Death of Shakespeare - Part One , livre ebook

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369 pages

English

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The Death of Shakespeare is a novel that imagines how the Earl of Oxford and William Shakespeare came to be partners in the creation of the plays people think were written by William. The book contains hand drawn maps and eight lineage charts of noble families involved in the background of the plays.The Reader's Companion to The Death of Shakespeare - Part One is a separate publication containing research keyed to each chapter in The Death of Shakespeare that explains the factual basis for the novel. There are more facts in The Death of Shakespeare than any recent "biography" of the man from Stratford.

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Historical fiction

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Publié par	Nedward, LLC
Date de parution	22 février 2016
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9780692573389
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	2 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0324€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, shared, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher. If you would like to use material from this book, other than for review purposes, prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher.
Copyright © 2016 Nedward, LLC
Published by Nedward, LLC, Annapolis, Maryland
ISBN: 978-0-692-57338-9 (eBook)
Cover Design by Gerard A.Valerio, with Sherri Ferrito
Maps drawn and hand-lettered by Joan B. Machinchick
The Reader’s Companion to The Death of Shakespeare contains endnotes that can be downloaded from
www.doshakespeare.com.
To Elizabeth Regina, who took many secrets with her to the grave.
Degree being vizarded,
The unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask.
Troilus and Cressida, Act I, Scene 3
Why write I still all one, ever the same,
And keep invention in a noted weed,
That every word doth almost tell my name,
Showing their birth and where they did proceed?
Sonnet LXXVI
Why write I still all one, ever the same,
And keep invention in a noted weed,
That every word doth almost tell my name,
Showing their birth and where they did proceed?
Sonnet LXXVI
Far fly thy fame,
Most, most of me beloved, whose silent name
One letter bounds.
Thy unvalu’d worth
Shall mount fair place when Apes are turned forth.
Scourge of Villainy, John Marston (1598)

To the Gentle Reader
This Booke, that thou here seest put,
It was for gentle Oxford cut;
Wherein the Author had a strife
With History to show Lord Oxford’s life.
O, if only those who knew his wit
Had said the plays by him were writ,
There’d be no need to here reclaim
The name purloined by Shakespeare’s fame.
Grave Spenser need not shift more nigh
Great Chaucer, nor Beaumont nearer Spenser lye;
Let them sleep, Westminster lords,
The world now knows the plays are Oxenford’s.
Their every word sings he wrote the plays,
And in his Moniment Shakespeare slays.
Elizabeth knew of noble lords
Who wrote well but suppressed their words,
Or let them publish in another’s name,
Thereby losing deservèd fame.
The author here his name must also feign,
Lest he, too, in academia, be slain.
Therefore, Gentle Reader, looke
Not on his name but on his Booke.-J.B.
Table of Contents
Map of England
Map of London
1616 Prologue: Stratford-upon-Avon – April 23, 1616
1588
1. Fisher’s Folly – September 27, 1588
2. Greenwich Palace
3. The Boar’s Head
4. Cecil House
5. St. Paul’s Cathedral
6. Oxford Court
7. Lyly, Falstaff, and Robin
8. The Poacher of Arden Forest
9. Procne’s Revenge
10. Billesley Hall - Christmas Eve, 1588
1589
11. Shackspear Pays An Unwelcome Visit
12. Westminster Palace
13. Billesley Hall
14. The Return to Oxford
15. Oxford’s “Hand” in Titus Andronicus
16. Titus Andronicus at the Rose
17. Gray’s Inn – The Comedy of Errors
18. A Summons from the Queen
19. The Boar’s Head – Later That Day
20. Oxford Court – The Next Morning
21. The Trunk of Plays
22. Oxford Court – Late September, 1589
23. Two Gentlemen of Verona
24. Lord Willoughby’s
25. Sonnets for Aemilia Bassano
26. Blackfriars – The Next Night
27. Newgate Prison – A Week Later
28. Christopher Marlowe
29. Two Gentlemen Finished
30. More Sonnets for Aemilia Bassano
31. Two Gentlemen before the Queen
32. Christmas at the Boar’s Head
33. William the Conqueror
34. Pericles, Prince of Tyre
1590
35. Billesley Hall
36. Robin Is Gone
37. John Shackspear
38. The Earl of Surrey
39. Thomas Digby
40. Oxford Court
41. The Bastard
42. King John before the Queen
43. The Queen and Lady Elspeth Trentham
44. A Poem for Lady Elspeth
45. Miss Trentham
46. Henry VI and a Sonnet for the Earl of Southampton
47. Cecil House
48. The War of the Roses
49. John Marston and the Nature of Sin
1591
50. Aemilia Bassano (Again)
51. Senor Baldini’s Love Philtre
52. The Boar’s Head & Christopher Marlowe
53. A Sonnet for Aemilia Bassano
54. The Geneva Bible
55. Robin Returns
56. Ankerwycke
57. Windsor
58. Henry VI – Part 2
59. The Dinner in the Grotto
60. A Marriage Contract
61. Oxford Court – A Month Later
62. Castle Hedingham
63. That Night
64. Oxford Court – Henry VI, Part 3
65. A Wedding at Whitehall
1592
66. Oxford & Lady Elspeth Return
67. Henry VI – Part 3
68. Love’s Labour’s Won
69. Much Ado About Nothing
70. Henry VI, Part 3, at the Rose
71. The Tabard Inn
72. The Heat of a Luxurious Bed
73 Ditchley House
74. Edward II
75. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern
76. An Heir for his Lordship
77. The Taming of the Shrew
78. The Death of Robert Greene
79. Whitehall Palace
1593
80. Henry Is Christened (in the Boar’s Head)
81. If Thy Body Had Been As Deformed As Thy Mind
82. López and the Ghost of Thomas Brincknell
83. Abandon’d & Despised
84. The Death of Christopher Marlowe
85. Matrimonium Clandestinum
86. Yorick
87. Graze On My Lips; Feed Where Thou Wilt
88. Richard Field and the Printing of Venus and Adonis
89. The Sign of the Ship
90. A Conference with Venus
91. Sir Robert Gibed at Christmas
1594
92. A Play for Lady Mary
93. A Double Maske
94. A Nidicock for Lady Lizbeth
95. The Lord Chamberlain’s Men
96. The Execution of Dr. López
97. The Wedding of Sir Thomas Heneage and the Countess of Southampton
Lineage Tables
The Earls of Oxford
William Cecil, Baron Burghley
The Earls of Southampton
The Earls of Derby
Peregrine Bertie, Lord Willoughby de Eresby
The Earls of Pembroke
The Lords Hundson
The Sidney Family
Glossary

William Shakespeare, from the First Folio, ( 1623 )
The Death of Shakespeare Part One
1616 ~ Prologue ~ Stratford-upon-Avon – April 23, 1616
The knock came earlier than expected. Anne Shackspear opened the door and looked out into the teeming rain. A man dressed in a brown cape and broad-brimmed felt hat filled the doorway. He pulled back the cape at his neck, exposing a white collar.
“Father,” she said, swinging the door open. “We are so grateful you have come.” The priest stepped inside. He took off his hat, uncovering a thick head of brown hair flecked with gray. His face was wide. Heavy jowls sagged either side of a thick-lipped mouth. He handed her his hat. “I am Anne Shackspear, she said nervously, as she took it. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
The priest offered his hand; Anne bent forward and kissed it. He peeled off the cloak and exposed the white collar again, which shone even brighter in the dark room. Anne was pleased to see that the priest was large. Priests should be well-fed, she thought. Let the Puritans show their bones like the cattle dying in the fields outside Stratford. She herself was a stump of a woman, made shorter by years of carrying milk pails on her father’s farm. A large purse and heavy keys hung off her belt.
“William worried that a priest would be afraid to visit him here,” she said, as she hung up the priest’s cloak. “Where have you come from, Father?”
“Take me to him,” the priest said.
Anne started for the stairs. “He has not gotten out of bed for days,” she said over her shoulder, “for reasons my son-in-law, a doctor, cannot discover. Perhaps it’s his grief over my second daughter’s marriage, so recently besmutched.” The priest followed close behind, almost pushing her up the stairs. She stopped prattling. At the top, she pointed to a dark bedroom.
“Leave us,” the priest said. Anne went back downstairs as the priest entered the room and closed the door behind him. Shackspear lay in a wide bed with turned posts but no canopy. A silk tapestry that depicted scenes from The Book of Martyrs hung on the wall over his head. It was obviously a recent acquisition from how clean and bright it was in contrast to the rest of the dingy room. A small portrait of Shackspear hung on the wall on the other side of the bed.
Shackspear looked up and saw the priest. “Father!” he exclaimed. “Thank you for coming! I despaired I would leave this life before I was confessed.”
The priest walked over to the bed. His eyes swept the room. “Have you sinned, my son?”
“Yes, Father! My conscience hath a thousand tongues, one for every sin I have committed! They crowd the bar,” he cried, waving a bony finger over the priest’s head, as if a gallery of wraiths behind the priest were hooting ‘Guilty! Guilty!’
The priest looked mildly surprised. “What kind of sins, my son?”
“ I stole a man’s name, Father .”
The priest smiled indulgently. “I thought you were going to confess to something worse, like murder.”
Shackspear shook his head. “What I did was far worse. Killing a man only shortens his life: stealing his name means no one will remember him after he is gone! It’s as if he had been erased! As if he had never been born !”
He reached over and picked up a document from the nightstand. He handed it to the priest. His hand was shaking. “I have written a confession based on the one Father Campion gave my father.” The priest made the sign of the cross. Shackspear saw this and was pleased.
The priest took the confession and started to look through it. “And whose name have you stolen?”
“The Earl of Oxford’s, Father. The Queen made me do it. She said the Earl would write plays and my name would go on them, and if I ever told anyone …” He made a slashing movement across his throat. “But she is dead now, as so many others are …” He lost his train of thought, his eyes drifting away.
“Have you told this to others?”
“Only to my wife and daughters.”
“And what do they say?”
“They laugh at me. They say I’m an old man. They know nothing of the theater. They can’t even read. Confess me, Father.”
“Where are the plays?”
“Oxford kept them.”
“And the drafts he wrote?”
“He kept everything, even the foul