But - Nicholas Skeres, and his breath, and his bullying? Suddenly the answer was all simple. Nick turned his head to one side. "No - stop."
"Ah, leave be your shamefastness, lad," Skeres said in his ear, biting it gently. "'Tis nothing to be ashamed of, a fine body like yours. What do you lack, hey, but a lover, and a little money? And I can help you to both, and more besides, if you'll only let me. A lad dressed as fine as you are has nought to fear."
Nick turned his mouth away from those lips again. "The clothes aren't mine. I borrowed them."
"Aha, so a jackdaw, tricked out in peacock plumes." Skeres chuckled. "Would you not rather have your own fine feathers, pretty lad?"
His hands were gripping hard; Nick did not think he would be able to escape them and run. "Not from you, if it please you - sir. I mean Nicholas," he said, a little breathlessly, doing all he could to keep Skeres sweet. If only he would let go …
"But it doesn't please me, not at all. Having found such a piece as you, I must have something more … come, lad, we'll go indoors if you are too ashamed to be seen kissing me even in this stew." He leaned closer. "You can trust me, lad. I was one of Walsingham's men in my time."
"I - " Nick said, "I find that hard to believe."
His laugh was the uncleanest thing Nick had ever heard. "I'll find you a harder, I warrant." His fingers were like nails in Nick's shoulders. "Come with me now. Surely a kiss is small interest to pay on a tuppenny loan?"
"No!" Shaking his head, Nick pulled away, only to find himself pushed against the wall with Skeres' hand across his mouth.
"Hold your tongue, fool," he muttered.
Nick ducked and wriggled, but before he could escape from the tight grasp, someone else had hauled Skeres off, and swung a punch that hit his chest and knocked him down into the dirt of the kennel. A thin, hard arm across Nick's shoulders, and he turned to lean into the newcomer's chest with a gasp of relief. "Philip."
"Nick - you're not hurt?"
"No."
They were standing next to a window with shutters that weren't fastened; Philip pulled one open, and in the faint glimmer of the rush-light that shone out, peered at him. "Sure?"
"Yes, quite sure."
Skeres coughed a little, and said, "Well, if it isn't Kit Marlowe's little Philip sparrow. Grown talons, have you?"
"I was never without them, you skinful of filth," Philip said. "As you should have remembered, having played the same trick with me once - which I don't forget. Get up."
Skeres, eyes wary, said, "So you can knock me down again? I think not."
"I won't knock you down." They stared at each other; then Skeres smiled, clambered to his feet, and picked his hat out of the dirt.
Philip said, "Has he lent you any money, Nick?"
"I - er," Nick said, almost as unnerved by Philip's rage as he had been by Skeres' lust.
"Has he lent you any money?"
"Tuppence. But I paid it back," Nick said, gulping, and fighting a desire to burst into tears.
"Good." Philip turned on Skeres again. "You stay where you are, or I'll have the watch on you. I also don't forget that you were in the room when Ingram Frizer - "
Skeres donned his hat, and brushed dirt from his shoulders. "Yes. I remember, my fierce sparrow. Killed your lover, didn't he?"
Philip took him by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall, then lashed out. The blow went wide, and he struck only air; then he grabbed the neck-band of Nick's jerkin, and strode off.
"How - how did you know?" Nick gasped, as they came out of Giltspur street into Cheapside.
"Anthony Owens," Philip said, biting his words short. "Made his way to me as fast as might be, for your sake. And why he bothered, I don't know."
"But - where we were … "
"I know Skeres. I know his ways, and every man like him. God's bollocks, you fool beyond fools, what possessed you to let him take you into Cock lane?" He let go Nick's jerkin. "Hold yourself straight and keep walking."
"I didn't know," Nick said in a small voice.
"What did your uncle pay Paul's fees for?" Philip snapped. "If I were the school, I'd send you back. I'm not sure I won't do that anyway."
"But - "
"Be quiet and walk," Philip said. "One word from you before tomorrow and you'll have the worst beating I can summon up the strength to give you."
"You were too soft on him last night, Philip," Henslowe said, sitting down expansively at the board. "You ought to give him a proper beating instead of only lashing him with words."
"Spare the rod and spoil the child? I haven't the time or the will," Philip said. "He's taken the clothes and the foil to Stephen in the tiring-room, and I've left him to Stephen's mercies. They're none of the tenderest, either. Which reminds me, there will be one fine for taking the apparel out of the theatre, and another for the foil, and another for not wearing his prentice cap. What have I forgotten?"
"Another for wearing silk above his station," Henslowe put in. "I shall make a total for you, Philip. I hope you're not intending to pay it yourself."
"Not I. It can come out of his allowance."
"I'm glad to hear it. As I said, you're too soft on him. He needs to go on the roads with the others and learn the business the hard way."
"I don't care to let him out of my sight after last night," Philip said.
"I'm not proposing that you should," Henslowe replied.
The two men watched each other's faces for a moment; Henslowe's plump, prosperous and bland, Philip's thin and pale, but with an eagerness in it that belonged to a younger man. At last Philip laughed. "You mean I should forego sloth and travel with him. Maybe you're right."
"Of course I'm right," Henslowe said. "Let's drink to it. I have the plays you can take; we'll talk later. Tell Nick this afternoon."
It was cold outside. Smoke from chimneys and bonfires trailed across the clouds, and seemed to tangle with them in the late-October winds. Nick, freed from Stephen's mercies in the tiring-house, seemed surprised to find Philip waiting for him at the doors of the Rose, but said nothing.
"Burbage will be wishing for his indoor theatre if the weather worsens," Philip said to him, as they walked back to Henslowe's. "Or cursing the folk of Blackfriars, who will not leave him in peace with it."
Nick nodded. "Would you play indoors?"
"Yes, if it pays well. It most likely will; and even if I cannot get a player's part, the indoor theatres have softer music and I may be called for."
Should I tell him this? But of course; he could not hide anything from Nick. "Talking of indoor theatres, I gather that the new master at Paul's is pressing their lordships to allow the boys to put on plays for public viewing once more."
Nick shrugged. "That's good to hear," he said. "But I don't want to go back there."
And I thought his dream was to play at Paul's. "More learning. More comfort. More money; in the end."
"But, master Standage - "
"Yes?"
"I'm happy where I am. It's like having a family."
Is that a quiver in his voice? Or is he playing at heartbroken? Philip smiled a little. I do know what you mean, though you may not think it. "Yes; but for all that, you should go on the road this winter."
"Away?" Nick said, his mouth wide open. And then - "First Paul's. Now the road. You can't be bothered with me any more. Look, I know - I was a fool about Skeres - but - "
Philip held up one hand. "No. It's not about Skeres. Not altogether. With the Globe open, the takings haven't been good. Charles Massey and some of the others will be away in two days' time."
"In this weather?" Nick looked outraged beyond reason.
Philip nodded. "True, it's sore work, travelling by winter, but the Admiral's Men are sure of a good welcome and dry rooms. You'll be needed - there are no boy players skilled enough in the provinces." Time to prod him a little. "You should know why, being from Dorset; they are all in London now."
After a moment, reluctantly, Nick laughed. "Is t
hat meant to encourage me? I'm not sure it does."
"If it is any consolation, though I doubt it," Philip said, "I shall be with you. But since I am being made to work, so will you; because if it wasn't for you none of this would be happening. I promise you, I shall make damn sure that every moment of your folly with Skeres is well and truly paid for in hard work. Understood?"
Nick winced, blushed, and finally looked into Philip's eyes. "I understand."
I hope he does. And I hope he doesn't steer a course round the frying pan that will take him into the fire. Philip sighed. "Henslowe has promised to give us the best plays he can. At least we may have good takings."
"Amen," said Nick.
Amen. I hope I can survive this.
Philip could not tell whether his prayers were answered. On the road, he felt both hemmed in and under scrutiny, sleeping in a room with the whole company, or at the very least with two of the other sharers. Much to his relief, Nick took to the life more than willingly.
"Dorset," he said to Nick one day when they were unpacking the cart in Wimborne Minster. "Isn't this your home county?"
"Yes," Nick said. "Silton, it's a couple of days' ride north-west of here, I reckon."
"Would you like me to ask master Massey to let you go home for a day or two?"
"No, please. No." Nick set down a pasteboard shield with unnecessary care. "Oh, I have no bad memories of it, never fear that. Only, it isn't home. That's all." He leaned a gilt-painted helmet against the shield. "Don't fret about me - I'm happy. Truly."
"Are you?" Philip said. I really should never have taken an apprentice.
Nick gave him a sudden, brilliant smile. "I am. But it will be good to be back in London. How long do you think old Henslowe will be able to keep the Rose blooming?"
"Master Henslowe to you, boy." Philip gathered up an armful of foils. "Is that a long sword down there? Let me have it, please. Charles, what did the innkeeper say about these?"
Charles Massey looked up from the playbill he was reading. "He'll keep them locked up unless we need them."
"Ah." Philip hesitated for a moment. "In answer to your question, Nick, not much longer. I know that he and Alleyn have been talking to Peter Street, who put the Globe together for Burbage. Don't be surprised if you find that we're bound for somewhere else when we return to London."
Chapter 11
Winter 1599-1600
There was a long pause. Philip waited for some word of disappointment, but all Nick said was: "Oh," before drawing breath to blow dust off a battered peacock-feather fan. "What play tonight, master Massey?"
Charles sneezed, and said, "We can do The Two Wits, in which case we won't need swords; or The Famous Victories of Henry the Fifth. I have playbills for both, here, but someone will have to write in the name of the inn."
"Victories, please!" Nick said. "I risked my neck, after all, taking down that scene for Kate and Alice from Will Shakespeare's play. And I don't even know whether master Henslowe added it."
"He did." Philip, looking at him, had the urge to tease. "Anything, hey, so long as you can counterfeit the princess?"
Nick glared, and then laughed, while Charles said, "We should keep the innkeeper sweet. I'll ask him what he wants." He returned presently, mopping his nose with a kerchief. "Famous Victories it is. Are you willing to play Hal, Philip? Because I have a cold coming in my head."
"God's tongue help me, for I've only learned the Herald's lines," Philip said. "Give Will Bird the Herald, and we'll see how I do."
Charles slapped him on the back. "You'll do it, or else. And you'll have to woo your own apprentice, too."
"Thank you, Charles. I am aware." Philip turned round; Nick winked at him.
Damn. I hope the boy isn't planning anything more than usual foolish.
Maybe Nick was, maybe he wasn't; certainly his playing during the rehearsal could only be described as dull, and when they were first on stage he was nothing out of the ordinary. Then Philip said, "'But tell me sweet Kate, canst thou tell how to love?'"
Nick curtsied, and replied, "'I cannot hate, my good Lord, Therefore far unfit were it for me to love.'"
And something changed.
Philip drew a short, quiet breath. "'But I'll deal as easily with thee As thy heart can imagine or tongue can require. How sayest thou, what will it be?'"
"'If I were of my own direction, I could give you answer'," Nick said, his gaze downcast. How does someone so fair have such dark lashes? Philip, helpless to do anything except continue with his lines, knew that the wooing had taken on an added intensity; nothing that could be pinned down, nothing that could be named, but something. What in the world or out of it is happening? I wish I knew …
Nick hadn't meant it to be like that; hadn't meant to think of Nicholas Skeres in the previous scene, any more than he had expected to look at Philip in royal robes, smiling at him, and think, 'I wish it had been you who kissed me, Phip.'
Philip was acting, of course he was acting, but how easy it was for Nick to see what he wanted to see, as the princess might have done. Perhaps the same was true for the audience, for when Nick at last put his hand in Philip's and smiled, a ripple of satisfaction hummed across the yard. When they drew apart from their stage kiss, Nick, heart thumping and head dizzy, could not look Philip in the eyes.
At the end of the play, Nick hardly noticed the applause and during the concluding dance - for once a galliard, not a jig, with Philip partnering him - he swayed once as he turned and Philip's grip tightened on his fingers.
"Best takings we've had all week," Charles said with some satisfaction, a little later. "Well done, you two."
"Not me; him," Philip and Nick said in unison, looked at each other, and laughed. The company dined together that evening, and slept in the largest room the innkeeper could spare.
That is, most of them slept. Nick lay awake all night.
Finally, finally, his body knew what it wanted. Philip. But it wasn't likely to get him; not given who Nick was, what he was, the age he was; and the two of them sleeping in a crowded room besides. Nick gritted his teeth, read himself a few lessons from the memory of other scoldings, and rolled over, wishing that he had asked more questions of Gabriel all those months ago.
They stopped for the Christmas season at Wilton; afterwards Nick recalled little but massive splendour, rooms larger than he had ever seen before, playing his part in one play after another. And Philip.
So, the year of Our Lord 1599 ended; the year 1600 began. Nick was sixteen now, back in London, playing in the Rose, living at Henslowe's; sleeping in the attic not far from Philip, with memories of Philip and Gabriel slipping through his dreams of nights.
Over in St Giles Cripplegate, on land beside Alleyn's house, the new theatre was marked out, but there was neither permission to build nor to play. In April, Henslowe, raging and clutching at straws, sent Philip, with Nick as his apprentice in tow, to Cecil House in the Strand, to ask Sir Robert Cecil for his patronage; but still no word from the Mayor. Alleyn worked harder than any ploughman ever did in the field to gain the nod of Charles Howard, the Lord High Admiral himself whose men they were. From this resulted a new livery, a white lion with a blue shoulder-crescent, but nothing else. In May, Henslowe made a long ride to Windsor and back that he said emptied both his purse and his mind of anything useful.
Then, something happened; there were rumours of a request - which is to say an order - from the Queen herself. Whatever it was, Alleyn agreed to come out of retirement, and within a few months the new theatre out-topped the Globe. By September, Philip and Nick were Admiral's Men at the Fortune theatre. They kept their lodgings at Henslowe's and crossed the city twice daily, eastward and westward ho on the river boats according to the time and tide. The river crossing ate into Philip's share, but it was quicker than crossing by the bridge, and besides, they heard all the news from the watermen.
Whether they wanted to or not, they could scarcely avoid hearing of the trouble that the earl of Essex was b
rewing in the city since his return from Ireland. In Nick's days at Paul's, seeming so far away now, he had heard nothing but the faintest of rumours of Essex's pride, his angling for the Queen's favour, his successes - and failures - as a general; so he asked Philip to tell him more.
Philip shook his head. "Don't seek to know, Nick. Keep your head down. When there's trouble, we poor players are the first target, and we mustn't step out of line."
"The earl of Essex is stepping out of line all he can," Nick said.
"I know that well enough; and I'm keeping quiet," Philip said. "You do the same."
And another year ended; and another year began.
February 5th 1601, and later
Candlemas was marked by a violent storm; but four days later came a crisp morning bleached by frost and sunshine, good enough for a rehearsal and a play in the afternoon. Philip, chiefly by thinking of his purse, had trained himself to rise an hour earlier so that he could walk to the Fortune. He and Nick always walked together; with the city as restless as it had been these past weeks they felt safer so. For once the streets were clear and they made good speed. Then, as they neared Golding lane, Nick drew a little closer. "Sir - master Standage. Is that not - ? See, there. Waiting at the corner."
"Nicholas Skeres," Philip said. "Yes. Say nothing, Nick. We'll pass him by."
But, as they drew up with the man, he stepped forward and bowed. His face was paler than when they had last seen him, the rubicund cheeks mottled and a little hollow. "Master Standage," he said. "I have word for you from the earl of Essex."
The surprise was enough to bring Philip to a halt. "What word can such as he have, to such as I?"
"Oh - a mere request. A small one, which may bring you good fortune. Indeed, he offers gold if you will take a certain matter on you."
Philip looked at him for a very long moment. "And for yourself?"
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