there maye it reste for ever.

As to the letteres: if the King should prevail in this present affarye, which G.o.d forbid, and his ministers come at you with ill intent, these leaves may holpe to secure your fortune, yours and that of oure son. You know how to worke the cypher and I recollect you the Keye be the Willowe where my mother lieth and if thou'rt able I wish that my bones may lye besyde hers hereafter.

Fare thee well my girl & with G.o.ds grace I hope I shall see you agen in the incorrupt bodie promised us by oure Lord & Saviour Christ Jesus in whose name I sign this yr. husbande RICHARD BRACEGIRDLE.