Edward Marston - The Princess of Denmark

Nicholas Bracewell was the first to arrive and she always reserved her most cordial welcome for the book holder. When she embraced him this time, however, there was sadness in her face and a hint of desperation in the way that she clung to him. He understood why. Margery stepped back to appraise him.

‘I shall miss you, Nick,’ she said.

‘Not as much as I’ll miss you,’ he said gallantly. ‘There’s nobody in the whole of Denmark who will look after us as well as you.’

‘Thank you.’

‘The pity of it is that we cannot take you with us.’

‘The same must be true of Anne, surely?’

‘No, Margery — she will be joining us.’

‘Oh?’

‘Anne is going to Amsterdam to visit relatives and friends of her late husband. She’ll sail with us part of the way.’

‘Well perhaps I could do so as well!’

‘We’d be honoured to have you.’

She kissed him on the lips, gave him an impulsive squeeze then took him into the parlour, where Lawrence Firethorn was poring over a manuscript. He looked up.

‘Nick, dear heart,’ he said, rising from his chair. ‘As ever, you are the first here even though you have to travel further than anyone.’

‘I enjoy a long walk,’ said Nicholas.

‘It must have taken you past the Queen’s Head.’

‘It did. The place looks forlorn. By now, I fancy the landlord will have pulled out the last remaining tufts of hair in vexation. It will be months before the inn returns to anything like its former glory.’

‘It can only do that when Westfield’s Men play there again,’ said Margery loyally. ‘The sooner that happens, the better.’ The doorbell clanged. ‘That will be Edmund.’

She left the room and let the newcomer in, enfolding him in her arms for a moment before ushering him into the parlour. Margery then vanished into the kitchen. After an exchange of greetings, the three men sat down. Firethorn picked up the manuscript on the table.

‘I’ve been reading your latest play again, Edmund,’ he said. ‘I know that it did not find favour with the Master of the Revels but it might have a kinder reception in Denmark.’

‘I doubt it,’ said Hoode. ‘ Sir Thomas More will be a poor play if I take out all the lines that offended the censor. He hacked it to pieces.’

‘His writ does not run in Elsinore.’

Hoode sat up. ‘We perform the piece exactly as it is written?’

‘That’s my suggestion,’ said Firethorn, leafing through the pages. ‘Sir Thomas is a part I yearn to play. He towers over the drama like a Colossus and his execution will move the hardest of hearts. Sir Thomas More would grace any stage.’

‘Thank you, Lawrence,’ he said, touched. ‘I have never had a play savaged by the Master of the Revels before and I was deeply wounded. To have it performed in Denmark would be a balm to my injuries.’ He turned to the book holder. ‘What’s your opinion, Nick?’

‘I think it’s a fine play,’ said Nicholas. ‘One of your best.’

‘It’s settled then,’ declared Firethorn, tossing the manuscript onto the table. ‘That’s one problem solved.’

‘I disagree, Lawrence.’

‘I thought you liked the play.’

‘I admire it greatly,’ said Nicholas, ‘but it is hardly a suitable choice for a wedding. Lord Westfield will expect laughter and gaiety. We cannot celebrate the occasion with a tragedy.’

Hoode nodded. ‘Nick makes a telling point.’

‘Then we play Sir Thomas More elsewhere,’ said Firethorn, determined not to be deprived of the chance to create a superb new role. ‘They’ll have a comedy for the wedding and a tragedy at some other venue in Denmark.’

‘I’m sorry to challenge you again, Lawrence,’ said Nicholas, ‘but I have to question the wisdom of that decision.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the name of Sir Thomas will mean little to a Danish audience. He may live fresh in our memory but they have their own heroes and men of integrity. But there is an even stronger argument against the play,’ Nicholas went on. ‘It was rejected in its present form and there was a good reason for that.’

‘Yes,’ said Firethorn with a scowl. ‘Sir Edmund Tilney does not appreciate the talent of Edmund Hoode. Our celebrated Master of the Revels sliced the play wide open.’

‘Only because he thought it politic to do so. And you malign him unjustly. He’s an admirer of Edmund’s work and has never turned one of his plays away before. What alarmed him was the coincidence.’

‘What coincidence, Nick?’

‘I can tell you that,’ interjected Hoode. ‘At the time when Sir Thomas was under-sheriff of London, there was great unrest over the number of foreigners in the capital. It’s dealt with in three separate scenes. Unhappily,’ he said with a grimace, ‘the same hatred of strangers had been whipped into a frenzy again.’

‘Look what happened to Anne and Preben yesterday,’ resumed Nicholas. ‘They learnt just how much resentment is felt against foreigners. Without intending to do so, certain scenes in Edmund’s play might excite that resentment even more.’

‘Perish the thought!’ said Hoode.

‘Such objections could not be raised in Denmark,’ argued Firethorn. ‘We would hardly arouse enmity against strangers there.’

‘No,’ conceded Nicholas, ‘but we would show England in a very poor light. Remember this — whenever we perform, our patron and his bride will be in the audience. No play will endear itself to the new Lady Westfield if it portrays this city as a cauldron of hatred and intolerance.’

‘ Sir Thomas More is a history play.’

‘History has a nasty habit of repeating itself, Lawrence, as in the case of our present troubles. Denmark will not be unaware of those. Among the strangers here,’ Nicholas pointed out, ‘we have Danes as well. Their letters home are bound to talk of the outrages against foreigners.’

‘Nick has persuaded me,’ said Hoode. ‘My play is withdrawn.’

Firethorn raised a palm. ‘Not so fast, Edmund. I’ll not yield up a wonderful role so easily. To make it more acceptable,’ he said, ‘all that we have to do is to remove the scenes that deal with strangers.’

‘In other words, we ape what Sir Edmund Tilney did.’

‘He tore the play apart. We will merely amend it.’

‘It amounts to the same thing. If the play is not performed in its entirety, then it will not take to the stage at all. No more argument,’ said Hoode as Firethorn tried to speak. ‘I’ll not be party to anything that might cause embarrassment to Lord Westfield and his bride.’ The doorbell was rung hard. ‘That will be Barnaby. I’m glad that we discussed Sir Thomas More before he arrived. He disliked the play.’

‘Only because he had such a minor role,’ said Nicholas.

‘Yes,’ said Firethorn, ‘the only scenes he bothered to read were those in which the clown appeared. It was ever thus. He judges the quality of a play by the number of lines he has and the number of comic jigs he’s allowed to dance.’

Moments later, Margery showed the latest arrival into the room before disappearing again. There was a flurry of greetings then Gill took a seat. He distributed a warning glance among the others.

‘I hope that you’ve not been rash enough to make any decisions without me,’ he said, ‘because I shall countermand them all.’

‘Three votes will always count against your one,’ said Firethorn.

‘I only see two sharers in the room.’

‘Nick’s opinion has more weight than anyone else’s.’

‘Even when he is nothing more than a hired man?’

‘Stop harping on that, Barnaby,’ said Hoode wearily. ‘Nick has already stopped us from taking one unsuitable offering to Denmark and he’ll do so again. Nobody knows our stock of plays better than he, and what costumes, scenery and properties are needed for each one. Since we can only carry a limited amount of baggage, such details need to be taken into account.’ Margery entered with a bottle of wine and four glasses on a tray. ‘We’ll put it to the test.’