by Ann Swinfen
They did not, I thought. That was not their intention at all. But I kept my tongue behind my teeth. I was curious to see how Sir Rowland would answer. He did not do so directly at first.
‘After these players were brought back here late yesterday afternoon,’ he said, ‘they were put to the question. Then again this morning, they were once again put to the question.’
I saw Master Burbage flinch, and Sir Rowland must have noticed it as well, for he smiled reassuringly. ‘These are not very brave men. They are nothing but tupenny ha’penny rascals who thought their fortunes had been made when they were approached to put on these performances, just a few, and to be paid handsomely for it. They have lived comfortably at the Blue Boar for several weeks, I find, their every whim catered for, and paid for. They were simply carrying out instructions. When they were shown the instruments by which they might be persuaded to answer our questions, they could not answer them quickly enough.’
This I found somewhat puzzling. Sir Rowland’s office was attached to the Guildhall, and I did not believe the Guildhall kept the kind of instruments he was referring to, which were certainly to be found in the Tower, some also, perhaps, at the larger prisons. I suppose there may have been smaller, more portable instruments of the torturer’s art which might have been waved before the terrified players. It was an unpleasant thought, but no doubt they deserved the fright. The deaths and injuries which would have resulted had the riot not been stopped would have affected dozens of innocent citizens of London.
‘So what answers did they give?’ Master Henslowe asked.
‘They prevaricated at first, naturally, but one by one they admitted that Stoker had been placed in Master Burbage’s company in order to gain access to Master Shakespeare’s play. It was known that the play books of Lord Strange’s Men are very well guarded, so only someone within the company could gain access to them. Stoker was very frustrated, being unable to get hold of the play book, and he was being pressed by the leader of the players, the man we failed to capture.’
He picked up Stoker’s version of Will’s play and leafed through it. ‘They swore that the poisoning of your copyist, the deceased Oliver Wandesford, was solely the plan of Stoker, and that it was only intended to make him ill.’
He sniffed. ‘Myself, I find that hard to credit. However, once Stoker was able to produce some sort of version of the Henry play, he started to demand more money. Originally he was promised five pounds, a remarkably generous sum in my opinion. After Master Wandesford died and the inquest was held, he began to panic. He demanded twenty pounds, claiming that he would need to leave London and make a new life for himself well away from the city, for he feared that if he stayed here, he would eventually be found guilty and hanged. Which, of course, would have happened.’
I doubted he would have been caught, but it was no longer relevant.
‘When Stoker met the two players in the alley off Gracechurch Street, he had his copy of the play with him, but would not part with it unless he was given twenty pounds. The players, of course, had no such sum. There was a struggle, in the course of which Stoker was accidentally stabbed, and the players ran off with the play, the men seen by you.’ He nodded toward Will, Simon, and me.
‘Accidentally stabbed!’ Marlowe scoffed. ‘I think not. An accidental slash, perhaps, but not a blow deep enough to kill a man. I do not believe it.’
Sir Rowland shrugged. ‘That will be for the jury to decide, when the inquest on John Stoker is resumed.’
‘They found it easier to steal Marlowe’s play,’ Master Burbage said, with an ill-concealed air of complacency. ‘You had best take care to lock up your play books in future, Philip, and make sure the world knows it.’
Master Henslowe bowed. ‘It is already done, James.’
‘The matter of Stoker now seems much clearer,’ I said, ‘although the final verdict awaits, as you say, Sir Rowland, the resumed inquest. But who is behind this whole conspiracy? You have said that these players were hired. Who was paying them?’
Berden had told me of the rumour that it was Sir Thomas Oxley, but I kept that to myself for the moment.
Sir Rowland bowed to me. ‘You are quite right to remind us of the most important aspect of this case, Dr Alvarez. The men claimed at first that only their leader, a man called Richard Upton, dealt with their “patron”, as they called him, but in the end they named him, although they persisted in the claim that only Richard Upton had dealt with him directly.’
‘And the name?’ I prompted.
‘A gentleman by the name of Sir Thomas Oxley, a man of the country gentry, whose estates lie near the Welsh borders. He has been in the household of the Earl of Essex for some years. I have men out searching for him now.’
So Nick Berden had been right about the name.
‘But why should he wish to do such a thing?’ I said. ‘To stir up rebellion against the Crown, here in the heart of London? My lord of Essex is the Queen’s favourite, none are closer to her.’
Sir Rowland shrugged. ‘That we shall hope to learn when we find him. Now, I believe that is all for the present. I think I may let you gentlemen have these manuscripts, though I may require them to be brought to the resumed inquest.’
Will and Marlowe retrieved their papers, though I thought Will would have little use for Stoker’s travesty of his play save to light fires with it. Holles picked up his satchel. We were all preparing to leave when Sir Rowland made one final remark.
‘It is curious that this fellow Oxley should be in my lord Essex’s household. As we were escorting the players away from the Blue Boar, who should ride up, accompanied by a group of armed followers, but my lord of Essex himself, come, he said, to put down the rebellion. I assured him that there had been no rebellion, nothing more than a fight in the yard of an inn, and all was now quiet.’
He smiled.
‘My lord seemed quite disappointed.’
Chapter Thirteen
As we were leaving his office, Sir Rowland tapped Will on the shoulder.
‘In future, young man, have a care what you write in your plays. I do not accuse you of deliberately fomenting trouble, but you have seen what danger can result when a play about a dangerous political issue is used as a weapon by unscrupulous men.’
Will’s eyes smouldered. I believe he did not care to be given lessons on what he should or should not write. I thought he would burst out with some protest, but I saw the exact moment when he swallowed his anger and chose the wiser course of silence.
Sir Rowland turned to Marlowe.
‘And as for you, sir, you seem over fond of dwelling on the practices of Sodom and Gomorrah. Watch your language in future. We do not want such filthy habits paraded before our London audiences dressed up in flowery verse.’
Like Will, Marlowe looked ready to burst with indignation at thus being instructed, but Master Henslowe and Ned Alleyn hurried him away before he could speak. Master Holles paused only long enough to wish us good day before following them. Once the door had closed behind Sir Rowland, the rest of us exchanged glances but did not speak until we had left the building and were out of the hearing of the secretary.
‘I shall write what I please!’ The words, held back till now, burst from Will in a passionate cry.
Master Burbage stopped and faced him. ‘On the contrary, Will, you will do as you are told. Sir Rowland is merely giving you good advice. After what happened at the Blue Boar, the Master of the Revels and all his spies will be watching for the slightest step out of line. Anything that smacks of treason, and you will find yourself fined, pilloried, banned, or even in the Tower.’
‘I do not write treason,’ Will said grimly.
‘Perhaps not intentionally, but others may twist your meaning. Or perhaps some in the audience may take it that way’ He took Will by the arm. ‘Come along, now. We have a performance this afternoon. Let us think about a cheerful comedy for your next play. Everyone loves a comedy.’
They headed off toward Bishopsg
ate. Simon, Guy, and I followed.
‘Poor Will,’ Simon said.
‘Aye, I said, ‘it is hardly fair. Will only wrote a play using the known history of King Henry VI’s times. In his original version there was no call to rebellion. It seems hard that he should suffer for what others have done with his work.’
‘It will pass,’ Guy said mildly. ‘You children cannot take a long view over the way these struggles have worked themselves out in the past, between government authorities and the players’ companies. They fear us. They fear our power to awaken men’s minds. They refuse to see that such an awakening may lead to good as well as evil. But by little and little we are winning the war. We cannot expect to win every skirmish.’
I expect Simon, like me, did not care to be called a child at the age of one and twenty, but I suppose Guy could give us twenty years.
While the others returned to the Theatre, I thought I would call on Nick Berden again, since Master Burbage had no copying work for me at present, so I parted company with them.
‘And how are your injuries, Nick?’ I asked.
We were sitting in the small area behind his shop, which he called a garden, but had little of the garden about it. There were outbuildings where he housed the poultry bought in from farms outside London, some of the geese having walked all the way from the fenlands of East Anglia. Here he would fatten them up before selling them on to private customers, or at Smithfield, or at one of the smaller markets that were beginning to be established in and around the city. He also had one shed where he kept laying hens, sending out his women servants with baskets of fresh eggs every day to sell on the streets. One corner of this back area had been kept free of livestock, however, and here we sat, enjoying the late summer sun.
‘My injuries do very well, I thank you, Kit,’ he said, bowing in mock solemnity. ‘The bruise on my temple is displaying all the colours of the rainbow, but it will fade.’ He tilted back his head to look at the sky, which was a very pale blue, veiled with thin cloud, almost imperceptible. He sighed. ‘I fear autumn will soon be here, and winter not far behind. Some are saying that such a hot, dry summer foretells a bitter winter.’
‘Some say quite the opposite,’ I countered, ‘but I am not here to discuss the weather. I wondered whether you or your men have heard any more about the business at the Blue Boar.’
‘Not a great deal. Word is, that Sir Thomas Oxley is fled abroad, to the United Provinces, where we spent those entertaining few weeks.’
‘I am not surprised he is fled, though I am surprised that the authorities failed to stop him.’
‘It seems he was already on his way out of the country before yesterday’s play was even performed. No doubt he reckoned that his hired accomplices owed him no loyalty and would betray him as soon as they were apprehended. Which they were bound to be. They have a history of being apprehended for this and that.’
‘They do,’ I agreed. ‘It seems to be quite a way of life with them.’
I drew up one leg and rested the heel on the edge of my stool, clasping my arms around my knee. The buildings shut out most of the noise from the street, so that I could now distinctly hear the hum of bees. I had not noticed before that Nick had a bee skep nestling close up against the side of his hen house. It is surprising how many people keep bees in London. You would imagine that there would be nowhere for them to forage.
‘The whole affair seems very strange to me,’ I said. ‘Why should this fellow Oxley have gone to all this trouble and expense in order to instigate a riot? Could he have believed that it would blossom into a full blown rebellion against the Queen? Clearly he cared nothing if lives were lost. Not only Wandesford and Stoker died, but those who perished at the Blue Boar. Is the man a Catholic, acting as an agent for Spain? I would expect any scheme from that quarter to involve more than a crowd of London bully boys armed with clubs and knives. Where are the soldiers? Where are the swords and muskets?’
‘I agree,’ Nick said. ‘There is no evidence that he is a Catholic. Did he expect to initiate a rising amongst the citizens? If so, he misread the feelings of Londoners toward Her Majesty. We may grumble about taxes, but the Queen is loved, despite her failure to name an heir and the uncertainty that causes about the future. It is under Elizabeth that the nation of England is grown great. She is not called Gloriana for nothing.’
‘I suppose there is no word of the leading actor, who managed to evade capture by Sir Rowland’s men?’
‘I blame myself for that,’ Nick said. ‘We pursued him into the cellars below the inn. It was clear he knew them well and had probably planned in advance to use them as an escape route. It was a regular maze, so we managed to lose him. Afterwards we found two open hatches into the street. He could have climbed out through either of them.’
‘It was hardly your fault,’ I said. ‘None of us were anticipating that the riot had been planned to start immediately following the play, whatever whisper your men may have heard. We thought the performance of Marlowe’s Edward II was part of a longer term scheme, and went to the Blue Boar thinking it was a matter of simply arresting the players. No one expected we would have to deal with hundreds of rioters at the inn itself. And there were all the harmless playgoers caught up amongst them. It was a miracle more were not killed, either in the fighting or trampled to death by those trying to escape it.’
‘True enough. However, I have one more fragment of news. I have learned that the leading player is named Richard Upton, and from all that I can discover, he has gone to ground in London, so we may root him out yet.’
‘Sir Rowland had also extracted his name from the other players,’ I said. ‘You should tell him what you have learned of the fellow’s whereabouts.’
‘I prefer to pursue my information with my own men. I should like to make up for losing him in the first place by capturing him myself.’
I grinned. ‘I see that you are quite back to your former ways, Nick.’
He laughed. ‘Well, perhaps I do hanker after the old life. This business of selling poultry does not demand all my time and attention. I can spare a little for more interesting pursuits.’
‘Supposing this Richard Upton is caught – do you think he will have any more idea than the other players why Sir Thomas Oxley dreamt up such an odd scheme? For it is odd. Stealing plays, hiring down-at-heel players, arranging performances for – what? Not seriously to start a rebellion?’
‘We are going round in circles, Kit.’
‘Indeed we are. I wish you success in catching Upton, but if you do, then you had better hand him over to Sir Rowland.’
‘That I shall certainly do. I have not the same means of persuasion as do the men in authority.’
We both knew that this was a euphemism. It was the dark side of the work we did and I found it hard to reconcile with my true calling as a physician. A calling that seemed to be slipping more and more away from me. The weather was pleasant, neither too hot nor too cold, therefore not a breeding ground for either summer plagues or winter infections of throats and lungs. As a result, my private patients remained in the best of health and did not require my services, nor did they provide me with any income.
Master Burbage told me over supper the following day that I had now caught up with the backlog of copying his decaying old play books.
‘There will be no further need of copying, Kit, until Will writes us another play. A comedy, of course.’
He looked meaningfully at Will, who rolled his eyes in mock despair, and helped himself to more of the stewed capon from the common pot.
‘It has been my intention to write a further play about the reign of the sixth Henry,’ he complained. ‘All those troubled years last century, in our great-grandfathers’ time, need more than one play to explore the whole of the forces at work. It is an important story, and one worth telling. My first Henry play leaves everything unfinished, unanswered.’
‘Will, remember what Sir Rowland said. You must have a care.’ Master Burbage waved an
admonitory finger at him. ‘A comedy’s the thing.’
Will ran his spoon round and round in his dish glumly, but kept silence.
‘Now, Kit,’ Master Burbage said, ‘although there will be no more copying work at present, I have not forgotten my part of the bargain. You shall share our supper every night until the playhouse closes for the winter.’
‘I thank you,’ I said, but I was worried.
Walking back to our lodgings that night with Simon, Rikki trotting behind when he was not distracted by interesting smells, I found myself giving way to an involuntary sigh.
‘You have been silent ever since we left the inn, Kit,’ Simon said, ‘and now you are sighing like a lovelorn maiden. What ails you?’
‘Money,’ I said bluntly. ‘I paid Goodwife Atkins three months’ rent in advance out of my pay from the Muscovy Company. Those three months will run out shortly. My earnings from copying are little enough. They have paid for any additional food Rikki and I have needed, but I have been able to put very little aside, not enough for next month’s rent. My wealthy patients are in the best of health. Even Mistress Dolesby, she of the imaginary illnesses, is mysteriously well. Once Master Burbage closes the playhouses, I shall not even have one meal a day.’
I stopped and lifted my foot, so that he could see the sole of my boot.
‘I am even wearing out my shoe leather and cannot afford new soles for my boots.’
‘Nearly worn through,’ he agreed. ‘What will you do? Sara Lopez helped you before.’
‘I cannot go a-begging to her again. I know she is worried about Ruy, who is somehow caught up in the struggle between the Cecils and Essex, though he will not tell her how. I must not add to her burdens. I might try to find a clerking post.’
We had reached the Bridge and joined the regular evening flow of those who worked by day in the City, but lived more cheaply in Southwark. There seemed more folk than usual today. Perhaps there was to be a bear baiting south of the river.
