alcove next to Christo. The actor had been furtive and uncommunicative and, with the conditions cold and uncomfortable, Jack had struggled to sleep. After a while, presumably assuming Jack was asleep, Christo had got out of his makeshift bed on the floor. He had lit a small candle and removed a heavy, ornate cross from his neck and then held a Bible in front of him. He prayed and chanted for what seemed an eternity. Even though Christo’s voice had been quiet, his words were uttered with passion. Jack could not make out what he said but he recognised the language. Most of it was in Latin but some of it was in Spanish.
Their last stop before Hampton Court was at Kingston where they took a leisurely mid-afternoon lunch at The Swan before reboarding for the final stretch. The landlord of The Swan was delighted to see them all. A log fire crackled away in a large inglenook at one end of the pub. After nearly a day on the river it was a welcome sight. Soon Henslowe and Alleyn were ordering food and drink and everyone was settling down.
“I’m bursting — where do you think the luxurious facilities are?” Angus asked Jack. They had become accustomed to limiting trips to the loo — firstly because there usually wasn’t one anyway and secondly, if there was, the experience was too awful to imagine.
“No doubt a hole in the ground round the back somewhere. Be sure to take your gas mask.”
Angus wrapped himself back up in his cloak and disappeared outside again. The Swan was located at the upstream end of the town of Kingston and at the back of the inn was a large yard that led onto a road, partly shielded by some large oak trees. The yard was home to three goats and a number of hens that pecked at invisible specks in the mud. Towards one side, a narrow platform was built over a stream that ran into the river. The structure supported three crude wooden huts. The set-up was luxurious compared to what Angus had experienced in London and he hurried over. The first hut was not occupied and he went in, trying not to touch, smell or look at anything.
As he made his way back to the pub, he saw a carriage with two horses pull up just outside the gates to the yard. At the same time he spotted Christo emerge from the inn and scurry across the yard towards the carriage. The door of the carriage opened and a cloaked figure stepped down to meet Christo. The figure used a walking stick and was limping. Angus recognised him immediately: Pendelshape.
Angus dived behind a pile of logs. From his position he could just spy Christo in deep discussion with Pendelshape. From time to time Christo would glance back furtively at the inn. In less than two minutes the conversation was over. Pendelshape hauled himself back into the coach and it rumbled off.
Angus waited behind the logs until the carriage had disappeared and Christo had gone back inside. When he returned to the pub, the late lunch was in full swing and, encouraged by the landlord, Alleyn, Fanshawe and the rest of the Henslowe Players were taking it in turns to make speeches, sing songs or recite poetry to a growing crowd of onlookers. Christo returned to his place by one of the windows and nibbled at his food. He took little interest in the revelry of his colleagues. Angus sidled over to Jack who had moved next to the fire and was watching and applauding along with the rest of the group.
“Find it?” Jack said.
“Yes, and that’s not all I found.”
“Really?”
Angus whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “Pendelshape was just here.”
Jack gasped. “What?”
“Shhh.” Angus looked around the inn, checking out Christo in particular. “Yeah. But he’s gone. Don’t look now, but he met
“Pendelshape met Christo… and then just left?” Jack whispered in amazement. “But… he might have seen us… he might know we’re here.”
“Don’t think so. It looked as if they’d planned the meeting. As if Pendelshape knew that the troupe would be stopping here. And I kept an eye on Christo — he hardly seems to have noticed us, so I don’t think he said anything to Pendelshape.”
“Well that’s a relief. Close call though.” Jack bit his lip. “But what’s he up to?”
“No idea.”
“I didn’t tell you — last night — when we were freezing our butts off in that pigsty that Henslowe put us up in…”
“Least you only had to share with one… I had to share with about ten of them.”
“I couldn’t get to sleep. Christo didn’t realise I was awake — he was praying and chanting and all sorts.”
“So? Maybe he couldn’t sleep either — don’t blame him with the amount of snoring and farting going on.”
“Yeah — but he’s a Catholic. Not that unusual in itself — but I heard him saying stuff to himself —
“So?”
“Come on, Angus — keep up. A Spanish Catholic in the Henslowe Players has just had a secret meeting with Pendelshape…” Jack said slowly. “And we know Pendelshape wants to use an existing plot to kill the queen and create civil war in England — so the country will be ripe for invasion.”
“So you’re saying that maybe
“Exactly. He’s using the Henslowe Players as a cover. I still don’t get it, though. The queen is surrounded by bodyguards and soldiers. Even if he was some sort of fanatical killer, I can’t see how he would do it on his own.”
“Maybe Pendelshape has already worked out some way to help him when we get to the palace, you know, some sort of trap.”
Jack stared into the fire. “Yeah — you could be right…”
Word had got out about the arrival of the Henslowe Players and the spontaneous party at The Swan had drawn an enthusiastic crowd of locals seeking to enjoy the impromptu entertainment. Unfortunately, the quality of the performances was declining rapidly as the players became increasingly inebriated. Nevertheless, the landlord was so delighted with his takings and the promise from Henslowe that they would stop off on their return trip from the palace, that he gave the group an entire barrel of Mad Dog and, unbelievably, a live pig.
They tottered back down the pier to the waiting boats significantly the worse for wear. If anything, the boats seemed even more cramped and top heavy than before — particularly the front one, which now carried the barrel of ale and the pig. The pig squealed noisily as it was manhandled aboard and tethered between two of the posts that held up the awning. A large crowd of people from The Swan had gathered to see them off, and with a great cheer ringing in their ears they cast off into the river for the final haul up to Hampton Court.
It only took three minutes before the barrel of Mad Dog had been cracked open and the first round distributed in large earthenware tumblers. Five minutes later the singing started and a mere twenty minutes after that there was the first man overboard. This caused enormous hilarity. It did not seem to occur to anyone that, with the water temperature hovering not far above zero, the man was lucky to be pulled out alive. He didn’t seem to care — a dry cloak and a fresh mug of Mad Dog helped him forget the experience altogether. At the back of the boat, even the pig was offered a mug of beer to stop it squealing. It showed its disdain by squealing louder than ever and then promptly defecating — mostly on Alleyn’s shoes. Kyd and Henslowe nearly fell out of the boat themselves, such was their mirth. The whole thing was getting horribly out of control. The boat zigzagged its way unsteadily up the Kingston Reach, narrowly avoiding a range of other craft, royal swans and sundry river life.
The sun was beginning to set as they made their final approach and immense bands of purple and pink clouds swooped across the darkening sky. To their right, the great royal deer park stretched endlessly into the distance, and Jack caught occasional glimpses of deer in the dark shadows between the ancient oaks. A low mist was forming on the river and, in the distance, Jack saw the great palace of Hampton Court emerge. Its pink brick had turned a deep crimson in the fading light and from one of its towers Jack noticed the same royal standard that had been flying at Fotheringhay — the quadrants of the fleurs-de-lis and the three lions. But Fotheringhay Castle had been quite different from this. It was a brutal bulwark of stone built for an earlier, more violent age. By contrast, Hampton Court had a gentler facade — its crenellations and towers were there for show and not for defence. It was
