Edward Marston - The Princess of Denmark

‘Look at the wall, Tom,’ said one.

‘Aye,’ replied his companion.

‘That’s where they publish their damnable lies.’

‘Except that they’re not all lies.’

‘What’s that you say?’

His friend did not reply. They left the churchyard and examined the wall that ran alongside it. Nothing had been left there. The first man repeated his question.

‘What’s that you say?’

‘There are too many of them, Silas,’ grunted the other.

‘Too many?’

‘Strangers — they are everywhere. I heard tell that they counted their numbers. Do you know how many we have in London?’

‘No, Tom. Hundreds, I expect.’

‘Over four thousand.’

‘Never!’

‘That’s the figure I heard and I believe it. They are never satisfied, Silas, that’s their trouble. They always want more.’

‘The foreigners I know all work very hard.’

‘Yes,’ said Tom grumpily, ‘but they do not work for us. They sneer at what we have in our shops and warehouses. They open their own instead. It’s not right. It’s not fair.’

‘That’s not for us to say.’

‘Strangers are strangers. They’ll never belong.’

‘Anyone would think that you wrote those libels, Tom Hubble.’

‘Not me, Silas. I despise most of what they say.’ He spat onto the ground. ‘But I do agree with bits of them.’

‘Shame on you!’

‘England must look first to the English.’

‘Let’s move on.’

‘Over four thousand of them, Silas — and the numbers grow.’

‘They are exiles, Tom,’ said the other with compassion, ‘driven out of their own countries.’

Tom Hubble sniffed. ‘There are too many of them.’

They trudged off down Broad Street until their lanterns were slowly extinguished in the gloom. There was a long pause. Someone then emerged warily from a doorway on the opposite side of the road and trotted across to the churchyard. Confident that he was alone, he unfurled a poster and started to fix it to the wall. He was soon interrupted. A figure suddenly rose up in the back of the abandoned cart and shook off the sacking under which he had been concealed. The man at the wall was so terrified that he dropped his scroll and ran for his life. He did not get far.

Nicholas Bracewell darted into the street from his hiding place and grabbed him by the shoulders, hurling him against a wall to knock some of the breath out of him. But the man was young and strong. Recovering quickly, he pulled out a dagger and slashed at Nicholas. The book holder eluded the weapon with ease. He had been involved in many brawls and knew how to stay light on his feet. When his assailant thrust the dagger at his heart, therefore, Nicholas turned quickly sideways and grabbed the man’s wrist as it flashed past him. There was a brief tussle but Nicholas’s superior strength soon brought the fight to an end. Forcing this adversary to drop the knife, he flung him against the wall again then struck him with a relay of punches that left him cowering on his knees against the brick. Whimpering piteously, the man begged for mercy.

Owen Elias had been hidden in the cart. When he joined his friend, he was not happy about his accommodation.

‘I swear that those sacks were filled with horse manure at some point,’ he said, curling his nose. ‘I must stink to high heaven.’

‘Your efforts were rewarded, Owen. We caught him.’ Nicholas hauled the young man to his feet and held him by the throat. ‘This is one piece of business that is now finished.’

George Dart was the smallest and most timid member of the company. As an assistant stagekeeper, he performed a whole array of menial tasks with a willingness that never flagged. On occasion, much to his discomfort, he was also compelled to take part in a play, albeit in a very minor capacity. For the most part, however, he loved his work and looked upon Westfield’s Men as his true family even though the apprentices sometimes teased him and the actors frequently used him as their whipping boy. Expecting to be discarded for the visit to Denmark, he was overwhelmed to be one of those selected to go. Dart was bursting with gratitude.

‘A thousand thanks, Nicholas,’ he said.

‘It was not my decision, George.’

‘But you spoke up for me. I know that. If it had been left to Master Firethorn and the others, they would not have given me a second thought — except to laugh at me.’

‘I know your true worth,’ said Nicholas fondly. ‘You do the work of three men and are always ready to learn. Dear old Thomas Skillen is our stagekeeper but you do most of the tasks that should rightly be his. Since his ancient bones would never survive a voyage across the North Sea, he urged that you should go in his place.’

Dart was amazed. ‘But all that he ever does is box my ears.’

‘That is his means of instruction.’

The two of them had come to the Queen’s Head to take away the scenery and properties that would be needed on tour. There was a limit to how much they could carry. Weight and bulkiness were thus crucial factors. Guided by their book holder, Lawrence Firethorn and the others had chosen to perform plays on tour that could share many of the same items as well as most of the same costumes. Duplication would simplify matters. Nicholas took out the key. When he unlocked the room where everything was stored, there was barely enough space among the clutter for them to stand side by side.

‘Read out the list, George,’ said the book holder, handing him a scroll. ‘I’ll try to find the things we need.’

Dart unrolled the paper. ‘ Item , one Pope’s miter, one imperial crown, one throne.’

‘The throne is far too heavy. If we play in a castle, I’m sure that we can borrow a high-backed chair that will serve our purposes.’

‘They may also furnish us with a crown.’

‘That would be too much to ask,’ said Nicholas, taking two objects down from a shelf. ‘It would be impertinent of us to ask King Christian to abdicate for a couple of hours so that we could make use of his crown.’ He put the objects aside. ‘Here we are — one miter, one crown. What’s next?’

‘ Item , one rock, one tomb, one cauldron.’

‘The tomb must come — it’s used in three separate plays — but we will have to find a rock in Denmark — a real one, probably. It is so with the cauldron. The castle kitchens will furnish that.’

‘What about the steeple and maypole for Love and Fortune ?’ asked Dart. ‘I doubt that we will find those so easily. Big as they are, we’ll have to take them with us.’

‘No,’ said Nicholas, putting the wooden tomb outside the door so that it would not impede them, ‘they will stay here. When we reach the castle, Oswald Megson will make us a new steeple and maypole. He’s been told to bring his tools.’

‘I forgot that he was trained as a carpenter.’

‘It’s the reason that Oswald was picked to go.’

Before they could continue, they heard footsteps in the corridor outside then the face of Alexander Marwood appeared in the doorway.

‘I want all this taken away,’ said the landlord peremptorily.

‘It will be,’ replied Nicholas.

‘Every trace of Westfield’s Men must leave my inn.’

‘The costumes have already been removed by Hugh Wegges, our tireman. George and I will clear this room today as well. When we have picked out the items that we need to take to Denmark with us, we’ll return with a larger cart and carry everything else away.’

‘No, before then!’ snarled Marwood. ‘Since we lost almost half of the Queen’s Head in the fire, we need to use every room we have.’

Dart was curious. ‘This will become a bedchamber?’