Sackett's Land (1974) (5 page)

"It is very little."

"It is very much. A farm laborer makes but three shillings a week."

"This is a man who can write," Tallis protested. "Ten shillings."

"Nine, then," I said, "but not a penny more, or I do it myself."

"Nine then." He paused. "Where shall it be delivered?"

"I will come back in one week," I said.

"Nine shillings!" Jublain protested, as we walked away. "Are you made of money? Nine shillings for something you have never seen! What are you thinking of?"

"It's a gamble," I replied frankly. "I need friends, and aside from you I have none. I need money, and believe I see a way to get it."

"It had better work," Jublain replied grimly. "You are spending enough."

Much of the money I had brought was gone. More would be gone by the week's end, but I still had four gold pieces, ancient coins brought to Britain by some traveler or soldier.

By dint of much walking I priced coins in various shops, even bought two in a junk shop where they lay amid a lot of mixed stuff. One was of bronze, the other silver.

"Look you," Jublain protested, when once more we sat in the inn with tankards of ale before us, "Essex is in Ireland. He will need fighting men. We could--"

"I have naught against the Irish."

"How many wars are there, that you pick and choose?"

"Go to Essex if you wish. I shall go to America, a quick voyage and home again with riches."

"You tell me to go? We are friends, Barnabas. Anyway, I must see what comes of this madness."

"Enough for now. There is a play at the Globe. In my life I have seen but one play and that in an inn yard. This is about Julius Caesar."

"If you must go, carry a sword. There are roving gangs, and even inside the theater there is trouble. The last time I went, some idle son threw a beef bone that near broke my skull."

"If you have not heard," it was the man for whom I'd bought the meal, "you had best know. The theater sits now on the Bankside near Maiden Lane. They took it up one night and carried it over the Thames."

"Carried a theater? What nonsense is this?"

"The old man, Burbage, died and left the theater to his sons, Cuthbert and Richard. Left the building, that is. It stood upon land belonging to Alleyn, who would not lease it to them."

"So?"

"One dark night a set of rough fellows, Richard Burbage among them, came across the river armed with swords, daggers, bills and hooks. They tore down the theater and took it over the river. The Thames was frozen, so they carried it over on the ice.

"Alleyn was that beside himself, but he had not the men to stop them. Burbage had a carpenter named Streat with him, and William Smyth and who knows who else? Some say Will Kemp was along, and Shakespeare, too, that actor who writes."

"You seem to know a bit of all that goes on," I commented.

"Aye, if you've aught to sell, I will find a buyer. If there's a place you'd go, I can take you there. If there's a man you must meet, I can arrange that, too."

"And a woman?" Jublain suggested.

"That a man must do for himself, unless. ..."

"Unless what?"

"If it were business, serious business ..."

"And your name?"

"I am Corvino, once an acrobat and a clown."

"No longer?"

"I took a fall. I am agile enough, but not for that. Not again. Not me."

"Come with us to the theater, Corvino. I have a matter to discuss. There is a Society of Antiquaries. Do you know of them?"

"A bit. "

The plan that had come to me was not complicated. In our Elizabethan world, to succeed a man needed at least strength, courage, and, if not those, the favor of friends. I was ambitious, I suppose, but I had no connections at court, nor was I wishful to enter that world. I wanted to do something, to accomplish, to achieve, but even for that one needed opportunity. And opportunity could be had only through the favor of some great man.

The discovery on the Devil's Dyke was an omen. It was a beginning, a foothold.

America promised much, or seemed to. A new world with furs, hides, perhaps even gold or pearls. If the Spanish had found them, why not the English?

Yet any move I might make required more capital than I had, and I had no wish to sell what my father had left me. The ancient coins had opened a way for me, had let me realize there were men who collected ancient things.

Hasling had accepted me; but Hasling was a rare man. Others would be more skeptical--hence the new clothes, the step into a world of fashion.

During my travels about to find work, or simply to look, I had come upon a ruined wall here, a bit of terrace there, a mound of earth, a grass-grown earthwork. And that section of mosaic I had glimpsed ... a villa? Working men in England were constantly turning up some odd bit. I would not only use what I knew myself, but would study Leland's notes. If I could find something of value, I might realize the capital I'd need. Moreover, there was the chance of meeting some man of eminence who might speak to a ship's master for me.

I would not sit waiting for some vague tomorrow, nor for something tohappen. One could wait a lifetime, and find nothing at the end of the waiting. I would begin here, I would make something happen.

"To the theater then," I said.

Chapter
5

Circumstance and heritage had produced a certain piece of raw material, the very raw material that was me. Yet, thanks to my father, my sophistication was beyond that of most fen-men.

To the theater we went, an oval, wooden-walled building with its center open to the sky, the galleries thatched. There were six-penny, two-penny, even penny seats, and if rain fell, it fell upon those in the pit--upon the sailors, mercers, butchers and bakers as well as their apprentices and students who occupied the pit.

There were also private theaters, but the audience for the plays of Will Shakespeare and many others was largely of the working-class and young.

Waiting for the play to begin, they argued boisterously, drinking beer, eating fruit or bread, cracking nuts.

We found a place in the balcony. From the pit somebody shouted a coarse remark at Jublain and he replied in kind. Next to us three young rowdies, albeit of good family, were throwing apple cores and nutshells on the heads below, and those in the pit threw them back.

At one side of the pit was an upended hogshead for the relief of those in the audience who had drunk more beer than they could handle. When the odor grew too great even for those in the pit, a cry went up to "Burn the juniper!"

After the call had come from several throats, an attendant appeared on stage with a metal plate and some twigs of juniper, which he set afire. Soon the pungent smell of burning juniper filled the air.

We watched the theater fill. "He's popular, Will Shakespeare is," Jublain informed us, "and they sayJulius Caesar is one of his best."

It was little enough I knew of the theater, and nothing of Shakespeare. Of Fletcher and Marlowe I'd heard.

"The crowd likes him. He's been writing two plays a year, and playing parts in dozens of plays, his own and others. They usually change the bill twice each week. He's never played in the private theaters, although he has performed at court.

"Owns a part of the theater, Will does. When Burbage needed money to rebuild his theater on this side of the river he sold off parts of it to several of the actors. Shakespeare, Kemp, and three or four others put up money.

"But the crowd likes our Will. They understand what he says and like listening. He's one of the few who's had no trouble."

"Trouble?"

"They've smashed up some theaters, beaten up a few playwrights ... actors, too. But not our Will."

Suddenly from behind me a harsh voice: "There he is!Take him !"

Turning swiftly, I saw Rupert Genester. A half-dozen hardfaced rogues were pushing up from behind him.

Corvino got up suddenly, stumbled and fell in front of them. Sprawling just in time to trip them, he gave me the time I needed. Swinging over the rail in front of the balcony, I lowered myself down, swung my body once, then let go, dropping to the floor of the balcony below. People shouted, a woman screamed, then they scattered before me as I leaped for the rail and dropped to the pit.

Above me I heard angry shouts, cursing, and then I ducked through the door and outside.

It was totally dark. I ran a dozen steps, cut right into a maze of alleyways, then turned abruptly right again and emerged in a lane. Slowing my pace I walked swiftly, listening for sounds of pursuit.

Only Corvino's timely fall, a very neat trick, had saved me. Now where to go? Did they know I was staying at the Tabard? That I doubted, but it would not take them long to cover the town now it was known that I was present.

Under trees near a barnyard, I paused, and wondered what to do. It was cold. Fresh patches of an early snow still lay on the ground.

Yet the bold way was ever the right way for me, and some distance away I saw the dark bulk of a house of some size. It seemed to be a place of importance, with a number of outbuildings.

Walking along the lane, picking my way around puddles of muddy water, I opened the gate at last. Immediately, I was rushed by several huge dogs, barking furiously.

Standing very still, I called out to the house. After a moment, a chain rattled, I heard a bar removed, and the door opened cautiously. A woman stood in the door, candle in hand.

"Bruno!Silence !"

A woman certainly, and a young woman, I believed.

I spoke quietly, just loud enough to be heard. "Madam? Will you call off your dogs? I am in trouble enough, without this."

"Who are you?"

I walked toward her, the dogs snuffing at my legs, and one of them leaning rather hard against me. "An unfortunate traveler who has been attacked by ruffians."

It could not be an unfamiliar story. London had its share of scoundrels.

"I have escaped them, madam, but have no idea how far I am from London Bridge, or how I am to return."

By that time I had advanced into the light and my elegant but modest dress seemed to convince her. "Come. Please come in."

She stood aside, and hat in hand, I entered. Behind her stood a young woman, obviously a servant, but one of awesome dimensions. She looked upon me with no favor.

The other woman, a girl, who held the candle, was several years younger than I ... and she was lovely.

"I fear I cause you inconvenience," I said. "If you will but show me the road--"

"You cannot walk the roads hereabouts at night," she said severely. "Lila, prepare a bed for this gentleman in the spare chamber."

Lila was about to protest, and at any other time I would have commended her good sense (and had it been any other than myself), but before she could speak her objections, the young lady spoke again, an edge to her tone. "Lila! I believe you heard me."

With a flounce, Lila turned and went away, every inch of her body stiff with disapproval.

The young lady led the way into a large, square room furnished in the heavy style of a few years back. "Would you have a bit of something? If my father were here I am sure he would offer you something. Some sack, perhaps?"

Reflecting that I had chanced into a fortunate situation, I said, "Please."

She filled a small glass, then stood back.

"None for yourself?"

"Oh, no, sir! I never touch it!"

The "sir" was rather more than I was entitled to, yet I was suddenly wary. After all, what did I know of this place? Perhaps I had stumbled into a den of murderers.

A second look convinced me I was a fool. This was a very young girl, gently bred, her cheeks soft, no hint of hardness. And I had my sword.

"I am Barnabas Sackett, at your service!"

"I am Abigail Tempany."

Ignorant as I was of London and its people, I had heard the name only the day before. Her grandfather had a young son who amassed a fortune trading in Venice, Constantinople and the Black Sea. Only recently he had returned to his English lands, beginning at once to outfit ships for the New World. Aware of all such talk because of my own plans, the name had struck me as one to whom I might hope to speak.

We talked for a short time while I enjoyed the sack, purposely prolonging it because of my pleasure in her company. She knew little of London, and I must have seemed very knowing with all my easy talk of Jonson, Marlowe, Shakespeare and Will Kemp, much of which I had only heard that evening.

She bade me good-night, and Lila showed me to a chamber.

"I sleep lightly," Lila suggested warningly, and I smiled at her. "Very lightly," she added.

"And I, also," I said. "A trouble, is it not?"

Yet it seemed I had scarcely slept when morning was graying my window. I arose, bathed lightly and donned by clothes. I was hesitating to decide whether I should simply leave quietly or wait until I could pay my respects when there was a light tap on the door.