“What in God’s name are they doing?” Smythe asked, perplexed.
“We, of all people, should be able to tell that,” Shakespeare replied. “They are rehearsing.”
“Oh, of course,” said Burbage. “They are preparing for the wedding progress. The theme, remember? Queen Cleopatra comes to visit the Emperor Julius Caesar.”
John Fleming shook his head as he rode up beside them to watch the nautical maneuvering. “Methinks Cleopatra could use a better steersman,” he observed, dryly. “Her barge seems to be in the process of ramming her own escorts.”
Several of the boats had indeed suffered collision with the barge as Fleming spoke. The barge had drifted into them, and a number of the others steered quickly out of line to avoid the mess. One of the smaller boats was foundering and the man with the horn seemed to be having fits. He was holding the horn with one hand, shouting into it at the top of his lungs, and waving directions frantically with his free hand.
“I, for one, find that rehearsal with a company of unruly players on a stage poses challenges enough, without having to concern myself with the disposition of a small fleet,” said Burbage, with a chuckle.
“What concerns me more,” said Shakespeare, with a trace of anxiety in his voice, “is how our play shall compare with this elaborate nautical spectacle, to say naught of the distractions of the fair. I fear that we may have no easy task before us, my friends.”
As he spoke, the queen’s barge kept on drifting, sliding sideways in the current and bumping into two other small boats that were not quick enough to get out of the way, no matter how desperately their boatmen rowed. The man in charge of directing the flotilla began leaping up and down in a frenzy, shouting himself hoarse into his horn.
“He is going to upset that boat if he does not watch out,” said Speed.
The little boat was rocking violently and the boatman started shouting at his frantic passenger, who spun around angrily to shout back at the boatman and, in the process, lost his balance and plunged headlong into the river.
“Man overboard!” Will Kemp cried in his ringing stage voice, from his seat beside Speed in the wagon.
They all burst out laughing heartily, but Smythe’s laughter died abruptly in his throat when he saw the stricken expression on his roommate’s face. Shakespeare alone was not laughing. He was watching it all with a look of chagrin and, for a moment, Smythe could not account for it. He gazed at the poet with puzzled concern, and then a moment later, comprehension dawned.
Had he not known Will Shakespeare as he did, Smythe would not have understood, but all at once he realized that his friend was viewing the disaster down below-and especially their laughter at it-as a harbinger of things to come. Shakespeare had no confidence in the play that he had written. He had not wanted it performed. Indeed, he had kept insisting that it was not finished, but his concerns had been dismissed as nothing more than the natural hesitancy of a poet before the first performance of his work. If there were any problems, the Queen’s Men were confident that they could be fixed during rehearsal. After all, they had seen Shakespeare rewrite plays already in their repertoire at a lightning pace, often making extensive changes overnight, or even inbetween performances, and those changes were always for the better. It occurred to Smythe that Burbage and the others all took this ability for granted. The only one who apparently did not was Shakespeare.
It had become evident now that the barge was drifting due to the parting of one of its tow ropes. As they watched it skewing sideways, Smythe understood that Shakespeare was envisioning a similar disaster on the stage and seeing himself in the role of the unfortunate fellow with the horn. The man was being assisted back into the boat as they watched. Somehow, he had managed to retain a grip on his horn, but now, in a fury, he tossed it violently overboard.
“I would not concern myself overmuch with competition from that sort of spectacle, if I were you,” Burbage said to Shakespeare, leaning over in his saddle slightly and reaching across to clap him on the shoulder. “If they manage to pull it off without sinking themselves like Drake sank the Armada, why then at best, it shall be merely a parade of boats and two silly looking barges, one bearing a bride dressed like an Egyptian queen and the other conveying the wedding party. By the time they reach the river gate down there and disembark, all watching will have wearied of the sight. And if they repeat this sorry show, why, they shall merely amuse the audience and prime them for our own merrymaking. Odd’s blood, if the Queen’s Men cannot easily surpass a little water pageant, then we should all start looking for something else to do.”
They were met by the steward of the estate, a gaunt, balding and smugly self-important man who introduced himself as Humphrey. Like many of the wealthy middle class, in imitation of the aristocracy, Godfrey Middleton divided his time between residence at his country estate and a home that he maintained in the city. Even though it was less than a day’s ride to London, with his business concerns keeping him in the city much of the time, it was necessary for Middleton to have a capable steward in charge of his country house. It was a large responsibility, and Humphrey’s manner indicated he was quite aware of that and thought everyone else should be, as well. He was neither rude in his greeting of them nor was he dismissive, but he nevertheless gave the impression that he was a very busy man with many more important things to do, which was doubtless true, thought Smythe, at least under the current circumstances, considering all the preparations that he had to oversee for the wedding and the fair.
Without wasting any time, Humphrey rattled off their instructions. They were to proceed directly to the stables, where their horses and equipment would be put up by the grooms, and then immediately set about their preparations for the staging of their play, which was to take place on the morrow, in the late afternoon, following the wedding. It meant that they would not have much time, if any, to rehearse. If they were quick in setting up, then there might be an opportunity to get in one quick rehearsal in the evening. In the morning, they would all be busy greeting the wedding party as they arrived.
“Costumes shall be provided for you,” Humphrey stated curtly, with a slightly preoccupied look, as if ticking off a mental list. “You shall be receiving them this evening while you are setting up your stage and can then divide them amongst yourselves, accordingly.”
“What sort of costumes?” Burbage asked, with a slight frown. “I was not aware that we would be donning any costumes other than our own. Surely, there cannot be any time for fittings?”
“Fittings shall not be necessary,” Humphrey replied. “The costumes are merely simple white robes that drape over the body. You shall be Roman senators, welcoming our distinguished guests as they arrive and helping them disembark, then escorting them up to the house, where my staff shall take over their charge.”