‘They were after our copy of the play.’
Saul Hibbert, as he still preferred to be known, had enjoyed his meal at the Green Man, all the more so since John Vavasor had paid for it. What worried Hibbert, however, was that neither Vavasor nor Cyrus Hame were as lavish in their praise of him as they had been earlier, and, whenever he raised the subject of Banbury’s Men, his companions hinted at possible doubts. When they ended the supper with a glass of brandy, Hibbert probed for reassurance.
‘What exactly did you tell Master Randolph about me?’
‘Everything good, nothing bad,’ said Hame, blithely.
‘You told him every last detail of my play?’
‘Of course. But Giles is more interested in the next one you write.’
‘That’s the one Banbury’s Men would like,’ said Vavasor. ‘You do have a second play ready, do you not?’
‘I will do,’ replied Hibbert. ‘Very soon.’
‘I hope so. Giles is not a patient man.’
‘How many other playwrights can he call upon?’
‘He does not need to call on any,’ said Hame. ‘They come to him in droves. John and I are fortunate in that few of his supplicants write tragedy. Most favour comedy so you have many rivals, Saul.’
Hibbert was hurt. ‘You said that my play was far above all else.’
‘In some senses, it is.’
‘In what sense is it not?’
‘Well,’ said Vavasor, lighting a clay pipe from the candle, ‘to begin with, it lacks a natural part for Giles Randolph. There’s no doubt that he could play Lord Loveless — Cyrus and I discussed that very point — but it would not make best use of his talents. Change the name of your heroine and you might have something to tempt him.’
‘Change the name?’
‘Yes, Saul. If a Master Malevole created all the mischief, instead of a woman, he would be untouchable in the role. Dark, brooding, sinister characters are what Giles relishes.’
‘Do you have such a character in your next play?’ said Hame.
‘Not at the moment,’ admitted Hibbert.
‘Oh dear!’
‘But that can soon be remedied.’
‘It must be. Giles is to his company what Firethorn is to Westfield’s Men. Both must shine in a leading role or a play has no appeal.’
‘You gave me the impression that Banbury’s Men would buy anything and everything I wrote.’
‘Subject to certain conditions.’
‘You mentioned no conditions, Cyrus.’
Hame beamed at him. ‘They must have slipped my mind.’
‘All that we were empowered to do,’ said Vavasor, taking over, ‘was to sound you out. To see if you were ready to shake the dust of the Queen’s Head from your feet.’
‘I’m more than ready!’ growled Hibbert.
‘Break with them and we can talk further.’
‘I’ve already done so and I need employment.’
‘Can you so soon have used up so much good will?’ taunted Hame. ‘That does not bode well. Actors need to be flattered to keep them in the right humour. John and I take it in turns to stroke Giles’s feathers.’
‘Well, I’ll not do so,’ said Hibbert with a flash of anger.
‘Then bid farewell to your hopes.’
‘Since when have certainties become hopes? When we first talked, you said that I was assured of a cordial welcome.’
‘And so you are — if your next play pleases.’
‘The same holds for us,’ said Vavasor, exhaling a cloud of tobacco smoke. ‘Everything rests on the quality of our work. Lamberto gave us our moment at the pinnacle. We can only hope that Pompey the Great does likewise. First, however, it must win over Giles Randolph.’
‘If it fails,’ added Hame, ‘then John and I must take it elsewhere.’
‘How can it fail if it has the same attributes as Lamberto?’
‘How can any play of yours fail if it has the virtues that were seen in such abundance in The Malevolent Comedy? Do not wear such a gloomy face, Saul,’ he went on, reaching out to pat Hibbert gently on the shoulder. ‘You are among friends. We share your ambitions. We want you to join us at the Curtain.’
‘Meanwhile,’ said Vavasor, ‘you are building your reputation at the Queen’s Head. As long as your play draws in large audiences, you will always be sought after.’
‘Success breeds success.’
‘Cyrus has summed up the life of a playwright in three words. Success is everything and you’ve achieved it. Tomorrow, I daresay, the name of Saul Hibbert will fill that inn yard again.’
Hibbert was decidedly unsettled. He took a long sip of brandy. Hame traded a glance with Vavasor. The two men were patently enjoying their guest’s obvious discomfort.
‘What did John say to upset you so much?’ asked Hame, casually. ‘There’s no reason why your work will not delight an audience again tomorrow, is there?’
At least, he was in the warm now. Rescued from the stable, Richard Honeydew had been carried into a building, up some stairs and along a passageway. The room into which he was taken had a large cupboard in the corner and the boy was thrust into it with a series of dire warnings. The woman had then taken over, untying his legs so that he had some freedom of movement and giving him a pillow for his head. The cupboard door was then locked. Honeydew felt warmer, safer and more comfortable but he was still a prisoner.
He tried hard to hear what was being said in the bedchamber, hoping that it might give him some clue as to the identity and purpose of his captors. But their conversation was too short and muted. He had seen enough of the young woman to be able to recognise her again but the man had been careful to hide his face from the boy. All that Honeydew had caught was a glimpse of fair hair and beard, and of a blue doublet.
The man had not stayed long in the room. After telling the woman to watch their prisoner with care, he let himself out. The woman fell silent for a long while but Honeydew sensed that she was still the other side of the cupboard door. Had he been left alone, escape was at last a possibility. The boy could have kicked his way out of the cupboard, hauled himself up to his feet then tried to break the lock on the door of the bedchamber by hurling himself at the timber. Even if he had failed, he would have made enough noise to summon help.
As it was, he could do nothing but lie there in the dark and listen to the floorboards creaking whenever the woman moved. Honeydew kept shifting his position to ease the pain. The ache in his back and arms was constant. The gag was hurting his mouth. He was also very hungry. Instead of being given his usual healthy supper by Margery Firethorn, he was deprived of food and water. It was another source of pain.
Yet there were compensations. He did not fear for his life so much now. The fact that they had taken him indoors suggested that they would look after him, albeit still as their prisoner. Honeydew was not so much a murder victim as a hostage. He was being held so that his captors could get what they wanted, and that was to stop a play from being performed again. The boy could only guess at their reasons for doing so.
When the cupboard was suddenly unlocked and thrown open, he blinked in the candlelight. The young woman was holding a piece of bread and a cup of water. Her expression was still stern but there was a faint hint of softness in her voice.
‘Are you more comfortable here?’ He nodded. ‘I’m going to take the gag away again but be warned. Call out and I’ll tie it back again. Then you’ll spend the whole night in the stable.’ His eyes widened in horror and he shook his head. ‘Make sure that you behave yourself, Mistress Malevole, and say nothing at all.’
She removed his gag and fed him some bread. He chewed it gratefully. Another mouthful followed then he was allowed to sip the water. The meal was over in minutes and she wiped the crumbs from his lips before replacing the gag more gently than before. Honeydew was touched by what he perceived as her kindness. She looked at him for a long time as if weighing something in her mind. At length, she blurted out her statement.