Edward Marston: Trip to Jerusalem

'It is for me?'

'For whom else? Wear it till I return.'

'Nothing would make me take it off

'It is a token of my adoration,' he said, easing her thighs apart with gentle pressure. 'Let it be a perpetual reminder of the love I bear you. A precious jewel to show that you are the treasure of my existence. A lasting tribute to the fairest of her sex.' She gave him a kiss which set him aflame and which banished all commonsense. His tone was ruinously casual. And if the worst should happen- sell the ring as well.'

A volcano erupted directly beneath him.

The bed creaked mightily but not for joy.

Bankside was kinder to its departing Thespians. Nocturnal pleasures were not squandered so readily by Nicholas Bracewell. Because they were less frequent occurrences in his life, he had schooled himself to enjoy them when they came and to lock out all thought of the real world. It was only afterwards-as they lay side by side in lazy provocation-that he turned his mind to harsher matters.

'Will you stay in London, Anne?'

'Unless the plague should worsen.'

All the signs point that way.'

'Then I will visit relatives in the country.'

'Your cousins in Dunstable?'

'Or my uncle in Bedford. Or even my other uncle in Nottingham. I'll go to one, or two, perchance all three of them before I stay here to catch the plague.'

'Is that what I am?' he teased.

'I grow feverish whenever you are near, Nick.'

Anne Hendrik was one of the more unusual residents of Bankside. In an area notorious for its brothels, its gambling dens, its taverns and its teeming low life, she owned a respectable house and ran a successful business. English by birth, she was the widow of Jacob Hendrik, a conscientious Dutchman who brought his skills as a hatmaker to London only to discover that the City Guilds were intent on keeping him and his compatriots out of their jealous brotherhoods. Forced to set up shop outside the city boundary, he chose Southwark as his home and Anne as his wife.

Fifteen happy years of marriage had produced no children. What Anne inherited was a fine house, a thriving business and her husband's belief in the dignity of work for its own sake. She also inherited Nicholas Bracewell.

'Which towns will you visit?' she asked.

'The details are yet to be decided upon.'

'In what direction do you travel?'

'North, Anne.'

'Haply, you may find your way to Dunstable, then?'

'Or to Bedford. Or to Nottingham. Or to anywhere else you should chance to be. If I am in the same county as you, I'll find a way to see you somehow.'

Anne kissed him fondly on the cheek than nestled into his shoulder. In the time that he had lodged at her house, Nicholas had become more than a friend. They shared a bed only occasionally but their lives were nevertheless intertwined. He was drawn to the tall, graceful, attractive woman who had such a refreshing sense of independence about her and she, in turn, was fascinated by his blend of humour, intelligence and quiet strength. She had never met anyone who could be so modest about his many attributes. Though he was only a hired man with the company, Nicholas had made himself indispensable and taken on duties that would normally be beyond the scope of a book holder.

Intrigued by the theatre, Anne Hendrik took a lively interest in the affairs of Westfield's Men and she was well-informed about its shifting population. Having sat through the last performance of The Constant Lover, she was curious to know which of its cast would appear in the play when it was taken on tour.

'How large will the company be, Nick?'

'But fifteen of us.'

'That calls for severe surgery.'

'Master Firethorn has made a swift incision.'

'And who has been cut out?'

'Far too many, I fear.'

'George Dart?'

'No, I saved him.'

'Thomas Skillen?'

'He was beyond rescue.'

Nicholas shook his head sadly. In choosing those who would remain with the company, Lawrence Firethorn was in close consultation with his book holder. They had spent hours in deep debate and Nicholas had fought hard to keep certain people, though not always with success. It was the actor-manager who made the final decisions and he did so with brutal efficiency, making no concessions to sentiment or to compassion. What fell to Nicholas was the gruesome task of telling good friends that their services would no longer be required and it had been a disturbing process.

Thomas Skillen was a case in point. The stagekeeper was steeped in theatre and as dependable as a rock but his old age and rheumatism told against him. Younger legs and more versatile hands were preferred. Peter Digby was another casualty. As leader of the musicians, he was a key figure in every performance but his expertise was a luxury that could not be afforded in a touring company. Actor-musicians were given priority because they had dual value. Hugh Wegges, the tireman, would see some of his fine costumes leave London while he was forced to stay behind. His infinite skill with needle and thread was not enough to secure his passage. Nathan Curtis, master carpenter, was also set aside. Only minimal scenery and properties could be taken and his craft was now superfluous.

And so it was with many others. Nicholas had tried to break the news to them as gently as possible but it did not prevent tearful entreaties and open despair and bitter recrimination. For some of those he had grown to love and admire as colleagues, he was pronouncing a death sentence. It bruised his soul.

'What of Christopher Millfield?' said Anne.

'Ah! There was argument indeed.'

'He would get my vote over Gabriel Hawkes.'

'Only because you do not know him as well as I.'

'He was the brighter talent in The Constant Lover.'

'The more forceful, I grant you,' said Nicholas. 'That is Christopher's way. He knows how to get himself attention onstage and will put great passion into his playing but I believe that Gabriel is the better man. He will learn a part quicker than anyone in the company and bring a cool brain to his work.'

'Did you say as much to Master Firethorn?'

'Incessantly.'

'With what outcome?'

'He leaned towards Christopher.'

'Then was your cause lost.'

'Not so, Anne. I reminded him of something which made him consider the matter afresh.'

'Which was?'

'That Christopher may have the more dazzling charm but he also has the greater selfishness. If anyone will to steal some of Master Firethorn's lustre, it will not be Gabriel Hawkes. He is the safer man.'

'A cunning ruse,' said Anne with a smile. I can see why it worked on Master Firethorn. Is that how it stands? Will Christopher Millfield leave the company?'

'Not without rancour,' said Nicholas. 'When I told him of the decision, he was vexed in the extreme and made all manner of dire threats. He has taken it as a gross insult. There may yet be trouble from that quarter. It is not pleasant to be the bearer of bad tidings.'

'You had good news for some.

'Indeed, yes. I spread delight as well as gloom.'

'Was Gabriel Hawkes overcome?'

'I have not been able to see him in person, Anne. He has been indisposed these last two days. But I have sent word to him. He knows his good fortune.'

'That will rally him from his sick bed.'

'I hope so.'

'You do not sound too confident.'

'Oh, I am,' said Nicholas, shaking off his fleeting anxieties. 'Gabriel is the sounder prospect for us and he will prove that on our travels. There is no man in the company I would sooner have beside me. I will visit him tomorrow and make sure that he understands that.'

'Why do you have such a high opinion of him?'

'That is the wonder of it. I do not know.'

Smorrall Lane was less than a hundred yards from Anne Hendrik's house but its dwellings were a world apart. The narrow, winding, fetid alley consisted of a series of dirty and decrepit buildings that leaned against each other for support with ramshackle companionship. Stews, taverns and ordinaries attracted a lower class of patron and those who tumbled along the lane at night were usually drunk or diseased from guzzling excess. Thieves lurked in dark corners and waited for easy pickings. Women offered their wares in doorways. Blood was often mixed with the urine and excrement that flowed over the cobbles. Smorrall Lane was easy to find. It could be located by its stench.