‘Most of all,’ said Elias, ‘he’s known and trusted by the company.’
‘You are not, Saul.’
‘If you want to see Nick’s true value, look at the plot he drew up for The Malevolent Comedy. It tells the story of each of the five acts, and shows who should be where in every scene. Nick pins it up in the tiring-house before we start. Without it, we’d be lost.’
‘Then we keep the plot and get rid of him,’ said Hibbert.
‘We’ve had this futile argument before,’ recalled Firethorn, ‘and our answer’s still the same. Nick stays, regardless.’
‘Does that mean my play will not be staged again?’
‘Far from it. We plan to offer it every day next week.’
‘Without my permission?’
‘What author would deny permission to have a play performed?’
‘I would,’ attested Hibbert. ‘Look to the contract and you’ll see that I’m within my rights to do so.’
Firethorn gaped. ‘You’d stop us playing The Malevolent Comedy?’
‘Unless my terms are met.’
Elias was combative. ‘Do you dare to threaten us?’ he said.
‘I mean to have my way.’
‘Then you can take your worm-eaten play and stuff it up your …’
‘Be quiet, Owen,’ said Firethorn, cutting him off. ‘We need to haggle here. Saul’s comedy could fill our coffers to the brim.’
‘I’m glad that you’ve remembered that,’ said Hibbert, smugly.
‘What’s to prevent it appearing at the Queen’s Head on Monday?’
‘The presence of Nicholas Bracewell.’
‘You demand a terrible price.’
‘And I mean to have it.’
‘The performance will suffer without Nick’s guiding hand.’
‘I refuse to believe that, Lawrence. Find a reliable deputy.’
‘A moment ago,’ noted Elias, ‘you were offering to take on the office yourself. Mark my words, you’d not be popular if you did so. And you’d not get the best out of the actors.’
‘Nicholas will never touch my play again!’
‘Or you’ll withdraw it?’
‘I’ll do far worse than that.’
‘Worse?’ repeated Firethorn.
‘I’ll work instead for Banbury’s Men,’ said Hibbert with conviction. ‘I’ve already received blandishments from them. John Vavasor and Cyrus Hame were sent to whet my appetite. Lamberto showed their gift for tragedy. I am wanted at the Curtain for my comic mastery.’
Firethorn was shocked. ‘You’d go to Banbury’s Men?’
‘Only if you deny my request.’ He rose quickly to his feet and put his hands on his hips. ‘Nicholas Bracewell or Saul Hibbert? Make your choice. Which of us is more important to you?’
Before any reply could be made, Hibbert stalked off dramatically.
‘I know which one I’d choose,’ said Elias, belligerently.
‘Peace, Owen.’
‘Nick is worth a dozen Saul Hibberts.’
‘I agree,’ said Firethorn, ‘but Nick does not write plays. If we lose Saul to our rivals, we yield up our best hope of competing with them.’
‘Do you believe that Banbury’s Men are really after him?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Then why not let him go?’ said Elias. ‘In return, you can lure away John Vavasor and Cyrus Hame. A fair exchange, I’d say.’
‘And so would I, if there were any chance of it taking place. But there’s not,’ said Firethorn with a sigh of regret. ‘When he showed a play to me, I tossed it back in Master Vavasor’s face. He’d never join us now, Owen. The fellow has every reason to get his own back at me.’
John Vavasor poured two cups of wine and handed one to Cyrus Hame.
‘Do you think he’ll come?’ he asked.
‘I’m certain that he will. Saul Hibbert is an ambitious man.’
‘Too ambitious, I fancy. We’d need to watch him, Cyrus.’
‘He’s no match for us,’ said Hame, sipping his drink. ‘We played him like a fish at the end of a line yesterday. The promise of more money will be irresistible.’
‘Yes, he’s as fond of women and fine clothes as you are.’
‘Like me, he has good taste in both. That means expense.’
‘Ambitious and in need of money — we have him!’
‘Unless they bind him by contract to Westfield’s Men.’
‘They’ve not done so yet,’ said Vavasor. ‘He told us as much. And I doubt that Lawrence Firethorn would pay what Banbury’s Men will offer. He’s a reputation for being tight-fisted — among his other vices.’
‘What about his virtues?’
‘He has none.’
Hame laughed. ‘You really hate the man, John.’
‘I loathe him. He said that my play was pure dross.’
‘Dross can be turned into gold by the right process.’
‘You proved that,’ said the other with gratitude. ‘You’re a true alchemist, Cyrus. My work was base metal until you put it in the roaring furnace of your brain. It came out as new-minted gold.’
‘We are partners, John. Each of us needs the other.’
‘The question is — do we also need Saul Hibbert?’
‘You want to cripple Westfield’s Men, do you not?’
‘Oh, I do. I want to bring Master Firethorn crashing down.’
They were in a room at Vavasor’s house, a spacious mansion that rubbed shoulders with the homes of the high and mighty in the Strand. Having no need to work for a living, Vavasor was nevertheless driven to make his mark in the theatre, even if it meant long hours of unremitting toil. Until he had met Cyrus Hame, all success had eluded him. Suddenly, the two of them were the most celebrated authors in London, and they had all but completed their new play. Vavasor looked wistfully at the manuscript and succumbed to a feeling of doubt.
‘Do you think it will be as good as Lamberto?’ he said.
‘No, John.’
‘Oh, dear!’
‘It will be even better,’ Hame said with a grin. ‘Pompey has a nobler hero and a bolder theme. More to the point, the role is even more suited to Giles Randolph’s talents than Lamberto.’
‘That was not the only reason I chose it for him.’
‘No, you wanted him to out-fire Lawrence Firethorn.’
‘And so he will,’ said Vavasor. ‘That will hurt Firethorn more than anything. He’s played Pompey the Great many times in a play of that title and thinks the part is his in perpetuity. We’ll wrest it from him and show how it should be played. Lawrence Firethorn will squirm in a pit of envy.’
‘I begin to feel sorry for him.’
‘There’s more yet, Cyrus. I want you to write a Prologue that will play upon his name and goad him even more. Harp on the fact that our tragedy will have more fire and sharper thorns than those other versions of the story. Mock him without mercy.’
‘The couplets already start to tumble from my brain.’
‘Set him down as Pompous the Great.’
‘I’ll tent him to the quick,’ promised Hame. ‘He’ll wish he never had the gall to turn John Vavasor away.’
‘His troupe will slowly crumble. He’s lost Edmund Hoode. He’s lost his supremacy as an actor. And he’s lost his way.’
‘He’s also set to lose Saul Hibbert.’
‘When we can entice him away.’
‘That may be sooner than we thought,’ said Hame, artlessly. ‘From what I hear, Saul was not too happy with the performance of his play this afternoon. I do not blame him. Who wants to be known as the author of a play about a runaway dog?’
They laughed their fill then poured themselves more wine.
Sunday began, as it always did in the household, with a visit to church. Accompanied by her maidservant, Anne Hendrik walked with Nicholas Bracewell to attend morning service in Bankside, while all the bells of London rang out to call the faithful. When they filed into their pew, Anne knelt in prayer, filling her mind with holy thoughts. By the time they emerged from the church, however, her thoughts had taken a more temporal turn. On the stroll home, she did not mince her words.