The Mad Courtesan by Edward Marston Page A

enchanting feathered hat. The dark velvet dress and the white ruff only served to highlight the marmoreal loveliness of an exceptional young woman but the most arresting feature of all was her eyes. Dark and proud, they invested her whole being with a fiery disdain that made Lawrence Firethorn grin inanely. He had an even greater incentive to lead his troops into battle now.
    True love beckoned. Conquest was imperative.
     
    Owen Elias was as taut as a lute-string but nowhere near as melodious. Sitting in a corner of the tiring-house, he tried to work up his concentration for the important taskin hand and he brooked no interruption. An apprentice who nudged him by mistake and an assistant stagekeeper who brushed past him by accident both felt the sting of his tongue. The irascible Welshman was feeling the strain. Nicholas Bracewell took note of this and drifted across to him for a quiet word.
    ‘Have no fears, Owen,’ he said. ‘You will excel.’
    ‘There is no doubting that,’ said the other with a touch of his old bravado. ‘Benvolio will rescue me from this oblivion in which they keep me. I will prove myself as fit a man as any in the company.’
    ‘Then why the long face?’
    ‘Because of Sebastian.’
    ‘You feel guilt?’
    ‘And sadness, Nick. When all my hatred of the man is put aside, I must acknowledge that this was his part. Benvolio was written with Sebastian in mind.’
    ‘Serve his memory by playing the part well.’
    ‘I will, sir.’
    ‘He would expect no less of you, Owen.’
    ‘Indeed.’ He resorted to a whisper. ‘As to the last speech in the play …’
    Nicholas winked. ‘That must be your decision.’
    Owen Elias grinned and felt more confident about what lay ahead. There was no more time to deliberate because a dozen bells were chiming out the hour in the vicinity of the theatre. It was two o’clock and Nicholas Bracewell was in position. With the chimes still echoing, he gave the signal and the performance started. Music was playedfrom above and the Prologue stepped out in a black cloak to acquaint the audience with the mood and matter of the play.
    Love oftentimes exacts too high a price,
    For no man loves without some sacrifice.
    Dan Cupid may be Venus’s only joy
    But he can be a cruel and wanton boy
    Who shoots his arrows far and wide at will.
    Trying to wound, he oft contrives to kill.
    Such is our case here …
    Having relayed the plot in rhyming couplets, Edmund Hoode brought his protagonist bursting onto the stage in a torrent of blank verse. Gondar was angry and no actor could express royal ire like Lawrence Firethorn. With underlings trailing at his heels, he raged and ranted until the whole audience was cowed by his majesty. He wore only a saffron robe over a simple tunic but he was every inch a king as he berated his guards for the unkind treatment of the captured Queen Elsin. Magnanimous in victory and with his own strict code of honour, he sent for his beautiful prisoner to release her from the shackles that bound her and to offer his heartfelt apologies. It was the first meeting between them and it robbed them of all hostility towards each other. Courtship began from the second they laid eyes upon each other. The howling Gondar became a tender and considerate lover.
    Never less than remarkable in any part, Firethorn hadfound one that drew a towering performance out of him. Long before the first act came to a close, the spectators had surrendered to him with the same willingness as the queen and he wooed them with a range of voice and gesture that was irresistible. Richard Honeydew was a wholly convincing Elsin with a wan loveliness that was only increased by adversity. As the actor-manager soared, the young apprentice responded well and their love took flight.
    Firethorn slowly pushed out the frontiers of his art. He was not just giving a superb account of himself in a fine play, he was dedicating his talents to a particular person. The fine phrases that he showered