He had made it himself.
Threat of ejection from the Queen’s Head had bonded the company together and lent their performance that holiday afternoon a freshness and defiance that transformed a good play into an enthralling experience. The Constant Lover was a form of a reply to a landlord who was neither constant nor loving and who had now sold the home of Westfield’s Men from under them. Word had leaked out that the contract with Rowland Ashway had actually been signed and it was only a question of time before the alderman expelled them from his premises. Adversity may have drawn them together onstage. When they came off, it only served to heighten their differences. Edmund Hoode and Lawrence Firethorn chose the empty tiring-house as the venue for their argument. Deep insecurity gave them both an edge of wildness.
‘I oppose it with every bone in my body, sir!’
‘Take your skeleton away from me.’
‘Have you no scruples at all?’
‘Come, sir. None of that. You lusted after the lady yourself. You longed to lie in her enchanted garden.’
‘I am not married,’ said Hoode. ‘You are.’
‘So is Mistress Stanford. Where are your scruples?’
‘I intend the lady no harm.’
‘It matters not,’ said Firethorn airily. ‘I am the fitter man for her in every way. Both of us are wed and that gives our love some balance. We take equal risks in this business. One fire consumes us both.’
‘It will burn up the whole company!’
‘Conquer your jealousy, Edmund, and take your defeat like a man. Think not of yourself in this.’
‘Nor do I,’ said Hoode forcefully. ‘It is the sweet lady herself who occupies my mind. I would save her from the disgrace that beckons.’
‘Disgrace!’ bawled the other.
‘She must only suffer in this enterprise.’
‘I offer her my true love.’
‘Give her your breeches instead, sir, for that is where it is lodged.’
‘Take care, Edmund. I have a temper.’
‘Save it for the stage, sir.’
‘My devotion to Mistress Stanford comes from a pure heart. I have sent her poems of love.’
‘Written by me!’
‘I have kissed her fair hand.’
‘Rape upon rape!’
‘She has been shown the utmost respect, sir.’
‘Then prove it now by releasing her entirely,’ said Hoode with vehemence. ‘You have a loyal wife to warm your bed and if her loyalty will not suffice, there are others who clamour for your favours. Take one of them, sir, take two or take them all. But spare this gentle creature.’
‘So that you may take my place?’
‘No! I renounce her here and now.’
‘Then stand aside for I do not.’
‘Lawrence, this is plain idiocy!’
‘Love makes a fool of all of us.’
‘She is married to the Lord Mayor Elect,’ said the other. ‘Nick counselled well. Too much peril follows. The beery alderman may only put us out of the Queen’s Head. Walter Stanford may put us out of our profession.’
‘He is the cause I cannot now pull back.’
‘Our new Lord Mayor?’
‘Do you know how he intends to enter his mayoralty?’ said Firethorn with rolling contempt. ‘With a play. His wife requested a drama such as Westfield’s Men present and he has replied with some rambling pageant.’
‘I do not follow.’
‘We are the finest company in London. We — and only we — should be summoned to make this occasion memorable. Westfield’s Men have performed before the Queen and all her Court. Yet this mercer, this man of no taste, this money-grubbing merchant of a Lord Mayor spurns our talents and turns to amateurs! It is an insult.’
‘It is also his prerogative.’
‘I do not give a fig for that!’ barked Firethorn. ‘If he will betray our eminence, then I will gladly betray his. His wife has told me of this pageant that he has arranged. Do you know its subject? Nine worthies of his Guild. What drama lies in that? Was ever such a stale subject foisted upon an audience? And that is what has put us in the shade here.’
‘You take it as a personal affront.’
‘I do, sir. Matilda alone can recompense me.’
‘Yet you spoke just now of love.’
‘Love of her and love of my profession.’
‘You would take revenge on Walter Stanford?’
‘Indeed, I will,’ said Firethorn heartily. ‘Let him have his nine giants. In Richmond, I will have mine.’
The Bull and Butcher was a small tavern in Shoreditch that offered them an excellent meal in a private room. Rowland Ashway sat on one side of the table and ate with noisy gusto. Seated opposite him, James Renfrew was more interested in the Canary wine than the food. The table was loaded. They started with a dish of boiled carp then had been served with a boiled pudding. Chines of veal and of mutton came next with a calf’s-head pie to follow. A leg of beef roasted whole then made its appearance. Capons were then set before them. A dish of tarts helped to sweeten the taste of all the meat and the rich sauces.
Ashway raised a cup to announce a toast.
‘To our success, my friend!’
‘It is not achieved as yet.’
‘We have not far to go,’ said the other. ‘The boy has been killed and with him goes the fear of discovery. Now we may turn back to the main business of our little partnership. Walter Stanford must be stopped.’
‘I thought to have done that already.’
‘We have maimed him but not yet cut him down.’
‘Do we proceed against him now?’
‘With all haste, sir. He cannot and must not be Lord Mayor or all our hopes will founder.’ Ashway reached for another tart. ‘Luke Pugsley has served my purposes so well that I would keep him there in perpetuity, but the law will not allow it. That is why I chose a successor of like temperament and soft intelligence.’
‘Who was that?’
‘Henry Drewry, the salter.’
‘But you could not secure his election.’
‘Stanford won the contest by a single vote. The case was altered cruelly. Instead of a pliant salter, I have to contend with a shrewd mercer and that’s not good.’
‘What of yourself?’ said Renfrew. ‘Does your own ambition rise as high as the office?’
Ashway grunted. ‘As high and much higher. But the Brewers come fourteenth in the order of precedence. That puts me two places away from the Great Twelve and it is from them that the mayor is chosen.’
‘You could translate to another Guild.’
‘That is in hand, sir. Why do you think I have been at such pains to woo this fool of a fishmonger? Luke Pugsley has sworn to take me into his Guild and promote me to the mayoralty.’ He scowled darkly. ‘All that will vanish if this mercer takes the chain.’
‘I hate the man,’ said Renfrew flatly.
‘Enough?’
‘More than enough.’
The younger man picked up a capon and tore at it with his teeth. There was a violence in him which had not been appeased by the murder of a Dutch apprentice. He was ready to add more deaths to the list in pursuit of his ends. As he emptied another cup of wine, he looked across at the gross figure on whom his future depended.
‘What of Master Bracewell?’
‘His turn will surely come.’
‘Let it be soon. Firk is promised.’
‘We may bide our time a little.’
‘But this book holder pursues us hotly.’
‘He will find nothing,’ said Ashway smugly. ‘What he may know, he cannot prove. The boy was the witness and his voice has been silenced. Do not concern yourself about this Nicholas Bracewell. He is no threat to us now.’