His voice was breaking.
“When I come down in the morning. Feed him. Water him. Deal with his business. This old fellow looks at me and smiles. I swear he does. So I walk him out of them gates and let him nibble some grass down by the meadows. If there’s grass there that is. And if not we just wander around a bit. Then I bring him home and that’s that.”
His calloused hands went to the horse’s head. Zeus neighed, yellow teeth showing.
“Whether you’re the prince or not you can’t ride him, sir. He’s not up for it and he’ll never be again. I’m sorry. And if in any way I’ve offended…”
“You haven’t.” Hamlet placed the coins in his hand. “But you will have these.”
“But…”
“And no arguments!”
There was a commotion by the gates. The lad stuffed the money in his jerkin pocket.
Two men in fine robes were dismounting near the keep. One short and fat. One tall and slender. Both familiar.
“Lot of coming and going at the moment,” the stable hand said. “People reckon it’s for these players who turned up. They’re putting on a show.”
The lanky one turned and stared in Hamlet’s direction. He seemed embarrassed for a moment then waved, called out the prince’s name.
“It is you, isn’t it? Me and my big mouth.”
Hamlet held out his hand. Got a puzzled look in return.
Then the stable lad took it and grinned.
“Enjoy today, my lord. I hope it eases your pain.”
“That’s lifted a little already.” He had found their names now. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Two students who’d followed him to Wittenberg where they were never close but rarely distant.
The spies of Polonius, he thought. An employment joined but never left.
Claudius sat at his desk in his study, Gertrude by the window, staring down into the courtyard. Polonius silent in a chair, awaiting instructions.
“These players,” the Queen said. “I heard my son’s been speaking to them.”
The old man grunted.
“At length. I wish they’d never come. The boy has no need of any more fantasies in his head. I detest these theatricals. They demand good coin for nothing but acting! Pretence! Nothing worthwhile.”
She stared at him.
“Everyone likes a little amusement from time to time, Polonius. Don’t be so dry. No wonder your daughter seems so miserable every time I chance upon her. I met her this morning. She would scarcely look me in the eye.”
He glanced at the King.
“Ophelia’s upset about the attentions of your son. I apologise on her behalf. He can be quite… persistent.”
“Hamlet’s distraught. It’ll pass.”
“He’s mad,” Claudius said without looking up from his maps and letters. “Show her.”
Polonius took a piece of parchment from his coat and held it up to the light to read.
“To the celestial beauty and the idol of my soul, the most beautified Ophelia.”
He shook his head and swore.
“What a filthy phrase. Most beautified… what does that mean? And this?” He stabbed his finger on the page. “In her excellent white bosom. Filth.”
She snatched the paper from him.
“You say this is from my son? To Ophelia?”
“Who else?” he snapped.
Gertrude ran over the lines, reading them in a soft, shocked voice.
“Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.”
She handed it back.
“Most of us wrote something like that when we were young. Perhaps… later too.” Polonius looked baffled. “Though not all I imagine.”
“These are the words of a prince to my daughter. Had I known this illicit affair was on the cards I would have stamped it out immediately. Be assured of that.”
“And now you have and you claim he’s mad.” It wasn’t quite a criticism, but it wasn’t the commendation he expected.
Claudius shook his head.
“You think this has more to do with the girl than his father?”
“Perhaps. He doesn’t talk to me much anymore. It’s almost as if I’m a stranger. If his heart’s set on Ophelia we should allow it…”
“A man of noble standing wouldn’t fall so far over a mere girl of the court,” Polonius scoffed. “There’s more to it than that. Sometimes he walks round the castle – four, five hours at a time, talking to himself. He’s been heard in his room, chattering away as if he’s got company. My men have noticed. If…”
“Discover the root of this,” Claudius ordered. “Diagnose the sickness. Treat the cause. Hamlet’s my nephew and my preferred heir. A fine young man worthy of that honour. I want him back.”
Polonius put a finger to his cheek.
“If we find him in the lobby… I could arrange for my daughter to be there. I’ll set her loose on him. Tell her to be affectionate and welcoming.”
“And?” Claudius asked.
“And then you and I can wait behind one of those tapestry hangings. We’ll listen…”
“You’ve already set those clowns Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to spy on him!” Gertrude cried. “Now you’re going to do it yourself?”
Polonius looked at the king.
“If you want the cause of the malady…”
“Arrange it,” Claudius ordered.
“He’s there,” the queen cried, pointing out of the window.
The two men walked over to join her. In the courtyard below, dressed in black again, Hamlet paced to and fro, a heavy book in his hands.
“Leave this me,” Polonius said. “I’ll talk to him and gauge the state of his mind. Then report back here immediately.”
The book was in German, a tedious philosophical tome. Once he’d read such works avidly, listening to the words of his tutors, taking notes. Now they seemed irrelevant. A real world was swirling around him, one full of dangers and possibilities. A realm more mutable and insidious than he could ever have imagined before.
He strode around the courtyard trying not to shiver, knowing he would be seen. Madness was an inward mask. It hid itself from the victim. The insane saw themselves as lucid, just as criminals so often believed themselves wronged and justified.
And he was bait. Soon Hamlet saw his catch, Polonius wriggling on the line.
“How’s my Lord Hamlet?” the old man asked cheerily as he approached.
“Who?”
“Hamlet. Prince of Denmark.”
“Oh him? He’s well I believe.” He felt his arms and legs. “Yes. Well enough. Is he yours then?”
Polonius smiled.
“Pardon?”
“You said your Lord Hamlet. If he belongs to you perhaps you ought to take ownership. The man’s been behaving rather oddly of late.”
Polonius gathered his cloak around him.
“Do you know me?”
Hamlet squinted and peered at him.
“Of course. You’re a fish, aren’t you?” A laugh. “No. Stupid of me. A fishmonger. That’s it.”
The Lord Chamberlain shook his grey head.
“No, sir. Not me.”
“What’s wrong with fishmongers? They’re honest enough…”
“Nothing,” Polonius interrupted brusquely. “But I’m not one.”
“Honest, you mean?”
“A fishmonger.”
Hamlet tucked his book under the arm.
“You’re full of riddles, I must say. Do you have a daughter?”
“I do…”
“Is she honest?”
“As much as any woman.”
“Not a lot, you mean?”
Polonius smiled.
“If this is madness, Prince, I have to say there’s method in it.”
Hamlet pointed at the sky.
“You see that cloud? The one shaped like a weasel?”
Polonius looked up.
“Yes. Very like a
weasel. What about it?”
“I think it’s more like a whale.”
“So… so it does.”
“Or a lobster.”
Polonius looked again.
“Quite right. Exactly like a lobster.”
“Or if you squint a little.” Hamlet closed his right eye. “Much like a sycophantic old fool, don’t you think?”
The Lord Chamberlain came closer and scowled.
“Do you really not know me, Prince? Or do we have one more actor in the palace than we bargained for?”
“A fishmonger. I can smell it. Unless your pretty daughter serves herring for breakfast. Which is it?”
Polonius patted the book and smiled. “I must take my leave of you.”
“You can’t take anything I’d more willingly give, Sir Herring. Except my life.”
Hamlet watched him wander off.
“There is method in my madness,” he whispered. “And that tedious old fool can see it.”
Footsteps across the cobbles. The tall one and his little fat friend were walking daintily over, smiling, fawning, yipping like little dogs.
“Hamlet! My dear lord!” Guildenstern cried. “Finally we’ve found you.”
“God save you, sir!” Rosencrantz chirruped. “God save us all.”
Hamlet retreated from their outstretched hands.
“Not all, surely.”
They stared at him.
“By which I mean there are men out there too damned to be saved by anyone.” Hamlet’s eyes drifted to the castle. “And women too for all I know.”
Rosencrantz slapped his companion’s shoulder.
“Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Such an insight had never crossed my mind,” Guildenstern added. “Even the most knowledgeable of tutors back in Wittenberg…”
“How are you, chaps?”
Rosencrantz sighed and nudged his companion.
“See. He does remember us. As well as can be expected, my lord.”
“Content,” Guildenstern agreed. “One aspires to happiness, but not too much since one would not wish to be disappointed. On fortune’s cap we’re not the smartest feather. Actually not a feather at all…”
“Perhaps she wears you on her shoe?”
“Feels like it sometimes,” Rosencrantz agreed. “Trudging through horse crap mostly.”
“Or somewhere around her waist?” Hamlet bent towards them and said behind his hand. “You’re her privates.”
The two snickered.
“If only we should be so lucky,” the little one said with a grin. “We haven’t been close to a lady’s secret parts in ages.” He tapped his belt. “Money you see, sir. Lack of it.”
“So what brings you to this prison?”
The two men looked around them.
“Elsinore’s a prison?” Guildenstern asked.
“No,” Hamlet replied. “Denmark is.”
Rosencrantz nodded.
“In that case so’s the world.”
“Why are you here?”
They shuffled and looked awkward.
“Out of friendship,” the tall one answered eventually. “To see you. No other reason.”
“Except my uncle summoned you.”
Guildenstern stared at his fancy shoes.
“We’re just impoverished students, Hamlet. Humble fellows.”
“And being humble fellows you can tell the truth. You were called for.”
The two exchanged worried glances. Then Rosencrantz said, “It’s true. We can’t lie to a fellow student. The king requested our presence.”
“There! That wasn’t hard, was it? And I’ll tell you why.”
They watched him keenly.
“Just recently I’ve lost my appetite for life. I waste my time. Nothing delights me. I walk through this grey world and find it barren and full of nothing but despair.”
There was a cold, disdainful look on Guildenstern’s face at that moment.
“What is it?”
“We’re penniless, sir. Our families too. No prospects. No rich wives on the horizon. No future. You’ve scant reason to feel so sorry for yourself. What have you to complain of next to us?”
“Hush, you idiot,” the other one whispered.
A dangerous moment between them. Rosencrantz stared his companion down, then gave Hamlet a reassuring smile.
Across the courtyard some of the actor’s men were lugging costume baskets and primitive scenery into the castle.
“There’s a play tonight,” Guildenstern said brightly. “You always liked the theatre, sir. I remember that in Wittenberg. Surely… surely a spot of theatre will cheer you up a bit.”
His hand went briefly to Hamlet’s arm.
“You’re not mad, you know. Just a touch down. That’s all.”
Hamlet shook his head and glared at them.
“But I am mad. Who denies it? When the wind’s from the northwest anyway. If it’s southerly I’m as sane as you.”
Guildenstern licked his finger and held it up in the light breeze.
“Easterly. What does that mean?”
“That’s for others to judge. You will excuse me now.”
“The play?” Rosencrantz asked.
The Prince smiled.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
After Hamlet left them the two men went to see Polonius and reported back. Then the Lord Chamberlain found Claudius in his study and related what the prince had said, to him and the men in his employ.
“So what do we make of that?” the king asked.
“He’s mad, after a fashion. When he wants to be.”
Claudius raised his head from the latest reports from Norway.
“What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure. When I spoke to him he rambled. Told me I was a fishmonger. Talked nonsense about my daughter. The same with those two fools who watched him in Wittenberg. Spies they’ll never make but from what they say they think he’s deranged too. He wittered on about how Denmark’s a prison. Some filthy nonsense, the kind of chat students indulge in I suppose. Whether it was about Ophelia…”
Claudius got up from the desk.
“Am I wasting my time here?” he demanded. “Fortinbras is playing games in the south. Claiming he’s headed for Poland, not that I see any sign of it. And here you are, obsessed with my lunatic nephew…”
“It’s a curious lunacy, my lord.” Polonius paused, tried to find the right words. “A very rational kind it seems to me.”
“You mean it’s an act? A performance?”
“Perhaps.” A shrug. “Honestly, I don’t know. One moment he talks gibberish. The next he seems as sane as anyone. Perceptive, too.”
Claudius looked round. The door was open. He closed it, came near to the old man.
“You think he suspects?”
The old man stiffened and his hand gripped the king’s robe.
“How can he know? By what possible means…?”
“I asked if he suspected. Not whether he knew.”
“What’s the difference?” Polonius responded in a low voice, one eye on the door. “I gave you the poison. You delivered it. No one else was privy to our intentions. At least…” His eyes moved away from the king. “I’ve told no other.”
“Any more than I have. Hamlet’s not stupid. He may never find proof. But if he harbours suspicion… who knows what he could do?”
“He’s your nephew. You’re the king. If he suspects us we can deal with that. Through exile. A trip to Italy, say. A spell with the Medici in Florence would do him good. Wine, women and art. It might soothe him. If not there are other avenues to explore.”
“I will not murder my wife’s son,” Claudius vowed. “My nephew. I love Hamlet. He was like my own. You know this.”
“All the same you wronged him, sir. You killed his father. He doesn’t love you.”
“We killed his father. Who merited it ten times over.”
“And had a beautiful queen,” Poloni
us added.
“You over-reach yourself, Lord Chamberlain. Were my brother alive you’d never have voiced a sentiment like that.”
“No. And we’re both complicit in his death. If somehow Hamlet comes to realise…”
“Keep Rosencrantz and Guildenstern close to him. Get better intelligence out of them than this nonsense they gave you this morning. Make inquiries of the Florentines. Give me options should I decide to take them. And arrange this meeting with your daughter so you and I can watch. With luck he’s simply love-struck. And all this nonsense will pass.”
“Perhaps.”
Polonius didn’t move.
“Do we have more business?” the king asked.
“A monarch must be merciful and heartless in equal measure. Old Hamlet knew this. Sadly he lacked the gentle touch to keep the balance. I hope we haven’t exchanged one disproportion for the other.”
The king grabbed the collar of his velvet jacket, dragged the old man’s whiskery face close to his own.
“You put the blasted idea in my head. You found the poison. You told me he was alone.”
Polonius met his stare.
“I’m a servant of the realm. It’s my role to understand your wishes, even if you don’t fully appreciate them yourself.”
Claudius pushed the old man away and sent him out into the corridor. Then went back to the maps. Fortinbras was out there, with an army strong enough to take Denmark if he wanted it badly enough.
Perhaps Hamlet was right. The place was a prison, and he the king of nothing more than finite, shrinking space.
“Chess!” the jester declared and started to set the board on a small table beneath the window.
Hamlet didn’t move from the bed.
“Come along, Your Royal Slothfulness. Time to sharpen your strategies. Before this odd show of yours.”
“They’re sharp enough.”
“You’re just terrified I’ll win.”
He got up, shambled over to the table, dragged up a stool.
“Pawn to Queen Two,” Yorick announced. “Always lull your enemy into thinking you’re predictable.”
“How did your father die?”
Yorick yawned.
“Not that again? I thought we were about to have some fun.”
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