'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.'
'You have been very brave, Dick,' observed Firethorn.
'I was a little afraid, sir,' confessed the boy.
'As were we all,' said Nicholas.
Samuel Ruff was embittered but chastened. He recognized just how cleverly the book holder had misled him. Nicholas had evidently suspected him for a long time. As the guards tried to move him away, he held his ground to make a last admission.
'I gave that crib to Susan Fowler.'
'She would rather you spared her husband,' said Nicholas.
'I know.'
'You should have gone to that farm in Norwich, Sam. You would have been far better off working with your brother.'
Ruff shook his head sadly and gave a smile of regret.
'There was no farm and I did work with my brother.'
'Redbeard?' Nicholas was shocked.
'He was my half-brother. For all his wild ways, Dominic was as committed to the true faith as I am. They imprisoned him in Bridewell for it and gave him those scars on his back. When Dominic was released, he was ready to do anything to help me.'
'So you repaid him with a sly dagger.'
'No!' denied Ruff vehemently. 'I could never murder my own kin. That was not my doing.' Pain contorted his face and his chin dropped to his chest. 'We both knew that it would cost us our lives in the end. Dominic was getting out of hand. The plan was in jeopardy while he lived. I did not want him killed but...it was in some ways a necessary despatch. He had done all that was required of him.'
'Who stabbed him, then?' pressed Firethorn.
Samuel Ruff met his gaze with dignity and defiance.
'That is something you will never know.'
'Someone has suborned you and set you on!' accused the other. 'The rack will get the truth out of you. Take him away!'
As the guards dragged their captive off, Ruff lapsed back into Latin to proclaim his faith.
'In manus tuas, Domine, confide spiritum meum.'
They were the last words spoken by Mary Queen of Scots as she laid her head upon the block. In trying to behead another Queen, he had delivered himself up to execution. Interrogation would be followed by a slow, agonizing death.
Nicholas was not entirely surprised to learn that Ruff was part of a wider conspiracy. He and Redbeard had been the active partners in the scheme while others lurked in the shadows. Their names would doubtless emerge in conversation in the privacy of the torture chamber.
One revelation, however, had rocked the book holder.
'I had no idea that Redbeard was his brother,' he said. 'I guessed that he was a fellow Catholic when he attacked the inn sign at The Cardinal's Hat. It mocked his faith. But I did not realize that he and Sam were related.'
'Two yoke-devils!' snarled Firethorn.
'There is no madness worse than religion,' murmured Nicholas.
Richard Honeydew was troubled by feelings of regret.
'But Master Ruff was such a kind and friendly man.'
'He was a fine actor,' said the book holder. 'He was even ready to receive a wound in order to play his part effectively. It was his bout with Master Gill that set me thinking.'
'In what way?' asked the boy.
'Sam tried to avoid it in order to hide his fencing skills. But he was forced into the bout and we saw his true merit. A swordsman as expert as that could easily have rehearsed the brawl in the Hope and Anchor. Will Fowler was murdered to plan.'
Edmund Hoode came scurrying along the corridor to join them. Confused by the speed of events, he only half-understood why his play had been halted in such dramatic fashion.
'What is going on, I pray?'
'Retribution!' declared Firethorn. 'We have unmasked an assassin and brought him to justice.'
'Samuel Ruff?'
'Villainy incarnate,' said the other. 'The man was deep and cunning but he met his match in our book holder. Ruff stage managed things so cleverly that we were all fooled by him at first. Nick alone was equal to him.'
'I did what was needful,' said Nicholas modestly.
'You were magnificent!' insisted Firethorn. 'You won the villain's confidence and made him believe that you feared a threat from outside the company. Ruff thought that he was undiscovered. It then remained to show him in his true light.'
'Yes,' agreed Nicholas. 'By creating the very opportunity that he sought.'
'I begin to see,' said Hoode. 'When you asked me to put the execution on stage, you had a definite purpose in mind.'
'We did, Edmund,' explained the book holder. 'By casting Sam in the role of the executi
oner, we knew exactly when and how he would strike. With the aid of Dick here, we were able to prepare an irresistible trap for him.'
Slightly peeved that he had not been party to it all, Hoode nevertheless congratulated them warmly. There was one particular point that he wanted clarified.
'What of the theft of Gloriana Triumphant? he asked.
'That puzzled me, too,' said Nicholas. 'When the book was stolen from me, I thought it was another blow at Westfield's Men. Yet why should Ruff and his accomplice seek to wound the company? It was in their interests to ensure that it thrived.'
'So what lay behind it?' wondered Hoode.
'Religion. Your play was a celebration of the victory over the Spanish Armada and the defeat of Roman Catholicism. It offended them and their faith. That is why they tried to stop the performance.'
'Nobody can stop a performance by Westfield's Men!' asserted Firethorn grandly. 'We have foiled a plot to kill our own dear Queen and we have rendered our country a sterling service. But we still have unfinished business here. Gentlemen, we play before our sovereign this night. Let us prepare ourselves for this supreme moment in our history. Dick Honeydew has shown us the way. Onward to another royal triumph!'
*
The Loyal Subject was staged at midnight with reverberating success. Its themes gained extra resonance from the thwarted assassination attempt and it caught the mood of the hour to perfection. The whole Court surrendered itself to a unique and stirring experience. Richmond Palace was alive with unstinted praise.
Presiding over it all was Queen Elizabeth herself, who occupied her throne in a spirit of happy gratitude. She was ostentation itself. She wore a dress in the Spanish fashion with a round stiff-laced collar above a dark bodice with satin sleeves which were richly decorated with ribbons, pearls and gems. A veritable waterfall of pearls flowed from her neck and threatened to cascade down on to the dais. As befitted a sovereign, her radiance outshone the entire Court.
To repair the absence of Ruff--and to assuage Tallis's rampant fears--Nicholas Bracewell took over the small role of the executioner himself. With a measured sweep of the axe, he severed the wax head and sent the head spinning across the floor. The effect was breathtaking. Deathly silence held sway for a full minute before applause broke out. After exhibiting the head of the traitor, Nicholas went off to take up his book again.
Richard Honeydew had played his part already. He now stayed in the tiring-house with the others and sneaked an occasional look at the action on stage. Westfield's Men were at their best. The music was excellent, the costumes superb and the performances quite remarkable. Martin Yeo won plaudits for his youthful brilliance as the Duchess of Milan, Barnaby Gill supplied some stately comedy as a wrinkled retainer and Edmund Hoode was a suitably judicious judge.
Lawrence Firethorn was charismatic as Lorenzo and he caused many a flutter among the ladies. Constrained by the presence of her husband, Lady Rosamund Varley could only watch and sigh. Her erstwhile swain was no longer aiming his performance at her. It was directed to a higher station. Lorenzo was patently acting for his Queen and country.
At Firethorn's request, Hoode had written a new couplet to end the play. It related the capture of Samuel Ruff to the action of the drama. Firethorn made the two lines ring with conviction as he laid them proudly at the feet of his sovereign.
'For I alone have turned aside the traitor's baneful blade
And now his spotted soul for aye will wander Hades' shade.'
An ovation ensued.
Lord Westfield himself basked in the approval of the Court. The company had markedly improved the standing of their patron with the Queen. By the same token, the Earl of Banbury sat in sour-faced discomfort as he touched his palms together in reluctant applause. Westfield's Men had carried the day in every sense. His own company was obliterated from the memory.
After taking several bows, the players adjourned to the tiring-house. A communal ecstasy seized them. They had succeeded beyond all expectation. It was a fitting climax to the year's work.
Firethorn swooped down on his book holder.
'Stop hiding away in that corner, Nick!'
'I was merely reflecting on events, master.'
'There is no time for that, dear heart,' urged the other, pummelling his arm. 'Her Majesty wishes to favour us. She has asked to meet the principal members of the company.'
'Who else is there but you?' teased Nicholas gently.
'How profoundly true!' agreed Firethorn without a trace of irony. 'Take charge, Nick. Be swift, sir.'
'Whom should I call?'
'Use your discretion. It has always served us well.'
Nicholas organized a line-up of the principal artistes, making sure that Richard Honeydew was given pride of place. Queen Elizabeth was conducted up on to the stage to be introduced to each one of them in turn by the fawning actor-manager. She praised Edmund Hoode for his play and she congratulated Barnaby Gill on his amusing antics.
When she showered her personal thanks upon Richard, the boy was duly overwhelmed. Being so close to the royal person reduced him to open-mouthed wonder. His performance had helped to save the Queen from the attack yet it now seemed a gross impertinence even to try to impersonate her.
With a becoming lack of modesty, Lawrence Firethorn claimed much of the credit for himself and wished to be remembered as her loyal subject in thought, word and deed. He gave the impression that he alone was responsible for keeping the Queen's head firmly on her shoulders.
Nicholas Bracewell stayed quietly behind the scenes.
The End
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Document ID: bff42d21-be54-4966-ada8-1a73c19ffda4
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Document creation date: 24.12.2012
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Edward Marston
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