said. “Were they priests, then?”
Sal Pavy shook his head. “They insisted we confess our sins to them, all the same. If we couldn’t think of anything we’d done that was sinful enough to suit them, they accused us of holding out on them, so we’d have to make something up. Sometimes a number of us would get together the night before and share ideas for despicable things we could confess to.”
“Why didn’t you just refuse to do it?” Sam asked.
“I did,” Sal Pavy replied defensively. “Several times. And then I got tired of being beaten, and decided it was better just to do what they wanted.”
“Gog’s nowns,” I murmured. “Could you not simply leave?”
“I tried that as well, but my—” His voice faltered and he looked down at the floor as though ashamed.
“It’s all right,” I said. “Go on.”
“My parents always sent me back. When I tried to tell them what went on there, they wouldn’t listen. All they could think of was what a great honor it was for me to be one of the Chapel Children.”
“They didn’t object when you joined the Chamberlain’s Men?”
He gave a thin, bitter smile. “They were willing to sacrifice a bit of honor in favor of the fee the company pays them for my services.”
I placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “Now I ken why you were so desperate to stay on wi’ us.”
He shrugged off my hand. “I didn’t tell you all that in order to get your
pity
.”
Sam gave him a peevish look. “Why did you tell us, then?”
“A few days ago you asked me why I had such a poor opinion of Papists. Now you know.” With that, he stalked out of the property room.
“Well,” said Sam. “Just when I was starting to think that perhaps he wasn’t a complete ass after all, he began to bray again.”
“Don’t be too hard on him. ‘A let down his guard for a moment, and now ’a’s feeling a bit vulnerable, I expect.”
“That may be. But I expect he’s also feeling a bit smug.”
“Why is that?”
“Well,” Sam said, looking about at the still-cluttered room, “you’ll notice that he’s left us to clean up the properties without him.”
We did not see Sal Pavy again until rehearsal. He seemed resentful toward us, as though, like his former masters, we had forced him to confess to us against his will.
I prayed that Judith would not turn up to torment me again and cause me to turn our Spanish tragedy into a French farce, with me as the principal clown. But then, when she did not appear, instead of being grateful, I was sorely disappointed, even desolate, as though I had been forsaken.
Fortunately my mood was perfectly suited to playing Bel-Imperia, whose lover, Don Andrea, has been slain in battle. Mr. Lowin even commended me on how convincingly wretched I sounded. If I had said a word to Sam about how I felt—which I did not—he would surely have seen it as yet another sign that I had contracted a severe case of lovesickness. There was one classic symptom, though, that I had not yet suffered—a lack of appetite. I had not had much in the way of food that morning, and by the time our midday break came around, I was ravenous.
For most of the company, going home for dinner would have meant a walk of a quarter hour or more in the cold, so we customarily dined downstairs, at a long trestle table set up specially for us by the innkeeper. As we would not have the leisure for another bona fide meal until after the evening performance, we made a feast of this one, often lingering at the table until nearly nones.
It was my favorite part of the day—a time for companionship, conversation, a congenial game of cards. Today we had even more companionship than usual, for Mr. Garrett hadjoined us. Before sitting next to him, Mr. Armin sniffed him warily, like a dog. “Just checking, to make certain you’d gotten the smell out.”
“And have I?” asked Mr. Garrett.
“For the most part. You smell less like a stable now, and more like a
Sal Pavy shook his head. “They insisted we confess our sins to them, all the same. If we couldn’t think of anything we’d done that was sinful enough to suit them, they accused us of holding out on them, so we’d have to make something up. Sometimes a number of us would get together the night before and share ideas for despicable things we could confess to.”
“Why didn’t you just refuse to do it?” Sam asked.
“I did,” Sal Pavy replied defensively. “Several times. And then I got tired of being beaten, and decided it was better just to do what they wanted.”
“Gog’s nowns,” I murmured. “Could you not simply leave?”
“I tried that as well, but my—” His voice faltered and he looked down at the floor as though ashamed.
“It’s all right,” I said. “Go on.”
“My parents always sent me back. When I tried to tell them what went on there, they wouldn’t listen. All they could think of was what a great honor it was for me to be one of the Chapel Children.”
“They didn’t object when you joined the Chamberlain’s Men?”
He gave a thin, bitter smile. “They were willing to sacrifice a bit of honor in favor of the fee the company pays them for my services.”
I placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “Now I ken why you were so desperate to stay on wi’ us.”
He shrugged off my hand. “I didn’t tell you all that in order to get your
pity
.”
Sam gave him a peevish look. “Why did you tell us, then?”
“A few days ago you asked me why I had such a poor opinion of Papists. Now you know.” With that, he stalked out of the property room.
“Well,” said Sam. “Just when I was starting to think that perhaps he wasn’t a complete ass after all, he began to bray again.”
“Don’t be too hard on him. ‘A let down his guard for a moment, and now ’a’s feeling a bit vulnerable, I expect.”
“That may be. But I expect he’s also feeling a bit smug.”
“Why is that?”
“Well,” Sam said, looking about at the still-cluttered room, “you’ll notice that he’s left us to clean up the properties without him.”
We did not see Sal Pavy again until rehearsal. He seemed resentful toward us, as though, like his former masters, we had forced him to confess to us against his will.
I prayed that Judith would not turn up to torment me again and cause me to turn our Spanish tragedy into a French farce, with me as the principal clown. But then, when she did not appear, instead of being grateful, I was sorely disappointed, even desolate, as though I had been forsaken.
Fortunately my mood was perfectly suited to playing Bel-Imperia, whose lover, Don Andrea, has been slain in battle. Mr. Lowin even commended me on how convincingly wretched I sounded. If I had said a word to Sam about how I felt—which I did not—he would surely have seen it as yet another sign that I had contracted a severe case of lovesickness. There was one classic symptom, though, that I had not yet suffered—a lack of appetite. I had not had much in the way of food that morning, and by the time our midday break came around, I was ravenous.
For most of the company, going home for dinner would have meant a walk of a quarter hour or more in the cold, so we customarily dined downstairs, at a long trestle table set up specially for us by the innkeeper. As we would not have the leisure for another bona fide meal until after the evening performance, we made a feast of this one, often lingering at the table until nearly nones.
It was my favorite part of the day—a time for companionship, conversation, a congenial game of cards. Today we had even more companionship than usual, for Mr. Garrett hadjoined us. Before sitting next to him, Mr. Armin sniffed him warily, like a dog. “Just checking, to make certain you’d gotten the smell out.”
“And have I?” asked Mr. Garrett.
“For the most part. You smell less like a stable now, and more like a
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