"Twilight for Anonymous…"

Disclaimer: Not mine but thine...O, Joss!

Archived at the Cicelyverse page of the Buffy Rebecca verse, or direct to story at www...

General audience level...

Summary: In a past life of Buffy and William, a certain story- and scene-stealing vampire gets his much-deserved desserts…

Part XIII…

"Ha, Ha! Keep time: how sour sweet music is,
When time is broke and no proportion kept!
So is it in the music of men's lives.
And here have I the daintiness of ear
To cheque time broke in a disorder'd string;
But for the concord of my state and time
Had not an ear to hear my true time broke."

A despairing yet wanly amused "newly deposed ex-King Richard II" noted to the strains of rather broken music as he paced his on-(improvised)stage cell… "I wasted Time and now doth Time waste me…"

The audience, in spite of increasing nervousness due to circling rumors, watching intently, enthralled…The haunted mood only increased by the flickering candlelight of the room…Twilight now descending fully outside.

And, naturally all windows well-shut both in deference to the needs of the actors and the Earl of Oxford who had a rather unfortunate aversion to the light of day…Due of course to his delicate condition…

"Is that some reference of yours to our need to be astir?" Deveraux eyed Edward who sighed.

Lord…Did Lord Dudley pay no attention at all to his stepson's higher education?

"Yes, well caught, my lord…" he noted, slight nod. "But let's let our political messages have proper time to sink in, Robert."

"Indeed…I just hope these stout fellows have the ear and soul of the poetical about them…" Essex noted complacently, noting their various followers about the room. "They're good lads, indeed, but such matters as sensitive souls such as our own can experience may be lost upon them. A pity, of course…"

"Of course…" Oxford, wry nod.

Indeed a pity I won't be able to preserve his amusing stupidity for future generations…My own generations, that is. Oh, I will almost regret seeing you face the chopper, Bob…You're just too entertaining to lose, really, old friend….DeVere, repressing smile. But seriousness returning immediately as he looked for the Slayer who had resisted his almost, nearly soulful charms…Seeing her, once again, with that traitor to her true kind, Frances, further back from the stage across the room. She eyeing him grimly…As he glanced for her benefit to Shakespeare, now seated beside Essex, who'd in his odd, mercurial way suddenly seemed to have taken a shine to him…

Hah…DeVere allowed himself a slight grin back… Whatever little ambush you'd planned to counter my own, Slayer…I now hold the King of Hearts. Your heart…

The milkmaid…The peasant girl…Resist me? The divine Edward? With this swain's good looks, my pensive air of some mysterious romantic secret hanging about me, these soulful baby blues. He batted eyes at one of the few ladies scattered about…One of Southhampton's so-called "mistresses"…

As if that fellow could make proper use of one…

….And my rather nice estate, known throughout England…Why I'm a tremendous catch, girl. Even if, as my dear "cousin" (far more many times removed than her family could ever conceive) Bella has learnt to her wretched misery, there's a heavy price to pay in winning me.

Please, hardly plausible… More of the nature of her clearly being far too coarse a grain to appreciate my charms. No doubt a bit of a mental defective…One would really think her time-hallowed Council would take care to find suitable employees…Lord only knows what gaucherie she might commit given her super-powered ability to ignore consequences.

Well, all right…That would be a turn-on…

And yet…She has won the heart of this little fellow and even I can't deny his genius…He eyed Shakespeare briefly.

I wonder…What did the little fellow and his ungainly cow have in mind just now? I did expect she'd come charging in his place, and had my men in position…Real men, too, sure to make her hesitate just long enough…But it seems he's aware of her "work" and had some little scheme in mind to give her a fighting chance. Till dear ole Bob lumbered in to muck all up as usual…

Well, given neither of us is quite ready to act, may as well enjoy the play…My play…He beamed, patting the sealed pouch inside his belt.

Shakespeare clearly rather preoccupied with the gentry, no doubt keeping things stable, the actors had relaxed just a bit in the progress of the play. Excepting "King Richard II" himself, Burbage, whose somewhat stunned expression registered to Anne that she'd been recognized even in her fancy dress…

Lord, it would be the self-proclaimed conqueror…Putting it to all and sundry that "Richard III" had "taken" "his Anne" during the run of Will's historical blockbuster.

Thank God, Will'd understood Burbage was just needling him for letting her get a bit high-handed in her criticisms of the performance when he'd caught us arguing in a back room, me feelin' Will far too tolerant of Dick's airs and fussin' as to the character... "Could we not give poor Dick III some shadowing of justice in his career, Will?" For Heavens' sake the man is supposed to be an out-and-out villain who kills his own wife, nephews, and closest friends. The crowd loves a good, no excuses, villain. Still, whatever the little preening bastard had let slip out about it, Will knew I'd given no cause for doubt. I mean…It's the family business…Not about to let a ham actor bollocks up a sure fire hit play.

And nice comeback after the gossip flowed…That "Tell Richard that William the Conqueror was before Richard the Third…" she smiled briefly.

Like everyone doesn't know Burbage's keeping a sweet young boy of twenty in Moorlands…Though to be fair, Dick's not a bad husband and despite the blowhard manner and the fixation of his attentions elsewhere at times, reasonably devoted to the Missus and children.

And to be doubly fair, he didn't mean for the story to get round to such an extent and did deny it later without threat from me, even. And now seems more worried here than eager to try and make a very public move on his collaborator's wife.

"Lady…Anne…" Frances hissed. "You're getting too excited. People are staring. Cultivate a more relaxed air…And do sit down. You look like you mean to commit murder."

"Right…" Anne sighed, trying to calm, taking seat again.

Well, right…I do. But not here in front of the gentry, howsoever much doomed by their foolish politics…

"Why is your husband with DeVere and Essex? Is it a plan?" Frances whispered nervously.

"Certainly." Anne nodded.

Of course there's a plan…Sort of…

Damn it Will…I coulda taken him, away from this crowd. Now, the little rat's got you right with him.

"Pardon me, my Lady…" she rose and moved up toward the front row of seats, Francis staring anxiously…Several of the audience eyeing her and her anxious face…

My word, she's not carried away with that fellow's portrayal is she? It's just a play…However good the actor is at bringing forth Richard's tragic romantic….

….

"I see your dear wife is about to join us, Master Shakespeare…" DeVere whispered, after looking back to see Anne pressing on. "I hope your play hasn't made her anxious. T'would be a pity to interrupt such a fine performance…" he smiled.

"Anne tends to identify with my characters, your Grace. She has a most compassionate nature. Perhaps we should go and discuss our affairs in private? I think what I've to say will be of interest…" Shakespeare whispering back.

"By all means…" DeVere, nodding, rose to the side of his chair quietly, quietly begging the pardon of the viewer immediately behind. Essex looking over at him…Edward?

"Master Shakespeare and I need just a moment, Bob." DeVere, apologetic tone. "We'll return shortly."

Yes…Essex, frowning nod.

Anyone can see the man is a skillful wordsmith but Ed is far too indulgent of this little popinjay and his so-called genius…

Will…Anne stared as Shakespeare likewise rose, following DeVere…

What the devil are you doing…?

A thought rather less selflessly echoed by Ben Jonson, watching from his wing corner…

What the devil is that sneaky bastard up to…? And I mean the bald one with the Amazonian wife.

"I trust your wife does realize the extreme danger you're in should she attempt an attack on me just now…" DeVere casually whispered to Shakespeare as they moved to a beautifully carved side door, Southhampton puzzledly glancing over, Essex still frowning, after them.

This support for the arts thing is all very well…But, we're moving into the critical moment here…

Unless of course…Well, one knows what they say about actors…And Ed, while no slouch at keeping a pretty young thing or two at hand, isn't exactly what I would call the most manly of men, fond of him as I am, he eyed the two as they left through the half door…

Oh…He noted a hurrying Anne likewise making for the door…

Yes? A threesome?…Well…One should be tolerant of human frailty whilst one is able to be…Naturally once Her Majesty sensibly retires after naming me the power in the land with title of Lord Protector, I will have to uphold the moral fibre of the kingdom.

Then again perhaps given his delicate condition, Ed just likes to watch?

…..

"Will!" Anne called in the hallway…

"Slayer…" DeVere wagged a finger at her. "You've no reason to be concerned. Your husband requested a meeting with me, presumably to negotiate for you?" he eyed Shakespeare. "Why not let the men handle these affairs. We'll call you when you're needed. I suggest you go enjoy the rest of the play."

She tensed but noted the bowman in the upper balcony, above the hallway, cross bow trained on her.

"Yes, one of mine." Nod. "But I could have had him or one of my others kill you, or at least try. Be reasonable, Mistress Shakespeare…" smile.

"Anne, I'll be fine…Just wait." Shakespeare called to her.

"I'll wait here and if he's not back, alive and warm in ten minutes…" Anne glared.

"On my dear mother's soul…" Edward raised a hand solemnly. "Bella!" he called to the ever-waiting Bella standing by the door to the great hall. She rose wanly…Eyeing him…

"Fetch Mistress Shakespeare anything she might like while she waits for us. I'm sure you must be thirsty and famished". He noted to Anne. "Then go to Lord Essex and tell him we'll rejoin him shortly." Master Shakespeare…?" he indicated the anteroom from which he'd emerged earlier.

"Your Grace…" nod.

Anne, mixed look of wrath and fear at Shakespeare…

Willum, you die here tryin' to show off and I'll show you what a shrew can be…Throughout Eternity.