Edward Marston - The Queen's Head

'What exactly did you do, Nick?' she wondered.

'When?'

'In those years between coming home to your own country and joining Lord Westfield's Men. You must have done something.'

'I did. I survived.'

'How?'

He kissed her by way of reply. The missing years in his life had left their mark on him but he would never disclose why. Anne would have to accept him as he was, a quiet, strong-willed person whose self-effacing manner was a form of mask. She might not know everything about him but there was enough to make him very lovable.

'Speak to me,' she whispered.

'What shall I say?'

'Do you agree with me? About Will Fowler?'

'Perhaps.'

'And what about Nicholas Bracewell?'

'Perhaps not.'

'Oh, Nick!' she sighed, as she tightened her grip on him. 'I love this closeness but there are times when I wonder who the man I am holding really is.'

'I wonder that myself,' he confessed.

He kissed her softly on the lips and began to stroke her dark, lustrous hair. Nestling into his chest, she felt at once soothed and aroused. It was several minutes before she broke the silence.

'What are you thinking?' she said.

'It doesn't matter, Anne.' There was a shrug in his voice.

'Please. Tell me.'

'It was not very cheering.'

'I still want to know.'

"Very well,' he explained. 'I was thinking about failure.'

'Failure?'

'High hopes that end in chaos. Noble ambitions that crumble.'

'Is that what happened to your hopes and ambitions?'

'You keep on trying,' he said with a little laugh, then he became more serious. 'No, I was thinking about Susan Fowler, poor creature. Her plans have fallen apart. Then there is Samuel Ruff.

Failure brought him low as well. Even now there is still a deep sadness in the man that I cannot fathom.'

There was a long pause. Her voice was a murmur in the pillow.

'Nick...'

'I know what you're going to say.'

'You might go back to your own room tomorrow.'

'I will, Anne.'

But she was his for some luscious hours yet. His need made him tighten his grip on her and it did not slacken until he at last fell asleep from a lapping fatigue.

*

Richard Honeydew was overwhelmed at the news that he was to be cast in the title role of the new play. Performing for the first time at The Curtain would have been thrill enough for him, bur to make his debut there as Gloriana, Queen of England, filled him with a blend of excitement and terror. They evidently had great faith in him and that thought helped to steady his nerves and still his self-doubts.

The other apprentices were outraged and Firethorn had to slap down their complaints ruthlessly. Martin Yeo was wounded the most. A tall, slim, assured boy of fourteen, he had played most or the leading female roles for the company over the past couple of years, and he had come to look upon them as his by right. To be deprived of an outstanding part by a novice was more than his pride could take, and he withdrew into a sullen, watchful silence. John Tallis and Stephen Judd did the same. It they had disliked Richard before, they now hated him with vengeful intensity. Every morning, as they sat around the table with him for breakfast, they glared their anger at Richard and were only restrained from attacking him by the vigilance of Margery Firethorn. As a punishment for the way they had tied their victim up, she had put the three of them on reduced rations, so that they had half-empty bellies while the youngest of their number ate from a full plate. In every way, Richard Honeydew was getting more than them.

'I could have killed him!' asserted John Tallis.

'Yes,' added Stephen Judd. 'The worst thing is the way he tries to be friendly with us--as if we could ever be friends with him now!'

'It's not fair,' said Martin Yeo simply.

They had gone back up to their room and they fell easily into a conspiratorial chat. The three boys often had differences among themselves but they had now been united against a common enemy Tallis was livid, Judd was aching with envy, and Yeo took it as a personal insult. They came together in a solid lump of resentment.

Some companies actually paid their apprentices a wage, but Lord Westfield's Men did not. In return for their commitment to the company, the boys were given board, lodging, clothing and regular training in all the arts of the playhouse. The arrangement had been satisfactory until Richard Honeydew had appeared. He had unwittingly upset the balance of power within the Firethorn household, and within the company, and he had to pay for it.

'What are we going to do about it?' asked Tallis.

'There's nothing much we can do,' admitted Judd. 'He's got Samuel Ruff and Nick Bracewell on his side now.'

'He'll need more than them,' warned Yeo.

'You should have that part, Martin,' said Tallis.

'I know--and I will.'

'How?' asked Judd eagerly.

'We'll have to work that out.'

'Can we get rid of him altogether?' urged Tallis.

'Why not?' said Yeo.

The conspirators shared a cosy snigger. Richard Honeydew was riding high at the moment but they would bring him down with a bump when he least expected it. All that they had to do was to devise a plan.

*

Back in his own room, Nicholas Bracewell reached under the bed and pulled out a large battered leather chest. As well as being the book holder he was, literally, the book keeper. It was his function to keep the books of all the plays that the company used, new, old or renovated. The play chest was an invaluable item that had to be kept safe at all times. With so much piracy of plays going on, it behoved very company to guard its property with the utmost care.

Nicholas unlocked the chest with a key then lifted up the lid to reveal a confused welter of parchment and scrolls. The history of his involvement with Lord Westfield's Men was all there, written out in various hands then annotated by himself. As he ran his eye over the ealiz prompt copies, a hundred memories came surging back at him from his past. He quickly reached for the manuscripts that lay on the very top of the pile then closed the lid firmly. When the chest had been locked, he pushed it back to its home beneath the bed.

After taking his leave of Anne, he walked across to the nearby wharf to be ferried by boat across the river. The Thames was thronged with craft of all sizes and they zigzagged their way across the busiest and oldest thoroughfare in London. Nicholas loved the exuberance of it all, the hectic bustle, the flapping sails, the surging colour, the distinctive tang and the continuous din that was punctuated by cries of 'Westward Ho!' and 'Eastward Ho!' from vociferous boatmen advertising their routes.

He had seen many astonishing sights in his travels but he could still be impressed anew by the single bridge that spanned the Thames. Supported by twenty arches, it was a miniature city in itself, a glorious jumble of timber-framed buildings that jutted out perilously over the river below. A huge water wheel of Dutch construction stood beneath the first arch, harnessing the fierce current that raced through the narrow opening and pumping water to nearby dwellings.

On the Bridge itself, it was Nonesuch House that dominated, a vast, ornate and highly expensive wooden building which had been shipped from Holland and reassembled on its stone foundations. A more grisly feature could be seen above the gatehouse tower where the heads of executed traitors were displayed on poles. Nicholas counted almost twenty of them, rotting in the morning sun as scavenger kites wheeled down to peck hungrily at the mouldering flesh. London Bridge was truly one of the sights of Europe but it embodied warning as well as wonder.

When he alighted on the other bank, Nicholas paid and tipped his boatman then made his way to the teeming Gracechurch Street.