If anybody had seen the youth as he scaled the stile and cut across the fields, they wouldn’t have thought much of it. Few would have recognised him: he wasn’t a native of Shottery, and only an occasional visitor.

He left clear footprints in the soft earth, the overnight frost having been light: not enough to firm up the ground.

A dog barked half-heartedly when he reached the Hathaway farmhouse. Once the boy saw that it was tied up he paid it no further attention.

At the back door he made to knock, but it was flung wide.

“Hello, Millie,” said Anne Hathaway, with a lopsided grin.

William Shakspeare darted a quick glance to left and right, ensuring that nobody was within earshot.

“Don’t call me that!” he hissed.

“There’s nobody to hear. Come in.”

Even now, at the age of eighteen, William was in awe of Anne Hathaway – and rightly so: in a very real sense she had made him. It didn’t take a great leap of the imagination to conclude that she had the power to ruin him, too.

When Anne said she wanted to see young Shakspeare, he treated it as a summons.

Eight years his senior and on home ground, Anne had every reason to be confident. Blackmailing Will wasn’t an idea she entertained: she had never so much as hinted that it was a possibility – but she enjoyed the secret that they shared.

“There’s beer, if you want some?”

“Thank you.”

Anne dipped a mug for each of them. It was the small beer: not enough to make one giddy, but for hospitality it would suffice.

“I read your play,” she began.

“What did you think?” Will asked, quite anxious in case she poured scorn upon his ambitions.

“I liked it. Clever, although some of the speeches were a bit long. I couldn’t understand the battle scene, but perhaps if I saw it acted out it would become clear. I couldn’t picture how a person might fight with two swords at once.”

“Someday I’m going to sell that play,” Will began, but Anne hadn’t invited him here in order to hear his daydreams again. She held up a hand, to silence him.

He took a swig of the beer, instead.

“I need to use the Greek amulet,” Anne said, simply.

“What! Why? … When?” Shakspeare quailed at the thought of giving up the amulet – but it had only ever been a loan, he knew.

“I won’t keep it,” Anne sought to reassure him. “As we agreed: it’s yours to use… but I need it for a moment. Just a moment.”

“A moment?” Will couldn’t imagine why she might want – no, need – to use the amulet.

He threw a hand protectively across his chest, feeling the weight of the amulet, body-warm against him.

“Why?” he asked.

Anne blushed. “Some carelessness. I find myself in a dangerous, difficult situation.”

“One where the amulet can save you?” Will frowned.

“Perhaps,” she said. “I need to try.”

“Nothing foolish,” Will objected. “Not to fight a duel, or some nonsense?”

Anne rolled her eyes.

“Not even to leave this room, Millie. I promise.”

Millie. Said affectionately, but reminding him that she held what might as well be the power of life and death over him. Reluctantly – slowly – he reached inside his tunic, and grasped the amulet.

Convulsively, in a single movement, he pulled the chain over his head, the amulet grasped in his fist: a fist that at once became smaller, with fingers more slender.

Millicent Shakspeare’s breasts swelled; her hips widened. Her face must have changed as well, she knew. Will’s clothing hung loose on her smaller frame.

“Hello, Millie,” Anne said, again.

Millie didn’t trust herself to speak, yet. She felt disoriented, but she managed a nod at the older woman. She held out the amulet to her.

Anne took it, but didn’t place it about her neck right away. Instead, she prayed quietly. Millie thought she heard the words “forgive me” more than once.

At last, she placed the amulet about her own neck, and transformed.

Millie witnessed the mad, magical moment when Anne Hathaway became her own male counterpart. She’d felt the transformation herself more than once, of course, but she’d never seen it take place before.

The powerfully built, bearded man before him admired his muscular forearms, and winked at Millie.

“That should do it,” he said, and took off the amulet.

Anne returned, swaying a little, as if the house were afloat.

At once, she pressed her hands to her belly.

“Damnation!” she said. “It’s still there!”

“What –” Millie began, but realisation arrived: Anne had hoped to use the strange power of the Greek amulet to magic away an unborn child. It seemed that becoming a man hadn’t banished the little one, however.

Or had it? Might she now miscarry? To her shame, Millie hoped that she would – for fear that she might otherwise demand to keep the amulet and use it until the baby was due.

Who might the father be, she wondered.

Anne was weeping. She crossed the room and settled onto a three-legged stool with her head in her hands. Millie – who in truth had spent very little of her life in recent years as Millie – had no idea how to comfort her. She reached out to the older woman, and patted her shoulder, awkwardly.

Anne was speaking, now, but not to Millie.

“You’re not wanted here, you little bastard,” she said, tiredly. “Do you hear me? There’s naught for you here: just disgrace and despair for us both. Why do you persist, you turd?”

“Anne, please!” Millie feared she might attempt something still more drastic.

“The father,” Anne sighed. “He won’t want anything to do with me, now. There’s nothing to be gained by going to him. And some day soon, my sin will be plain for all to see. I hoped the amulet…”

“That was clever,” Millie said. “You always were clever. I’m sorry it didn’t work.”

“Foolish, setting myself against God’s plan, I suppose. Still… a shit-pox on the little wretch!”

“You don’t mean that,” Millie said, sadly.

“What’ll I do?” Anne wailed.

“I really can’t imagine,” said Millie. Her few sexual encounters had all been conducted as Will – with far less at stake.

“I wish there was something I could do,” she said – rashly.

“I can think of one thing you might do,” Anne said, after a pause.

“What’s that?” Millie demanded.

“Marry me,” Anne said, simply.

Whatever Millie had expected her to say, this came as a surprise, and she found herself without a reply.

Marry Anne Hathaway? Millie considered the proposition. She was an extraordinary woman, and she had believed in young Shakspeare, aspiring player and playwright, when nobody else did. At great risk to herself she’d stolen the Greek amulet – a family heirloom – and given it to Millie for her to use for as long as she might wish.

She wasn’t exactly a close friend – the difference in their ages and situations had precluded that – but she was at least a partner in crime.

Six years ago, Millicent Shakspeare had disappeared from public life in Stratford, it being said that she was in service in Ireland. Around the same time, William had “returned from travels in Italy with an uncle”. The magic of the Greek amulet made people more willing to believe such nonsense, and to overlook minor discrepancies. Persuading her parents to go along with the ruse had been much harder, and fears that the ‘witchcraft’ would be discovered had weighed heavily upon her father. He had become a recluse in consequence, but her mother had been a little more supportive.

‘William’ had attended King’s New School, at the Guildhall. As a girl, Millie would never have had such an opportunity. The days were long, and the lessons frequently dull… but Millie was glad to have received an education, rather than being married off and forced to give up her passion for prose.

“Impossible,” Millie said at last. “Your father wouldn’t permit it.”

Anne stood, and put the Greek amulet back around Shakspeare’s neck. Millie felt herself dissolve, to be reconstituted as the invented brother, William. This brought him considerable relief, as he had feared that Anne might keep the amulet, or perhaps use it to demand his involvement in her scheme.

Anne remained in place, her hands around Will’s neck as they had been when she returned the Amulet. She looked into his eyes, and sensed his arousal.

“Would it be so awful, marrying me?” she demanded.

Will regarded the older woman, and felt his body responding to her touch and her scent in a way that Millie could not have.

‘Not too awful,” he said, huskily. “But your father…”

“Father is away,” Anne said firmly. “If we were to post a marriage bond, just a single reading of the banns would be required. We could be safely married before he returns!”

“But a marriage bond must be…”

“Forty pounds,” Anne said.

“Forty pounds?” Will laughed out loud. “I haven’t got forty pence!”

“I have,” Anne said. “Will you help me? I don’t seek to ensnare you. You don’t have to stay and raise this little bastard. You can go on the road with your players – if they’ll have you. Go to London and chase your dreams. Become the most famous playwright in the world, if you can… but please: marry me and wipe away my shame before you go. Will you?”

William Shakspeare regarded the remarkable woman who had seen his potential, and who had given him a future, when he could otherwise have foreseen none.

“I’d be honoured,” he said.

+ + + ENDS + + +

1,600 words © Bryony Marsh 2018

Author’s note: my story is a TG-fictional twist on much of what we know about the early life of the Bard of Avon. He and Anne posted a marriage bond for the outrageous sum of £40, and married in haste. The “little bastard” in my story would turn out to be a girl, Susanna, born in May 1583. Shakspeare (he spelled his name a lot of different ways during his life) then disappears from all records for a few years before arriving on the acting scene in London. I like to imagine the youngster impressing a group of travelling players with his ability to play feminine roles... through judicious use of the Greek amulet, perhaps?

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