The rehearsal finally finished and that afternoon the Henslowe Players prepared for their departure to Hampton Court Palace early the following morning. Hampton Court was upstream so the decision had been taken to transport them up the Thames on two boats. However, as they discovered the next morning, the two tilt boats that had been hired for the purpose were far too small to accommodate the entire cast of The Spanish Tragedy, their costumes, props and various hangers on — let alone the overgrown egos of Henslowe, Alleyn and Kyd. Nevertheless, constrained by the limited budget set by Henslowe, who kept a beady eye on all costs, the boats were going to have to do. Fortunately, the weather remained fine and the river was as smooth as a billiard table. Everyone was extremely glad to leave the rehearsals at The Rose and the endless differences of artistic opinion between Kyd and Alleyn.
There was lively chatter as everyone boarded the boats, which rapidly became over-burdened. The river journey would take them slowly up river, past Whitehall and then eventually to Richmond and Kingston beyond. They would disembark a little after Kingston and lodge at the magnificent Hampton Court Palace, where the queen and her entourage were in temporary residence. The following afternoon they would stage the inaugural performance of The Spanish Tragedy. With luck, this single performance would seal their fame and fortune forever. Everyone was very excited.
They were all squashed together like sardines in the front boat and the rowers made slow progress. They passed Lambeth Palace on the left of the river and on the opposite bank, Westminster Abbey. As they made their way slowly upstream, the scenes on each side of the riverbank became more rural with the boatyards and villages increasingly punctuated with open fields, farmsteads and woodland.
Jack reflected again on the events of the evening before. Their arrival had saved the day and as a result they had made themselves instantly popular among the Henslowe Players. The group seemed amused by Jack and Angus’s strange accents and language, but it didn’t bother them — they were used to mixing with and performing in front of all sorts of people. There were about twenty actors in the group but, even so, a number of them would need to double up on parts for The Spanish Tragedy. They were all friendly and welcoming — although there was one, Christo, who seemed a little quieter than the others. Perhaps he only seemed that way because all the others, by contrast, were excessively loud.
After a boisterous dinner, they had slept in claustrophobic accommodation next to The Rose, provided by Henslowe (for a fee). There was not room for all of them in the main dormitory and Jack had ended up in a small alcove next to Christo. The actor had been furtive and uncommunicative and, with the conditions cold and uncomfortable, Jack had struggled to sleep. After a while, presumably assuming Jack was asleep, Christo had got out of his makeshift bed on the floor. He had lit a small candle and removed a heavy, ornate cross from his neck and then held a Bible in front of him. He prayed and chanted for what seemed an eternity. Even though Christo’s voice had been quiet, his words were uttered with passion. Jack could not make out what he said but he recognised the language. Most of it was in Latin but some of it was in Spanish.
Their last stop before Hampton Court was at Kingston where they took a leisurely mid-afternoon lunch at The Swan before reboarding for the final stretch. The landlord of The Swan was delighted to see them all. A log fire crackled away in a large inglenook at one end of the pub. After nearly a day on the river it was a welcome sight. Soon Henslowe and Alleyn were ordering food and drink and everyone was settling down.
“I’m bursting — where do you think the luxurious facilities are?” Angus asked Jack. They had become accustomed to limiting trips to the loo — firstly because there usually wasn’t one anyway and secondly, if there was, the experience was too awful to imagine.
“No doubt a hole in the ground round the back somewhere. Be sure to take your gas mask.”
Angus wrapped himself back up in his cloak and disappeared outside again. The Swan was located at the upstream end of the town of Kingston and at the back of the inn was a large yard that led onto a road, partly shielded by some large oak trees. The yard was home to three goats and a number of hens that pecked at invisible specks in the mud. Towards one side, a narrow platform was built over a stream that ran into the river. The structure supported three crude wooden huts. The set-up was luxurious compared to what Angus had experienced in London and he hurried over. The first hut was not occupied and he went in, trying not to touch, smell or look at anything.
As he made his way back to the pub, he saw a carriage with two horses pull up just outside the gates to the yard. At the same time he spotted Christo emerge from the inn and scurry across the yard towards the carriage. The door of the carriage opened and a cloaked figure stepped down to meet Christo. The figure used a walking stick and was limping. Angus recognised him immediately: Pendelshape.
Angus dived behind a pile of logs. From his position he could just spy Christo in deep discussion with Pendelshape. From time to time Christo would glance back furtively at the inn. In less than two minutes the conversation was over. Pendelshape hauled himself back into the coach and it rumbled off.
Angus waited behind the logs until the carriage had disappeared and Christo had gone back inside. When he returned to the pub, the late lunch was in full swing and, encouraged by the landlord, Alleyn, Fanshawe and the rest of the Henslowe Players were taking it in turns to make speeches, sing songs or recite poetry to a growing crowd of onlookers. Christo returned to his place by one of the windows and nibbled at his food. He took little interest in the revelry of his colleagues. Angus sidled over to Jack who had moved next to the fire and was watching and applauding along with the rest of the group.
“Find it?” Jack said.
“Yes, and that’s not all I found.”
“Really?”
Angus whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “Pendelshape was just here.”
Jack gasped. “What?”
“Shhh.” Angus looked around the inn, checking out Christo in particular. “Yeah. But he’s gone. Don’t look now, but he met him.” Angus nodded at Christo who was ignoring the fun and games in the inn completely and staring thoughtfully out of the window.
“Pendelshape met Christo… and then just left?” Jack whispered in amazement. “But… he might have seen us… he might know we’re here.”
“Don’t think so. It looked as if they’d planned the meeting. As if Pendelshape knew that the troupe would be stopping here. And I kept an eye on Christo — he hardly seems to have noticed us, so I don’t think he said anything to Pendelshape.”
“Well that’s a relief. Close call though.” Jack bit his lip. “But what’s he up to?”
“No idea.”
“I didn’t tell you — last night — when we were freezing our butts off in that pigsty that Henslowe put us up in…”
“Least you only had to share with one… I had to share with about ten of them.”
“I couldn’t get to sleep. Christo didn’t realise I was awake — he was praying and chanting and all sorts.”
“So? Maybe he couldn’t sleep either — don’t blame him with the amount of snoring and farting going on.”
“Yeah — but he’s a Catholic. Not that unusual in itself — but I heard him saying stuff to himself — in Spanish.”
“So?”
“Come on, Angus — keep up. A Spanish Catholic in the Henslowe Players has just had a secret meeting with Pendelshape…” Jack said slowly. “And we know Pendelshape wants to use an existing plot to kill the queen and create civil war in England — so the country will be ripe for invasion.”
“So you’re saying that maybe this is the plot — Christo is somehow part of it?”
“Exactly. He’s using the Henslowe Players as a cover. I still don’t get it, though. The queen is surrounded by bodyguards and soldiers. Even if he was some sort of fanatical killer, I can’t see how he would do it on his own.”
“Maybe Pendelshape has already worked out some way to help him when we ge
t to the palace, you know, some sort of trap.”
Jack stared into the fire. “Yeah — you could be right…”
Word had got out about the arrival of the Henslowe Players and the spontaneous party at The Swan had drawn an enthusiastic crowd of locals seeking to enjoy the impromptu entertainment. Unfortunately, the quality of the performances was declining rapidly as the players became increasingly inebriated. Nevertheless, the landlord was so delighted with his takings and the promise from Henslowe that they would stop off on their return trip from the palace, that he gave the group an entire barrel of Mad Dog and, unbelievably, a live pig.
They tottered back down the pier to the waiting boats significantly the worse for wear. If anything, the boats seemed even more cramped and top heavy than before — particularly the front one, which now carried the barrel of ale and the pig. The pig squealed noisily as it was manhandled aboard and tethered between two of the posts that held up the awning. A large crowd of people from The Swan had gathered to see them off, and with a great cheer ringing in their ears they cast off into the river for the final haul up to Hampton Court.
It only took three minutes before the barrel of Mad Dog had been cracked open and the first round distributed in large earthenware tumblers. Five minutes later the singing started and a mere twenty minutes after that there was the first man overboard. This caused enormous hilarity. It did not seem to occur to anyone that, with the water temperature hovering not far above zero, the man was lucky to be pulled out alive. He didn’t seem to care — a dry cloak and a fresh mug of Mad Dog helped him forget the experience altogether. At the back of the boat, even the pig was offered a mug of beer to stop it squealing. It showed its disdain by squealing louder than ever and then promptly defecating — mostly on Alleyn’s shoes. Kyd and Henslowe nearly fell out of the boat themselves, such was their mirth. The whole thing was getting horribly out of control. The boat zigzagged its way unsteadily up the Kingston Reach, narrowly avoiding a range of other craft, royal swans and sundry river life.
The sun was beginning to set as they made their final approach and immense bands of purple and pink clouds swooped across the darkening sky. To their right, the great royal deer park stretched endlessly into the distance, and Jack caught occasional glimpses of deer in the dark shadows between the ancient oaks. A low mist was forming on the river and, in the distance, Jack saw the great palace of Hampton Court emerge. Its pink brick had turned a deep crimson in the fading light and from one of its towers Jack noticed the same royal standard that had been flying at Fotheringhay — the quadrants of the fleurs-de-lis and the three lions. But Fotheringhay Castle had been quite different from this. It was a brutal bulwark of stone built for an earlier, more violent age. By contrast, Hampton Court had a gentler facade — its crenellations and towers were there for show and not for defence. It was a palace and not a castle. A palace fit for a queen.
They drew closer and the splendid building loomed above them, its presence quelling the drunken blathering. A small group of men scurried from the bank to the pier to help tether the boats. To mark their arrival, Henslowe, in the front boat, was to give a speech of welcome that had been specially penned by Kyd for the occasion. Although the pig had calmed down a little, it had still found the whole experience highly stressful and the first priority was to lead it ashore. As the boat glided into its mooring, Henslowe took up position at the bow, standing just behind the little flag, emblazoned with the interlinking P and H of his name, which had been nailed to the prow. The afternoon’s revelry had taken its toll on Henslowe, as it had with the rest of the troupe, and he swayed uneasily on his feet. He held up the paper with his address of thanks to the bemused welcoming party who looked on from the landing pier. Clearing his throat, he began to speak.
“On this day…”
But at that moment, from the stern of the boat, the pig squealed hysterically as it was finally released. Sensing freedom, it scrambled across the baggage and past the passengers at high speed. It then leaped like a large pink missile from the bow of the boat towards the landing stage. Henslowe had no chance. One moment he was there, the next he was flying through the air, dislodged from his precarious position by one hundred kilos of airborne bacon. The pig hit the landing stage gracefully and slalomed expertly through the surprised onlookers, never to be seen again. Henslowe was not so lucky. He landed in the river with a stylish bellyflop. Everyone in the boat raced to one side to check on the fate of their esteemed leader. The boat was already dangerously top heavy and the whole thing slewed to one side, unbalancing, before it completely capsized. The Henslowe Players, their baggage and the barrel of Mad Dog (now empty) were all deposited unceremoniously into the Thames.
They had made an entrance at Hampton Court, though perhaps not quite as Henslowe had intended.
Hampton Court
The recriminations lasted well into the night and Alleyn, when accused of deliberately releasing the pig at just the wrong moment, had nearly walked out in a rage. By the morning, however, tempers had improved. Luckily the main props had been fished successfully from the river and the costumes were finally starting to dry out. The performance was to start at two o’clock that afternoon, and Jack was surprised and impressed by how professionally the Henslowe Players focused on the job at hand.
Their spirits were lifted further when they were led from their quarters through the great courtyards to the magnificent Great Hall at the heart of the palace where they would be performing. The hall must have been over thirty metres long and twenty metres high and had a splendid hammer-beam roof. At one end there was a finely carved minstrel’s gallery and all around were stained-glass windows and magnificent tapestries. In the oriel window to the right of the dais were the arms of Cardinal Wolsey, the founder of the palace, and in the side windows were the badges and devices of Henry VIII and his wives. At the front and down two sides of the hall a number of cushioned chairs had been laid out in three rows. In the middle, at the front, a throne had been carefully positioned from which the queen herself would enjoy the first performance of The Spanish Tragedy. A low stage had been erected in the centre of the hall, and towards the rear, a screen stretched from side to side, masking the actors when they were not performing. Angus, his duties as stage hand complete, would be allowed to watch the play up in the minstrel’s gallery.
Two o’clock was approaching fast and the cast members were limbering up in earnest. The Great Hall was soon a hive of activity. Henslowe manned one of the entrances, watching nervously for the arrival of the first members of the audience. Kyd fussed from one actor to the next, tweaking costumes and proffering needless advice. Alleyn paced up and down at the far end of the hall in deep concentration, reciting his words to himself over and over again. Even Jack, with his keen memory, had struggled to learn his words in the short time allowed. Much of the script was still in Kyd’s own extravagant italic handwriting, which was difficult to read. In addition, a number of the spellings and pronunciations were very odd. It had taken Jack a long time just to work out how Kyd had formed certain letters like ‘f’ and ‘s’; he frequently used two or three different sorts of squiggle to denote the same letter. To complicate matters further, there were whole words Jack just did not know or understand. He could recognise the script as English — but only just. Jack was glad he only had one small part to learn.
While Fanshawe and his entourage prepared for the performance, Angus spent the morning lumbering around with the costumes and props. At last everything seemed to be ready and he sat down next to Jack in one corner of the hall for a final breather before the big performance.
“You ready, then?” he asked.
“Think so.”
Jack nodded in the direction of Christo on the other side of the hall. “You been keeping an eye on him?”
Christo fiddled with the cross around his neck. If anything, he had become even more nervous as the time of the performance approached. Other than Jack and Angus no one would have noticed — they were all too b
usy — and anyway it was normal to look nervous before performing in front of the Queen of England.
Yes, I swear he’s getting more jittery,” Angus said.
“I think so too and I don’t like it. He’s got to be planning something.”
“Seems like it, I know — but what? We were all searched. And anyway, he would never get away with it — have you seen the number of guards around the place?”
“Well, we know he’s up to something and we know that Pendelshape can’t be far away… or Whitsun and Gift, for that matter. We need to be ready, just…”
At that moment, their conversation was cut short as the large double doors at the rear of the hall flew open. Henslowe had been manning the wrong entrance and missed his big chance to thrust himself in front of the queen. She swept into the Great Hall surrounded by a large entourage of extravagantly dressed men and women. Her stunning white gown was embroidered with gold and decorated with precious stones. Around her neck there was a large lace ruff and her hair was crowned with a ring of bulbous pearls. She had arrived unexpectedly early and walked straight through the backstage area. It took the cast completely by surprise. But she didn’t seem bothered. She marched on, nodding in acknowledgement as everyone turned and bowed.
Soon the Great Hall was packed with other members of her court and by the time the queen took her position on the throne, every chair was filled. There was a buzz of excitement. This was it. Backstage, Kyd gave a final pep talk as the actors prepared for the performance of their lives. The first public performance of The Spanish Tragedy began.
It went well. The audience applauded generously and, backstage, Henslowe and Kyd were quietly effusive in their praise. Much to his relief, Jack had also performed his part to everyone’s satisfaction. They needn’t have worried about Christo, either. He was flawless and word perfect. After a short intermission, the second part of the play began and possibly for the first time on their mad adventure, Jack felt himself relax. He stared up at the extraordinary workmanship of the ceiling of the Great Hall above and the opulence of his surroundings. On the other side of the curtain, the Henslowe Players were starting the second act. Jack could hardly believe he had just performed in front of Queen Elizabeth I. The whole thing was utterly extraordinary.
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