Didn’t Will Painter say they had lived together before she took up with Bertrando? Painter implied that Fulke still loved her. Even when dying, perhaps for love, he could not name her outright but, for conscience’ sake, gave you the coded clue instead?”
“One thing this deed has also killed,” interrupted Master Burbage. “We shall no more experiment with women as players. They bring too many dangers with them.”
Master Hardy Drew turned and smiled wanly at Master Topcliff. “By your leave, good Master, I’ll get me to my bed. It has been a tiring exercise in drama.” He paused, smiled, and added with mocking tone. “The king’s a beggar now, the play is done.”
THE GAME’S AFOOT!
The game s afoot!
— Henry V , Act III, Scene i
W hen the shrill voice of a boy, accompanied by an incessant thudding against his door, awoke Master Hardy Drew that morning, the Constable of the Bankside Watch was not in the best of moods.
He had retired to his room, which he rented above the Pilgrim s Wink Tavern, in Pepper Street, in the early hours that morning. Most of the night he had been engaged in dispersing the rioters outside the Cathedral of Southwark. It had been a well-organized protest at the publication of the Great Bible, which had been authorized by King James. The Great Bible had been the production of fifty scholars from the leading universities, resulting in a work that the King had ordained to be the standard Bible used throughout his realms.
While it had been obvious to Master Drew that the Catholics would seize the opportunity to express their outrage at its publication, he had not expected the riots organized by the Puritan Party.
Not only were there rumors and reports of popish plots and conspiracies this year, but the activities from the extreme Protestant sects were far more violent. King James’s moderate Episcopalian governance angered the Puritans also. Only last month the Scottish Presbyterian reformer, Andrew Melville, had been released from the Tower of London in an attempt to appease the growing anger. The King had admitted that his attempt to break the power of the Presbyterian General Assembly in Scotland had not met with success. Rather than placate the Presbyterians, Melville’s release had increased the riots, and he had fled into exile in France where, rumor had it, he was plotting his revenge. James had fared little better with imposing his will on the English Puritans.
The kingdoms of England and Scotland echoed and reechoed with treasonable conspiracies. Indeed, a few months previously, another attempt to install James’s cousin Arabella Stuart on the throne had resulted in the unfortunate lady being confined to the Tower. Times were dangerous; Master Hardy Drew had been reflecting on this while quelling the outburst of anger of Puritan divines. Even his position of constable was fraught with political danger. There were many who might falsely inform on him for his religious affiliations or, indeed, for his lack of them, in order to secure the position of constable for themselves together with the small patronage that went with it.
The knocking increased in volume, and Master Drew rolled out of his bed with a groan. “Ods bodikms!” he swore. “Must you torture a poor soul so? Enter and have a good reason for this clamor!”
The door opened a fraction, and a dirty young face peered round.
Master Drew glared menacingly at the child. “You had better have a good reason for disturbing my sleep, little britches,” he growled.
“God save you, good master,” cried the young boy, not entering the room. “I’ve been sent to tell you that a gen’lemen be lying near done to death.”
Master Drew blinked and shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it. “A gentleman is—? Who sent you, child?” he groaned.
“The master what owns the inn in Clink Street. The Red Boar, Master… Master Pen… Pen… some foreign name. I can’t remember.”
“And precisely what did
“One thing this deed has also killed,” interrupted Master Burbage. “We shall no more experiment with women as players. They bring too many dangers with them.”
Master Hardy Drew turned and smiled wanly at Master Topcliff. “By your leave, good Master, I’ll get me to my bed. It has been a tiring exercise in drama.” He paused, smiled, and added with mocking tone. “The king’s a beggar now, the play is done.”
THE GAME’S AFOOT!
The game s afoot!
— Henry V , Act III, Scene i
W hen the shrill voice of a boy, accompanied by an incessant thudding against his door, awoke Master Hardy Drew that morning, the Constable of the Bankside Watch was not in the best of moods.
He had retired to his room, which he rented above the Pilgrim s Wink Tavern, in Pepper Street, in the early hours that morning. Most of the night he had been engaged in dispersing the rioters outside the Cathedral of Southwark. It had been a well-organized protest at the publication of the Great Bible, which had been authorized by King James. The Great Bible had been the production of fifty scholars from the leading universities, resulting in a work that the King had ordained to be the standard Bible used throughout his realms.
While it had been obvious to Master Drew that the Catholics would seize the opportunity to express their outrage at its publication, he had not expected the riots organized by the Puritan Party.
Not only were there rumors and reports of popish plots and conspiracies this year, but the activities from the extreme Protestant sects were far more violent. King James’s moderate Episcopalian governance angered the Puritans also. Only last month the Scottish Presbyterian reformer, Andrew Melville, had been released from the Tower of London in an attempt to appease the growing anger. The King had admitted that his attempt to break the power of the Presbyterian General Assembly in Scotland had not met with success. Rather than placate the Presbyterians, Melville’s release had increased the riots, and he had fled into exile in France where, rumor had it, he was plotting his revenge. James had fared little better with imposing his will on the English Puritans.
The kingdoms of England and Scotland echoed and reechoed with treasonable conspiracies. Indeed, a few months previously, another attempt to install James’s cousin Arabella Stuart on the throne had resulted in the unfortunate lady being confined to the Tower. Times were dangerous; Master Hardy Drew had been reflecting on this while quelling the outburst of anger of Puritan divines. Even his position of constable was fraught with political danger. There were many who might falsely inform on him for his religious affiliations or, indeed, for his lack of them, in order to secure the position of constable for themselves together with the small patronage that went with it.
The knocking increased in volume, and Master Drew rolled out of his bed with a groan. “Ods bodikms!” he swore. “Must you torture a poor soul so? Enter and have a good reason for this clamor!”
The door opened a fraction, and a dirty young face peered round.
Master Drew glared menacingly at the child. “You had better have a good reason for disturbing my sleep, little britches,” he growled.
“God save you, good master,” cried the young boy, not entering the room. “I’ve been sent to tell you that a gen’lemen be lying near done to death.”
Master Drew blinked and shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it. “A gentleman is—? Who sent you, child?” he groaned.
“The master what owns the inn in Clink Street. The Red Boar, Master… Master Pen… Pen… some foreign name. I can’t remember.”
“And precisely what did
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