Edward Marston - The Princess of Denmark

‘Which part of Denmark?’ asked Dunmow.

‘How should I know?’ replied Marwood brusquely.

‘They played here, man. They ate and they certainly drank at your inn. Since you are so close to Westfield’s Men, you must know where and why they went across the sea.’

‘I was just glad to be rid of them, sir.’

‘Why is that?’

‘Because they burnt down my inn.’

‘Yes,’ said Dunmow, eyes glinting beneath the beetle brows. ‘My son was inside it at the time. It’s important that I should find out everything I can about the actors who got him drunk that night. Now, tell me why they sailed away this morning.’

‘Their patron is to be married in Denmark,’ said Marwood, discomfited by the man’s intense glare. ‘Westfield’s Men are to perform plays to celebrate the event. Nicholas Bracewell, their book holder, did tell me the name of the place where the wedding would be held but it has gone quite out of my mind.’

‘Was it Copenhagen?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Roskilde, the old capital?’

‘It was not that either.’

‘Elsinore, perhaps?’

‘Yes,’ said Marwood, scratching his mottled pate, ‘that sounds more like it. You impress me, Master Dunmow. I could not even tell you where Denmark is yet you actually know the names of its towns.’

‘I’m a merchant,’ said the other, ‘and I’ve traded with a number of Baltic towns in the past. As it happens, Elsinore is one of them. In my younger days, I went there. It’s an agreeable place.’

‘Then I hope Westfield’s Men stay there for ever.’

‘Do you detest them so much?’

‘They’ve made my life a misery, sir,’ said the landlord. ‘They bring the riff-raff of London into my yard, the very sweepings of the city. The actors show me no respect and they hound every wench I employ here. They are lewd and ungovernable.’

‘Tell me about the night of the fire.’

‘It pains me to recall it.’

‘Please,’ said Dunmow. ‘I must know the truth.’

‘Then you shall have it. Your son watched The Italian Tragedy here and was so moved by the performance that he came into my taproom and opened his purse to the company. They drank deep, as actors always will. There was merriment into the night. When your son began to fade, only two of them remained.’

‘Owen Elias was one of them.’

‘The worst offender, Master Dunmow. It was he who kept urging your son to drink and drink. And it was he, I believe, who left a lighted candle in the room. It was knocked over in the night and set the bed sheets on fire.’

‘And poor Will was unable to escape.’

‘I doubt if he even woke up.’

‘Why did you not bring charges against Elias?’

‘Because nothing could ever be proved.’

Isaac Dunmow had heard enough. The rage that had been simmering inside him flared up again. In his febrile mind, one of the actors was chiefly responsible for the death of his son and would be held to account for it, but the whole company was at fault as well. The merchant wanted to punish Westfield’s Men in some way.

‘What will happen to them when they return?’ he asked.

‘They’ll not play here again, I know that.’

‘Where will they go?’

‘Nowhere, sir,’ said Marwood, ‘for the theatres already have their companies and no other inn would take Westfield’s Men. They will be homeless.’

‘So they will try to get into your good graces again.’

‘Most assuredly. They will set Nicholas Bracewell onto me, the only honourable man among them.’

‘And what will he do?’

‘He has a most persuasive tongue and has charmed me into letting them stay here before. I’ll not make that error again,’ said the landlord rancorously. ‘I’d sooner starve than have them here again.’

Dunmow raised an enquiring eyebrow. ‘There’s no danger of starvation, surely?’

‘There is. Our custom has shrunk almost to nothing. While we flounder, our rivals take over our trade.’

‘When your inn is rebuilt, that will soon change.’

‘How can I rebuild it when I lack the funds to do so?’

‘Borrow the money.’

‘But I’ll then have to pay it back,’ said Marwood, his voice filled with pathos. ‘That’s the dilemma I face, sir. With all their faults — and they are far too many to name — Westfield’s Men do bring in most of our custom. If I borrow heavily, the only way I can repay the loan is by letting the company return and I’ll not do that.’

‘Supposing that the money came from elsewhere?’ said Dunmow thoughtfully. ‘Suppose, for instance, a benefactor helped you to rebuild the Queen’s Head.’

‘Such people do not exist.’

‘You might be talking to one such.’

The landlord was startled. ‘ You , Master Dunmow?’

‘Possibly. I’m a rich man.’

‘But what interest would you have in helping us out?’

‘I’d make that clear in the terms of the contract.’

‘I do not follow.’

‘It’s quite simple,’ said Dunmow levelly. ‘I will consider helping you on strict conditions. First, that the bedchamber in which my son died is to be rebuilt and named the Will Dunmow Room.’

‘I accede to that request at once.’

‘Secondly — and I’ll have this in writing so that there can be no equivocation — that Westfield’s Men will never again be allowed to perform in your yard. It was their play that lured my son here and their actors who contrived to get him drunk afterwards. Those crimes must be answered for,’ he went on, pounding a fist into his other palm. ‘I want the whole devilish company forced out of London forever.’

The squall was not especially severe but it seemed so to those who were not sailors. Crowded together below deck, the actors sat in disconsolate groups, clutching their stomachs and wondering whose turn it would be to use the wooden bucket next. As the Cormorant bucked and tilted, they began to have second thoughts about the wisdom of the whole enterprise. Barnaby Gill acted as a self-appointed spokesman for the suffering passengers.

‘This is nought but a floating coffin,’ he protested. ‘Each and every one of us is doomed.’

‘It’s not a violent storm,’ said Nicholas Bracewell soothingly. ‘I think we’ll come through it without any mishap.’

‘But we are all sick to our stomachs.’

‘That’s because you have no sea legs as yet.’

‘I do not want any sea legs,’ said Gill, shifting his position to gain a modicum of relief. ‘What I want is dry land on which I can walk in perfect safety. I don’t wish to be tossed around like this.’ There was a collective moan of agreement. ‘We should never have accepted the invitation to go to Denmark in the first place.’

‘You were all in favour of it at first, Barnaby.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Owen Elias, slumped opposite him. ‘You heard about those pretty Danish boys in Elsinore. And you never miss a chance to disport yourself in front of royalty.’

Gill was livid. ‘I do not disport myself, Owen,’ he said with withering contempt. ‘I leave that to underlings like you. I dance, I sing and I act without compare.’

‘Then give us one of your jigs to cheer us up.’

‘I could not stand, let alone dance. The floor would keep moving under my feet.’ Gill pointed at Nicholas. ‘I hold you responsible for this,’ he said accusingly. ‘You arranged our passages. Why on earth did you put us aboard this disgusting cargo vessel?’

‘Because it was the first ship sailing for Denmark,’ replied Nicholas, ‘and that’s what Lord Westfield requested. Unlike you, he is willing to endure a little discomfort in order to reach our destination.’

‘But he’s doing so in the privacy of a cabin. That’s a form of luxury compared to this. Lawrence is in there with him and so is Master Harling.’ He sat up indignantly. ‘I should be in there as well.’