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"There is great excitement in the world of literature; a lost play, apparently by William Shakespeare, has been discovered by researchers at Rutland University Library. They are puzzled and speculate as to who the ‘muse’ was [and the inspiration] for William writing ‘The Lady of Cappanni'. But to angel Margret it appears to be about Temporal Detective Alex Cappanni and the role she performs for God! Mr. Tibbs and the team are on the way to seek the real truth about the play and why it was written."
SMOKING - ALCOHOL USE - VIOLENCE [INCLUDING SEXUAL VIOLENCE & BDSM] - STRONG LANGUAGE - GRAPHIC HARD SEX REFERENCES INCLUDING PROSTITUTION AND DIVERSE SEXUAL PRACTISES - DRUG REFERENCES – STRONG ANTI-RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS AND OPINIONS - HUMAN TRAFFICKING – STRONG COMMENTS AND BEHAVIOUR THAT MAY OFFEND SOME PEOPLE BUT WERE CONSIDERED 'NORMAL' IN THE TIME PERIOD – MILD HORROR & SUPERNATURAL, PARANORMAL FEAR. |
Author’s notes about this episode:
[1]
This episode contains language appropriate for the time period.
[2]
The original Title for this episode was: ‘THE LOST PLAY OF BILL SHAKESPEARE.’
[3]
A ‘Jericho Tibbs’ original story.
[4] Illustration is an original drawing by the author. Copyright © 2011-2024 Stephen Williams. No reproduction of any part without permission.
[5]
There is NO Alexandra version available.
Episode details:
Concept
date: 17th February 2017
First
published: 2nd may 2019
Status: COMPLETED & PUBLISHED.
Location: BOOK SERIES 2 - EPISODE 11.
Revisions: 2 [last revised May 2020]
Version:
Final.
Published
Episode No. 023
Previous
episode: “Mrs. Lucy Crawford leaves
lifeboat No. 13.”
Next
episode: “Lucy London’s lost soul.”
Age
recommendation: 12+
Average
reading time: Approx. 30 Minutes.
Angel-in-charge: Margret
Team Assigned: Team 74
Human Time: 1610AD-1018AH
Mission: 5 - 313199 - 2 – 1610
Episode Preview:
The carriage shuddered and trembled as it struggled through the mud that
claimed to be the main road to Oxford. The late summer rain didn’t help its
progress and the old man inside repeatedly peered through the thick curtain
that covered the open window; but offered little protection against the persistent
drizzle or coldness of the oncoming night.
Old Harry, the coachman; shouted down that they were about four leagues from
‘The Fallen Oak’ tavern and coach house – their planned stop for the night -
and just another twenty leagues from the outskirts of Oxford city.
The old man pressed
back in his seat and gripped the well-worn leather bag to his chest and sighed
loudly; “When will the damn King spend some bloody money on these fucking
roads!” The young man opposite chuckled and pulled a dark bottle from his
travelling bag and took several sips. “Have some brandy Uncle William and
consider that a hot meal, soft beds and beer, await us when we arrive at the
Fallen Oak.”
The old man gripped the bottle and with a slightly trembling hand, took a
shallow draught of brandy and then passed it back to his young companion;
“Thank you Edward.” He muttered and closed his eyes but could not rest with
any comfort – he must reach Oxford and hand the bag over – even then, the
events of the past few weeks would haunt his mind until they lowered his cold
dead body into its grave. But would he be able to rest in peace, knowing what
had passed between him and the spectral that plagued him from the hereafter?
Especially the young woman, by God’s grace; what a woman!
And what a muse! Had he encountered her when he was a young man – like Edward
is now – what difference to his life she would have made! The old man groaned
openly and pushed a hand across his face; the tears were not from self-pity,
but from the knowledge of what could have been and never will be.
He glanced at the dozing Edward and was grateful that the boy had not seen the
tears. He looked down at the bag and ran a hand across the soft leather, he
believed the old satchel contained his ‘Master work’ and the story of what a
man’s life could have been; had the fates been kinder.
William stared at the sleeping boy and smiled; Edward was the son of an old
muse of his. Elizabeth had captivated
the young William and the pair had become lovers; Edward was the fruit of that
passion; but never knew that his ‘Uncle’ was de-facto; his father.
Elizabeth had died a few days after the boy’s birth with child-bed fever and
William had taken charge of the infant, placing him with close friends who were
childless and then took upon himself: the role of protective ‘Uncle’.
Now grown and schooling ended, the young Edward was enjoying the company of his
uncle and his close circle of friends, artists and actors. Edward had even
tried his hand at being a wordsmith and actor – performing twice as a lady of
the court - in one of William’s friends' small plays, since real women were not
allowed upon the stage by law; all their parts were performed by young men and
boys. Edward had played a wonderful young maid to ‘Queen Margret’ in one of
William’s ‘Henry’ plays.
“You did well boy and your writing could easily put food upon the table and a
roof over your head.” William muttered to himself with a little pride, if he
was really honest. William could not leave the boy much upon his death, but had
arranged with his friend Ben Johnson, to ensure that Edward received money and
goods he had placed aside. His wife Anne could have their old bed which she
chilled over so many years and his daughters could have a proper dowry; he owed
them that at least.
The thoughts of his own death now filled his troubled mind and soul – the
spirits had been kind enough not to reveal the date of his passing - but
William had inkling that it was close. He groaned quietly and clutched the
leather satchel again to his chest, then sat upright as old Harry called
out the approaching Tavern, which also woke Edward from his temporary sleep.
“We’ll sup well and sleep even better in proper beds.” Edward yawned
and stretched, pulling the curtain back to view the approaching lights of
the tavern. William gripped the bag and wondered if he would be able to rest
well this night. He also wondered, if he should reveal the visit of the
strangers who apparently hailed from the ‘hereafter’ to young Edward.
Again, his thoughts turned to the young woman; beautiful, intelligent and
knowledgeable – she was the Queen of Muses - and had captured his old heart
with just a smile. She had broken the constipation of his writer's block in an
instant and William had picked up the discarded quill’s and began to write
again; mostly about her and for her.
The carriage slowed and stopped, with Edward pushing open the door and jumping
into the mud that lay outside the tavern known as the ‘Fallen Oak’. Straw had
been scattered around the pub’s entrance to stop passengers sinking into the
foul mud. It also helped to keep mud off boots and so, keep mud out of the
tavern.
The Innkeeper; Silas Redpenny was waiting with lamp in hand to greet his
guests and escort them inside. A thin man with dirty hands and face grappled
with the baggage handed down by old Harry and then staggered through the
doorway, cursing quietly to himself and with some difficulty, he climbed the
stairs to their allocated rooms and deposited the three cases inside. He
grunted and cursed with disappointment, and a little frustration, that all
three were securely padlocked. No little bonus for him tonight and he returned
to the kitchens; to scavenge some meat and ale.
Silas ushered William and Edward into the bar and found them an empty rough,
wooden table by the large fireplace, where Edward ordered beer, brandy and
meats pies. They both sat staring into the fire that danced and flickered in
the grate for a few minutes, before a young girl brought them their order.
Edward gave the girl two half-pennies for her trouble, and she grinned
broadly, curtsying low, so that the young man captured a good few of her
large heaving breasts, barely restrained by a loose corset. “Anything else
that I can get you Sir?” she whispered and slightly disappointed, wandered off
when William interrupted the pair and said simply; ‘No.”
It must be noted that she wasn’t as disappointed as Edward, who gripped
his tankard and wondered if he could get a message to her later.
Edward watched as the young tart laughed and joked with two soldiers near the
door, lifting her dress and petticoats, so that the men received a glance of
what was on offer. He rubbed at his crotch and fantasized about those tits in
his hands and mouth. The pleasant daydream was broken by his uncle, who tapped
the table with his knife, whilst slicing open his pie.
“I must speak to you on matters that are so important, your very future depends
upon you understanding and acting upon what I say.” William gripped his
‘nephew’ by the arm, adding; “I was visited by the dead from the hereafter and
the tale they imparted will turn your bowels to water.” He now had Edwards’s
undivided attention.
William glanced about the quite room [for a tavern] and pulled Edward close and
the story began in a whisper.
End of Preview.
IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER:
“All incidents and dialogue, and all characters with the exception of some well-known historical figures, are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Where real-life historical figures appear, the situations, incidents, and dialogues concerning those persons are entirely fictional and are not intended to depict actual events or to change the entirely fictional nature of the work. In all other respects, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.”
CAUTION:
“SOME OF THESE EPISODES CONTAIN VERY STRONG LANGUAGE, VIOLENCE, HORROR AND SEXUAL REFERENCES. Some are RECOMMENDED suitable for persons aged 15+ years only.”
THE AUTHOR.
Copyright © 2011-2025 Stephen Williams. No reproduction of any part without permission.