Edward Marston - The Queen's Head

'Do please take care, Master Ruff!'

'What?' he replied with a start.

'My safety lies with you, sir.'

The voice came from inside the doublet of the figure standing beside him. Equipped with the false head, John Tallis was about to double as Lorenzo during the execution.

'Use me kindly,' said the boy plaintively.

'I will, John,' promised the other.

'Let the axe fall in its rightful place.'

'Oh, it will,' said Ruff grimly. 'It will.'

As Lorenzo finished his speech, the gaolers went on to bring the condemned man out of his cell. The trembling George Dart now replaced the stool with the block. Drums rolled and the procession made its way solemnly on stage.

Edmund Hoode was first in his role as the judge. Courtiers and guards followed him. The chaplain came next, holding his prayer book tightly. Lorenzo was guided to the centre of the stage by the two gaolers. Ruff brought up the rear as the executioner.

When the tableau had been formed, the chaplain turned to admonish the prisoner sternly.

'Settle Christ Jesus in your heart and confess.'

Lorenzo remained silent but Tallis's teeth chattered.

'Join in prayer with me,' continued the chaplain, 'for the salvation of your soul. Go to your Maker with a contrite heart.'

He began to recite prayers at the hapless Lorenzo.

Samuel Ruff only half-listened to the words. Dressed in the traditional black garb of an executioner, he stood beside the block with the head of the axe resting between his feet. Through the slits in his mask, he stole a glance at the Queen of England. She was a serene and majestic figure no more than a dozen yards from him. Though guards flanked her, they were caught up in the action on the stage.

Closing his eyes for an instant, Ruff offered up his own prayer. His opportunity had been heavensent. It was up to him to seize it with eagerness. The significance of it all was brought home to him and extra pressure was imposed. His arms and shoulders were now awash with sweat and his palms were pools of moisture. He schooled himself to wait just a little longer. To buttress his determination, he recalled other executions that Queen Elizabeth had witnessed. The blood was soon pulsing in his temples.

Anxiety was turning its hunger on Nicholas Bracewell. From a vantage point at the rear of the stage, he watched the proceedings with mounting concern. He was more fully aware than anyone of the extent of the danger. As the moment of truth approached, he wondered if he had made the right decision or if he had delivered up an innocent life to the stroke of death. Nicholas had an impulse to rush on stage and intervene but he resisted it. The chance had to be taken. Peril had to be faced.

The chaplain intoned the last words of his prayer.

'And may God have mercy on your soul...Amen!'

Having completed the spiritual offices, he stood back so that the rigour of the law could be enforced. The loyal subject was about to be executed for his supposed disloyalty. On the command of the judge, the gaolers took Lorenzo to the block, made him kneel in front of it and position his false head carefully over the timber.

The drums rolled more loudly. Nicholas was on tenterhooks.

Samuel Ruff now took over. He was no mock executioner in a play. He was a gleaming figure of vengeance with murder in his heart. A last fleeting look at the Queen showed him that Her Majesty was totally captivated by the performance. Everyone was off guard. Ruff swallowed hard, tightened his jaw then wiped his palms dry on his hips. It was now or never.

He took a firm grip on the glittering axe.

Nicholas fought off another urge to interrupt. Teeth clenched and fists bunched, he was tormented by the helplessness of his situation. Whatever the cost, he must hold back.

The drums beat out their tattoo, the judge nodded and the executioner lifted the axe high in the air. Its blade shimmered in the candlelight. Its menace was real. But it did not arc down towards John Tallis. Another victim had been selected for execution. Jumping down from the stage, Ruff charged towards the throne with a wild cry of revenge.

'Death to all tyrants!'

His weapon was aimed at the head of the Queen.

Yet somehow she was prepared for the attack and ducked out of the way with great dexterity. The guards, too, were ready and they closed in upon Ruff to grapple with him. Instead of scything through the royal neck, the axe thudded into the back of the throne and almost split it asunder.

'Seize the villain!'

'Hold him!'

Shouts and screams rent the air. A large space was cleared around the throne as terrified nobles scampered out of the way. The Court was horrified that the sovereign had been so close to a grisly death and the suddenness of it all bewildered them.

Overpowered by the guards, Ruff was held tight. The glare of hatred that he directed at the Queen soon turned to a look of utter amazement. Removing crown, wig and pearls, she gazed back at him with the hurt expression of someone who feels she has been betrayed by a close friend.

It was not the Queen of England at all.

It was Richard Honeydew.

Waves of astonishment rolled across the hall. Sir Edmund Tilney, a spruce figure in almost garish apparel, climbed on to the stage and raised his hands to quell the noise.

'You will not be deprived of your entertainment,' he told them. 'There will be a short intermission then Her Majesty will join us. What you have just witnessed requires some explanation...'

Ruff was not allowed to hear it. He was hustled out of the room without ceremony. Richard Honeydew went with him. They found Lawrence Firethorn and Nicholas Bracewell waiting for them in the corridor.

The book holder's immediate concern was for the boy. He was relieved to see that Richard was quite unharmed. The actor-manager looked at Ruff and gave a dark chuckle.

'Caught like a rat in a trap!' he noted. 'You were right, Nick. This was indeed the way to draw his hand.'

The stunned Ruff turned on the book holder.

'How did you know?'

'There were many things,' explained Nicholas. 'They all pointed towards religion. You were so true to the old faith that you were prepared to kill for it.'

'And to die for it!' said Ruff defiantly.

'Will Fowler was a devout Roman Catholic as well but he renounced his religion. You could not forgive him for that, Sam. Nor could you rest easy while your days in the theatre came to an end and Will's talent flourished. Your bitterness went deep.'

'Will betrayed us!' argued Ruff.

'Out of love for his young wife,' reminded Nicholas.

'I did not know of her,' said the other quietly. 'It is perhaps as well. Susan would have weighed on my conscience.'

'What conscience?' sneered Firethorn, pointing a finger at him. 'You're a traitor, sir!'

'I am loyal to the old religion!'

Richard Honeydew was baffled by an important detail.

'But why was Will Fowler murdered?' he asked.

'So that Sam could take his place,' said Nicholas. 'Most of us cheered when the Armada was defeated but it was a crippling blow to those of the Romish persuasion. Sam wanted to strike back on their behalf in the most terrible way he could imagine--by killing

Her Majesty. The only chance he had of getting close enough to her was during a performance at Court.'

'With Westfield's Men,' added Firethorn. 'Our company was the most likely to be invited to play here. This rogue sought to hide himself behind our reputation.'

Nicholas smiled and patted the boy on the back.

'As it happened, you gave the outstanding performance, Dick. You not only deceived an assassin, you convinced the whole Court.' He turned to Ruff. 'A true actor will never desert his audience. The lad did not run away on Christmas Day. He stayed with me at my lodging and rehearsed his new part. This dress of his was made by a Dutch hatmaker. It was worthy of a Queen.'