Corsets & Crossbones (24 page)

“What does
Chorambis translate to?” Charlie asked curiously, tilting his head slightly.

Brooke smirked.  “Two hearted,” she said quickly, and then glanced back down at the book.  “But that is not all; Hamlet was engaged to marry Ophelia who happened to be
Chorambis’s daughter just as de Vere was engaged to marry Anne Cecil, who happened to be Burghley’s daughter.  Speaking of Burghley, his son, Robert Cecil, received a similar list, much like Chorambis’s list given to his son Laertes of maxims.  Both fathers sent someone to spy on their sons while they were away.”  She quickly caught her breath before continuing.  “Hamlet had a best friend named Horatio; de Vere had a best friend named Horace which is also another name for Horatio.  Both Horatios are well-known for their outgoing personalities, as well as their calmness during all different conditions.  Finally, when de Vere was returning home on the English channel, his ship was raided by pirates who stripped him naked.  It was only after hearing of his noble status that they agreed to set him free, albeit without much of his possessions, much like Hamlet’s story to Horatio.”

“Those seem to be more than mere coincidences,” Charlie said, his full attention now on Brooke.  “But what does this have anything to with our treasure?”

“Well, the parchment was found in an envelope with his seal on it, correct?” Brooke asked.  At Charlie’s nod, Brooke removed the parchment from the pages of the sonnets, and set the book containing de Vere’s biography on the coffee table.  She shifted back in her place, before turning over the parchment so the numbers were faced up.  “And the quote on the parchment comes from Shakespeare’s Forty-Eighth Sonnet.”

Brooke paused, her eyes scanning the two rows of numbers very carefully.  She knew that what she was proposing was nearly sacrilegious, and if she was not presented with a detailed biography of Edward de
Vere and Shakespeare’s works at the same time, she would never have believed that anyone but Shakespeare wrote his work.  And yet, here she was, trying to prove to Charlie that Shakespeare
did not
write his plays but someone else did.

“I believe the first numbers pertain to Shakespeare’s sonnets,” she began, her voice quivering slightly.  “Shakespeare wrote one hundred and fifty-four sonnets, and the numbers go up to one hundred and fifty four.”  Charlie nodded, his eyes scanning the parchment.  “I believe the numbers that appear next to some of the main numbers refer to the lines of the sonnet.

“For example,” she continued, “take Sonnet Seven, where he is describing a man with ‘strong youth in his middle age.’”  Again she paused, hesitating, but managed to work up the courage to continue.  “I believe he is speaking of Henry Wriothesley, the Third Earl of Southampton.  In fact, I believe he is speaking of Southampton in the first seventeen sonnets.”

“How does the Earl of Southampton have anything to do with de
Vere?” Charlie asked.  He was sincerely curious now, not skeptical.

“De
Vere wanted Southampton to marry his daughter,” Brooke explained.  “These seventeen sonnets are dedicated to him in hopes that he will marry her.”  She read Charlie’s inquisitive glance as need for further proof, so she opened the book of sonnets and flipped to number Ten.  “In this one, de Vere writes that ‘Make thee another self, for love of me’ which can refer to de Vere’s birth into high nobility, compared to Southampton.  I mean, the way he writes these first seventeen sonnets indicates that he is of the same birth as Southampton is.

“Also,” she continued quickly, flipping back to the first page with the dedication on it, “Mr. W.H. probably refers to Henry
Wriothesley with the initials reversed in order to conceal Southampton’s identity.  This switch was most likely made by the publisher.

“The Dark Mistress, I believe, might be Anne
Vavasor, the woman who bore him his child out of wedlock,” Brooke went on, flipping through the pages until she stopped at Sonnet Thirteen.  “In this one, he writes, ‘Who lets so fair a house fall to decay, Which husbandry in honour might uphold,’ which could be referring to his illegitimate child, and how she had him out of wedlock.”

“I thought the first seventeen sonnets were dedicated to Southampton,” Charlie said, quirking a brow.

“They are still autobiographical,” Brooke said with a shrug, and flipped through more pages.  “Here, Sonnet Nine-and-Fifty, he writes, ‘bear amiss The second burden of a former child!’

“I am not quite sure who the Rival Poet may be, however,” Brooke said with a hint of disappointment.  “There are a few good candidates.

“However, continuing on, he even hints at his true identity.”  Again, she flipped through the pages, reading a portion, and then flipping to the next page.  “Sonnet Nine-and-Twenty refers to the shame de Vere felt having been so successful, and was now declining.  ‘When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heav’n with my bootless cries, And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope.’  He has a sense of shame, Charlie, and it seems to me that maybe the public knew of the author’s shame, or at least, that is what the author seems to believe, and de Vere was part of quite a few scandals in his day.

             
“He also writes of his lameness,” Brooke continued.  “Here, in Sonnet Seven-and-Thirty, he writes ‘I, made lame by fortune’s dearest spite’ and it continues in lines nine and ten, ‘So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised, Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give...’ and in Sonnet Nine-and-Eighty, ‘Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt, Against thy reasons, making no defense.’”  Brooke glanced up at Charlie.  “Edward de Vere was injured in a duel due to his inappropriate courting of Anna Vavasour, which caused a rift with her uncle, Sir Thomas Knyvet.  I would like to point out that warring families battling due to love is a theme not only in
Pyrimus and Thisbe
, but also in
Romeo and Juliet
.”

  Before Charlie could comment, Brooke quickly continued.  “Sonnet Six-and-Seventy says, ‘That every word doth almost tell my name’ and Sonnet One-and-Eighty reads, ‘Though I, once gone, to
all the world must die…’ obviously referring to why he never actually documented the fact that he was, indeed, behind Shakespeare’s plays and sonnets.  Sonnet One Hundred and Fifteen says, ‘Those lines that I before have writ do lie.’  I realize that when you first read these lines, they do not directly explain de Vere’s grand secret, yet I believe they have a double, truer meaning.  Shakespeare was, after all, known for his double innuendos and his irony.

“But, most importantly, Sonnets One Hundred and Five-and-Thirty, One Hundred and Six-and-Thirty, and One Hundred and Three-and-Forty all have the word ‘will’ capitalized for two reasons; the obvious one being that will is being personified, but also, he uses it as a play on his name.  In fact, Sonnet One Hundred and Six-and-Thirty even says ‘Make but my name thy love, and love that still,
And then thou lov’st me,-for my name is Will.’  Maybe this is a reference to why he chose the first name William to pair with his last name Shakespeare, for his crest.

“There is so much evidence pointing to de
Vere, Charlie!” Brooke exclaimed with exasperation.  “The three dedicatees of his work were engaged to his three daughters!  Southampton had
Venus and Adonis
and
The Rape of Lucrece
dedicated to him, the
First Folio’s
of his plays were dedicated to Montgomery who married Susan de Vere, as well as Pembroke, who was engaged to his daughter Bridget.  And finally, his uncle, Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, invented the form of the English sonnet, which later became known as the Shakespearean sonnet.”  She paused, catching her breath, and looking at Charlie expectantly.  “So… what do you think?”

Charlie was silent for a moment, trying to process everything Brooke had told him.  It was a bit of a revelation to find out that Shakespeare was not really Shakespeare, and the work he enjoyed to read was not written by the man believed it to be written by.  He was not disappointed, per se, but he was let down in a way. 

He glanced at Brooke for a moment, and his lips curled into a smile.

“Why, my dear, I think that you are the most brilliant woman I have ever met,” he told her sincerely.  “No one could have proved that Shakespeare was
a sham save for you.  What a revelation!”  Brooke beamed at him, and Charlie smiled back, his gold teeth reflecting the sun’s seeping rays.  “Now, tell me then, what does this have to do with our treasure?”

Brooke rolled her eyes at Charlie’s enthusiasm for the gold, but smiled nonetheless.  She took the parchment in her hands, and pointed at the number fifty-two.

“Sonnet Two-and-Fifty says,” she said, flipping through the pages of the book until she reached the desired page, “’So am I as the rich, whose blessed key Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure The which he will not every hour survey, For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.’”  She skipped a few lines, and then resumed reading.  “’…Or captain jewels in the carcanet.  So is the time that keeps you as my chest…”  She looked back down at the parchment.  “Obviously this is referring to our treasure hunt, but you see the markings next to the numbers?  Though they are faded, I believe them to read ‘An Assu’ which makes no sense whatsoever.  But, whatever the phrase means is where the treasure is.”

“So, now we solve the phrase?” Charlie asked Brooke.

The young woman nodded.

Another two weeks went by, and soon it was late April.  Flowers were blooming, birds were singing, and something was definitely in the Caribbean air.  One late afternoon, Charlie and Brooke were lounging in the backyard of his relatives’ cottage.  Brooke was on her stomach, her fingers grazing the petals of a freshly bloomed flower.  Charlie was sitting, his ankles crossed, leaning on his palms, his chin tilted up and his eyes closed, feeling the cool breeze that surrounded them.

“Have you ever been in love, Charlie?” Brooke asked quietly, arching her neck back so she got a good view of him.

Charlie opened one eye, looking at the young woman in front of him.  Her long, wavy hair cascaded around her, catching the light from the sun.  Her skin was developing a smooth tan and her freckles were darkening.  She was looking at him imploringly, pushing her body up so that she leaned on her forearms.  The tunic she was wearing was slightly big on her, causing the right sleeve to fall slightly, exposing her bare shoulder.  If he craned his neck very slightly, he would be able to see her outline of her breasts, but he refrained from doing so, and forced his chocolate eyes into her sea green ones.

“Love?” he asked her, blinking his eyes.  He sighed and glanced up at the sky.  His lips were pursed, causing his chin to break out into an array of tiny dimples.  Finally, he looked back at Brooke, and licked his lips before replying.  “I have felt compassion for a woman.  I have felt desire for a woman.  I have respected a woman.  But I have never truly loved a woman.”

“How do you know?” she asked softly, tilting her head very slightly to the side.  She was enraptured by him; her focus was set on his words. 

“I think to be truly in love you have to feel all those things for one person,” Charlie explained.  “But most importantly, there has to be trust between a man and a woman, and in my life, I have never trusted a woman.”  He paused, and then smiled slightly.  “Save for you, of course.”  Brooke smiled, her cheeks getting red, and glanced down.  Her fingers subconsciously began to play with the grass.  “What about you, darling?  Have you ever been in love?”

Brooke smiled, and then bit her lips, looking away and shaking her head.

“I thought I was once, when I was seventeen,” she murmured, the smile still on her lips.  “He came from England.  His uncle was one of king’s advisors, so he came from a wealthy family.  The Governor was entertaining his company when he was staying at Port Royal, and I happened to visit Fiona when he was there.  I was instantly attracted to him, and allowed him to court me.”  She smiled and watched herself pick the blades of grass and then drop them down, moving onto other blades of grass.  “My father was obviously thrilled, waiting for him to formally propose, and I must say, I was expecting the same thing.”  Her brow furrowed suddenly, and her gaze became intent.  “About a month later, he got called back to England on urgent business.  I later found out that the business was that his wife had just given birth to their first child.” 

She finally looked up at Charlie, whose position had changed; he was sitting up, his arms wrapped around his knees.  He was looking at her with an odd expression on his face but remained silent.  Brooke’s stomach was knotting, and she felt compelled to speak.

“I did not realize until then that marriage was… frightening,” she murmured, looking back at the grass.

“How is it frightening?” Charlie asked, watching her look at the grass.

“Maybe I was naïve, but I believed that marriage was between two people who love each other dearly,” she said, her brow rising, but her gaze remaining firmly on the earth beneath her.  “But apparently, it is the norm for a man to take a mistress when he is married.  In fact, people say he deserves one!  I cannot fathom that!  I cannot understand that if a man loves a woman, he would take a mistress.”

“Love is not as simple as it seems,” Charlie told her softly.  “However, I agree, that if a man truly loves a woman, and she truly loves him in return, there is no need for a third party.”