Rotten at the Heart

by Bartholomew Daniels

  Burbage lunged toward Miller. Lunging myself, I took his arm, turned him aside, and bade him take leave that I might speak with Miller alone. While I had no doubt that the spirit of their previous business was clear as Burbage had relayed it, I also had no doubt that Miller did likely mislead him in such fashion that he could say he had spoke truly, for he had much practice with lawyers and that was their art. Having some gift with language myself, I fell less prey to their conniving, and did curse myself that I had sent Burbage to Miller on that first occasion.

  Miller and I now alone, I asked his intent. “Methinks you are now so full embraced of your Puritan faith that our practice here gives you insult and you can longer bear to gain from our custom.”

  “I do take offence, sir, to your trivial entertainments, as they distract to oft unholy themes the attentions of eyes that should be focused only on God. They inflame the passions such that those present do then desire what God has proscribed. You do on stage have men truck with men and invite on us all such judgment as befell Sodom.”

  I smiled at him so as to seem in sympathy. “So far as men trucking with men, we do so to comply with the statutes her Majesty’s ministers have seen fit to apply to our practice. I have no doubt the players would prefer admit to their number such women as who would this art pursue, as their lips and embrace would be far more welcome and more natural, and I would be much pleased should you chose to petition the Lord of Revels to so rule.”

  Miller coloured. “Do you think it would lessen my objections to see women, too, debased in your unnatural parliament of whores? To see them cleave, and in public, to any such your scripts require – not in marriage or even in affection, but solely to inflame the lust of those misguided sinners that seek in your theatre such grace as they ought find in a rightful church?”

  “So, you say ‘no’.”

  “So I say be gone from these quarters come month’s end, and take the vile particulars of your hateful craft with you. Or what remains I will seize and sell, or more likely burn so that such pox as your kind carries be contained.”

  “So you say on account of God, or at least that God whose will you suppose to know. But the right of our presence to these quarters is a matter of law, not religion.”

  Miller held up a bound scroll, no doubt his copy of the same lease that could also be found in the desk in our stores. “This be law, and it grant you no right beyond the end of this month. And there is no new document of its kind that says other.”

  As I have a memory for words and had each year to sign this lease, being a shareholder in our company, and as it had ne’er been copied anew but instead only the old year each time crossed out and replaced with the next and any adjustment to our monies owed made note – as such scribes who did redraft such charters cost dear, and Miller amongst his other charms would cling tight to any coin in a way he would not to any woman – I was well familiar with its particulars.

  “If that be law, then I would remind you that it also by law requires that, should your intent be not to renew, you inform us in such time as to allow us to remove ourselves in good order. The time required in my recall is two months, by which requirement, then, we will remove ourselves as you desire – not at the end of July, but instead at the end of September, by which time we can acquire new quarters.”

  Miller again waived the document at me as if a cudgel. “That requirement being void in such case as the tenant is arrears in his obligations, or should new matters arise by which I find the tenant to be a poor risk for payment.”

  “And yet we have every payment made at its time, not just this year but in each year prior. We have a full schedule of shows through the remainder of summer and well into fall, and then have charter for a series of entertainments at Court. And so I would know by what meaning of the word risk you find us so, you being so strict on meanings, as you have made clear to Burbage.”

  “Your company’s name, even written clear hence,” Miller waving the scroll yet again, “is The Lord Chamberlain’s Men. It was his patronage that made your reputation and secured such court entertainments as you have enjoyed. It is by that name that you are known by those sinners you attract. And yet the Lord Chamberlain is dead. And so the major asset in your ledger is stricken, and none yet of public knowledge to take its place. Such shows as you may have scheduled will not a full year’s rent produce, and such royal entertainments as you may imagine you will perform will need be confirmed by your dead patron’s successor. And so I say risk, and clear, and have from my lawyers the same opinion.”

  “I would admit to your concerns had I not, even the day after the Lord Chamberlain’s death, been summoned to Somerset by the new Baron Carey to receive the good assurance of his intent to continue as our patron, her Majesty having made known to him that he will assume his father’s office.”

  “Those words in your speech of which I take most note being assurance and intent. Which, being words and not such charter as would either his patronage or office confirm, still lead me to say risk.”

  “But that be your opinion and no matter of law. Should you wish to court, then to court we shall go. And in those chambers you can make public your accusation that the new Baron Carey is a liar.”

  “I have heard only your words, Shakespeare, and not Carey’s. So, if I call liar, I call it to you – and willingly, knowing full well the stink of Papistry the name Shakespeare emits. Even what faith you have, and I think well none, you will not admit to.”

  “And again opinions, and again I say court.”

  At which Miller made an oily smile. “To court I have been, or at least have been my lawyers. And they there voiced such concerns as I have here shared, adding also that, even should Baron Carey choose to be patron – and I am making entreaty to him to reconsider in the goodly name of God – my being well aware of the debts with which his household is burdened, I doubt that his personal support will be of such worth as had been his father’s. This is coupled with a fair hope that the Crown will shortly less bless your endeavours, as her Majesty’s continued embrace of such vile practices as are here pursued does cause great discomfort among the crown’s good servants, the power of such good servants being in the ascendency. And so again I say risk, as did my lawyers in such argument as produced this.”

  From inside his coat he drew a smaller document, which he unfolded and laid upon the stage. A notice of our eviction, come month’s end.

  “And so you will out by month’s end, or else be removed at force of arms. And I pray God will grant me forgiveness if I hope the latter, for it would be to his glory to see your debased company adorning the end of pikes.” And with this Miller turned and waddled from the theatre, walking as a man whose troubled bowels would produce only water and so kept his cheeks always clenched as not to soil his trousers.

  I immediate scrawled a note to Carey begging he grant me audience, saying that I had such news as best be shared in private and also that his name was being some abused in those commercial circles as in which we did have business. I gave the note to Jenkins and sent him to Somerset.

  I did not think Carey would be much pleased with what little I had yet discovered concerning his father’s death, though I could now prove, at least, that it be unnatural. But as I did, in fact, possess such gift as he imagined so far as my ability to discern much truth in the converse of others, I would talk with him more concerning his patronage. For to risk my neck – and I think in this instance that be not just common speech, but also probable fact – for his good favour at such time as I had thought the value of such favour high was one matter. But to do so for such favours as he could offer now and that may be, if both his brother and Miller spoke true of his father’s debts, of little worth. And had Carey offered those favours in less than earnest, that was another matter still.

  The London I had only two nights previous imagined as some vast jungle in which each could move anonymous and to his own benefit did of sudden seem the fenced confines of some farmer’s wood. Each c
reature now seemed of every other’s acquaintance – either in or owning of one another’s debts; desiring or granting their favour; holding or being jealous of what little fodder the wood did provide. As each did some other consume for its sustenance, the world seemed sudden less an Eden and more a carnival of appetites in which each man could – and with little cause would – wish ill each other.

  I wondered how in the chaos of such mad avarice I could ever ascribe sure to any one man the death of any other, or assume another’s innocence when innocence seemed in such little supply.

  CHAPTER 9

  Jenkins returned before midday, having made considerable haste to Somerset and back, being, as the youngest of the Company, likely much wanting to make his name. He staggered into the theatre nearly stroked from the heat and handed to me a folded message sealed with Carey’s signet, which I did quick secret within my garb.

  “Were he a mare, I’d call him lame and add him to the pot,” said Burbage, eying Jenkins as he walked unevenly from the wings. Burbage had been well into his drink since news of our eviction. And indeed Jenkins was much lathered as though a hard-rode horse.

  “Were he a mare you would mount him sure, and not for riding,” said Heminges, who too had arrived to join the mournful waking of our fortunes.

  Burbage shrugged and nodded and said, “Mayhaps, but then to the pot.” But the spark of levity that did so oft lift the spirits of the Company could find no kindle, and we stood quietly eying Jenkins, who sat in the dirt of the common audience ground, his legs sprawled before him and his back to the facing of the stage, panting as if a dog.

  “If you good sirs are concluded of your sport, might I humbly trouble you for some water? I am afeared that I cannot at the moment rise to fetch it myself,” Jenkins said.

  Burbage snorted and handed down the bottle of sack he had but half concluded. “It would do my standing ill to fetch your water, boy, but I count it an admirable mercy that I do share with you such drink as I have at hand. This will heal thee well.”

  Jenkins took a long pull from the bottle, some distress on his face as he was not yet much practised with drink. But the urgency of his thirst overcame the objections of his tongue, and he then drank the bottle dry. Being not much used to drink, and his humours I think depleted by his exertions, he was almost immediate considerable drunk. Burbage took his chance to introduce the lad to a comic dance of the palsied, crowing fashion that made his former fellow Kemp much famous. We did in Jenkins’s pratfalls and thunderous landings make much merriment until, in fear that he would soon be as well-bruised as he was well-fatigued, I took mercy, and led him back to our stores, giving him a jug of water, and put him to rest on a pile of fabrics.

  Glum again, Burbage and Heminges sat with their legs adangle from the stage front.

  “I hear the Swan needs some business,” said Heminges.

  Burbage nodded. “They will have some dates as chance allows, but not near so many as our slate demands.”

  “Would you each to Bankside and make rounds there of such venues as may suit our purposes? We can perhaps cobble together enough days – though we will be itinerant, I do fear.”

  “We can,” said Burbage, taking to his feet, but without the elan that was his custom. He then offered his hand to Heminges and pulled him to stand also, the both of them wearied in their aspect. “And you, Will?”

  “I will take our lease to a lawyer of my acquaintance in hopes that he may divine in it some relief that I could not – though, an eviction being already granted, I hold our chances slim.”

  “A slim chance now seeming still sweet,” Burbage said. “The Lord Admiral’s Men open a new play today. Will you join us to scout this once your business is complete?”

  “Loathe as I am to fatten Henslowe’s purse, yes,” I said, “if I am not called to meet with Carey. But a penny only. With the groundlings at the front of the stage.”

  “Amidst the vomit and stench of our common fellows, with ale in hand, that we might from such close quarters attempt to vex Alleyn at his supposed art,” Burbage said, some of his usual bombast regained. “I would have it no other.”

  I walked down Bishopsgate, just passing from Shoreditch into London proper when I was by my gut reminded that I had that day not yet broke fast. And so I turned into the tavern near my rooms, where I was common found. The hour being odd, I was alone, and the keeper joined me at the table when be brought me a stew and an ale.

  “Will you move your rooms, Will, such to be closer to your new locations?”

  And so word of our eviction had already spread. “Sour news does travel fast,” I answered.

  He seemed puzzled. “How sour?”

  And I puzzled in return. “Our eviction, and on only short days’ notice? How other than sour?”

  He made a face as though not understanding, “I have for some weeks heard from vendors near with which I have business that the theatre and some surroundings are to be made clear for a new collection of shops – by rumour to rival those near the exchange at Threadneedle – so as to have the commerce of the expanded population.”

  “For some weeks?”

  He nodded.

  “And which vendors?”

  “The brewer sure, I do remember that. The butcher.”

  “Passing odd, as we have only heard today,” I said.

  But I hurried to finish my stew and declined a second ale, even though I much desired it, so as to make haste to the lawyer. I now suspected that Miller’s wish to be rid of us was no act of moral fervour nor out of concern to any risk, but instead part of a long plan to supplant us for the gain of his wealth. He had delayed his notice only to do us harm from spite, the Lord Chamberlain’s death – which evidently some had long anticipated – being just his excuse. I sensed in that motive such grass from which a lawyer might make hay.

  Some yards further toward the river, I passed a butcher’s door. Thinking it most likely be the same butcher from which the tavern keeper had heard news of Miller’s intent, I turned in. I there found a man surprising small, but with arms below the elbow much pronounced, who stood behind his counter chopping at a mutton.

  “My pardon, sir,” I called, and he turned, having not at first heard me over the concentration of his endeavours.

  “Good day,” he responded.

  “And to you. I will not trouble you long. I am a glover new to London – having been approached as a possible tenant for such exchange as to be built near, and soon – and did hear that you, too, may have been so approached and did hope to hear your thinking.”

  The butcher set down his blade and wiped some gore off his hands on the apron that draped his legs.

  “I was asked,” he said, “and did agree – though much reluctant, as I own this building free, having it from my father’s estate and keeping my house upstairs. But they have approached most every keeper of an establishment of any custom in these lanes. Any tenant near has already found either their leases sold to new landlords or such building as they are in bought entire, so that they will move to this new district, be it their will or no. For those few of us who remain, we are afeared that such custom which frequents these streets now will all be to these new shops, and if we move not hence, then some other who competes for our trade will. And so we will move to avoid our ruin.”

  “It seems there is much that good Sir Miller did not share with me in our original discussions. But me starting my business new, having been apprenticed at my father’s shop in distant Stratford, perhaps he considered it of no concern. It seems he was plainer in his truck with you.”

  The butcher shook his head. “It was not Miller in my case, as I do not know any such, but a lawyer who doth speak for some other investors in this scheme – my new lease being not with any sole man, but with their company. In which company, they did strongly hint, are persons of nobility. That last said, I think, though, not so much to convince as to coerce.”

  “I thank you, sir, for your honest congress. I wonder if I would have be
en better served to remain a country lad, where life doth seem less complex.”

  “It is a new world to me and much strange, always of lawyers and shares and lenders and charters of such dense construction that we no longer understand our own affairs. Always instead we seem to find some other mouth feeding at a teat we had thought our own, and feeding a man grown much fat from no enterprise of my understanding.”

  “This company, how is it called?

  “The Somerset Company, sir. Supposedly only my new landlord, but increasingly, I fear, my new master.”

  Somerset. There was a name to my familiar. And I remembered the message Jenkins had brought from Carey, my having forgotten it during Jenkins’s drunken revels. Having left the butcher’s company, I opened it and read it as I walked.

  Shakespeare –

  I shall meet you on tomorrow at dusk where the new Cathedral rises at the point nearest Newgate, as for us to have too common congress in public knowledge would strike my company here as odd.

  Carey

  Such now my life, conducted increasingly in the dark and in secret and with such fellows as could with ease do me ill and whose true affections I could not know. This London I had previously imagined a cradle of hopeful wonder seemed now to be sprung thick with peril and perfidy.

  CHAPTER 10

  “You seem prospered since my last visit,” I said to Webb, a lawyer with whom I had occasional business. He once did take his payment in verse, as he was then courting a lady of considerable fortune and of such tender heart that she could be well-moved by my blandishments. My words won her heart and for Webb did her hand secure, so that on some occasions since I have again made payment with poetry, as she does oft wonder why a man who gained her favours with such sweet words has since lost his honeyed tongue.