by Greg Hoover
“Oh yes, my good friend,” I said. I shook Richard’s hand and beamed with delight. “First, I’ll need you to cover my duties related to our upcoming performances. If you have time after that, I would appreciate anything you could do on your own to help solve this mystery.”
“Jolly good!” said Burbage, who always loved an adventure.
“And as fortune would have it,” I said. “Malachi Hunter has just entered the hallway.”
Malachi walked down the crowded hall and stopped near Judith and Samuel. He shook his head in disgust.
“Go back to your duties,” he said to the crowd. “Hard work is good for the soul. The ghost showed herself this morning, but now you’re just using her as an excuse to be lazy. Idle hands are the Devil’s tools.”
Malachi clapped his hands hard, and a few servants began leaving the hall. Richard and I glanced at each other and then went to him and introduced ourselves.
“I have no time for pleasantries,” said Malachi. “Especially with loyal Anglicans.”
“Sir,” said Richard. “We only need a few moments of your time.”
“You were in the Great Hall a few minutes ago,” Malachi said to me. “You were the one with the bread.”
“Yes,” I replied as my stomach growled. “No need to apologize.”
“Apologize?” said Malachi. “For speaking the truth?”
“I meant for running into me,” I said. His mishap apparently impacted me more than it did him.
“We must purify the Church of the last shreds of popery,” Malachi fumed. “I think our new king will be on our side.”
“That’s not why we want to speak to you,” said Richard. “We are investigating the murder and assassination attempt that happened today.”
“On whose authority?” Malachi demanded.
“We’re on the king’s business,” I replied. “We would appreciate your cooperation.”
“Or what?” he said. “Will the king burn me at the stake like the three-hundred protestants under Queen Mary?” Malachi paused and then added, “Bloody Mary.”
“Queen Mary killed many faithful Anglicans,” said my daughter Judith. “She even burned Thomas Cranmer, the Archbishop of Canterbury, at the stake.”
“I wish she would have burned his Book of Common Prayer with him,” said Malachi.
Judith was never one to back down from a fight. “My point,” she replied with all the calm that she could muster, “is that—”
“I have no need for the opinion of a woman,” Malachi yelled.
The hall fell silent, and everyone turned to watch us. I noticed that Oliver Fletcher, the Anglican priest I spoke with earlier, entered the hallway. He glanced at me and then focused his gaze on Malachi.
“Sir, I take my leave of you,” said Judith and turned away.
At that moment, several things happened at once. Malachi reached out and grabbed Judith’s arm, jerking her back towards him. I stepped forwards, inserting myself between him and my daughter. Samuel pressed his hands against Malachi’s chest and pushed him back. Malachi recoiled for only a moment, pivoted, and punched Samuel in the face.
“Leave the hallway at once,” I demanded, “or I will have you arrested.”
Malachi stormed out of the hallway as Judith kneeled by Samuel. To my surprise, he was crying.
“Sir, are you okay?” came the voice of Oliver.
“Yes,” said Samuel, wiping his tears from his eyes. “It’s only that I have to play Juliet tonight, and now my face is all messed up.”
“You look fine,” said Judith. “No one will notice.”
“Come,” said Oliver, helping Samuel to stand. “I’ll take you to the herbalist.”
The three of them left the hallway together, and the crowd dispersed.
“Play Juliet tonight?” I asked Richard.
“Oh,” said Richard. “Did I forget to tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“We have been asked to perform something tonight at dinner,” he replied, his bearded face showing his famous smile. “Samuel and I will perform the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet.”
***
Hundreds of people packed the Great Hall. I looked up at the stained glass, and the images of the Tudors in all their glory. They gazed out, forced to watch the Stuarts take their place at the royal table. Delicious scents filled the air, and the voices of cheerful people echoed throughout the room. Most of them were unaware that a murderer lurked among them.
There would be several performances that evening by various acting troupes. The Lord Admiral’s Men, Worcester’s Men, and several smaller theater groups, would perform. Musicians, jugglers, and other brightly dressed entertainers stood along the sides of the room. My wife waved to me, and I joined her and Richard.
Dinner was served, and a talented minstrel played the lute and sang. His songs were joyful, and for a few moments I almost forgot about the adventure in which I was snared. The food was delicious; roasted lamb, venison, and peacock, along with bread, butter, cheese, and pottage. We laughed and talked as we ate, and the plague seemed far away.
Richard took a long drink and set his cup on the table. “I was thinking,” he said. “Maybe the priest wasn’t murdered.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You said he worked with plague victims; maybe he contracted it.”
“Doubtful,” I said. “The timing would be too much of a coincidence. No, he was murdered.”
“Who was murdered?” asked Anne, her eyebrow raised.
“Oh,” I said, remembering that King James ordered me to keep this matter quiet. “Nothing, my dear.”
“A murder doesn’t sound like nothing,” she replied.
“You may as well tell her,” said Richard. “She will find out anyway.”
I gave Anne a quick overview, and a concerned look came over her face.
“Where is Judith?” she asked.
“She’s all right,” I said, and told her about the happenings in Gallery Hall.
“My concern is for Samuel,” said Richard. “That punch to his face was bad. I hope he is back stage getting ready.” He glanced up at the clock in the Great Hall. “Speaking of which, I need to get into costume.”
Richard left the Great Hall as The Lord Admiral’s Men performed a scene from one of their plays. They were very good, and I became lost in their comedy for several minutes. After a hilarious conclusion to the scene, the guests applauded. I looked around the room; there were many familiar faces. Almost everyone seemed to be at dinner, each sitting with their respective group. Anglican clergy, Puritans, servants, courtiers, and the royal family, were all talking and eating together.
King James sat with his wife, Ann of Denmark. She was Queen consort of Scotland, England, and Ireland. They had three children with them who were also eating. This surprised me. It was unusual for royal children to dine at the same table as the king and queen. I looked at their lovely children and wondered about their royal destinies. Little Charles, only four years old, was playing with a napkin. It was easy to imagine a crown on his head.
Next to perform was a team of talented jugglers. Dressed in bright reds, greens, and gold, they awed the audience with their skill and discipline. After them, graceful dancers entertained us with their art. The dancers were followed by performing animals. Anne and I smiled at each other as they thrilled the crowd with their tricks.
Finally, it was time for Richard and Samuel to perform the scene from Romeo and Juliet. The location didn’t look much like Capulet’s Orchard, but a powerful performance is more important than a fancy set.
Richard Burbage entered the scene to play Romeo, and the audience erupted in applause. He was a very popular performer, and the crowd showed their appreciation. A twinge of jealousy raced through me, but I shook it off.
Samuel appeared on a makeshift balcony, dressed as Juliet.
“Poor fellow,” I murmured.
“Samuel?” whispered my wife. “Why, because they didn’t clap for him?”
“Not that,” I shook my head. “Notice the silk scarf covering his lower face. It must be swollen from the fight.”
“I’m so glad Judith wasn’t hurt in that scuffle,” replied Anne.
Richard knew his lines well. He seemed to pull dramatic tension and emotion out of thin air. At the perfect moment, he spoke:
“But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.
It is my lady, O, it is my love!”
“I love this scene,” whispered Anne in my ear. “I’ve watched it a hundred times, but I always notice something new.”
“Thank you,” I smiled. Anne was always my greatest fan.
“Ay me!” said Samuel as Juliet. His first professional lines on stage.
“She speaks,” Richard continued, lost in character. He paused a long time. When the audience couldn’t bear the tension one moment longer, his strong clear voice rang out over the Great Hall.
“O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o’er my head
As is a winged messenger of heaven
Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes
Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds
And sails upon the bosom of the air.”
Samuel turned and faced Romeo, and spoke in a clear and realistic feminine voice:
“O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.”
“He is quite good,” said Anne. “A born actor.”
“Yes,” I said, impressed. “You would think Samuel had been around acting his entire life.”
The rest of the scene played out perfectly. It was one of the best performances that I had ever seen of it. At the closing of the scene, the two actors took each other’s hand and bowed to great applause. While bowing deeply, the long silk scarf covering Samuel’s injured face caught on his shoe. When he stood upright, the caught scarf pulled off his face.
To our great surprise, the actor playing Juliet was not Samuel.
It was Judith.
Chapter Eight
“Oh no,” said Anne, looking at me with terror in her eyes.
“It will be all right,” I tried to reassure her. “No one will notice.”
Judith reattached the silk scarf to cover her face, and Richard took her arm to usher her off stage. For a moment, I thought no one had noticed. And then, a loud voice echoed across the Great Hall.
“Witch!”
The crowd fell silent. Judith stopped walking and froze for a moment. Richard paused, and he then stood in front of Judith and addressed the crowd.
“Thank you all for coming to tonight’s performance!” he bowed low as the crowd began to murmur.
“She’s a witch!”
“There are no witches here,” said Richard. “I can assure you of that. Only skilled actors playing their parts a little too well. Nothing but the best for His Majesty!”
“Make Juliet remove her scarf,” came a voice.
Another said, “Take off your scarf!”
The same people who moments before were clapping enthusiastically now turned against Judith and Richard. The crowd began chanting, “Witch! Witch! Witch!” Richard and Judith tried to exit the stage, but guards stopped them.
An old woman darted forward and pulled the scarf from Judith’s face. “See! She bares the mark of a witch!” She pointed to a mole on Judith’s neck. “It’s a sign of her pact with the Devil!”
“I saw her talking to a black cat in the courtyard!” came a voice.
“So did I!” said another.
Malachi Hunter came forward and addressed the crowd.
“My friends, this explains so much. We are gathered here to embark on our mission of purifying the Church. We have come to liberate it fully from the dark influences of Rome. It’s only logical that the Devil and his followers should try to infiltrate this holy gathering. There is a witch among us. And where there is one witch, there are always more. Look around the room! Who else among us is a part of this evil coven, led by these malicious actors?”
“The herbalist!”
“And her two sisters!”
“Yes,” said Malachi. “The weird sisters.”
“I went to the herbalist for a boil I had,” said a man. “She wanted to pierce it with a bodkin! She’s a witch!”
“Do you still have the boil?” asked Malachi.
“Yes,” said the man, pulling up his sleeve and revealing a nasty-looking boil.
“That proves it!” said a woman.
“Yes, that proves it!” echoed voices around the room.
“And it proves he is a witch, too!”
“Please!” came a voice, silencing the crowd.
It was Samuel Winston. His face was badly swollen. He walked to the center of the performance space, stood near Malachi, and faced the crowd.
“My name is Samuel Winston. I’m the actor hired to perform as Juliet tonight.” He pointed towards Judith. “The only reason this young woman acted in the show tonight is because I could not.”
“She bewitched him!” said someone in the crowd.
“Yes! Yes! She bewitched him!” rang out several voices. “She’s a witch! This proves it!”
“No!” Samuel pointed to Malachi. “I couldn’t perform because of this man. He struck me in the face so hard I was unable to be in tonight’s show. Judith took my place at the last moment. She did it to help me. She did it for all of you!”
The crowd murmured.
“You dare accuse a man of the cloth?” Malachi said.
“It’s true,” said Oliver Fletcher, standing and addressing the crowd. “I’m a witness. Malachi Hunter grabbed the young woman who performed tonight, and Samuel Winston came to her aid. Malachi Hunter then hit Samuel in the face. We took him to the herbalist, and she applied a poultice to his face to help treat the swelling. But she told us that there was no way that he would be in the condition to perform tonight.”
“So, the herbalist bewitched them both!”
“Yes,” said a middle-aged woman. “Last winter I called the herbalist to help me give birth, but the baby was stillborn. She’s a witch! She killed my baby!” The woman began sobbing uncontrollably.
Malachi held up his hands to silence the crowd. “This man claims to be an Anglican priest. But is he really? Perhaps he is actually the high priest of a witches’ coven. Who else would come so quick to the aid of a known witch?”
“Yes!” voices shouted. “He is the witches
’ high priest!”
“Or even worse,” said a tall man with sunken features. “He is secretly a Roman Catholic.”
“Let’s not get sidetracked from the issue at hand,” said Thomas Winter. His brother Robert and a few others were standing with him. “The issue here is not Catholicism, but witchcraft.”
“Please,” said Samuel. “None of these people have done anything wrong. You’re letting your fears overtake you. This is simply a misunderstanding.”
The people murmured. I had seen crowds behave this way before. They are fickle by nature and easily swayed. I had a glimmer of hope that we could avoid this impending tragedy. And then someone asked him, “Where are you from, sir?”
“I’m from Bristol,” said Samuel.
“Now I know where I’ve seen him before,” said Sarah Goody. The crowd fell silent as she walked up and looked at Samuel. “From Bristol, are you?”
“Yes, my lady,” he responded.
“And you’re from the Winston family?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Samuel seemed very nervous.
Lady Goody turned and faced the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, I happen to know the Winston family from Bristol. They are, in fact, well-known in Bristol. For the terrible plague that haunts our land so mercilessly began at their neighbor’s home.”
The crowd gasped. I looked at King James who was sitting on the edge of his seat. He looked intense and concerned. I wished that I knew what he was thinking.
“I also know that the Winston family doesn’t have a son,” Lady Goody continued. “Not one named Samuel, or otherwise. In fact, they have only one daughter. And her name is Samantha.” She looked at Samuel accusingly. “Sir,” she said. “If I use that term correctly. Please remove your hat.”
“Remove your hat!” demanded the crowd. “Take off your hat!”
“This is ridiculous,” said Samuel. “I will do no such thing.”
He turned to leave, but armed guards stopped him.
