Marwood was bitter. ‘Only one of you? If prayer had any value, the whole company would be struck down. This is the bane of my life, Adam,’ he went on, turning to his companion. ‘As I told you, I am condemned, for my sins, to have this accursed theatre company clinging to my back like a ravenous ape that feeds off my flesh.’
‘Westfield’s Men are not accursed,’ said Crowmere, beaming at Nicholas. ‘They are the jewels of their profession. I saw them once at Rochester and they played such a sprightly comedy that I laughed for a week.’ He offered his hand. ‘I am Adam Crowmere and I’m happy to meet any member of so illustrious a troupe.’
Marwood introduced the two men properly, then stunned Nicholas with the news that he and his wife were quitting London for what might be a matter of some weeks. The landlord’s elder brother was desperately ill in Dunstable and they were rushing to be at his bedside. While they were away, the affable Crowmere, a cousin of Sybil Marwood’s, would look after the Queen’s Head. Nicholas concealed his delight behind a frown.
‘I am sad to hear that your brother is not well,’ he observed.
‘Reuben is at death’s door,’ declared Marwood with a notable lack of anything resembling brotherly affection. ‘but it may take a while before it creaks open to let him through. It falls to me to keep a vigil.’ He weighed the purse in his hand. ‘I must go and enter this into my accounts. I’ll leave you to become more closely acquainted.’
‘Thank you,’ said Nicholas. He waited until the landlord had gone. ‘I own that I expected more grief from the brother of a dying man.’
Crowmere smiled. ‘All that grieves Alexander is the fact that he and Reuben fell out with each other many years ago. He’s hurrying to Dunstable to repair the rift so that his brother will remember him in his will. Reuben Marwood is a wealthy man.’
‘How long will our landlord be away?’
‘Long enough for me to make my mark at the Queen’s Head.’
‘I am glad to hear that you take a more kindly view of our presence here. Where our landlord is concerned,’ said Nicholas, tactfully, ‘I fear that it has never been a true meeting of minds.’
‘Alexander hates you,’ said Crowmere, frankly. ‘Before you came in, he was telling me that Westfield’s Men were detestable vermin, but that a certain Nicholas Bracewell was the least detestable of them.’ He gave a ripe chuckle. ‘Coming from him, that’s praise indeed.’ His face clouded. ‘But you say that one of your fellows has been stricken. Not the great Lawrence Firethorn, I hope?’
‘No, no, he has the constitution of an ox.’
‘Nor that clown of yours either, I trust? Barnaby Gill made me laugh until I felt I was about to burst. I’d hate to think that he has been carried off to his bed.’
‘Master Gill is not the invalid,’ said Nicholas. ‘If either he or Master Firethorn had been taken ill, our chances of staging a new play tomorrow would disappear. Nobody could replace them in time. Casca, a much smaller role, can be substituted and he will need to be for Edmund Hoode is far too sick to perform.’
‘What’s the nature of his sickness?’
Nicholas gave a shrug. ‘That’s what troubles us. We do not rightly know. The doctor, too, is mystified. All that he can do is to ease Edmund’s pain with medicine.’
‘I hope that he soon recovers,’ said Crowmere with obvious sincerity. ‘But I’m delighted to hear that you will be staging a new play here tomorrow. That will bring the crowds flocking to the Queen’s Head.’
‘We never lack for spectators.’
‘I wonder that Alexander does not treasure Westfield’s Men for increasing his takings every time they perform at the inn.’ He raised a bushy eyebrow. ‘How will his departure be greeted?’
‘With some relief,’ admitted Nicholas.
Crowmere laughed. ‘And no small amount of celebration, I think.’
‘I’ll not pretend that our absent landlord will be mourned.’
‘Would that my arrival will also be a cause for joy! I’m no enemy to your endeavours, Nicholas, be certain of that. Look to me for any help that you need. Where you once found coldness, you’ll now meet nothing but encouragement.’ ‘That’s good news indeed.’
‘Then here’s better to take back to your fellows,’ said Crowmere, hands on hips. ‘When Alexander is safely on the road, I plan to treat you in the way that you deserve, and to that end, I’ll invite the whole company — nay, and your patron as well — to a feast under this roof at my expense.’ He grinned amiably. ‘Will this content you, my friend?’
‘Very much,’ said Nicholas, unable to believe what he had heard. ‘I see that I was mistaken in you, sir. You are no new landlord — you are a gift from God.’
Superstition ruled the lives of the actors. They were always looking for signs, portents, tokens, auguries, and anything else that might be construed as a harbinger of good or ill fortune. Edmund Hoode’s mysterious illness was seen by most of them as an evil omen, a clear warning of imminent disaster. Caesar’s Fall, they believed, was doomed and they were helpless to avert that doom. Even though the final rehearsal went exceptionally well, voices were still raised in consternation.
‘Trouble lies ahead,’ warned Barnaby Gill. ‘I feel it in my water.’
‘I see it in the stars,’ said James Ingram. ‘They foretell catastrophe.’
‘Caesar’s Fall will be our collapse as well,’ decided a mournful Frank Quilter. ‘There is something about the piece that presages danger.’
‘Yes,’ said Owen Elias, scornfully. ‘It is because you three merchants of misery are in the cast. Hell’s fire! Why talk yourselves into defeat when we have such a strong chance of victory? If we had to rely on Barnaby’s piss, James’s stargazing and Frank’s instincts, we’d never stage any play with success. Weak minds are prey to foolish fears.’
‘Do you call Edmund’s illness a foolish fear?’ asked Gill.
‘No,’ replied the Welshman. ‘It was a blow to us but we’ve endured far worse.’
‘Can you not see any significance in what happened?’ said Quilter. ‘Edmund was struck down during the play. That means this tragedy is tainted.’
‘This tragedy will end in tragedy,’ moaned Ingram.
‘Not if we bend our back and give of our best,’ argued Elias, bunching a fist. ‘Everyone knows that I do not care for Michael Grammaticus — he is too much the university man for me — but I think he has written a wonderful play that deserves to be played to the hilt. Put aside your worries. Dear God! You sound like three old ladies, too frightened to step out into the street in case it rains.’
‘And that’s the other thing, Owen,’ said Gill, wagging a finger at him. ‘Have you seen the clouds? The sky will open this afternoon and we’ll all be drowned by the rain.’
Elias was sarcastic. ‘Do you feel water in your water as well, Barnaby?’
‘Look to the heavens, man.’
‘I prefer to look to our reputation and it will be sorely damaged if you step out on to that stage like three virgins tiptoeing into a bawdy house. Think of the good tidings we have had. Our melancholy landlord has left the city. We can revel in his absence.’
But even that reminder did not cheer his fellows. They were in the room that they used as their tiring-house, putting on their costumes for the afternoon performance of the new play. Acutely aware of the growing audience in the yard outside, Gill, Ingram and Quilter were not pleased to hear the buzz of expectation from the spectators because they had genuine doubts about Caesar’s Fall. Like others in the company, they felt that ruination lay in ambush. If the play were not washed off the stage by a torrential downpour, it would, they felt, surely be bedevilled by some other means. Owen Elias, the ebullient Welshman, clicked his tongue as he surveyed the other sharers.
‘I am disappointed in you, James,’ he said to Ingram, ‘and in you as well, Frank. I expected Barnaby to be full of woe because it is his natural condition. Every time he empties his bladder, he foresees the end of the world. You two should know better.’