Kathryn Kramer (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

The great hall of Greenwich pulsated with the sound of the gay tune that floated in the air.  The floor vibrated with the dance steps of the courtly revelers.  Row upon row of royal portraits seemed to be smiling, as if they too were humming a tune.  But Elizabeth was not in a frolicsome mood.

Though she was loath to admit it, court was incredibly dull without Nicholas.  She missed his smile, his wit, his sense of daring.  It had been stimulating with Sir Leighton and Lord Stafford always at verbal sword points.  Now there was really no one to take Sir Leighton's place as
Stafford's rival, and she thought how that was such a pity.  

As she stifled a yawn
, she was overcome with a feeling of boredom. Walsingham, Dudley and so many of her other favorites were dead. Lord Burghley had retired from his active post as her councilor because of ill health and his irritating misshapen son—her elf--was now in his place.  And now with Nicholas gone from the roster, it seemed that court would never really be the same.

Hoping to liven things up a bit
, she had moved the court from Whitehall to Greenwich, which with its sculptured yews and sumptuous gardens pleased her. She was constantly surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting, court favorites by the score, dignitaries and officials, and she moved easily and gracefully among them.  But despite all the people, she felt lonely.  No one cared about Elizabeth the person.  Not really.  But somehow she had the feeling that Nicholas had.  At least once.  But what was the use in even thinking about it.  Nicholas was gone, and wherever it was he had disappeared to, there seemed to be little chance of his returning.

Ah, but she had at least been able to enjoy a little revenge by banishing that golden haired
harpy from court.  Morgana Woodcliff had been properly given her comeuppance and told to spend some time in the country, in hopes that she would have time to appreciate a period of "proper mourning".  And just in case she had any thoughts of disobeying Elizabeth's orders to act like a proper widow,  Lord Burghley had been told to go along with her for company.  A request he had actually seemed to enjoy much to Elizabeth's annoyance.  Even at his age he was taken in by Morgana's beauty, but then it was said that there was no fool like one well past his prime!

As to Lord Stafford
, Elizabeth was disappointed.  The angelically handsome blonde man had not-too subtly revealed that his looks did not match his disposition.  Elizabeth sensed that he could be devious and thus was always on her guard.  That did not, however, keep her from enjoying his company.

"You are to be given the honor of partnering me in my first dance, Lord Stafford," she exclaimed loud enough for all to hear as he approached.  In a flash of green and gold, Owen Stafford offered her his arm as the court musicians lifted up lute, viol, brass, woodwind, and sackbutt to begin another lively tune. 
Elizabeth loved to dance and was known to pirouette with the energy of a woman half her age.

"You look radiant tonight,"  Stafford was quick to say, but somehow the words sounded hollow
to Elizabeth.  When Nicholas had complimented her, he had always sounded sincere.

Lord
Stafford eagerly led her through the movements of a round dance, twisting and whirling through the intricate maze of steps until they were both out of breath and dizzy.  As soon as that was over, he took her hand for a stately pavan.

"So......have you located Sir Leighton?" 
Elizabeth asked to the soft accompaniment of  the music.  She knew well that he had not, but that didn't keep her from toying with him.

His pale blue eyes locked on hers
, and for a moment she could see that he was struggling with his anger. 

"No!   The cursed, murdering bastard is more clever than a thief."

"Indeed,"  she replied, choosing to ignore the insult he had just paid to Sir Leighton's parentage.

"But I will capture him!   On that you have my word!  Sir Nicholas Leighton will be residing in the Tower 'ere another week is out, that I promise."

It amused the queen how everyone around them picked up their ears at the mention of Sir Leighton's name. The court seemed divided into two camps: those who believed in Sir Leighton's innocence, and a larger majority who were certain he had killed his aged rival for the sake of pure unadulterated lust.  But no matter their personal view, all within the hall loved a good scandal.

"Then you know where he is?" she asked sweetly, playing at the game.  Of course he did not, she thought, but he was desperate and that was the cause of his blustering.

"All of England has been plastered with handbills of his description as well as a detailed report of his dastardly deed.  Lord Woodcliff will be avenged!"  Stafford's blue eyes flashed with an ominous inner fire.

Elizabeth
judged the look in her young lord's eyes and held up her hand.  "I do not want Sir Leighton to be harmed.  Not an eyelash, not a hair on his head."  She knew it to be important to make herself quite understood. "I of all people held great respect for Lord Woodcliff.  I was and still am sympathetic with his reasons for outrage.  I mourn his death very deeply.  But were Nicholas to request it, I would listen to his explanation."

Lord Stafford paled.  "The explanation of a foul murderer?"

Elizabeth could be an intolerable shrew, but today she was in a mood to be fair.  "There was an unfortunate fight.  Tempers were raised and swords slashed in the air.  Poor Woody was the loser.  Such things happen." 
Look at him
, she thought.
What a hypocrite
.  He held himself up as judge and jury when she knew him guilty of more than a few sins himself.

Lord Staf
ford's expression was of a cobra that had recently devoured a mouse.  "I fear your grace has not been informed of all the details."  Taking advantage of the moment he slowly and deliberately removed a piece of paper from his doublet.  "Lord Woodcliff was savagely and ruthlessly assaulted from behind."

"What?"  She was startled
.

He thrust the piece of paper at her, savoring a major triumph.  Sir Leighton was ruined! "You may read the
report for yourself, Majesty.  Lord Woodcliff's mortal wound was in his
back
!"             

Chapter Twenty
-Two

Queen Elizabeth herself could not have received a more enthusiastic greeting than did the Lord Chamberlain's Players as the wagons and horses made their way into the coastal town of Faversham.  Horns blared, voices rose up in shouts as the sound of laughter and merriment followed the parade of actors and the others in the company down the neatly cobbled street in the center of the town.  Even though the aldermen and Puritans had closed down the theatres in London for the summer, it was very obvious to see that they were being welcomed here.  London's loss was Faversham's gain, Nicholas heard more than one passerby say.

Young women and old threw flowers at the players until the str
eet was covered with blossoms of red, white, blue and gold.  Wide feminine eyes blinked come-hither looks, smiles gave evidence that many of the youthful lasses were more than willing to share their favors with the actors.

"Quite a gathering, wouldn't you say?  Enough to turn any young man's head," Will Shakespeare cast upon Nicholas
one of his infrequent smiles.

"I hope they will be just as exuberant this afternoon at the performance," Nicholas answered wryly
, trying very determinedly to return Shakespeare's smile.  He liked the playwright but there was something about him that always unnerved him. Watching.  Always Shakespeare seemed to be eyeing him, though he was not really certain as to why.  His only hope came in knowing of the bond of friendship the playwright and Alandra possessed.  It gave him the hope that even if the man knew his secret, it would go no farther.

"They will be, Christopher.  Overly exuberant, but perhaps that is what adds to the drama and fun of the doings.  Without these onlookers there would be no need for my plays.  I must remember that during the times when their boist
erous antics unsettle me.”

Nicholas was surprised by Shakespeare’s admission that the crowds could be unsettling.
“I would think you would be used to it all….”

Shakespeare’s smile was forced. “One never gets used to it.  Even now I get butterflies in my stomach prior to a performance, more so as a writer
than an actor. Each play is a bit like my child! Once the play begins, I am dependent upon the actors to create an illusion.  I merely put words down upon paper.  A bit of poetry and rhyme. The players will bring forth the magic."

Magic, Nicholas thought.  It was this mystical power that he needed. Alandra had done everything she could
, but it was up to him now. He could not afford to make any mistakes.

As he rode,
Nicholas reflected on his good luck at having been accepted by the players. He basked in the actors' friendship.  They still considered him to be a hero. Moreover, he found himself thoroughly liking this group of men.  There was a trust and friendship among them such as had never been exhibited at court.  Here there was not the fierce rivalries that abounded around Elizabeth.  Acting companies he had found, were organized in such a manner that each member was dependent on his fellow company members.  The survival and success of the players depended upon selfless and intelligent cooperation.  Vanity and ambition were unwelcome here.  Indeed even Heminges was not as self-centered as Nicholas had at first supposed, for each actor had to be willing to subordinate his personal interests for the welfare of the group.

Costumed for the parade in
an assortment of garments Alandra had concocted to carefully hide his true appearance, Nicholas felt safe from any unfriendly eyes. Though the costuming for the comedy was in the style of the garments of the day, he wore a wig of short auburn hair and a mask which not only gave a touch of fantasy to the drama but also artfully hid his identity.  Garbed in blue, from his trunk hose to a waist-length doublet, he was meant to be colorful, and he was.  His only discomfiture was caused by his ruff which seemed to prick him no matter which way he turned his head.

Most of those assembled in the procession were equally as flamboyantly dressed
. As they rode, Nicholas's eyes sought each one out. 

Will Kempe, dressed all in green, was a thoroughly likeable man with a natural wit that drew people to him at once.  Alandra had
told him that the tawny-haired man was one of the greatest comic actors of the times, and Nicholas believed her.  The actor's portrayal of Puck brought forth even his laughter. Kempe was just as quick of wit out of his costumes as he was playing a role and always made the others in the group laugh.

William Sly, a heavy set man, full of face with a s
urly look of a fighter, had proven to be surprisingly graceful upon the stage. He was a perfect choice for Bottom the Weaver, who wearing a donkey's head because of Oberon's spell, would woo the Queen of the Fairies. Loyalty and generosity to the others in the company were his strong points. Sensing that Nicholas was short of coinage, he had offered to loan him money, though Nicholas had declined.

John Lowin,
a mustached actor with heavy jowl and the manner of an aristocrat despite his humble family ties, was dressed all in gold which fit his role as Theseus, Duke of Athens.  Though he was  baseborn, Nicholas realized  that Lowin could have taught many of Elizabeth’s courtiers the art of  being a true man, for he had shown the greatest bravery during those moments on tour when things grew harrowing.

Heminges who now looked upon Nicholas as an equal, glanced at Nicholas and waved from the head of the parade.
Nicholas considered Heminges to be a reliable fellow, though a bit stubborn. But it was evident that he had business ability and was regarded with confidence by his fellows. Several members of the company had even made him executive of their estates and guardian of their wills.

Last but not least was Richard Burbage who had joined the actors in Faversham.  He was a lithe actor in his early thirties who was already being acclaimed as the only actor in
England who could hope to fill Edward Alleyn's shoes.  Dressed in black and gold, wings attached to his back, he was to play Oberon, King of the Fairies and weaver of magic. Nicholas had been particularly amused by a story he’d heard of Burbage’s womanizing. The tale had gone around London that a woman had fallen for Burbage in his role as Richard III and had extended him an invitation to visit her. But Shakespeare had overheard it and left the theater before Burbage. A message had been brought to Burbage that “William the Conqueror was before Richard III.” Thus  did Shakespeare win the fair lady instead.             

The procession
marched past the white-painted Guildhall with its market stalls below the ground-floor arches, beyond the church with its carved stone, and came at last to the Inn-yard, where the company would set up its trestle stage.  Already an audience of onlookers twittered in the courtyard expectantly.  Nicholas felt the same surge of excitement he always felt before a battle and reasoned that in some ways it would be much the same.  A display of daring, agility and skill.

Instinctively Nicholas's eyes sought out Alandra, for even with all the elated commotion he had not forgotten her and the many nights she had tutored him  in the play-wagon. 
Now he was glad he hadn’t hastily run away.  Everything would be all right. The play would run smoothly, he would be safe from prying eyes in the wings, and none would be the wiser.  Of all places Lord Burghleyl would never suspect him to be among the actors. His being here was coincidence and nothing more. Nicholas knew he was foolish to have feared.

As if she read his thoughts, Alandra smiled and Nicholas
halted his horse, dismounted, and gathering a bouquet of brightly hued flowers which littered the streets, brought it to her side.

"For you, Alandra.  Would that I could give you much more.  Words
can not express my gratitude."

He made an extremely romantic figure standing in
the bright haze of sunlight, with his dark blue hosen hugging his long, muscular legs, and the doublet straining as he reached up to put the flowers in her hand  At that moment Alandra felt as if her heart would burst. She could not take her eyes from him. Transfixed, she stared and clenching the flowers, she tried to ignore the strange tightening in her stomach. There was a warmth, a glow deep inside her, the significance of which she dared not contemplate.  For one moment it was as if they were all alone on the street.  Then the insistent voice of Will Kempe urged Nicholas to resume his position in the parade.  Watching him walk away and mount his horse without a second pause, she knew he held her heart.  If Will was right, if love did make the world spin about, then Alandra braced herself for a whirling ride.  How could she have been so fearful of something that promised to be so glorious?  Love hovered just out of reach despite her doubts about Christopher, Alandra was prepared to grasp it firmly, to take hold of it before it darted away.  She had planned just what to say to Christopher Nicholas, had practiced her well thought out words as diligently as he had helped Abbington rehearse his lines.  Tonight she would tell Christopher what was in her heart, for she knew it was the only way.  If she waited too long, if too much time elapsed, she might very well lose him and that she could not bear.

The courtyard of the inn was a cacophony of sound as the entire town prepared for the play.  Merchants, beggars, traders, mountebanks, peddlers and pickpockets awaited, already taking advantage of the crowds.

"Ale!  Wine!  If you've a thirst I can quench it!"  cried out a man selling
a bottle of ale..

Nicholas quickly gave the man three penn
ies in exchange for a cup.  Though he pretended it was to quench his thirst, he knew that his true intent was to give himself an extra bit of courage and to relax his frazzled nerves. 

Will Shakespeare joined him at this drink, cho
osing a cup of wine for himself. "Play performances always encourage the sale of wine and ale and other refreshments as well.  Inn yards have their disadvantages.  There may be times when you must raise your voice above the crowd and pretend these fools are not walking about.  Sometimes I think it is most fortunate that I am a patient man, else I might well go mad."

"The
vendors annoy you."  Nicholas suddenly realized how Shakespeare must feel, having to suffer the indignities of such a noisy crowd who undoubtedly had not the sense to appreciate the finer points of the play.  Though he did not know the playwright well, Nicholas was wise enough to discern the man's genius.

"I revenge myself upon them by cleverly writing their mannerisms into my comedies.  Bottom, Snug, Snout and the others in Midsummer Night's Dream were all given birth amidst such a crowd.  Though any fun I might make of them is all done in a kindly manner.  In actuality
, I learn a great deal from them, as I do all manner of people."

"
Oranges, apples, nuts!  This way, this way.   Get them in time for the performance."  As the voice called out, Nicholas winced remembering Murray's warning.  How glad he was not to be at these oafs’ mercy. Heaven help the others if they displeased this boisterous gathering.  Oh, how he would loath being their target.

"The groundlings enjoy noise.  Bells, cannons firing, drums.  I usually cater to their wishes as you will see today.
” Shakespeare raised his brow. “This will not be a subtle performance, that I promise you, Christopher.  But that you will see."

"Sausages!  Hot sausages!"  The cry of this seller reminded Nicholas of his hunger
, and he bought a long sausage,  dutifully sharing it with Shakespeare as the two men gave their horses up to the hostler and proceeded to the area where the stage was being hastily erected by hired carpenters.  It was an improvised platform at the north end of the inn yard, situated so that the fixed gallery of the inn might also be used as an acting area.

Nicholas remembered
Murray’'s explanation of lordlings, middlings and groundlings and looked up at the inn balcony where the obviously wealthier patrons and citizens would watch the comedy from the comfort and shelter of the building's overhang.  Were an untimely rain shower to occur, they would be well protected.  The actors and groundlings were not as fortunate, he thought with a wry smile.  A sudden rain could mean ruin for the costumes they all wore.  The starch in the ruffs would dissolve and leave them but a limp rag around their necks.  Looking up at the sky, he scanned the bright blue expanse for any sign of clouds and gave a sign of relief to see that there were none.

"It will be a bit hectic and disorderly without a proper tiring house in which to change your costumes," Shakespeare was saying
to the actors as he stood near the stage.  He also searched the heavens for sight of an impending storm.  "But you will soon become accustomed to the inconvenience.  I ordered a small curtained area to be built at the back of the stage.  It should do for our purposes."

Nicholas barely heard the playwright's words
, for a painfully familiar voice could be heard above the noise and the chatter in the courtyard, a woman's voice, high and shrill.

"Oh, Cecil!  Cecil, you have been such a comfort.  Though not even this entertainment can sooth my shattered heart.  I fear I may never laugh again.  To have been widowed at my young age is utterly devastating!  Surely
Elizabeth must realize the grief I feel.  I am not the monster she thinks I am."

Nicholas's gaze was drawn to the
prattling woman, afraid to believe his eyes.  Dressed in a gown of mourning black, her golden hair shimmering in the sun, stood Morgana Woodcliff.  Positioned by Lord Burghley’s side, she was scanning the unruly crowd, at last resting her eyes upon him.