“Il y va de mon honneur,” the Frenchman continued loudly, pounding his chest dramatically. “Have you not understood me? If you lie like that again, I’ll order my men to punch you full of holes like an old wine pouch.”
“Ha! I’d like to see you try,” Sir Malcolm snarled back. “You are a bad man and a thief, Guiscard. Unfortunately the theft of plays is not punishable by law, or you’d have long ago been sent to the gallows.” The English producer puffed himself up. “The Doge of Venice belongs to my troupe. It was written personally for us by the great playwright Markus Salter, and now you are peddling it on the road like a door-to-door salesman. You’ve barely even tried to disguise the title. The Dome of Venice.” He laughed maliciously. “What nonsense. As if the dome in this piece played any major role.”
Guiscard waved him off. “It sounds good-that’s the main thing. Besides, you know yourself that with a few chases, sword fights, and broken hearts, the story could take place anywhere.”
“Then you admit you stole the piece from us?”
The Frenchman smiled. “Didn’t you just say there’s no law against taking plays? As soon as they’re written down, anyone can use them. And now, excusez-moi.” He tried to push his way past Malcolm. “We will be having one more rehearsal, and I’m certain that The Dome of Venice,” he said, emphasizing every word and adding a smug pause, “well, this performance in the Grapevine Inn will be a great success, followed by many others. The bishop has invited us to spend the entire winter in Bamberg.”
“He signed a document giving us the exclusive right. . you frog eaters.” The gaunt Sir Malcolm stood more than a head taller than Guiscard. Like a scarecrow that had just sprung to life, he pushed his archenemy to the ground.
“Murder! Murder!” Guiscard cried out theatrically, clutching his chest as if in the throes of great pain. “Men, save me from this cowardly assassin.”
Now the two huge men took up their swords and attacked the English producer, who fought back, darting from one table to the next.
“We must help Sir Malcolm,” Matheo whispered, “or they’ll skewer him alive.”
“But how-” Barbara started to say, but Matheo had already climbed over the wall, and his hat went flying off. On the other side he picked up a heavy branch and attacked the men. Approaching from behind, he struck one of the huge men, who screamed and fell to the ground. The other turned away from Sir Malcolm and looked at Matheo in astonishment.
“What in the world are you doing here, you wimp?” he growled. “You’ve gotten yourself into a lot of trouble, little fellow.”
“I know him,” cried Guiscard, who in the meantime had struggled to his feet and was leaning on one of the tables with an anguished expression. Breathing heavily, he dabbed his forehead with a silk handkerchief. “That’s the pretty boy in Malcolm’s troupe. Beat him black and blue. Then we’ll see if he can still play the part of the young hero.” He smirked. “Without the handsome hero there’s no play, and thus no permission from the bishop. Compris?”
Guiscard’s helper was now back on his feet. Along with the other guard, he rushed at Matheo, who looked in vain for a way to escape. He was still holding his weapon in his hand, but it was trembling noticeably.
“One more step, Guiscard, and I’ll send my whole troupe after you,” Sir Malcolm said in a threatening voice as he sought protection behind a tree. “Then you’ll be lucky if you can leave this town on all fours.”
Guiscard Brolet let out a shrill laugh, like that of a little girl. “And just where is your oh-so-brave troupe? I see here only a weakling, a mere youth with a big mouth.”
“We’re here,” a high voice replied. “And now get out before we have to spill any blood.”
Astonished, Guiscard looked toward the wall, where Barbara was still hiding, and his helpers stopped fighting, as well.
Barbara had spoken up instinctively, and now she was thinking feverishly about how she could help her friend. She couldn’t fight herself, and calling the guards would take too much time-if they would even be interested in a fight between two actors. Finally, she did something she’d always had fun with, even as a child.
She disguised her voice.
“You heard the lady, get out, you dirty frogs,” she growled, trying to sound as rough and deep as a barroom brawler.
“Before we break your legs, you filthy Frenchmen,” she grumbled in an even lower pitch with a Swabian accent.
“Come on, let’s get them!” Barbara shouted then in a brighter, resonant tone, sounding like a real Bavarian. “There are only three of them. This will be a bloodbath.”
She threw a few stones over the wall, then quickly grabbed Matheo’s hat still lying in the flowers, pulled it far down over her face, clambered to the top of a rock pile near the wall, and started bombarding Guiscard and his men with stones. One of them shrieked loudly when a rock hit him right in the temple.
“Damn, there are a bunch of them over there,” he whimpered, ducking down like a whipped dog as he ran over to the back door of the inn. The second thug was hit in the shoulder by a rock and looked around anxiously. He, too, ran off when he noticed the hat of his ostensible attacker on the other side of the wall.
“Monsieur Brolet, come quickly!” he called to the theater director. “We must get some reinforcements. There are too many for us.”
“Sacrement! You cowards.” With another French curse on his lips, Guiscard struggled to his feet and ran after his two bodyguards, who had already disappeared inside the building.
“You’ll come to regret this, Malcolm! You’ll regret it!” he shouted again in the direction of the English theater producer, who was still hiding behind the tree. “We’ll see you again, and then the bishop will allow only one troupe of actors here in Bamberg. And that’s us!”
He slammed the door to the tavern with a loud thud.
For a while there was not a sound in the garden, then Sir Malcolm stepped out from behind the tree and turned to his comrade-in-arms, who was gasping for air.
“Well, Matheo, how many warriors did you really bring along with you? And why don’t they come out from behind the wall?”
Matheo was still standing there, his mouth open in amazement. Suddenly he broke out in a loud laugh, shook his head in disbelief, and began clapping his hands.
“Mamma mia, that was the best performance I’ve heard in a long time,” he exulted, as tears of laughter ran down his cheeks. “This girl is a natural.”
Sir Malcolm looked at him in astonishment. “Girl? Which girl? I don’t understand a word you’re saying.”
Matheo clapped a few more times, then called out, “Barbara, you can come out now. The play is over.”
Hesitantly, Barbara peered over the wall, still wearing Matheo’s hat, but her pale face showed how terrified she really was.
“Have they. . have they left?” she stammered.
Sir Malcolm seemed puzzled at first, but then his face broke out in a wide smile.
“She is our men?” he asked. “A whole troupe of actors played by one girl behind the wall?” He bowed deeply. “On my honor, young lady, if that was meant to be an audition to convince me of your abilities, you have come across better than any actor before you.”
Barbara had to catch her breath. “Audition?” she asked softly. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Sir Malcolm grinned. “I can see in your eyes that you have the talent befitting an actor. Have you ever thought of appearing on the stage? Well? Now that Matheo is too old, we need someone new for the leading female role.” He sighed with satisfaction. “Matheo and you would be perfect for the roles of Romeo and Juliet. There’s never been a more perfect couple.”