‘May I suggest one of its terms?’ asked Nicholas.
‘No,’ said Gill, flatly. ‘You have no voting power here.’
‘He ought to have,’ attested Elias, loyally.
‘Let’s hear him out,’ said Firethorn. ‘Nick talks more sense than any of us.’
‘Then listen to my device,’ resumed Nicholas, picking up the play from the table. ‘The Siege of Troy is more than a work of high quality. Were we to turn it down, one of our rivals would surely take it up and use it to their advantage. What it proves is that Michael Grammaticus is an author we must nurture.’
‘Edmund said as much from the very start,’ recalled Firethorn.
‘Then he would approve what I advise. When you draw up a contract for this play,’ said Nicholas, ‘write into it that Westfield’s Men have first refusal on the next play that comes from the same pen. That way, we safeguard ourselves from poachers.’
‘Why stop at one more play, Nick? We’ll bind the fellow to us in perpetuity. Let it be set down that everything written by Michael Grammaticus is first offered to us.’ He patted Nicholas on the arm. ‘As always, you point us in the right direction.’
‘Nick gives us sage advice,’ said Elias. ‘Is it not so, Barnaby?’
Gill rose to his feet. ‘I was about to advocate it myself,’ he lied, ‘even though it is less like sage advice than common sense. If we are to lose Edmund, we need a playwright who can match his steady flow of work.’
‘Edmund will be back,’ insisted Nicholas. ‘He is not lost forever. He begins to show hopeful signs, Barnaby, as you would know if you deigned to visit him.’
‘I never sit beside a sick bed. It always upsets me.’
‘He would be well pleased to see you.’
‘And that is more than any of us would dare to say,’ remarked Firethorn. ‘Think of someone else for once, Barnaby. Go and call on Edmund.’
‘I’d not wish to look upon him in that parlous condition,’ said Gill, crossing to open the door. ‘I prefer to remember Edmund as he was, in his prime. To watch him dwindle away before my eyes is more than I can bear.’
He left the room and the others exchanged a knowing glance. Elias was the next to depart, anxious to join his friends in the taproom. Nicholas and Firethorn got up from the table. The actor-manager was pleased with the way their deliberations had gone.
‘Michael will still be here,’ he said. ‘Acquaint him with our decision and ride over any objections he may have to what we propose. If he wishes to ally himself with Westfield’s Men, he’ll do so on our terms.’
‘I’ll mention the changes that you require,’ said Nicholas, snuffing out the candle between a finger and thumb. ‘When they are made, I’ll take The Siege of Troy to the scrivener and set him to work.’
Firethorn sighed. ‘We lose one author but gain another. Is it a fair exchange?’
‘Nobody could replace Edmund Hoode. He brings so much more to the company than Michael ever will. And he’ll do so again,’ said Nicholas, hopefully. ‘This malady of his cannot last forever.’
Edmund Hoode was dozing when his visitor arrived but he soon awoke. Not expecting anyone to call that late in the evening, he was delighted to see his friend and to share in his good news. Michael Grammaticus had come from the Queen’s Head in a state of suppressed excitement, believing that only another playwright could understand how he felt. Hoode was thrilled for him.
‘These tidings are the best medicine yet, Michael.’
‘Nick Bracewell said that all who read The Siege of Troy enjoyed it greatly.’
‘If it reads well, it will play even better,’ said Hoode. ‘And Lawrence wants more work from that teeming brain of yours. That shows the faith he has in you.’
‘I hope I have the means to justify it, Edmund.’
‘No more of this modesty. A man who can write Caesar’s Fall is destined for the highest rewards. Take what is due to you.’
‘I will,’ said Grammaticus, a tear in his eye. ‘But enough of me,’ he added, briskly. ‘I am still a novice where you are a master. Nobody in London has written as many plays as you.’
‘If only I could remember how I did it!’
‘What mean you?’
‘That I have to take your word,’ said Hoode, ‘and that of my other friends. Since all of you praise my achievements, I must accept that they were mine to praise. Yet I’ve neither the memory to recall them nor the will to add to them. I’m done for, Michael,’ he confided. ‘Behold a posthumous playwright.’
‘Away with such thoughts! You are but resting between plays.’
‘If only I could believe that.’
‘You must,’ said Grammaticus. ‘Two doctors have attended you and both foretell your recovery. Time and patience must be your nurses, Edmund. When your health returns, as surely it must, your mind will be as fruitful as ever. Why,’ he went on, ‘I can see an improvement in you since this very morning.’
‘True,’ said Hoode, sitting up in bed. ‘This afternoon, I was able at last to walk around the room. I sat in the window for an hour to watch people walk by. That cheered me more than I can say.’ His face crumpled. ‘But the feeling did not last.’
‘Why not?’
‘I tried to read my new play, Michael. I’ve three acts finished and a fourth begun. If I picked it up again, I thought, the juices of creation would run inside me again.’ He shook his head in dismay. ‘I was asking for a miracle.’
‘What happened?’
‘I could not read a line, let alone write one. A Way To Content All Women, that is the title. How cruel it now seems!’ exclaimed Hoode, looking down at himself. ‘I’ve not the strength to give one woman contentment. My manhood is but an empty husk.’
Grammaticus was curious. ‘You’ve three acts written, you say?’
‘And almost half of the fourth.’
‘There may be one way to get your new comedy finished, Edmund.’
‘I despair of ever seeing it upon a stage. The play is stillborn, Michael.’
‘Not if someone else were to give it life,’ said the other, thoughtfully. ‘I confess that I know little of how to content women but, it seems, I am entitled to call myself a playwright now. Let me put my meagre talents at your service,’ he offered, leaning over the patient. ‘I’ll be your co-author, if you wish, and finish the play with you.’
Rain fell throughout the night but it had eased by morning. When he left the house in Bankside, all that Nicholas had to contend with was light drizzle. The streets were glistening and he had to step around the frequent puddles that had formed. He had just crossed London Bridge when he caught up with another resident of Bankside.
‘Good morrow, Nathan!’ he called, quickening his stride.
Curtis turned round. ‘Well met, Nick!’ he said, adjusting the bag of tools over his shoulder. ‘I thought to make an early start today. There’s much to do.’
‘And even more when our new play goes into rehearsal.’
‘Is this the comedy promised by Edmund Hoode?’
‘Alas, no.’
Nicholas told him about the purchase of The Siege of Troy and explained what scenery and properties it would require. Curtis grumbled at the prospect of additional work until the book holder pointed out that extra hours would increase his wages. The carpenter nodded soulfully.
‘Give me all the work you can, Nick,’ he said. ‘I need the money.’
‘Not to lose to Master Lavery, I trust?’
‘No, I’ve told that particular Satan to get behind me.’
‘He does not look like Satan,’ observed Nicholas. ‘I found him to be a reasonable man. And he does not win at his table all the time. Master Lavery told me of his losses.’
‘All that I think of are my own losses,’ said Curtis, balefully.
‘When you asked for your wages, why did you not tell me how you went astray?’
‘I was too ashamed, Nick. It was a grievous fault. When I picked up those cards, I betrayed my family. All that I look for now is a chance to redeem myself.’