Twisted

upon it. He read: “Enter Cassio. . . . RODERIGO: ‘I know his gait, ’tis he. Villain, thou diest! . . .’ Roderigo makes a pass with his blade at Cassio. . . . CASSIO draws his own weapon and wounds Roderigo. . . . RODERIGO: ‘O, I am slain! . . .’ Iago from behind wounds Cassio in the leg, and exeunt. CASSIO: ‘I am maim’d for ever. Help, ho! Murder! murder!’ ”
    Shakespeare fell silent and bowed his head. “My lords, so fall my humble words.”
    “ ‘Villain, thou diest . . . Help, ho! Murder! . . .’ Why those,” the high chancellor said, “with some alteration, are the very words that the witness heard the prisoner and Sir Murtaugh exchange. They are from a play of thine?”
    “Yes, my lord, they are. It is as yet unperformed and I am presently reworking it.” Shakespeare paused for a moment then added, “This shall be the play I did promise Her Highness the queen for her enjoyment when she and the Court return this fall.”
    A Privy Council member frowned and then asked, “Thou art, if I am not mistaken, much in the queen’s favor.”
    “Humbly, sir, I am but a journeyman playwright. But I can say with little exaggeration that Her Highness hath from time to time offered expressions of pleasure at my work.”
    Hell’s bells, thought the prosecutor. Shakespeare is indeed much in the queen’s favor. This fact was well known. It was rumored that Her Highness would name his the sole royal acting company within the next year or two. The course of the case was now clear: To find Cooper guilty would require the judges to disavow Shakespeare’s testimony. The queen would hear and there would be consequences. Bolt recalled an expression: “A hundred dukes against a single queen leaves a hundred coffins on the green.”
    The high chancellor turned to the rest of the Privy Council and they conferred again among themselves. A moment later he pronounced, “In light ofthe evidence presented, this court of equity rules that the death of Sir Robert Murtaugh was caused by no man’s intent and Charles Cooper is herewith free to go forth unfettered, and untainted by any further accusation in this matter.” He cast a stern gaze toward the prosecutor. “And, Sir Jonathan, if it be not too taxing in the future, the court would be honored if thou might at least peruse the evidence and consult with the prisoner before thou deign to waste the time of this court.”
    “I shall do, my noble lord.”
    One of the judges leaned forward, nodded at the sheaf that the playwright was replacing in his sack and asked, “May I ask, Mr. Shakespeare, what will this play be titled?”
    “I know not for certain, my lord, what the final title shall be. I presently call it ‘Othello, the Moor of Venice.’ ”
    “And might I be assured from the testimony we have heard today that the audience may look forward to some good swordplay in this work?”
    “Oh, yes, my lord.”
    “Good. I far prefer such plays to thy comedies.”
    “If I may be so bold, sir, I believe thou will then enjoy this piece,” William Shakespeare said and joined Cooper and his wife as they left the dark room.

    Near candle-lighting that night, three men sat in the Unicorn and Bear tavern in Charing Cross, tankards of ale before them: Charles Cooper, Stout and William Shakespeare.
    A shadow filled the doorway as a man walked into the tavern.
    “Behold, ’tis the mysterious gentleman on the wharf,” Charles said.
    Hal Pepper joined them and was served up an ale of his own.
    Charles lifted his tankard. “Thou did well, my friend.”
    Hal drank long and nodded proudly to acknowledge the compliment. His role in the daring play, as writ by William Shakespeare and Charles Cooper in collaboration, was critical. After Charles had stopped Murtaugh on the wharf and, as he’d told the Court, piqued the knight’s interest with the promise of an appearance onstage, it had been Hal’s task to snare a passerby at just the right moment so that he witness the exchange of dialogue between Charles and Murtaugh at the start of their mock duel. Hal had then given the lackey Rawlings a half sovereign to raise the hue and cry with the constable, whom Shakespeare, as master plotter, had decided should perforce be a witness to the duel as well.
    Shakespeare now examined Charles gravely and said, “Regarding thy performance in Court, friend, thou need some study as a player, yet on the whole”—the man from Stratford could not