The Fool's Girl Part 12

The yard of the Bell Inn was full of snorting horses and patient ponies tethered together. Men patrolled up and down the line checking packs, testing straps, tightening girths. One of them was George Price. He looked up from the hoof he was examining and gave Violetta a fleeting smile. He was no longer dressed as a gentleman, but wore homespun and a hooded coat like the rest of the carriers. The actors' cart stood at the centre of the yard, its high side panels brightly painted, piled high with trunks, cloak bags and hampers, folded scene cloths and a.s.sorted props. Tod was having trouble backing the horses between the shafts, so Feste ran over to help him. Master Shakespeare was talking to a square-set man with a thatch of dark hair and beetling brows. He was wearing a hooded sheepskin, but from the way he stood and the orders he was giving, he was in charge. He was Will Greenaway, the Stratford carrier, impatient to be on the road.

Violetta was keen to be moving too. She looked from one part of the yard to another, eager to be gone. When Will had explained his idea to her and Stephano, she had felt her spirit rising. Hope and excitement had flared inside her at the boldness of the plan. It was also risky, dangerous, full of pitfalls, it might not even work at all, but it was better than doing nothing. After the wake was over, she'd gone to Maria to tell her that they would be leaving.

*I'm coming with you,' Maria declared. *There's nothing for me here.'

They had left Simon Forman's house early that morning just as the sun was rising and the Thames beginning to colour with the pink light of dawn.

Will had made no objection to Maria coming with them. In fact, he had welcomed her. She was a good needlewoman and could help with the costumes and in the tiring room. Everyone had to make themselves useful when they took to the road. She rode with Violetta, up on the wagon, with Tod driving. Feste was already asleep on top of the trunks, curled up on a bed that he had made for himself on the painted cloths used for scenery. Greenaway leased horses to Will and any of the company who wished to ride. The rest of them took turns on the wagon or walking behind.

They left the City at Newgate and went up Houlburne in the direction of the village of St Giles-in-the-Fields. From here they would take the Uxbridge Road past the hanging tree at Tyburn and on to St Mary at the Bourne. Here they would cross the stream at Westbourne and follow the road westward. They went at a plodding pace. The packhorses were heavily laden for their homeward journey.

*Greenaway brings cheeses, lambskins, woollen garments and knitted hose down from Stratford. And he takes back goods impossible to come by in Stratford, like sugar loaves and spices, cloth for the mercers, notions for the haberdashers, amber for the apothecaries, tobacco, paper, books from the printers by St Paul's . . .'

Tod was a fund of information, but Violetta did not mind his chatter. It pa.s.sed the time and he was a pleasant companion.

*What do you carry in your own pack, master?' Tod called down when Will rode close up to them.

He smiled up at them. *Oh, this and that,' he said.

His pack was full of gifts that he had been collecting for Anne and his daughters. He liked to bring them things that caught his eye or were hard to come by outside London: nutmegs for the kitchen, sugar, raisins, pepper, candied ginger, sticks of cinnamon, fragrant blades of mace. He had bought Spanish steel knitting needles, a rainbow mix of silk yarns and ribbons, a card of silver b.u.t.tons, the French lawn handkerchiefs that Anne liked to embroider and pretty gla.s.s beads from an Italian pedlar. A necklace for Anne, bracelets for the girls. And seeds. He'd got them from a man who travelled to Amsterdam.

The sun was warm. They were soon leaving behind the brown pall that hung over the city. Violetta had got used to the reek of it: a mix of smoking fires, clotted kennels and rotting middens. Now the stink was thinning to nothing, replaced by the scent of May blossom and flowers.

Will rode forward to catch up with Will Greenaway. He needed to talk to him about where they would be staying each night.

*If we make good time,' Tod said, *we could get to High Wycombe. It's a good-sized town. We can set up in the yard of the White Lion. First night we'll play As You Like It, because it's fresh in our minds. We haven't talked about any other plays yet. I'm hoping he'll decide to do Romeo and Juliet.'

*Romeo y Julieta?' Violetta said. *I know it. There is a story by Matteo Bandello.'

*It was my first play with the company. I played Juliet.'

Violetta laughed. She could not get used to the idea of a young man like Tod playing a girl. He was so strong sitting next to her, legs planted apart, his hands big and square holding the reins, the muscles moving in his tanned forearms.

*Oh Romeo, Romeo!'

He spoke the words with love and longing, completing the speech in a voice that made her laugh harder, it was so exactly like her own.

*Why does a man play the woman's part?'

Feste had woken up and her question had him snorting. They both ignored him.

*That is how it has always been.' Tod shrugged. *It is against the law for women to act on stage, so men or boys have to take their parts.'

*I find it strange,' she said. *Unnatural. It is not the same in other countries.'

*Did you really travel with a band of players?'

Violetta nodded.

*And acted with them?' Tod shook his head as if such a thing was beyond his imagining.

*Oh, yes. Many times.'

*She's good too,' Feste interrupted from behind them. *Better than you, I'll warrant.'

Tod smiled. *I don't doubt it! I do my best, but I yearn to play the man.'

*Glad to hear it, master!' Feste laughed so loud Violetta bid him be quiet. He was in a mood to make mischief. Sometimes she preferred it when he was quiet and melancholy. When he was in this kind of temper, he would use his wit to mock and twist anything that was said.

They were nearing High Wycombe. Greenaway, the carrier, sent back a message to say that they would be stopping for the night. When they reached the outskirts, Will asked Feste to lead the way. The clown hopped down from the cart, put on his jester's hat, slung his drum at his hip, took out his pipe and began to play. He walked in front of the players' wagon; its painted sides and cover announced that they were a travelling company. Such visits were rare, so their arrival attracted an excited crowd.

They were to set up at the White Lion, the inn used by the carriers. The landlord a.s.sured Will that they still had the boards to make the stage, kept from the days of the travelling players. Will walked into the yard. It was good and wide, with galleries on three sides. It would do perfectly.

Violetta watched as the place was transformed. The boards were found, dusted down and placed on hogshead barrels. The stage was positioned at the end gallery. The chamber behind would be used as a tiring room, a painted curtain hung across to conceal the actors and serve as a backdrop. There were different cloths, depicting day, night, forest, town or wherever most of the action took place. The actors entered and left the tiring room by way of a window with a bench laid as a step up to the stage. The audience would be ranged around the galleries or standing in the yard, depending on how much they had paid.

Will brought his princ.i.p.al actors together to discuss that night's performance, while others in the company cried their arrival round the town. Feste went with them, playing on his pipe and tabor, while his companions capered and danced to the market square, where those with the skill put on displays of tricks and tumbling that would be expected by this country crowd. Violetta went along to give out handbills and cry up the time and place of performance. She watched the tricks with an appraising eye, tutting over any clumsiness, privately thinking she could do better. The crowd were easily satisfied. She listened to their groans, their quick intakes of breath, and regretted the old life she appeared to have forfeited. When it was over, she envied the performers' smothered looks of delight at the loud whistles and shouts, the applause they attracted.

Once she had given out her bills, she went back to the inn with Feste. Will was with Tod and the other actors, rehearsing. He beckoned to Feste, who vaulted up on to the rough stage. Violetta watched them pace about, getting used to the s.p.a.ce, making sure no one was likely to take a step backwards and tumble off the boards. Will held a book in which he was ever scribbling, scoring things through, crossing things out. They were soon too busy to notice her. She wandered away from the stage, wondering what to do.

Maria was in the tiring room. She had unpacked the trunks and was shaking creases from the costumes, brus.h.i.+ng down the garments, looking them over for stains that would need sponging, holes and tears that would need repairing. She hummed as she worked, an old air from Illyria. Violetta's eyes stung to hear it a" it had been one of her mother's favourites a" but she did not go in and join her. Maria had been made wardrobe mistress, but Violetta did not want to become her a.s.sistant. It seemed her obvious place, but she could not see herself patching and st.i.tching, lengthening and shortening, letting in and letting out. Instead she sat on one of the stairs that led up to the gallery, watching the actors on the stage, learning the words as they spoke them, watching their gestures and movements. That is where she wanted to be. Women banished from the stage? What foolishness. They were short of players. Many parts had to be doubled. They were going to a deal of trouble coping with the lack, working out who should be onstage and who off it in order not to meet themselves coming back. She might have her chance yet.

The audience began to fill the yard and range themselves round the upper floors. Violetta stood at the entrance collecting the money: a penny for the yard, tuppence for the gallery. Soon the money bag was bulging and the place was full. Every s.p.a.ce was taken. Boys climbed up on the roofs and perched there like rows of starlings. Violetta fought her way up the stairs to where George Price had saved a place for her. She smiled and thanked him.

*I saw you this morning,' she said.

*I've got a couple of men among Greenaway's carriers,' he said. *Two more with the actors. We're here to keep an eye on you. Keep you safe.'

Violetta stared at him. The danger she was in had slowly been sliding out of view. She gripped the rail in front of her, searching the faces in the surrounding galleries, looking down at the crowd crammed into the inn yard.

*Do you think there could be men here? Now?'

*It's possible. It's best to a.s.sume so. I look for anything out of the ordinary way of things, like someone watching you instead of the play. Once it begins a"' he nodded towards the stage a" *then we will know. '

Around her, the excited chatter began to lessen; the actors had yet to appear, but the audience seemed to know that the play was about to start. Violetta found herself watching the crowd, like George Price, but when the actors stepped out she forgot about that. She was down there with them. These were not boards set out on hogsheads, and this was not an inn yard in High Wycombe, and these were not Will, Tod, Ned, Tom, Henry and the rest, but this was Arden and these were dukes, their daughters, followers and courtiers, shepherds, shepherdesses and lost princes. Even Feste was transformed, splendid in a jester's cap and motley of green and yellow, rather than his battered hat and frayed and faded black.

*All the world's a stage,' the character Will played said, but to Violetta it seemed the other way round. The stage had become the world. Everything outside it ceased to exist. That was where the magic lay. That was why the people had parted with their hard-earned pennies today and would happily do so tomorrow, if the players could be persuaded to stay.

George Price sat by her side, immune to magic. He kept a sharp eye on what was happening in the audience, with the staff of the inn coming and going with food and ale. The players were known and trusted. He was not concerned about them. The play reached its conclusion and his practised eye noticed nothing out of the ordinary. The performance was over. He could rea.s.sure her. She was safe for the moment.

The players could not be persuaded to stay, no matter how much the townspeople begged them. Greenaway wanted to get away, and Will did too. He was not happy with the performance and wanted to put the town behind him. What pleased the crowd did not please him. What did they know, being starved of anything but half-remembered mummers' plays and Whit-tide interludes? These were the Lord Chamberlain's Men, yet they had stuttered and groped their way through the play, stumbling about and falling over each other like a cast made up from cobblers and blacksmiths. The next morning saw them packed up and on the road.

Violetta climbed on to the cart. Tod whipped the horses up and soon they had left the town behind them. Feste was sleeping, curled up like a cat in a s.p.a.ce behind her. Tod was muttering lines to himself. Maria was busy with her needle, making a little jester's hat and costume of motley for Little Feste. They travelled on in companionable silence, Violetta drowsing a little, lulled by the sway of the wagon and the warm spring weather. She liked being back on the road. Ever since Feste rescued her from Venice, she had been infected by his restlessness. *The road is no fixed abode, madonna,' he had said to her when they joined their first company. *It winds between one place and another, between what lies in the past and what waits in the future, so you do not dwell in either. It is where you can be free.'

Feste did not like to stay in one place for long. Even in Illyria, he would wander off, his bag over his shoulder, his lute across his back. No one ever knew exactly where he went, or how long he would be gone. Eventually he would reappear, looking just the same, behaving as if he had never been away, except for the new tales he had to tell of the people he had met and the places he had been. Violetta remembered hearing his stories as a child, wanting to go with him, never guessing that one day her wish would be granted. Be careful what you wish for. Her mind was drifting, and she seemed to hear Marijita's voice calling to her from across the years, a distant sound, like a plaintive tune played by a shepherd on an old bone flute and brought down from the mountains on the wind. She woke with a start. There are no mountains here. She had been dreaming of her own country. She s.h.i.+vered, suddenly cold. The past was here. We carry it with us. Feste was wrong.

She had fallen against Tod in her dozing. She woke with her cheek against the rough wool of his doublet. It smelt faintly of lavender. Perhaps the herb had been strewn in his trunk by his mother. Violetta sat up quickly, tugging her cloak around her.

*You were s.h.i.+vering. It is still April,' Tod said as she pulled away from him. He withdrew the arm that he had put round her in what he hoped she would interpret as a protective, brotherly gesture. *The breeze can strike chill.'

*I was dreaming of my country.'

*What's it like there?' Tod asked. He'd never been further east than Greenwich.

Violetta looked at the grey clouds lowering over the rolling hills. Black birds wheeled over patches of woodland; sheep grazed in green fields divided by pale stone walls as bright as knife cuts; men worked in fields made up of long strips that looked like a counterpane st.i.tched together from brown cord, rough woven stuff and stripes of bright green ribbon.

*Not like here,' she said.

Before long, Violetta was asleep on his shoulder again.

*Hup, hup!' Tod called softly. His thoughts ran on as the horses plodded up the next long hill. Romeo and Juliet. The play was very popular, being all about love and fighting. There was not a strong clown part, but the nurse was good and bawdy. Something in it for everybody. He would suggest to Master Shakespeare that it should be part of the tour. He could play Romeo and . . . he looked down at Violetta's dark head resting on his shoulder, the delicate arch of her brow, the sweep of her lashes, the curve of her lip, her cheek faintly flushed with sleep. She would make a perfect Juliet. And why not? The rest of the company might need a bit of persuading, but the audience need never know. The rehearsing would be particularly pleasant. Violetta stirred. Her eyes moved under their lids as if she was searching some dream landscape, and Tod sank into a reverie of his own.

Will watched the girl lolling and the boy gather her to him, to prevent her from falling as much as anything, but Will could tell from the tender way he folded her cloak around her that it was more than that. He wondered if the girl realised the effect she had on the young player. Ever since he met her, Tod had been a changed man. For although he was young, he was one for the women. Not that it was difficult. Players could take their pick. The stage cast a glamour. The magic conjured there lingered long after the players had left the stage. It clung to them, disguising their ordinariness, deceiving the sight of the women, and men too, who sent them notes expressing their admiration, desiring to meet them. Violetta seemed immune to it. Perhaps that was because she had been a player herself. Just as wizards and witches are wise to the spells of others, the glamour could not work on her. Besides, she was promised to another. Her countryman Stephano. But that would just provoke Tod further. The more she held him off, the more irresistible he would find her. Will shook his head. Sometimes he was glad to be no longer young.

*Why do you smile, master?'

He looked down to see Feste jogging along beside him.

*I was just thinking how love makes us all into fools.'

*Aye.' Feste nodded. *It does that. Feste is the only wise man.'

The next town was Oxford. They would lay over there, but would put on no performance. They were not ready, as last night had demonstrated. There was a difference between touring and appearing in a permanent playhouse with a full company. Most of the actors had never been on the road before, and it showed. Besides, the University took a dim view of plays and players alike, seeing both as inciting idleness and corrupting youth. Will did not want to get caught up in some broil.

He wanted to get back to Stratford, to his family, his new house, his life in the town. Perhaps he could get some writing done. He'd left the play he was working on like a field half-ploughed. But this time it would not be the same. What happens in London stays in London a" that had always been his watchword a" but now he was bringing that world with him. This matter that Cecil had laid upon him lay distant, like a dark line of forest smudging the horizon, but soon enough it would be all around. To write plays full of plotting and intrigue was one thing, to be caught up in them quite another. All the world's a stage. His own words were here to taunt him. If that was so, Will always cast himself as audience. He s.h.i.+vered and pulled his cloak about him. Clouds were running in from the west and the chill little wind that had sprung up had rain upon its breath.

19.

*Besides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller'

On Headington Hill, leading down into Oxford, Tod nearly lost control of the rig. The hill was long and steep. A dagging rain had been falling since noon and the road was greasy with dried ruts under the surface slime. About a quarter of the way down, the wheels began to slide. Tod hauled on the brakes until they smoked, but that just made things worse. The whole rig began to slew sideways, threatening to capsize and throw pa.s.sengers and contents into the milky brown mud. Greenaway acted quickly to stop the descent before the wagon got completely out of Tod's control and involved his valuable line of packhorses in a disastrous spill. Tod resumed his seat, much shaken, blaming the road surface and the horses. Will considered the boy was quite as much at fault for paying too much attention to Violetta and none to his driving, but he did not say anything. The young actor had suffered fright enough.

They crossed the long bridge which spanned the divided streams of the Cherwell, pa.s.sed the looming tower of Magdalen College and entered the city by the East Gate. At Carfax, the meeting of four ways, Greenaway turned the packhorses into Cornmarket. They were to put up at the inn used by the carriers. Will would stay at the tavern on the other side of the wide street, where Devenant, the landlord, had rooms that were quiet and away from the street. Violetta and Maria were to stay at the tavern with him, while the rest of the actors would put up at the carriers' inn.

There was concern about the cart. Tod was convinced that the slide had loosened one of the wheels and asked Greenaway to look it over with him. Will came back to the inn yard to find the cart up on blocks, a wheelwright and blacksmith in attendance. After further inspection, ale and conversation, it was decided that the trouble could be fixed but it would take a day or two. Will frowned at the delay and the expense involved.

*Hurry them on. Smiths and wheelwrights always lie about the time it will take them to do anything.'

*We could always put on a play,' Tod suggested. *I've been thinking a"'

*No.' Will cut him off. *There will be no performance here. I have decided. That is an end of it.'

Will's decision was final. He did not intend to quibble. Oxford always seemed to bring him ill luck. He couldn't wait to leave the town.

The next morning, Maria was not feeling well. She'd retired early last evening, the swaying of the cart and the near spill having made her feel queasy, and she still felt good for nothing and was suffering with her stomach.

Mistress Devenant directed Violetta to the nearest apothecary. Violetta was used to being alone in strange places. She had a good sense of direction. Besides, the ways were broad; she was unlikely to get lost. The grand buildings and wide streets, encompa.s.sed by a wall pierced through by gates, reminded her of her home city. The only thing missing was the sea.

The apothecary listen carefully as she explained what ailed Maria. He went off to make a fresh decoction and Violetta admired the crocodile dangling from the ceiling, the turtle-sh.e.l.ls and the other strange objects that he had displayed about his shop.

She put the package in her basket and stepped on to the street. Up towards Carfax, there was a carriage drawn up causing an obstruction. The crowd thickened with people trying to get past it. She heard someone call her name, in greeting, or warning, but could see no one she recognised in the milling throng. The carriage door was open. Inside she could see a buckled foot, and above it a narrow ankle in black hose. She hesitated which way to go. Then a man appeared, blocking her way. He had one arm in a leather sling, which made it harder to get past him. She tried to back away, but the crowd was all around her, pus.h.i.+ng her towards him. His other arm, matted with black hair, criss-crossed with half-healed scratches, reached out for her. She sensed rather than saw the other one coming up behind her. It was the two from the Hollander. They must have dragged themselves out of the river. Now they meant to bundle her into this carriage.

She had no time to struggle. Hands grabbed her and pushed her from behind, while others grasped her arm, dragging her inside. The door banged shut, the lock dropped into place. The driver cracked his whip over the horses and the carriage jolted away.

The window was covered by a leather flap, but there was enough light to see the man sitting opposite her. The carriage lurched as the driver whipped up the horses, and Violetta nearly fell into his lap. He had swapped his Jesuit black for the clothes of a gentleman of fas.h.i.+on, with a ruff about his neck and a high-crowned hat upon his head. The hat was adorned with a jewelled brooch and fine-plumed feather. His russet doublet was slashed to show the green silk lining; his puffed velvet breeches were the same shade of green, slashed to show red satin. They tied beneath the knee in the Venetian fas.h.i.+on and were trimmed with rows of lace.

*Malvolio!'

*I do not go under that name here.' He waved a jewelled hand as if to dismiss the past. *I am now Signore Vendelino, a gentleman in the service of the Venetian Amba.s.sador. I do not think that you have met my companion.'

He had not been alone in the carriage. There was another man with him, dressed more soberly, but in materials just as rich; his dark doublet glittered with rows of jet beads. He sat forward, his bony hands grasping the silver k.n.o.b of an ebony stick. His large head looked too big for his narrow shoulders. The strands of thin grey hair that hung from under his hat were spread carefully over his shoulders and his fine lace collar as if to disguise their spa.r.s.eness.

*This is my friend Sir Andrew. You do not know him, but he knows your family. Especially your mother, Viola. Very like, do you not agree?'

Sir Andrew nodded. *Very like indeed. The spit of her, and I don't doubt as much of a vixen. She was no friend to me, young lady.'

*What a surprise to see you here, my dear.' Malvolio smiled, his eyes mocking her. *We are visiting friends in the area and came into Oxford. We have friends here too, in certain of the colleges, and we wanted to visit the place where the blessed sons of the True Faith were lately martyred. I wanted to pay my respects. Make a pilgrimage of sorts. There should be a shrine to them. One day there will be. That day will be soon!' A different light showed in his eyes now. He wiped his mouth with a kerchief and paused to collect himself. *We came to visit, as I say, and who do I see walking down High Street? What a lucky coincidence. Except I do not believe in coincidence. Our meeting was meant to be. I think you know my men, Crank and Gennings? You escaped them once. I was determined that you would not do so again. They have orders to scour the town for that wretch Feste. If you are here, he cannot be far away.'

*What do you want with me? With Feste? You have ruined our lives and ruined our country. You have taken everything from us. We have nothing. No home, no belongings. We live like vagabonds. What danger can we pose?'

*Soon, none at all,' he said, his smile laced with menace. *You know what I want.'

*The stone? I don't have it. Neither does Feste.'

*Now, why should I believe you?'

Before he could say anything more, the carriage slowed and came to a halt. It rocked violently, jostled by the crowd. Malvolio pulled back his curtain as the driver cursed, yelling at people to get out of his road.

*There's always a throng going in and out of the South Gate.' Sir Andrew picked up the flap and peered out of his window. *We will just have to wait.'

They were leaving the city. Violetta looked about, frantic. She had to escape, or at least draw someone's attention to her capture. With both men turned away from her, she made a lunge for the door. Sir Andrew felt her sudden movement and turned back, changing his grip on the ebony stick. He gave the handle a quick twist and, with a flick of the wrist, a long thin blade hissed through the air between them. She withdrew her hand just in time to avoid being slashed and sat back as he angled the swordstick upwards so that the needle-sharp point was p.r.i.c.king at her throat.

*Not a blink, not a sound as we leave the town, or you will be choking on your own blood.' He regarded her with eyes as pale and colourless as gla.s.s. *Do not think for a minute that I would not do it. The blow your mother dealt still rankles. I would enjoy doing to you what I should have done to her all those years ago.'

The knot of people around them seemed to loosen. They were on the move again. The horses' hoofs on the cobbles took on an echoing clatter and there was a difference in the noise of the wheels over the ground. They were going through the gate. Any hope of help was quickly fading, but Violetta did not move. The thin blade seemed to quiver as if quickened by its owner's malice. She did not make a sound.

The driver cracked his whip and called to the horses. They picked up speed. They were leaving the town behind. They were pa.s.sing meadows; she could smell gra.s.s and river water. Still Sir Andrew did not drop his weapon. Violetta stayed as still as she had been before. She found it hard even to swallow. One look at his eyes told her what she knew already: at the slightest excuse, he would pin her to the back of the carriage, skewering her like a b.u.t.terfly to a board.

20.