Kathryn Kramer (21 page)

Marriage?  Ha!  Remembering his dalliance with Morgana Woodcliff, Alandra turned up her nose. That was the last thing she would ever do—marry a philanderer! Sharing her husband with other women was out of the question.

"Untimely?  Untimely?  To the contrary.  The sooner the better." 
Murray clucked his tongue.  "Now that you are blooming into womanhood it’s time we found you a mate.  You've got to settle down, daughter.  Have a home of your own.  Can't go roaming about with a rag tag band of men forever."

"It's not a rag tag band of men!"  Alandra was quick to defend the actors, even to her father.  "And...and I enjoy going with you.  Surely there is not one among the actors who would deny me."

Or would they?  She was a woman now and she knew the rules.  For just a moment she panicked, and the old insecurities came back to haunt her. A foundling! One whose own parents had abandoned her. A child no one else had wanted.

. "'T
is the only kind of life I know, being in the theatre."  How could she be certain she would fit anywhere else?

"Aye, I know."

Her apprehension turned to anger. "Who has been grumbling?" 

"Heminges!"

"Heminges?"

She should have known
. As a father of fourteen children, a man who was active in parish affairs, he had always been a thorn in her side, insisting the life she led was no life for a girl-child.  It was not the first time he had posed a threat to her freedom, and Alandra clearly suspected it was prejudice on his part. His disdain clearly proved what he thought of those who had no relative and thus no one of importance to protect them.

"What has he said?”

"That this will be the last summer you should be allowed to go on tour.  He says a woman as lovely as you will invite trouble for us sooner or later."

"Trouble!"  Alandra's temper was sparked.  "A pox on him!  Will has a say in the matter.  He will side with me." 
When trouble brewed, it was always Shakespeare and her father who took up for her.

"But he might be outnumbered.
After all, the other wives, lovers, and daughters are left behind. Heminges is quite a persuasive and stubborn man."  Murray tried to soothe her, but Alandra was not to be calmed.

"Heminges is as gossipy as an old woman.  He should mind his own business.  He should....."

"He sites your abduction as an example."  Murray's eyes darted from Alandra to Christopher and back again.  "I will agree with him on one matter, daughter.  A woman needs a man to protect her, a young, strong man of which claim I can not boast.  I am old.  You need a husband, Alandra.  And you know who I would see you choose."

"Well, you can put a certain actor out of your mind
. Besides, Edward Alleyn be damned, I sincerely doubt that Christopher Nicholas will ever be an actor of renown

"Alandra, be reasonable."
Murray threw up his hands in agitation.  "Oh, if only you had been raised by a woman you would have learned how to use a woman's wiles.  You would have Christopher eating out of your hand......"

She would talk on the subject no longer, despi
te her father's urgings.  Yet she could not chase away her own fantasies. Her eyes strayed to Christopher as they traveled, wondering what it would be like to belong to him.  

The sting of a sea wind stung her cheeks, announcing the actors' entry into the channel port.  Alandra set aside her ponderings to enjoy the panorama .  Dover lay at the end of the  North Downs and ran upland along the valley of the Dour, the river from which it got its name.  It was a bustling port, once the walled Roman town of Dubris, the headquarters of their northern fleet.  Where Julius Caesar had landed with thousands of men in oar-and-sail boats.

From whichever direction it was approached
, a powerful castle loomed over the town, four square and forbidding, full of weapons.  Beside the steep road that led up to the castle was an ornate gun nicknamed "Queen Elizabeth's Pocket Pistol", an ornately carved and decorated cannon which had been given  to the queen by the Dutch.  But it was the sight of the cliffs towering over the western fringes of the town that left Alandra breathless.

"A
wesome, wouldn't you say, Alandra?"  Will Shakespeare took note of Alandra's surprise as he rode up to greet her.. 

"Completely!"

"And even more so when approaching from the Channel.  A coastline whose role for centuries has been to present the first line of defence against invaders."  Taking out a piece of paper, hastily searching for his pen and ink pot, Will began a bit of scribbling. He smiled sheepishly at her.  "Just wanted to make note of a few words that wandered through my head, lest I can find use for them in the future."

"Which you will, if I know you,"
Alandra answered.  "What is the play to be, Will.  Comedy or tragedy.  History or romantic tale?"

"I think 'twill be a story about a king.   But then again I have it in mind to write a love story a
s well.  One that reveals how painful such emotions can be.  Are they not?"  The expression in his eyes clearly revealed that he had assessed Alandra's situation and knew exactly what she was thinking and feeling.

"Very painful, Will." 

"Care to tell me?"  At her nod, Will nudged his mount alongside the wagon with the greatest of ease.  Instructing a startled Murray to take the reins he swept Alandra up in his sinewy arms and deposited her on the saddle in front of him,  just as he had when she was younger.  "I want to show your daughter some of the sights," he said to Murray, but whispered in Alandra's ear,  "there seem to be some things that even fathers are not privy to.  Am I right?"

Only Will would understand her predicament.  "
Yes. I've made a mess of everything Will.  It seems that being a woman is much more difficult than I realized.  And men are often the most complicated of creatures."

Shakespeare chuckled low in his throat.  "As are women
, Alandra child.  As are women. But suppose you tell me what has happened.

Alandra took a deep breath and began. “Christopher was still in my room when you came to my
door, Will. We came close to making love. But then I spoiled the moment with my suspicions, and he left quickly, as if I had set his pants on fire.”

Shakespeare smiled. “Perhaps you did!”

Alandra blushed. “He told me that he will not come near me in that way again, that he will guard my virtue because he owes it to my father.” She sighed. "'T is but my maidenhead that stands between us."  She pointed towards the cliffs.   "Though it might as well be yon mighty hills."

Though Will took her on a short tour of the area, she hardly even noticed her surroundings she was so miserable. “He wanted to make love to me, Will. There was no denying that. And he would have, had you not come upon the scene.”

"Then let us be thankful that I did!" Will's voice held a tone of scolding that surprised her.  "You are not some strumpet to succumb so easily to love's delights." he said more gently.  "Your Christopher Nicholas has judged you to be just what you are.  The kind of woman a man marries."

"So he will not touch me because I am an untried maid and yet he can never marry me because I am not his equal!" Alandra said sourly.  She had never been so disappointed in all her life.  She had been so certain that Will at least would understand, would goad her on to fulfill her desires, might even be called upon to help.

His voice was as impassioned as if speaking some of his own lines. "You must find a husband among one of your own kind!"

"An actor?" she asked sarcastically.

She assessed the actors in the company. They were either too young or too gray in the beard. Too fat or too thin. Too tall or too short. The comely ones were either married, with a wife and children awaiting their return, or of an effeminate nature, preferring their own sex. Was it any wonder she was unmarried? "

“
Or a tradesman, perhaps? "she demanded.

"Yes, Alandra
."             

"And never give vent to my love for Christopher." 

Shakespeare's nod of agreement broke her heart. 

"Thus am I doomed to unhappiness, and all because of my virtue. Damned then be that thin strip of membrane that keeps me from experiencing the greatest of joys!"

Shakespeare shook his head sadly.  "Or greatest of sorrows if you lose it unwisely!"

"But you write about young lovers and always in the end a loving heart conquers all!"  She had always adored Will's stories. Even a shrew found happiness when that play had come to an end.  How then could she not believe that somehow, some way she and Christopher could live happily ever after? 

"In stories, Alandra.  Not in real life.  I myself have never experienced true love but let a moment of passion ruin me."  Shakespeare hung his head, revealing for the first time the source of his own unhappiness.  "Think you that I love my wife?  Then I tell you clearly that I do not.  The theater is not only a way of expression for me but a means of escape...."

"Escape...?"  So it was true then what she had heard whispered.  That Will's wife was a scold.  Alandra was shattered by the revelation.  Poor Will!  And she had been so certain that he held the whole world in the palm of his hand.  Instead he was just like any other mortal. 

"Be careful, Alandra.  Do not let  infatuation blind you.  Life is fact, not fantasy.  Passion wounds more oftentimes than it heals.  One moment's delight can bring on a lifetime of misery."

“Will……..”

“You can not forget that, for Christopher is a hunted man, one who now has a large reward upon his head.”

Pulling a broadside from his doublet, he handed it to her, revealing the true reason for his scolding mood. Indeed the
re was, as Will said, a handsome price on Sir Nicolas Leighton’s head. Worse yet was a written statement, said to be taken from eyewitnesses, of what had happened that fateful night at the Black Unicorn.

Alandra stared at the ink-stained paper in her hand in disbelief. Christopher had claimed that Lord Woodcliff’s death had occurred while they were engaged in hand-to-hand sword fighting. This account was at severe odds with what
he had told her.

“He said the old lord was
killed during a fair fight. Fair fight! But a sword wound in the back? In the back!’ she exclaimed, stunned.

Angrily, she asked Will to return her to her wagon. Let Sir Nicholas
Leighton explain this if he could!

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Voices chattered, howled and shouted their excitement.  There was a goodly crowd at the inn, come to see the players.  Women as well as men had come in sufficient number, not at all deterred by pulpit warnings that such mingling invited seduction. Perhaps if truth were told they even welcomed it. 

Hawkers sold tobacco, apples, nuts and pamphlets to the spectators, thus assuring themselves of hefty profits. The courtyard  was noisy, made particularly so by the
boisterousness of those Nicholas now knew were groundlings.

"It seems our reputation has preceded us, Christopher,"
Murray called out as he stretched his solid bulk.              

"Aye.  Let us hope they are pleased."  Nicholas
replied. He knew by now that there was no counting on decent or orderly behavior from such an audience. He wondered how the actors could remember their parts when they had to compete with the nut cracking noise, the raucous jokes and the occasional gratuitous contributions of fruits and vegetables from these oafs. 

"They will be.  It appears to me that they are of good humor already." 
Murray  grinned  at him.

"No doubt because they are already in their cups.  It looks as if the ale has been flowing freely."  He sniffed.  It smelled like it too. 

Pushing through the crowd, Nicholas headed for the tiring house.  There he found the young lads who were to play the female roles  struggling into their gowns, blauts and kirtles.  Stifling a chuckle, he was thankful that he was not of such tender years.  He was, as Will had said, too old and too wide in the shoulders to play any of the women's roles.

But he had also not been given any further male parts, either. Perhaps because of the mistakes he had made as Demetrius, he thought. Not that Nicholas was complaining. Having suffered on the stage once in a lifetime was enough for him! He was content to leave the soliloquies to the actors.

But Nicholas didn’t escape totally unscathed for this performance. One of the young men assigned to take the part of the ambassador had taken ill, thus Murray, frantic as usual when something went wrong, hastily thrust a costume at him.

“We’ll make it fit! He insisted ,letting a seam out here and there where Nicholas was large, taking a tuck where Nicholas was thin.

An ambassador
, Nicholas thought,
a non-speaking part and thus safe
. Donned in a wig, mustache, and beard, he thought that the part did suit him well, if he did say so himself. He made a most noble Frenchman. And even though the costumes were woefully out of style, it did feel good to wear silks and velvets again, if only for a short while.  The smooth gold tunic, even the hosen and mantle felt splendid against his skin. The colors were rich and heraldic. But most of all he enjoyed wearing a sword at his side again

Robert Armin, however, had not been as lucky.  Donning wig and wimple he prepared himsel
f to play the dowager queen Eleanor.

"That will teach me to grow either a mustache or a beard," he admonished, looking over at Richard Burbage who playfully stroked his pointed beard
, and John Lowen who mischievously twirled the ends of his light brown mustache.

"Ah, but you make such a lovely El
eanor,” William Kempe said, making his voice falsetto.  "Doesn't he Christopher?"  Kempe  was quickly becoming one of the  actors Nicholas liked the best.

Nicholas
made a face, belying his comment of, "indeed he does."  More and more he was really coming to like all the actors.  Not only were they fun to be around but they were an unusually experienced and intelligent group of fellows.  An eloquent cast for Shakespeare's play.

Nicholas appraised them.  Rich
ard Burbage's facial features--the large nose, intelligent eyes, arched brows, wide forehead, oval-shaped face and strong chin which added together to give him a sense of power and strength--were dramatic even when not on the stage.  Shakespeare had  chosen him to play King John. 

William Kempe had
been assigned the role of Cardinal Pandulph, the Pope's Legate.  Shakespeare had assigned himself  the role of William Marshall, Earl of Pembroke. Heminges held the part of Philip Falconbridge the bastard son to King Richard I.  John Lowin  had been chosen to be Philip King of France. Nicholas was to take on the role of Chatillon, Ambassador from France to King John.  A new young actor, "hardly dry behind the ears", as Burbage said,  had been given the role of the tragic young Arthur. 

An ambassador, Nicholas though
t again.  The part did suit him if he did say so himself.  . Vanity prodded him, and he found himself relishing the thought of Alandra seeing him thus.

He parted the curtains of the tiring house to look for her and was surprised to see the spot where she usually stood was vacant.  Where was she?  Nicholas's head was on a swivel as he searched the crowd for her.  Hurrying to fasten himself up he sought out
Murray.  "Where is Alandra?"

"She's not with me!" 
Murray's expression showed his own displeasure.  "But do not despair.  She'll be here.  My daughter has never missed a performance.  Never."

"Then where?"  Nicholas felt ill at ease without her.  Vulnerable
. She brought him luck!

"She said that she had to take care of some business.  I saw her talking to the proprietor of the inn." 
Murray jumped as the trumpet announcing the start of the play sounded.  "She'll be here."

"Christopher.  Christopher.  Come on.  We must make our entrance."  Burbage and Armin tugged at his sleeve.

Though he was decidedly nervous, there was no way out for Nicholas.  He had to depend on himself and his own skills.  Hurriedly he plopped the long-haired, graying wig upon his head and followed on the heels of the other actors.

Out of the corner of his eye Nicholas saw Alandra take her usual place
as prompter and felt that he could now relax. She was his good luck charm. What’s more he could trust her. Though she knew a secret about him that could destroy him, she had kept it to herself. For that he could credit her. If she doubted him from time to time, well, under the circumstances he thought she could be forgiven. Yet when their eyes met, he saw that she was glaring at him. Nicholas was unnerved. What had happened now to annoy her?

All he could hope was that one day this mess he had gotten himself into would straighten itself out. Then he would have to return to court and all of this would
be just a memory.

Feeling slighted by her reaction to him, Nicholas turned his attention to the stage, watching the actors’ gestures, listening to the flow of language. He was magically transported to another time, when John and not Elizabeth ruled
England. As he watched and listened, he became absorbed in the flow of words. Shakespeare was a genius, there was no arguing that. He had earned Nicholas’s respect as a playwright, actor and as a man.

Surely Shakespeare was as skillful with a pen as Nicholas was with a sword.  Perhaps even more so.  The man was gifted.  Talented. A man of good character.  Intelligent.  Brilliant in fact.  Will was a talented playwright, a recorder of life.  If he did not always approve of the cruelty of man he seemed to accept what was not his mission to change.  Most importantly, even writing a play he was a consummate poet.  The language he used was exquisite. 

Nicholas was actually beginning to like the theater. It was fun! He particularly liked this play,
King John
, with all its pomp and pageantry. It was well written, well casted and well acted. Maybe at some point, despite his mediocre performance as Demetrius, he could convince Shakespeare to give him a larger part. He’d talk with Will about it. With Murray’s and Alandra’s help, he might actually be able to succeed.

"Take on a
role? He was planning his future as if he thought he was going to be with the players for a long, long time.  Would that be so bad?  Looking over at Alandra he suddenly wondered what would happen if he never returned to court.  What if he mastered the art of acting and made a new life for himself.  A life that included Alandra.  What then?  After all, he had heard that the leading actors, those who earned great fame, often earned a lion's share of profits.  Celebrities on the stage were rewarded with public idolatry.  Certainly he could learn a great deal from a man like Shakespeare.

Stay among the actors.
  It was an interesting thought.  Become Christopher Nicholas, member of the Lord Chamberlain's Men.  What would Shakespeare say?

Undoubtedly  Shakespeare
would be agreeable.  He was  a gentle man, consistent in his courtesy, incapable of taking serious offense.  Never boastful.  For all his talent, he was modest, always sharing any praise for his plays with the actors.  Little by little Shakespeare was gaining Nicholas's trust. Certainly, Will had made an effort to be friendly. But what would he think if he knew Nicholas was a fugitive?  A wanted man?  Just how friendly would he be then?  And the actors.  What would be their opinion of him if they found out he had lied to them all.

Sadly he looked over at Alandra.  A man couldn't live a lie
, even for the sake of love.  He didn't belong here and in truth there was no place for him. At the moment he didn't belong at court and yet could he really fit in with the players?  The answer was no.

Nicholas's eyes left the actors for just a moment as he scanned the crowd.  How many people were there sitting in the galleries, standing on the ground?  More than a thousand,
Murray had guessed.  An odd gathering.  People who would never rub elbows ordinarily.  Lordlings, midlings and groundlings.  Butterflies, moths and caterpillars. 

Suddenly Nicholas felt as if all the blood drained from his face.  His fingers tingled, his heart froze in his chest.  He forgot all about the play, the audience and where he was as his gaze focused o
n a scar-faced man. Something clicked in his head! A memory tucked away in the back of his mind until now. He remembered that rogue was at the Black Unicorn that night. He had been near Lord Woodcliff the night Nicholas’s world had been torn apart. He seemed to remember now seeing that man flee after Lord Woodcliff’s death.

Will Frizer, a known thief
and perhaps worse
. He had to question him, find out what had happened that night, thus he cried out, “You. Frizer!” the words passed his lips before he could think. 

Looking about frantically, Will Frizer took to his heels, pushing through the crowd as he sought a means of escape

Years of habit took hold.  Deftly Nicholas reached for the sword at his side, forgetting it was little more than a toy.  Raising it threateningly he leaped off the stage, heading for the man he knew might have answers to his questions and thereby be his salvation. He had to talk to him. If he could make Frizer tell what he had seen that night, Nicholas might be able to clear himself of guilt in Elizabeth's eyes.

Nicholas kept his quarry in his sights as he pushed and shoved himself through the crowd of groundlings, but they, thinking his actions to be part of the play, did little to as
sist him.  They hooted and hollered their approval but stood their ground, forming a human wall between Nicholas and Frizer

"Let me pass!  Fools, move out of the way!"  When they didn't oblige him
, Nicholas took matters into his own hands, aiming his fist at one well-girthed paunch.  With an
oomph
the man staggered backward.  Nicholas's knee brought another groundling to his knees, his elbow sent yet another to the ground.

Quickly Nicholas pushed through the opening, hoping to corner Frizer before
he could get away.
God's whiskers, don't let him disappear,
Nicholas thought.

"Who's he after?  What's going on?"  Excitement ruled the crowd, complete absorption in what was happening.

"BiGod!"  Nicholas moved stealthily until he was  just ten feet away.  So close.  So very, very close.

"I think he's after you, Will," a voice piped up.  "Aye, I think he is."

Will Frizer's eyes met Nicholas's and the look there was so malevolent that Nicholas was stunned. Nevertheless, Nicholas pleaded, “I must talk with you. Wait!”

Frizer lunged, his knife nearly ripping the shoulder of Nicholas’s doublet.

“Who are you?” Frizer shouted. He obviously didn't recognize Nicholas in his wig and costume. “Why are you after me?”

Nicholas
didn’t answer, instead he lunged, playing with the cutter at his own game, but Frizer was fleet of foot. In a pattern of pushing, ducking, and jumping, he quickly put Nicholas at a distance as he fought desperately to escape the inn’s courtyard.

He can’t get away
! Nicholas thought desperately. If he did, Nicholas might never find him again. He hurled himself forward. “Catch him. He’s a thief and a hired cutthroat” he shouted. As the crowd gasped in surprise and fascination, Nicholas gave chase.