‘John’s eldest son can play Isaac,’ Cuddy said. ‘He’s small for his age, but he’s as sharp as a whetted scythe.’ Catching sight of Martin’s alarmed expression, he added, ‘Don’t fret, young Ben looks nothing like his old man.’
It was just as well, Henry thought, for John was a stocky, pugnacious-looking man, with a broken nose and fists as big as turnips, hardly the type to meekly lie down and prepare to be slaughtered.
‘Then young Ben shall indeed play Isaac,’ Martin beamed round at the assembled company. ‘But we’ll start with “Cain and Abel”, a play that Henry and I know well.’
A murmur of consternation rippled around the other men.
Cuddy shook his grizzled head. ‘No, we won’t be doing that one. That’s the play of the Glovers’ Guild. They’ll not take kindly to us performing that.’
Martin flicked his fingers dismissively. ‘It’s to be performed on cathedral grounds and it’s the Priory who has to right to say what will be performed and by whom. Besides, I’m told the guild haven’t performed “Cain and Abel” for three years now.’
‘Aye, and there’s good reason for that,’ another man piped up. ‘“Cain and Abel” brings bad luck, everyone knows that. I’ve heard tell that the very first time the words of that play were said aloud one of the actors was murdered, and he a holy monk. Glovers swear the spilling of his blood must have sealed the curse that Cain utters in the play and made it come to pass in truth, ’cause any man who acts in that play has nothing but ill fortune for the rest of the year.’
Cuddy nodded vigorously. ‘One poor bastard had his workshop burned down and him with a new stock of leather just bought in.’
‘Remember the man who played Abel?’ another said. ‘His son drowned in the river the very next day and he could swim like an eel.’
A couple of the men crossed themselves as they recalled other misfortunes that had overtaken members of the guild – mysterious fevers, a man struck down with apoplexy, not to mention a wife running off with her lover. It was as plain as the balls on a bull, they said, that the play of ‘Cain and Abel’ was cursed.
John reached across the table and poured himself another generous measure of ale from the flagon. ‘You’re talking out of your backsides as usual. Hugh’s wife running off had nothing to do with the play. The whole town knew her for a brazen strumpet long afore the glover married her. She was bound to be up to her old tricks sooner or later. Anyhow, I don’t hold with this curse nonsense. They’ve been playing “Cain and Abel ” since I was in clouts. It stands to reason, if it was cursed they’d have stopped it years ago.’
Martin laughed. ‘And I’ve played in “Cain and Abel” for years and not one drop of ill fortune has fallen on me, nor on any others who acted in it. Isn’t that right, Henry?’
Henry nodded, not trusting himself to speak. There was plenty of ill fortune he could have named, not least that business in Cambridge, but he knew from bitter experience not to contradict Martin, especially not in front of others.
‘See,’ Martin beamed. ‘And just to prove it, Henry and I will act in the play ourselves. Nothing like a good murder to keep the crowds entertained. I told Subprior Stephen as much and he agrees. Besides, he says it will remind the people not to hold back their tithes even when the harvest is poor, for fear of being cursed like Cain.’
‘I’ll take a part in it too,’ Luke said eagerly, obviously desperate to play someone other than a girl. ‘I could play the angel.’
‘I will play the angel,’ Martin announced firmly. ‘The part calls for a man who has a commanding presence.’ He struck a pose, his eyes turned beatifically up to heaven, his right hand lifted in blessing.
‘Hear that, boy?’ Cuddy said. ‘It takes a man to play an angel, so you’ll still be playing simpering wenches when you’re in your dotage.’
The men all laughed, and the muscles of Luke’s jaw tightened so hard, Henry was sure he was going to break a tooth.
‘Besides,’ Martin said, ‘I have the robe and the sword of justice, and I shall wear a gold coronet.’
A look of alarm flashed across Henry’s face. ‘No… you wouldn’t. Don’t be a fool.’
Martin wrapped an arm about Henry’s shoulder, and tousled his hair with his other hand as if he was a silly child. ‘Stop fretting, little cos, or everyone will think you are as much of a girl as young Luke here. Now I think Luke should play the role of the timid and lazy servant Brewbarrel.’
His uncle roared with laughter, slapping his thigh. ‘Aye, he’s suited to that role, right enough.’
‘And what should your part be, little cos? Yes, the pious Abel, I think. You fit that role.’
Blushing nearly as hard as Luke, Henry jerked himself out of Martin’s grasp. ‘I will play Cain.’
His cousin laughed. ‘You’d never make a convincing Cain. You couldn’t kill a mouse, never mind a man. You,’ he gestured towards the man with the broken nose, ‘John, isn’t it? Could you learn the part of Cain if I teach you?’
‘Heard it often enough. Used to be my favourite. I reckon most of it would come back to me with a bit of prompting.’
‘Settled then,’ Martin declared, beaming. ‘There’s a barn the subprior said we could use to practise in. It’s big enough for us to rehearse all three plays at the same time. Then if one of us is needed in another play he can just walk across and say his lines.’
He looped his arm through Henry’s and grinned at him. ‘So in the words of that saintly little Abeclass="underline"
“Let us both go forth together.
Blessed be God, we have good weather.”’
Come the morning of the first performance, the weather had indeed turned to the good. Although it had been windy and cold for weeks, now the sun sparkled down out of a cloudless sky, tempered only by the pleasingly refreshing breeze from the river. The mood of the queuing throng lifted in the sunshine and they settled themselves on the grass, more than willing to be entertained now that they were no longer shivering in the biting wind.
The carpenters had done their work well. The entrance to hell, in the form of the gigantic gaping jaws of a great sea monster, was lined with sharp white teeth and real smoke belched from its scarlet maw. On the opposite side of the long cart the throne of heaven mounted on a high dais glittered with tiny glass jewels, and a painted rainbow arched triumphantly over it. Between the two was a pyre of wooden twigs, which would serve as the altar upon which Abel would make his sacrifice, then the place where Isaac was to be slain, and finally the fire around which the shepherds would watch their flocks. It too could be made to pour with smoke.
The whole cart had been covered with sailcloth lashed to the sides to protect the scenery as the carpenters worked, and to keep out the more inquisitive of the local brats. When it was finally rolled up to reveal the stage, to the accompaniment of a lively tune played on frestelles and drums, appreciative murmurs broke out among the waiting crowd.
But it was nothing to the gasps of admiration that arose as Martin strode onto the stage. He had decided that it was only natural for him to play the angel in each of the three plays and blithely ignored the angry muttering of the Ely man who always took that role in The Shepherds’ Play. But even the Ely man was forced to admit his appearance in the third play would only have been an anticlimax after Martin’s. For Martin was clad in white, with a pair of wings covered in swans’ feathers fastened to a concealed harness on his back. His luxuriant blond curls were freshly washed and crowned with a circlet of gold that dazzled in the sun. In his right hand he carried a gleaming silver sword, which he thrust high into the blue sky.