“Neither God nor goodness has anything to do with that, my dear boy,” said Kemp, dryly.
“Was I imagining things?” asked Smythe. “Kemp, did you hear? Did you see?”
“I have ears and I have eyes,” Will Kemp replied. “And I have a very great concern for the integrity and preservation of my bones, which faculty I would most heartily commend to you, my lad. Yon saucy baggage is even more trouble than that Darcie wench. If that fire she has just ignited in your loins needs cooling, then may I suggest you jump into the river now and quench the flame post haste, before it burns you and all the rest of us, besides.”
A crowd had gathered at the top of the steps behind them, drawn by the arrival of their host and their anticipation of the wedding flotilla bearing the bride. Many of the men were also doubtless drawn by the arrival of Blanche Middleton, who was certainly worth looking at and who seemed to delight in the effect she had on any male within viewing distance. Smythe noticed that all of the young aristocrats he had marked earlier were there, vying for her attention and trying to elbow one another out of the way. If this sort of thing kept up, he thought, there could well be trouble brewing before the day was through.
What concerned him more, however, was that he had as yet seen no sign of Elizabeth. Where could she be? Catherine was due to arrive at any moment. It puzzled Smythe that while Catherine Middleton had spent the night in London, at the residence her father maintained there, Elizabeth had been here, at Middleton Manor. Why? One would think that the logical place for her to have been was at her friend’s side as she got ready for the wedding. And why was Elizabeth not part of the wedding party that was arriving on the barge?
The specter of suspicion rose up in his mind once more. There was no reason in the world that Smythe could think of why Elizabeth should not have been in London with Catherine, so that she could arrive with her on the “royal barge,” unless of course, coming out early to Middleton Manor would have given her an opportunity to meet with someone. And that someone could only be another man. Nothing else made any sense. And as his thoughts returned to that once more, it again struck him how convenient it was that they had quarrelled the last time they had seen each other.
So… where, was Elizabeth? He knew where she had been last night. Where was she now? Why was she not here, with everybody else?
Someone called out that the wedding flotilla was approaching, and in moments, everyone was pointing and shouting excitedly. Indeed, the wedding party was approaching in a fleet of boats accompanying the royal barge, just as he had seen them rehearsing the previous day. This time, however, it all seemed to be going smoothly, and despite the “wretched wind” and “frightful chop” that Godfrey Middelton had complained of, the flotilla was approaching in perfect formation, albeit spaced out a bit more widely than before, no doubt in order to avoid the sort of collision that had occurred yesterday.
Smythe had to admit that it certainly looked impressive. The rivermen were an independent and often surly lot, but somehow Middleton’s man had succeeded in getting them to work together and take direction in this waterborne pageant. The smaller boats stayed more or less in line and relatively equidistant from one another, forming an escort for the wedding barge that was being drawn by the larger boats in the center of the formation.
The crowd oohed and ahhed as the flotilla drew near and the details of the barge could now be seen. The elaborate, fringed purple canopy waved in the breeze, luffing and cracking like a sail as the “slave rowers” manned their oars, which were really more ornamental than functional. Some of them were actually dipping into the water, and perhaps providing some small amount of motive force, but most of the oars were simply waving in the air. On the flat deck of the barge, Egyptian maidens and high priests waved at the onlookers and tossed flower petals into the water from baskets. On the “upper deck,” which was really no more than a wooden platform erected on the barge, Cleopatra sat regally upon her massive throne.
The rest of the Queen’s Men now came back down the stairs so that they could finish playing their senatorial roles by greeting the queen of Egypt as she arrived.
“Well, at least they have not smashed into one another this time,” Fleming said as the boats drew near.
“Pity,” Speed replied. “ ‘Twas much more fun to watch, what with people shouting and falling overboard and such.”
One of the servants overheard and gave him an irate look, which brought the irrepressible Speed an elbow in the ribs from Burbage.
As the barge came closer, they could see the details of the throne, which had been constructed especially for the occasion. It was made of wood, carved and painted to resemble gold and set with bits of colored glass to reflect the sunlight and make it look as if it were covered in jewels. The backrest was positively huge and resembled the prow of a ship. It was carved into the shape of a snake’s head, meant to mimic the imperial Egyptian headdress that Catherine Middleton wore.
As the barge drew up to the river gate and the smaller boats held back, waiting for the bride and her party to disembark before they came up to discharge their passengers, all eyes were on the bride as she sat impressively upon her throne. She was dressed in a glittering white robe festooned with jewels and heavily embroidered with gold and silver. Her hair was covered by the imperial headdress, which was striped in black and white and held in place by a circlet of hammered gold, with a snake’s head rising from it just over the forehead.
“I do not believe the queen herself ever made a grander entrance,” Shakespeare said, as he came up to stand beside Smythe. “And I do not mean Cleopatra.”
Indeed, Smythe thought, it was truly one of the grandest spectacles that he had ever seen and every bit worthy of a pageant put on for the queen. That was, of course, precisely what Godfrey Middleton had intended. It was so impressive that Smythe wondered whether the queen, when she heard accounts of it, might even feel resentful that she had missed the celebration. He wondered if perhaps Godfrey Middleton had not overplayed his hand by putting on such an elaborate celebration when the queen was out of town and could not possibly attend. On the other hand, perhaps not. Even if she felt piqued that she had missed it, Her Royal Majesty’s appetite would certainly be whetted to see what sort of entertainment Middleton could stage for her if she gave him the opportunity. And after hearing about this, how could she not?
Part of the wedding party had disembarked and the high priests were now proceeding in line up the stone steps, carrying wooden staves with the heads of Egyptian gods upon them while two of the bridal maidens followed in their wake, strewing flowers as they went. The enthusiastic audience at the top of the steps applauded as they eagerly awaited the bride. But Queen Cleopatra had not moved. Catherine Middleton still remained seated on her throne.
“ ‘Tis what one might call royally milking an entrance,” Kemp said with a smirk as they all waited for her to come down off her throne.
“Perhaps she is waiting for someone to help her down,” said Burbage, with a slight frown. “That costume looks to be a bit cumbersome. Do you suppose that we were meant to go on board and welcome her, escort her? I cannot recall. Our directions did not seem very clear upon that point. I would hate to think that we have missed our cue!”
“She may only be experiencing the natural hesitation of a blushing bride,” said Fleming, with a smile. “You know, having herself a bout of stage fright, as it were.”
“When it comes to being married, fright is more often the natural condition of the groom,” said Shakespeare. “Perhaps she is unwell. Do you think we should go and see if-”