Simon Hawke - A Mystery Of Errors

The entire company fell silent as Alleyn slowly rose from his seat, his eyes as hard and cold as anthracite. Kemp realized he had gone too far. He moistened his lips and swallowed hard, but held his ground, afraid to back down in front of everyone else. He stood stiffly, his chin raised in defiance, but a slight trembling betrayed him.

“I have had all that I am going to take from you, you ridiculous buffoon,” said Alleyn. His normally commanding voice, legendary for his ability to project it like a javelin, had gone dangerously low. It was a tone no one in the company had heard from him before. He came around from behind the table, glaring at Kemp, his large hands balled into beefy fists.

“Ned,” said Burbage, rising from his seat, but Alleyn shoved him back down so hard that the younger man’s teeth clicked together as he was slammed back onto the bench.

Kemp’s lower lip was trembling and his knees shook, but his pride would still not allow him to retreat. “Y-you d-do not f-f-frighten m-me!” he stammered.

“You had best be frightened, little man,” said Alleyn, ominously, “for I am going to pound you into the ground like a tent peg!”

“You had best get out, Will,” Shakespeare said, coming up beside him.

“Y-you stay out of this, you b-bumpkin!” Kemp said, vainly trying to maintain a pretence of being unafraid. “He cannot in-t-timidate m-me!”

He had gone completely white. Smythe frankly wasn’t sure if he was simply stubbornly attempting to stand his ground or if fear had him frozen to the spot. But it was quite clear that Ned Alleyn meant precisely what he said. There was murder in his eyes. He stepped in front of the advancing actor.

“He is just a little man, Master Alleyn,” he said. “If you strike him, you shall surely kill him.”

“I fully intend to kill him,” Alleyn said. “Now get out of my way!”

“I am sorry, sir, I cannot do that,” Smythe replied, standing firmly between Alleyn and the trembling Kemp.

“You had best hold him back, for his own good!” said Kemp, his voice breaking to reveal his false bravado. “I’ll take no nonsense from the likes of him, the intemperate boor!”

“That does it!” Alleyn said, through gritted teeth, and attempted to shove his way past Smythe. But for all his considerable size, he could not budge him. He grabbed him by the upper arms, to shove him away, but Smythe countered by putting his hands upon the actor’s shoulders and squeezing. Alleyn’s eyes grew wide and he turned red with exertion as he tried, without avail, to break Smythe’s grip.

“Come on, Ned!” somebody yelled, shouting encouragement.

“No, hold him!” Burbage shouted, getting up and seizing the big actor from behind.

“Aye, hold him, else he shall face my wrath!” shouted Kemp, seeing now that Alleyn could not reach him.

“Will, get him out of here!” said Smythe, as he and Burbage wrestled with the powerful actor.

“Right, Kemp, off we go,” said Shakespeare, grabbing the older man by the scruff of the neck and the seat of his breeches and frog-marching him out of the tavern.

“Let go of me, you lout! Let go, I said!” Kemp launched into a torrent of oaths that would have done a seaman proud, but Shakespeare relentlessly marched him out of the tavern and into the street to general laughter all around. Even Alleyn joined in, despite himself.

“You may let me go now, Burbage, and you too, young man,” he said to Smythe. As they released him, the actor rubbed his shoulders. “I am going to be bruised, I fear,” he said, looking at Smythe. “You have quite a grip there, fellow.”

“Forgive me,” Smythe said. “But you are a powerful man. It took all my strength to hold you.”

Alleyn smiled. “I think not. I suspect you had a good bit more left in reserve. You are not even breathing hard. Remind me not to arm-wrestle you for drinks.” He glanced at Burbage. “Are you all right, young Dick? I did not hurt you, did I?”

Burbage rubbed his jaw. “Good thing I had my tongue out of the way when my teeth clicked together as you sat me down, else I would now be speechless.”

“And what a loss to the Theatre that would be, eh?” Alleyn said, with a grin. “Especially now that the Queen’s Men shall need all the talent they can muster.”

“What do you mean, Ned?” asked Robert Speed, one of the shareholding members of the company.

“I meant that I was going to kill that ludicrous popinjay, Kemp, and I shall do it,” Alleyn replied, “but much more thoroughly than if I simply smashed his skull in like a wine keg. I am going to leave the company.”

“Ned!” said Burbage, with shock. “You’re not!” “I am,” said Alleyn. “I am going to join the Admiral’s Men.” “What?” said Burbage. “Because of him? “He pointed at the door, where Kemp had been hustled out by Shakespeare. “You are going to let the whole company down because of him? “

“The company is already down, young Burbage, and not just because of him, although he certainly does not help the situation any,” Alleyn replied. “The man plays the fool so well onstage because he is one offstage, as well. But the fact of the matter is that without poor old Dick Tarleton, who is on his last legs, I fear, there is no longer any reason for me to remain. I stayed this long only out of friendship for an old comrade. The Queen’s Men have no decent repertory anymore. All the plays are all played out. The Admiral’s Men have Marlowe and they have the Rose, which for my money is a better playhouse.”

“And Henslowe, who owns the Rose, has a pretty daughter, as I hear,” said Speed. “A comely, young, unmarried daughter. You’ve heard that, have you, Ned?”

Alleyn turned red. “I’ll not dignify that with a response.” “You already have,” said Speed, with a grin. “Ned,” said Burbage, with concern, “you are the finest actor in the company. The best in all of England. It is only fitting that the best be with the queen’s own company of players!”

“Dickie, my lad, my mind is set,” Alleyn replied. “And this company, sad to say, is no longer the best. That honor rests with the Admiral’s Men. They have the best playhouse in the Rose; they have the finest resident poet in Kit Marlowe and the best and freshest repertory. Once I have joined them, they shall have the best actor, as well. And meaning no offence to your father, young Dick, but Philip Henslowe is by far the better manager.” “Ned, he runs a brothel,” Burbage said, in exasperation. “Among other investments, aye, and it turns a very handsome profit for him,” Alleyn replied. “Besides, there is little enough difference between whores and actors, anyway. And a brothel is simply a playhouse with better furnishings.”

“Ned, you cannot mean this!” Fleming said. “If you leave, ‘twill sink us sure as Drake sank the Armada!”

“John, this ship is well and truly holed and sinking fast already,” Alleyn said. “There shall be no saving it, I think.”

“What sort of creature is it that leaves a sinking ship?” asked Speed, scratching his chin and staring at the ceiling as if in deep thought.

“Bobby, I shall ignore that because you are drunk,” said Alleyn, with an edge to his voice.

“Truer words were never spoken,” Speed replied, raising his tankard. “I shall now proceed to get much drunker. It has been a privilege working with you, Ned. Now go sod off.” He drained the tankard in one gulp.

“Well, there is my exit cue, I think,” said Alleyn, with a grimace. “Gentlemen, I wish you all the best. Except for that scoundrel Kemp, of course, but then, he is no gentleman. Good, sweet night to you.”

“And a bleedin’ good riddance to you,” said Speed, with a prolonged belch, as Alleyn made his way toward the door.