the opening scene, George Dart was shaking like an aspen.
Even Samuel Ruff was disconcerted. His anxiety steadily increased. Perspiration broke out all over him and his naked arms and shoulders were glistening. As the delay stretched on and on, he fondled the handle of the axe with sweaty palms.
'Where is her Majesty?' whispered Gill.
'Exercising the privilege of royalty,' returned Firethorn.
'Making her players suffer?'
'Taking her time, Barnaby.'
A trumpet fanfare told them that the Queen had at last arrived. The comfortable din in the hall fell to a murmur. The tension among the players increased. Their moment was at hand.
Lawrence Firethorn applied his eye to a narrow gap in the curtain at the rear of the stage. He described what he saw in a low, reverential voice.
Surrounded by her guard, Queen Elizabeth sailed down the hall and ascended the dais to take up her seat on the throne. Resplendent in a billowing dress of red velvet, she acknowledged all those around her with a condescending wave. Her hair was encircled with pearls and surmounted by a tiny gold crown that was encrusted with diamonds. Her jewelled opulence filled the hall. Time had been considerate to her handsome features and her regal demeanour was unimpaired. Flames from the candles and from the huge fire made her finery dance with zest.
The actor-manager concluded with an awed whisper.
'Gentlemen, we are in the presence of royalty!'
Nicholas Bracewell took over the watch. When the Queen was settled, she motioned to Sir Edmund Tilney, the Master of the Revels, and he in turn signalled to the book holder. On a call from Nicholas, the command performance began.
Music wafted down from the gallery where Peter Digby and his musicians were placed. The prologue was delivered and the trial scene commenced. From his first line, Firethorn exerted his power over the audience. He went on to bewitch them with his voice, to thrill them with his spirited honesty and to move them with his anguish. By the end of the scene, he had touched all their hearts and prompted the first few tears.
When sentence of death was passed, the judge vacated the stage and Lorenzo was led away by two gaolers. Music played as the others processed off. George Dart came on to set a stool in position and to remove the bench he had brought out earlier for the trial He skipped hurriedly off.
Assuming a look of wistful integrity, Firethorn was led on stage again by his gaolers. He sat on the stool in his cell. The two men departed, Lorenzo stared at the manacles on his wrists then he looked up with supplication in his eyes.
‘O Loyalty! Thy name Lorenzo is!
For twenty faithful years I have been true
To my fair Duchess, angel from above,
Descended here to capture all our hearts
And turn our Milan into paradise.
Could I betray such sovereign beauty
For ugly coins of foul conspiracy?
Rather would I live in cruel exile
Or kill myself upon a dagger's point.
Fidelity had always been my cry
And constant will I be until I die!’
While Firethorn declaimed his soliloquy, the players in the tiring-house got ready for their next entrance. As Nicholas lined them up in order, he kept a wary eye on Ruff. The executioner was more nervous than ever. One of the most experienced actors in the company seemed to be unsettled by the occasion. Sweat still poured out of him and he moved from foot to foot.
'Do please take care, Master Ruff!'
'What?' he replied with a start.
'My safety lies with you, sir.'
The voice came from inside the doublet of the figure standing beside him. Equipped with the false head, John Tallis was about to double as Lorenzo during the execution.
'Use me kindly,' said the boy plaintively.
'I will, John,' promised the other.
'Let the axe fall in its rightful place.'
'Oh, it will,' said Ruff grimly. 'It will.'
As Lorenzo finished his speech, the gaolers went on to bring the condemned man out of his cell. The trembling George Dart now replaced the stool with the block. Drums rolled and the procession made its way solemnly on stage.
Edmund Hoode was first in his role as the judge. Courtiers and guards followed him. The chaplain came next, holding his prayer book tightly. Lorenzo was guided to the centre of the stage by the two gaolers. Ruff brought up the rear as the executioner.
When the tableau had been formed, the chaplain turned to admonish the prisoner sternly.
'Settle Christ Jesus in your heart and confess.'
Lorenzo remained silent but Tallis's teeth chattered.
'Join in prayer with me,' continued the chaplain, 'for the salvation of your soul. Go to your Maker with a contrite heart.'
He began to recite prayers at the hapless Lorenzo.
Samuel Ruff only half-listened to the words. Dressed in the traditional black garb of an executioner, he stood beside the block with the head of the axe resting between his feet. Through the slits in his mask, he stole a glance at the Queen of England. She was a serene and majestic figure no more than a dozen yards from him. Though guards flanked her, they were caught up in the action on the stage.
Closing his eyes for an instant, Ruff offered up his own prayer. His opportunity had been heavensent. It was up to him to seize it with eagerness. The significance of it all was brought home to him and extra pressure was imposed. His arms and shoulders were now awash with sweat and his palms were pools of moisture. He schooled himself to wait just a little longer. To buttress his determination, he recalled other executions that Queen Elizabeth had witnessed. The blood was soon pulsing in his temples.
Anxiety was turning its hunger on Nicholas Bracewell. From a vantage point at the rear of the stage, he watched the proceedings with mounting concern. He was more fully aware than anyone of the extent of the danger. As the moment of truth approached, he wondered if he had made the right decision or if he had delivered up an innocent life to the stroke of death. Nicholas had an impulse to rush on stage and intervene but he resisted it. The chance had to be taken. Peril had to be faced.
The chaplain intoned the last words of his prayer.
'And may God have mercy on your soul…Amen!'
Having completed the spiritual offices, he stood back so that the rigour of the law could be enforced. The loyal subject was about to be executed for his supposed disloyalty. On the command of the judge, the gaolers took Lorenzo to the block, made him kneel in front of it and position his false head carefully over the timber.
The drums rolled more loudly. Nicholas was on tenterhooks.
Samuel Ruff now took over. He was no mock executioner in a play. He was a gleaming figure of vengeance with murder in his heart. A last fleeting look at the Queen showed him that Her Majesty was totally captivated by the performance. Everyone was off guard. Ruff swallowed hard, tightened his jaw then wiped his palms dry on his hips. It was now or never.
He took a firm grip on the glittering axe.
Nicholas fought off another urge to interrupt. Teeth clenched and fists bunched, he was tormented by the helplessness of his situation. Whatever the cost, he must hold back.
The drums beat out their tattoo, the judge nodded and the executioner lifted the axe high in the air. Its blade shimmered in the candlelight. Its menace was real. But it did not arc down towards John Tallis. Another victim had
