The Queen's Head nb-1

by Edward Marston

  'Who is your best hatmaker, Anne?' he said abruptly.

  'What?'

  'At the shop. Who is your most skilful craftsman?'

  'Preben van Loew.'

  'Can he make other things than hats?'

  'Preben can make anything,' she said confidently.

  'Could he make a dress?'

  'Of course.'

  'This would be a very special and elaborate costume.'

  'You have your own tiremen in the company,' she pointed out. 'Could not they handle this commission?'

  'It would not be politic,' he said. 'This is a secret that must be shared by as few people as possible. Master Firethorn will have to be involved but the rest of the company must be kept in ignorance. Apart from the boy, that is.'

  'The boy?'

  'It will all become clear in time,' he promised.

  'Nick, what are you talking about?'

  He pulled her closer and whispered in her ear.

  'Play-acting.'

  *

  When he got to The Queen's Head next morning, the first person he sought out was Samuel Ruff. They went off to a corner of the yard to be alone together. Nicholas told him what had happened the previous night. The actor was astonished to hear about Redbeard's death, but that astonishment quickly convened to anger.

  'Where is he, Nick?'

  'He was taken away by the officers.'

  Find out where. I wish to see him.'

  'Why?' asked Nicholas.

  'Because I want to look on the face of the cur who killed Will Fowler.' Sarcasm took over. 'I want to pay my respects!'

  'Stay well away, Sam. That is my advice.'

  Ruff punched the palm of his left hand.

  'If only I had got to him first!' he said ruefully. 'I hoped to avenge Will's death myself. Redbeard escaped me.'

  'He came to a deserved end.'

  'I wanted to plunge the dagger into him!'

  'It is too late for that now,' observed Nicholas.

  Samuel Ruff inhaled deeply and fought to control his temper. When he calmed down, he nodded sagely.

  'You are right,' he agreed. 'I suppose that we should just be grateful that his wretched life is now over. At least we have no more to fear from the villain.'

  'Not from him, Sam. But we still have a mortal enemy.'

  'Who?'

  'The man who struck Redbeard down. His accomplice.'

  'Accomplice?' echoed the other in disbelief. 'That cannot be, surely? Why should he kill a friend?'

  'Because that friend was no longer of any use,' suggested Nicholas. 'Indeed, he was starting to become a problem.'

  'In what way?'

  'Redbeard was too intemperate--we saw evidence enough of that in Bankside. If he was given free rein, there was always the chance that his wildness would lead him to make a serious mistake. And that would endanger the whole enterprise.'

  'What enterprise?' asked Ruff with interest.

  'The destruction of Westfield's Men.'

  The actor pondered. He found much that was plausible in Nicholas's line of reasoning. A name eased itself into his mind.

  'Ben Creech!'

  'What of him, Sam?'

  'He was Redbeard's accomplice.'

  'I think not.'

  'He was, Nick,' argued the other. 'Ben stabbed him in the back. He paid Redbeard off.'

  'No,' countered Nicholas. 'Ben Creech has much to answer for but he is not a murderer. He could never devise the sort of plan that lies behind all this. Ben is not shrewd enough. He had nothing whatsoever to do with Redbeard.'

  'How do you know?'

  'Because he could never control someone like that. Still less could he kill him off when the time was ripe.'

  'I am not so sure,' murmured Ruff.

  'Ben was working for Banbury's Men,' continued Nicholas. 'He was responsible for all the thieving. His task was to unsettle the company but he could only do that while he was a member of it. Now that he is gone, that threat has vanished.'

  'Yet we still have an enemy, you say?'

  'We do, Sam.'

  'Inside the company?'

  'No. He attacked from outside. With Redbeard.'

  'Do you have any idea who the man is?'

  'None,' said Nicholas. 'All I know is that he will be more dangerous than ever now.'

  'Why?'

  'Because he failed in what he set out to do. His intention was to cripple Westfield's Men and Will's murder was his first blow against us. But we survived.'

  'Instead of being laid low, the company has prospered.'

  'Exactly, Sam. Our appearance at Court is proof of that. But it is bound to stir up his envy even more. I believe that he will do his best to snatch that honour away from us.'

  'Not while I have breath in my body!' vowed Ruff.

  'We must be Vigilance itself,' insisted Nicholas. 'He will strike when it is least expected.'

  'We must be armed against him!'

  'I shall say as much to Master Firethorn. The whole company must be on guard from now on. Nothing must be allowed to rob us of our appearance at Court.'

  'Nothing will,' said Ruff grimly.

  Nicholas patted him on the shoulder and they strolled across the yard together. The book holder remembered someone.

  'This news might be welcome in St Albans,' he mused.

  'St Albans?'

  'I was thinking of Susan Fowler. She will be interested to learn that her husband's killer has met his own death.'

  'Interested and gratified, too.'

  'Oh, Susan will take no pleasure from it,' said Nicholas. 'Here is not a vengeful nature. But I hope she may draw some modicum of comfort from it. Poor girl! She will need all the comfort she can get in the days that lie ahead. Susan will have to bring up her daughter without the love and support of a husband.'

  'God protect them both!' added Ruff.

  'Amen!'

  *

  Lord Westfield's Men continued their regular round of performances but it was their visit to Court which dominated their thoughts and their conversation. December came and Christmas hove into sight. Their excitement increased with each day that passed.

  Goaded into creation once more, Edmund Hoode worked hard on the new play and delivered it for comment. The Loyal Subject was the inspiration of Lawrence Firethorn and it was tailored to the generous dimensions of his talent. He suggested a number of changes himself then disputed those that were offered by Barnaby Gill. The author reached for his pen again. When the final draft was ready, it was sent off to the Master of the Revels with the usual fee. It came back with the seal of approval.

  The company committed itself wholeheartedly to the new piece. The prime advantage of a Court performance was that they were given excellent rehearsal facilities and a longer period in which to perfect their work. After the hectic compromise of their normal hand-to-mouth existence, the new dispensation came as a luxury. They were indoors, they were warm, and, moreover, they were about to cut a dash at Court.

  The Loyal Subject was set in a part of Italy that was quintessentially English in every detail. Edmund Hoode had made his Duchess of Milan remarkably like his own sovereign and his play was a celebration of loyalty to the Crown. In the opening scene, the hero was arraigned on a charge of treason and condemned on false evidence. He went to the block but his loyalty was so great that it outlived him. In the person of his ghost, the loyal subject controlled the action of the whole realm for the benefit of his monarch, even crushing a threatened rebellion.

  Richard Honeydew was overjoyed to be given the part of the Duchess of Milan. It more than made up for his disappointment over losing the opportunity to play Gloriana. The Duchess was another version of Gloriana and there was the additional thrill this time of portraying the character in front of its mirror image, Queen Elizabeth herself. The boy was determined to prove his worth. He brought willingness and enthusiasm to every rehearsal.

  Nicholas watched it all with calm satisfaction. After one of the rehearsals, he chose the m
oment to take Richard aside. He smiled his congratulations at the boy.

  'You are excelling yourself, Dick.'

  'Thank you, Master Bracewell.'

  'Everyone is delighted with your work.'

  'I am very anxious to please.'

  'That is good.'

  'I want my appearance at Court to be a success in every way.'

  Nicholas nodded then he became more confidential.

  'Dick...'

  'Yes, master?'

  'I have a favour to ask of you.'

  'It is granted before it is asked,' said the boy amiably.

  'Hear what it is first,' advised Nicholas. 'It is a very big favour, Dick.'

  'No matter.'

  'It will mean sacrifice and it will call upon your loyalty.'

  'Loyalty? To whom?'

  'To me. To the company. And to your Queen.' Richard Honeydew listened with fascination.

  *

  Lawrence Firethorn did not believe in treating the text of a play as holy writ. He was compelled to modify and refine at every turn. Adjustment was a continuous process. The Loyal Subject would not reach its finished version until the day of performance.

  The person who suffered most as a result of all this was Edmund Hoode. He became more and more embattled. While accepting that a new work could always be improved, he rejected Firethorn's glib assertion that daily tinkering with a play kept it fresh and alive. It merely kept Hoode busy when he should have been devoting his energies to the playing of Marsilius, the decrepit old judge in the opening scene.

  Firethorn would not relent. As the two men dined together one day, therefore, Hoode braced himself for the inevitable. The actor-manager waited until they had eaten their meal before he broached the subject. Poets responded best on a full stomach.

  'Did you enjoy the Westphalian ham?' he asked.

  'I will not change the trial scene again,' said Hoode.

  'Nobody is suggesting that you should, dear fellow.'

  'As long as that is understood, Lawrence.'

  'Perfectly.'

  'I regard the trial scene as sacrosanct now,' affirmed the poet. 'We have altered it so many times that I have no heart left for further changes.'

  'I would not amend a single word of it, Edmund.'

  'I am relieved to hear it.'

  'However...'

  Feeling that he needed liquid fortification, Hoode reached for his cup and drained it. He suspected another veiled attack.

  'However,' repeated Firethorn, 'We must always be looking to extract the full dramatic value out of each scene. A performance at Court is a special occasion. Nothing less than our best will suffice. We must bear that in mind.'

  'Come to the point, Lawrence.'

  'My soliloquy in prison.'

  'I feared as much!' groaned Hoode.

  'It is a truly magnificent speech,' praised Firethorn, 'but I believe we can add to its lustre.'

  'We have added to its lustre almost every day.'

  'This is my final comment.'

  'I pray that it is!'

  Firethorn leaned across the table with a knowing smile.

  'Lorenzo must have more passion.'

  'Passion?' Hoode was taken aback.

  'Yes, Edmund.'

  'On the eve of his execution?'

  'You misunderstand me, sir,' explained Firethorn. 'I wish to introduce a more personal note into the speech. Lorenzo bewails his fate and then extols the virtue of loyalty. He talks about honour, duty and patriotism.' The smile returned. 'He should also talk about love.'

  'For whom? For what?'

  'For his sovereign and for his country. The two should be wedded together in his mind. He would not dare to betray either because it would be an act of infidelity. A lover being unfaithful to his lady.' Firethorn sat back in his chair. 'Six lines will be enough. Eight, at most. Show Lorenzo in a more passionate vein.'

  'I will try, Lawrence.'

  'Pursue that theme. A loyalty that is rooted in a deep love. Let him woo the Duchess in choice phrases. Ten lines are all that I require. A dozen would make that speech eternally memorable.

  'Leave it with me,' sighed the other.

  'I knew that you would listen to reason, Edmund.'

  'Is that what I did?'

  The reckoning was paid and the two men rose to go.

  'One thing more,' said Firethorn easily.

  'Yes?'

  'The execution.'

  'What about it?'

  'It will now take place on stage.'

  Hoode gulped. 'But thai is impossible!'

  'Theatre is the art of the impossible,' reminded Firethorn.

  'An execution... in full view of the audience?'

  'Why not, sir? It will be far more effective than the present device, where the executioner appears with Lorenzo's gory head in his hand. I will perish before their eyes.'

  'How?'

  'Nicholas has the way of it. Let him explain it to you.'

  Respect for the book holder at least made Hoode consider the idea properly, but he could not imagine how the effect would be achieved. He shrugged his shoulders.

  'I am prepared to try it,' he conceded.

  'It is not a question of trying it,' said Firethorn seriously. ' That is the way it will be done during the performance. I am resolved upon it.'

  *

  Samuel Ruff was as pleased as anybody that Richard Honeydew had secured the female lead in the play. He was genuinely fond of the boy and appreciative of his talent. He was both hurt and puzzled, therefore, when things began to go wrong. Richard's attitude slowly changed. His eagerness faded and he became almost timid. He faltered badly. The apprentice was clearly unhappy.

  Ruff took the opportunity of a private word with him. 'What is it, lad?' he asked solicitously.

  'It is nothing, Master Ruff.'

  'I am not blind, Dick. Something ails you.'

  'It will pass, sir.'

  'Is it the other boys?'

  Richard gave a noncommittal grunt.

  Martin Yeo was annoyed that he had not been offered the role of the Duchess of Milan but he had done nothing beyond some mild verbal sniping at Richard. Stephen Judd and John Tallis likewise mocked their young colleague without taking any mote drastic action against him.

  'I watched you rehearsing just now,' said Ruff with concern. 'You stumbled over lines that you knew well a few days ago.'

  'My mind becomes a blank.'

  'Let me help.'

  'You cannot, sir.'

  'But I could teach you your part.'

  'That is not the help I need.'

  'Then what is, lad?'

  Richard tried to tell him but the words would not come. He was evidently in some distress. Biting his lip, he turned on his heel and ran out of the room. Samuel Ruff was mystified. He took his problem to Nicholas who was poring over a sketch with one of the carpenters. Ruff spoke of his anxiety about the boy.

  'Leave him be,' suggested Nicholas.

  'What has happened to him? Why has he lost his way?'

  'It is not his way that he has lost, Sam.'

  'How so?'

  'The lad is scared. He has lost his nerve.'

  'With such an opportunity before him?'

  'That is the cause of it all,' said Nicholas. 'The occasion is too much for him. Dick is still very young and raw. This will be his first leading role and he has to play it before the Queen of England and the whole Court. That is a lot to ask from such an inexperienced actor.'

  'He is equal to it, Nick.'

  'Let us hope so for all our sakes.'

  'What can we do for him?' asked Ruff.

  'Give him time,' advised Nicholas. 'He needs our care and understanding. I have spoken to Master Firethorn and told him not to browbeat the boy if he stumbles. That could be fatal.'

  'How do you mean?'

  'You have seen him, Sam. He is in a delicate state and can only take so much. If Dick Honeydew is pushed too far, he will crack.'

  *

  Queen
Elizabeth was spending Christmas at Richmond that year. For some months now, she had been sad and withdrawn, shattered by the death in September of her old favourite, the Earl of Leicester, and shrinking from public appearances. Instead of rejoicing in the defeat of the Armada, she mourned the loss of a loved one.

  The Queen chose the splendid Richmond Palace for the Christmas festivities and it was hoped that they would bring some cheer into a royal life which had narrowed considerably throughout the autumn. A full programme of music, dance and drama had been arranged for her. The Loyal Subject was the first play she would see and it was due to be given on the day after Christmas. Its theme had a particular relevance in Armada year.

  The rehearsal period approached its climax. Place your head in the middle of the block, lad!'

  'I am trying to, Master Firethom.'

  'Hurry, you knave, or I will use the axe myself!'

  Lawrence Firethorn was working on his own execution.

  Nicholas Bracewell had devised the effect and he was there to supervise it. Edmund Hoode watched nervously from the corner of the room. He still had reservations about the whole thing.

  The Loyal Subject opened with the trial scene in which the noble hero, Lorenzo, was condemned to death. Taken off to await his unjust fate, he delivered his long soliloquy in the prison cell. Gaolers then entered to prepare him for his final hour. Brave to the last, he was led out.

  The block was brought on stage and the executioner stood beside it with his axe. When the condemned man reappeared, however, it was not Firethorn. A clever substitution had taken place. John Tallis, much shorter than the actor-manager, came in wearing an identical costume, except that his own head was below the neck of the doublet. A false head had been made, painted and covered with a wig. It bore a striking resemblance to Lorenzo.

  When the head was on the block, it was chopped off. Remain quite still, you young rascal!

  'Will it hurt, Master Firethorn?' whimpered Tall is.

  'That depends what we decide to cut off!'

  'Take care, sirs!' wailed the boy.

  'Silence!'

  'Have no fear, John,' said Nicholas, bending down to position the apprentice behind the block. 'You will not feel a thing.'

  'But it is a real axe, Master Bracewell!'

  'The weapon is in safe hands, I assure you.'