Kathryn Kramer (6 page)

"Thank you. I will be satisfied with whatever you decide," Nicholas said with a slight bow
.  He couldn't help but wonder that if he was called upon to act what that would entail. Surely he could handle it if need be.  How difficult could it possibly be to memorize a few sentences and move about a stage?  Besides, he intended to be with the players only as long as he needed to be.  Why should he worry?

"Good.  The company will be doing two of my plays.
A Midsummer Night's Dream
and
King John
.  I will think on the matter of what to do with you.”

The door be
hind them creaked as someone entered the tavern.  Instinctively, Nicholas sought the shadows as he cast a furtive glance over his shoulder, fearing that he might be recognized.  He dare not forget that danger lurked in every corner of the city.  Much to his relief, however, it was only Murray.

"Has Alandra introduced you to Christopher Nicholas, Will?"  The gray-haired man sauntered over to where the two men and his daughter stood.

"She has." Shakespeare answered, raising his brows in Nicholas' direction.

I
n that moment Nicholas sensed that the playwright suspected he had a secret. The dark, meditative eyes seemed to be conveying a silent communication making Nicholas uneasy.  If the man suspected something could he be trusted not to be overtly curious?  Nicholas had to take that chance, for at this moment he had no other choice.  He only hoped that this Will Shakespeare would not prove to be a thorn in his side.

Chapter Eight

A cloudless sky hovered above Kent like a bright blue canopy as the wandering parade of actors traveled along on the first stage of their journey.  The winding roads twisted and turned, crisscrossing through the countryside like a huge chess board.  It was a beautiful area of meandering brooks, rolling hills and meadows etched by watercourses, woodlands and pasturelands.  Cattle and thickly fleeced sheep grazed peacefully.  Along the North Downs,  villages were perched on hillsides and  the woods were packed with bluebells and primroses, already in bloom.

Though only a few miles from
London, it was a world quite apart from that city's sprawl.  There was a fresh country smell mixed with the scent of blossoms, so different from the fouled air of the city.  More than one member of the acting company could be seen breathing in the fragrance or appreciating the soft breeze which stirred through their hair.  These same light winds could grow tumultuous and at times swept across the weald to drive the many windmills which dotted the landscape.

Despite the beauty of the countryside, however, Nicholas was in any but a contented mood.  The journey had been tiresome.  The rest of the theatrical company had arrived before the first cock's crow.  When all were assembled
, they had left the Mermaid to pass along Weston Road on the outskirts of London and then beyond.

It was a parade of gaudily decorated wagons, mo
unted horsemen in brightly hued garments, and a laughing and jabbering throng of less finely attired men, walking beside the wagons.  Once again Nicholas was on foot, though in a better mood after his rest in Murray's wagon. In an effort to further disguise his appearance, he had hastily shaved off his beard, using a razor he found among the costumes. 

Nicholas studied this group of actors, music
ians and stage men with whom he would be journeying.  Most of them seemed to be a happy and lively group, even though touring was said to be not as comfortable or as profitable as playing in the large London theatres.  Only a few serious complaints had been made. As to Nicholas, it didn't matter where the procession headed or in which inn they stayed.  All he wanted was the strong, muscled flesh of a horse beneath him and he would be well satisfied.

He thought of obtaining a mount, fantasized about his escape
and when John Heminges rode up to him, he requested a horse.

A
stocky, seldom smiling man of strong opinions who seemed to have authority to speak for the company, Heminges answered, "Only the leading actors ride on horseback.  Hired actors such as yourself are expected to walk alongside the wagons."

"Walk!"  Nicholas clenched his jaw in outrage.  He was not used to be
ing treated in such a highhanded manner.  Oh, that he could tell this conceited buffoon a thing or two.  Heminges seemed to be a haughty individual if ever there was one, he thought sourly.

Standing with his hands upon his hips, Nicholas sputtered and fumed in barely suppressed anger
as Heminges rode away, but there was nothing that he could do lest he destroy his cover.  He could hardly tell them that he was a nobleman, not after concocting his prior story.  Still, it irritated him to see the lovely dark-haired Alandra's smug smile.               

"What do you find so funny?" he growled, kicking the dirt of the roadway  as the wagon passed by him.

"That it is unfortunate that you did not bring an extra pair or shoes.  Those will be quite worn through by the time we reach our destination," she said haughtily.

"God's whiskers, I did not intend to trudge alongside a scurvy wagon like some apprentice or fledgling boy."

He looked with ire upon a group of young men who had been hired to take the young women's roles in the plays. Nicholas knew that women were never used as actors to avoid fierce rivalries and jealousy females often brought to acting companies. Since the whole existence of an acting company depended on unity and goodwill among its members, women were forbidden the acting profession.

"To think that I am being treated like these callow youths who can not even grow a beard."

"You did not think you would be asked to walk?" she asked innocently.

Of course he didn't.  He had thought them to be so stupid that they would put a horse at his disposal.  Well, he would soon learn that the actors were not as lame brained as he supposed.  He wanted to be among them, then let him abide by the
ir rules.

"Of course I didn't think that!"  he sputtered in answer.  To be quite truthful
, her cockiness was getting on his nerves. That and the way she studied him, as if she knew something he didn't know that she knew. 

"Why, Mister Nicholas," Alandra said with feigned sweetness, "one would nearly suppose that you fancied yourself to be a wealthy merchant, alderman or nobleman.  Well, be that
as it may, only an actor of renown would warrant a horse in this procession." 

"Indeed!"  His eyes strayed to the fo
ppish young men assembled and  he frowned at the thought of being thought of in the same vein as they.

Alandra noted his scornful  look. "I do wonder what you will look like in a skirt." 

"Me. Dress as a woman?"  To play a woman's part was unthinkable, no matter how minor the role, even in his current predicament.  "BiGod never!  If I am asked to act the role of such a fair flower, I will quit before I begin." 

"You should have thought about that before you
weaseled your way among us," Alandra shot back, then couldn't help saying, "but don't fear.  It takes great talent to take a woman's role.  A skill I doubt very seriously that you have."

"Oh, is that so!"  She was infuriating.  For just a moment he wished he really was a serious actor so that he could make her eat her words.

Women complicated the lives of the troupe, he'd heard it said, and now he could testify that it was true.  Certainly Alandra Thatcher was trouble.  But what was she doing in this company?  Was she not most obviously female? And troublesome at that! He put that question into words, then waited for her reply.

"Me? I'm different!"  His question disturbed her, for it brought to mind her apprehension of what was to be done with her now that she had become a woman and was no longer a girl.
A few of the actors had made an unwelcome comment or two  of late.

"Why, I've been with them since before I could walk
and talk.  They are my family! Besides, I do not take part in the plays but only assist my father," she said quickly, lest he get any ideas of stirring up trouble.  

"But you are a woman and women can ere be the plague of men."  Nicholas spoke from experience.

His comment angered her.  Handing the reins to her father, Alandra cast him in impudent scowl, then retreated inside the wagon.

"Don't think too harshly of Alandra," 
Murray said behind his hand, coming quickly to Nicholas' rescue by offering him a ride in the wagon.

Nicholas
quickly took the old man up on his kindness, jumping up and sitting beside the stage man's girth.

"I thought her to be as soft as a rose
, but she does have a thorn or two," Nicholas grumbled, folding his arms across his chest.

"My fault, that!  She was raised around men and knows nothing of a woman's wiles.  Spirited as a young colt, she is, but I have an inkling that you are the one to tame her."

"Me?" he asked in surprise. She showed no liking for him at all, made it a point to glare at him in fact. "I want naught to do with her.  She has done nothing but scorn me.  And to think I envisioned an angel when I heard her speak.  Seems to me there is a hint of Beelzebub in her manner."               

"Have patience." 

The old man's grin softened Nicholas' mood, for who could stay angry when in this jolly gentleman's presence.  Nicholas had already developed a deep affection for the man, knowing full well that if Murray had been able to procure a horse for him, he would have.  Right from the first the old man had befriended him. 

"As to your position in the company, give it time.  All these actors who now sit their mounts so proudly once walked beside a wagon as you must do for the time
being.  A young man like you who has fulfilled his apprenticeship under such a fine actor as Alleyn will soon be making more than five shillings a week. I wager you'll soon have a horse to ride too. Me thinks it will be only a matter of time."

It didn't matter, Nicholas thought.  He did not intend to stay with the actors for long.  As soon as they reached Faversham or perhaps even before, he would obtain a horse
and ride towards his own lands. Beg, borrow, or
steal,
he would have a horse.  Were it not for the fact that the town crier was proclaiming his supposed crime all over London, he wouldn't have come this far with such a motely group. 

Walk be damned!  Did they think themselves deserving of respect because they had distinguished themselves in their professions or because they had all recently been granted coats of arms?  Well, he was a knight, BiGod.  How he wished he could throw that in their faces.  And as to the dark-haired wench, he wanted nothing to do with her at all.  She had shunned him all along the cobbled pathway towards the outskirts of the city and now seemed to relish his humiliation.

Pulling his cap down over his eyes, Nicholas reflected on Alandra's reaction to his gestures of camaraderie.  He had smiled at her from time to time, trying to thaw the frost between them, but she had only smiled at the others, never at him.  He had sensed her eyes watching him none-the-less, staring at him when his back was turned, studying him with her pensive gaze as if trying to look into his very soul.  Her searching eyes unnerved him, threatened his composure and made him wonder just how much she knew of him.  She seemed to be challenging him in some way.  Saucy wench, what was she up to?  Nicholas felt certain he would find out soon enough.             

The company did not even take time to stop by
Maidstone, a marketing center but  passed right by.  They hurried through orchards and hop gardens, pausing only once or twice, so desperate was Will Shakespeare to make good use of time and distance.  The entire company heaved a huge sigh of relief when at last the setting sun turned the thatched roofs of the squat village cottages to gold.  They knew at last that the first day's journey would soon end. 

"We'll pass this village by and go to Boughton Monchelsea on the ridge and there bed down at the inn," Nicholas heard Will Shakespeare say. 

He acknowledged Will's words with a weary nod. Having climbed off the wagon once Alandra took her place by her father, Nicholas had walked the last few miles and was totally exhausted.  Not at all in a jovial mood.  Tired and cranky in fact.  His feet were painfully blistered, his shoes filled with  gravel, the muscles of his legs achingly sore.  The knot at the back of his head was a painful reminder of how easily he had been taken unaware.  With each step he had taken along  the rutted road, there had been only one thought reverberating through his mind.  He had to get a horse!  Somehow.  Someway.  Tonight when all the others were sleeping he would make his move. A man must do what was necessary for self-survival. 

Nicholas had already formulated a plan in his mind that would help him clear his name.  It would be much too dangerous to ride brazenly through the portals of his own castle, lest Owen Stafford entrap him.  He
would ride as far as he dared and to Bodiam, then from there he would send a message to his younger brother who was tending to Nicholas's duties on the estate during his absence.  James was a most capable young man.  A bit too scholarly perhaps to suit Nicholas and not inclined to fighting, but most loyal when the need arose. Despite the difference in their ages, there was a special bond between them that even danger could not disavow. Together they would rouse Nicholas's supporters and withstand any army Stafford could raise against them.

In the meantime Nichol
as would send a message to the queen requesting an audience.  She must hear from his own lips what had really happened at the Black Unicorn and of Lord Stafford's imperious treatment of him.  It was not up to that pompous lord to be his judge and jury!  Surely Stafford envisioned himself as having far more power than he really did.  Well, he was to soon have his comeuppance.

Surely by now Morgana would have come to her senses,
he thought, and spoken to the queen in his behalf.  Let Stafford argue with that!  Nicholas had Morgana as an eye witness. Lord Woodcliff had come at him with a sword.  Clearly it was a matter of self-defense.  At least that thought eased his mind. But he had to have a horse, had to get to his estates.  His entire plan hinged on finding transportation.

Nicholas's eyes scanned the town as the players entered upon the village green.  It was a small hamlet slumbering in the fading light of the sun.  The market square was flanked by half-timbered cottages and shops. Across the stone bridge that spanned a trickling waterway was an old church whose steeple looked as though it dated to that time right after the
Norman's invasion.  It was the inn, however, that held his eyes, a brown and white three-tiered building which sprawled invitingly at the foot of a steep hill.  Unlike most structures of its kind, the stables were not enclosed within the confines of the courtyard but a safe distance away.