Day of Deliverance Page 13

  Fanshawe nodded and took a sip of beer. “Well that’s true. But they just disappeared…” He stared, unblinking, into space as he recalled the moment.

  Jack shrugged. “Sorry, Harry, I can’t really explain it – there are more things in heaven and earth and all that…”

  “So shouldn’t we warn Walsingham?” Trinculo said.

  Jack shrugged. “Perhaps we should – but what would we say? We don’t really know anything about the plot – who and what it involves – if you think about it,” Jack said. “Maybe we’ve already done enough through our actions to scare off the plotters. And I think there are plots and counter-plots going on all the time – we’d probably just draw more attention to ourselves.”

  Fanshawe took another long draught of ale and wiped his beard. Suddenly his demeanour changed and he smiled.

  “Well at least we have some good news. We nearly forgot to tell you!” he nudged Trinculo. “My fine friend Trinculo has been busy.” Fanshawe poked Trinculo in the ribs. “Go on then.”

  “Yes – good news indeed. When you left the bear-baiting yesterday, Shakespeare, Monk and I went back to the Rose to see if we could raise Henslowe. We found him!”

  Fanshawe interrupted. “But not only that… tell them, Trinculo!”

  “I’m trying to…”

  “It would seem that Henslowe has a problem,” Fanshawe continued enthusiastically.

  Trinculo was getting annoyed by Fanshawe’s interruptions. “He needs help.”

  Fanshawe could contain himself no longer. “Yes! Three of his actors are ill. Very ill. Isn’t that marvellous? They want us to replace them – well, at least temporarily. With any luck they won’t recover. But more than that…”

  “It gets better?”

  “Much better. Henslowe is in a panic because in only two days’ time his players will be performing at Hampton Court Palace.” Fanshawe was beaming from ear to ear. “It is most excellently providential.”

  “Hampton Court Palace – who is he performing for?” Jack asked.

  “The queen herself, of course,” Fanshawe replied.

  No! No! No!” For about the fifth time that morning, Thomas Kyd stormed on stage at The Rose theatre and advanced towards the troupe of actors. Kyd was proving to be demanding, irascible and fussy. Perhaps it was fair enough. In two days’ time they would perform his play in front of the queen, her senior ministers and a good section of the court at Hampton Court Palace. It would be the most important day of Kyd’s life and in the lives of the Henslowe Players. Nevertheless everyone had just about had enough, including the pompous Edward Alleyn who, being the most famous actor of the day, was not used to being bossed around.

  Jack and Angus sat at the rear of the stage under the wooden balcony. Inside, The Rose was like a smaller version of the bear-baiting pit, but in place of a large open arena, the theatre housed a wooden stage, raised about one metre off the ground, which projected out into the middle of the standing area. The stage and standing area were ringed by two levels of roofed wooden galleries. The stage itself was given some protection by a raised balcony and large awning at the rear. Otherwise, the theatre was open to the elements. There was rubbish strewn everywhere and the whole place smelled dreadful.

  Fanshawe and Trinculo had hit the jackpot winning parts for themselves in the prestigious play though they had Shakespeare to thank for their good fortune. He, of course, knew Henslowe, who had built the theatre, and was also well acquainted with the famous actor, Edward Alleyn, and the playwright, Thomas Kyd. With three actors taken ill so suddenly, Henslowe and Kyd had been desperate. The stakes could not have been higher. The date at Hampton Court in front of the queen would be the inaugural performance of his masterpiece – The Spanish Tragedy.

  There had only been one problem – and for this reason Angus had not stopped smiling since they had been allotted their parts. Unsurprisingly, there was no role for him – but it did not matter, as an extra pair of hands backstage was welcome. Jack was another matter altogether. The only trouble was that the actor Jack was replacing had been a boy who must have been a little younger than him and the role was Isabella, the wife of Don Hieronimo. The roles of women were played by boys or men and, for this reason, Jack was sitting next to Angus wearing a dress. Jack was not impressed.

  “Shut it,” Jack said for the umpteenth time that morning. “I have to learn these words by tomorrow.”

  Angus laughed. “The things we do for VIGIL, eh? Don’t worry, I think you look really nice.”

  Jack ignored him.

  After a while, Angus lost interest in baiting Jack and pointed over at Kyd, who was still remonstrating with Alleyn. “They’re still at it,” he said.

  Jack glanced up from the script. “Well they better get it sorted – we haven’t got much more time.”

  Jack and Angus sat in silence. Since their escape from Pendelshape, both of them had been particularly watchful. For about the tenth time, Angus said, “No time phones, no contact with VIGIL, so we just wait?”

  “Yes. At least we’re safe.”

  “You think?”

  “Safe as anywhere.”

  “Well I hope you’re right.” He nudged Jack. “Oh – here we go, looks like you’re on… don’t trip over your dress.”

  Jack got to his feet. “You’re hilarious.”

  *

  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 uncomfo
rtable, 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 get 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 li
ons. 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 façade – 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.