Exasperated, Camden pursued him. “What do you mean, no one seems to know for certain? Do you mean that there is someone they suspect?”
“Oh, one of her suitors, I believe,” said Shakespeare, coming up to the stall and looking over the pies the grizzled, one-eyed vendor had set out. “Blanche Middleton’s suitors, that is. You know, the lady upon whom you were lying in the library. Or is that whom you were laying in the library? I am not quite certain. Both seem to me to be correct. Oh, my, these do look good…”
“Blast you! Here, you, vendor, let’s have one of those pies.”
“Certainly, milord,” the old man said, bowing and wiping his hands on his leather apron. “Which one would you wish, yer worship?” He indicated a dozen steaming pies freshly set out on his display board.
“Any one, it does not matter,” Camden said, impatiently.
“Oh, now, truly, sir, you do me honor…” Shakespeare said, as the old man selected one.
“Honor me with a reply and we shall both be satisfied.” said Camden, tersely.
Shakespeare appraised the pie, which looked quite tempting, and then dubiously glanced at the old man, who seemed a bit bedraggled with his long, stringy, white hair and grimey, floppy hat, but whose hands, at least, looked reasonably clean. “Well, now, I shall need to set this ale down… or else, methinks, this mutton…”
“Put it down upon the board,” said Camden.
“But it does not look too clean, milord.”
“Heaven help me!” Camden said, rolling his eyes. He threw some coins down for the pie. “Here, give me the mutton, and then you may take your blasted pie.”
“But… I was not quite finished with the mutton, milord.”
“Fine. Then I shall hold the ale, whilst you take the mutton and the pie.”
“Ah… well, that may work, I suppose, but then I cannot drink, you see.”
“Just give me the damned mutton leg!” said Camden through gritted teeth, snatching it away and brandishing it as if it were a club. “Now get on with it!”
“What was it I was saying, milord?”
“You were telling me who is suspected in the slaying of Daniel Holland!”
“Ah, well, one of the suitors, it seems, must have done it. Elimination of a rival, you see. They were seen together in the maze, it seems, that is to say, Holland and the lady… much as you and the lady were seen together in the library, and… oh, my goodness! I suppose that means that you could very well be next, milord!”
Camden paled. “What do you mean?”
“Well, if someone is killing off his rivals — “
“Then any one of us might well be next,” said Braithwaite, from behind them. Camden turned so suddenly, he nearly struck Braithwaite with the leg of mutton. Braithwaite jerked back and Camden, alarmed by the sudden movement, instinctively raised the leg of mutton like a club.
“Have a care with that,” said Braithwaite. “ ‘Twould be a waste to offer violence with a victual.”
“You startled me, sir,” said Camden, in an affronted tone.
“ ‘Twas never my intention, I assure you,” Braithwaite said. “I could not help but overhear what you and Master Shakespeare were discussing. I had already heard the news, however. Everyone speaks of nothing else. Tis a shame about Dan Holland. He seemed a decent enough sort, I suppose, though if he did dishonor to the lady, then I cannot feel too sorry for him.”
“Well, ‘twould seem that I have been the very last to hear of his demise,” said Camden, dryly.
“And yet I wonder if you were the very first to see it,” Braithwaite replied, raising his eyebrow.
“What do you mean, sir?” Camden bridled at him. “Are you suggesting I had aught to do with it?”
“Well, one never knows, does one?” said Braithwaite. “As Master Shakespeare said, ‘twould appear that one of us is anxious to eliminate his rivals and that one, for all we know, could very well be you.”
“Or it could just as well be you” Camden retorted, angrily. “I deeply resent your implication, sir!”
“Well, a man who stands ready to club down a fellow with a leg of mutton could be capable of anything,” said Braithwaite.
“You mock me, sir!”
“Tush, what use is there to mock a mockery?”
“Will!” Robert Speed came running up to them and, ignoring the two rivals, moved between them to tug at Shakespeare’s sleeve. “Where the devil have you been) And where is Tuck, for Heaven’s sake? Why, we have all been searching high and low for both of you!”
“Damn you!” said Camden, pale with fury. “I demand that you apologize at once!”
“Oh, forgive me, milord; I do humbly beg your pardon. I did not mean to interrupt,” said Speed.
“Not you, you simpleton, I meant this gentleman!” said Camden, indicating Braithwaite. “I shall not stand here and suffer to be ridiculed!”
“And yet you do it so very well,” said Braithwaite.
“Perhaps if we all took a moment-” Shakespeare began, but Speed began tugging on his sleeve again.
“We have set up the stage and have been trying to rehearse all day, but ‘tis a near impossibility without our book holder and the author of our play!” said Speed. “Kemp has lost all patience and has refused to proceed without you, for he does not like his scenes and demands changes, and Burbage has ordered everyone to spread out through the estate and find you-”
“Will you shut up!” said Camden.
“-and now there is all this talk of murder once again and no one even knows if we are to perform tomorrow-” “I said, shut up, you cursed fool!”
“Oh! Forgive me, milord,” said Speed, “I do humbly beg your pardon, but I thought that you were speaking to the other gentleman again.”
“Idiot!” said Camden, and lashed Speed viciously across the face with his leather glove.
“I say, that was uncalled for,” Braithwaite said. “See how you like a taste of your own broth.” He removed his glove and struck Camden in the face with it.
“Oh, God save us,” said Shakespeare, backing away hurriedly and pulling Speed along with him.
Camden ’s rapier sang free of its scabbard. “You shall die for that, you villainous churl!”
“Lay on, barrister,” said Braithwaite, drawing steel, “and damned be he that first cries, ‘Hold, enough!’ “ “A fight!” cried Speed.
“Gentlemen, please, put up your swords!” cried Shakespeare, but they were already engaged and a crowd quickly began to gather as the combatants dueled.
“Upon my word, what’s this?” asked Burbage, joining the assemblage as Braithwaite and Camden exchanged thrusts and parries.
“More than I had bargained for, I fear,” said Shakespeare.
“What had you to do with this?” asked Burbage.
“Everything and nothing,” Shakespeare said. “I stirred up this brew, I fear, but now have naught to do with the result.”
“I do believe they mean to kill each other,” Burbage said.
“Aye, look at ‘em go!” cried Speed, delighted with the spectacle, as indeed, were most of the observers, who cried out encouragement to one or the other of the combatants as they moved back and forth, their blades clanging against one another. The crowd surged back from them to give them room as they maneuvered. Camden lunged and Braithwaite parried, leaping backwards and knocking into the display board where the pies had been set out. Everything went crashing to the ground and the old man cried out and put his hands up to his head in consternation as his entire stall seemed in danger of collapsing, but Braithwaite recovered quickly and moved to the attack, and then Camden suddenly found himself on the defensive as he backed away, parrying furiously.