pointed directly at the figure of Cardinal Campeius. The hot metal crashed across the interior of the theater and fell into the thatch above the stage area.
There were cries of shocked surprise and some applause, but then the noise of the crackle of flames where the hot metal landed on the dry thatch became apparent. Cries of “Fire!” rose on all sides.
Master Drew swung round only to find the fist of the young man, Toby Teazle, impacting on his nose. He went staggering backward and almost fell over the wooden balustrade into the crowds below as they streamed for the exits of the theater.
By the time the constable had recovered, the young man was away, leaping down the stairs and was soon lost in the scuffling fray.
Master Drew, recovering his poise, hastened down the steps as best he could. The actors, with Cuthbert Burbage, were pushing people to the exits. The dry thatch and tinder of the Globe were like straw before the angry flames. The theater was becoming a blazing inferno.
Master Drew groaned in anguish as he realized that the young man was lost among the crowds now and there was never a hope of catching him.
It was more than nine months later, in the spring of the following year, 1614, that the new Globe Theatre eventually rose from the ashes. This time it was erected as an octagonal building with a tiled roof replacing the thatch. Fortunately no one had been injured in the fire, and all the costumes and properties had been saved thanks to the quick wit of the actors, and all the manuscripts of the plays had been stored elsewhere, so the loss was negligible.
Apart from Master Oliver Rowe, two other players were not present to see the magnificent new Globe Theatre. Master Tom Hawkins was languishing in Newgate Gaol. However, he was not imprisoned for the fraudulent misuse of another playwrights work. In fact,
The other missing player was Master Toby Teazle.
It was the very day after the new Globe Theatre had opened that Constable Drew was able to conclude the case of the murder of Master Oliver Rowe, sometime one of the Kings Men. Master Cuthbert Burbage asked Constable Drew to accompany him to the Hospital of St. Mary of Bethlehem.
Drew was mildly surprised at the request. “That is the hospital for the insane,” he pointed out. Most Londoners knew of Bedlam, for as such the name had been contracted.
“Indeed it is, but I think you will want to see this. I have been asked to identify someone.”
An attendant took them into the gray-walled building, which was more of a prison than a hospital. The stench of human excrement and the noise arising from the afflicted sufferers was unbelievable. The attendant took them to a small cell door and opened it.
A young man crouched inside in the darkness was bent industriously over a rough wooden table. There was nothing on it, yet he appeared to be in the act of writing in the blackness. His right hand held an invisible pen, moving it across unseen sheets of paper.
The attendant grinned. “There he is, good sirs. He says he’s a famous actor and playwright. Says he is a King’s player from the Globe Theatre. That’s why you were asked here, good Master Burbage, just in case there might be truth in it.”
The young man heard his voice and raised his matted head, the eyes blazing, the mouth grinning vacuously. He paused in his act of writing.
It was Toby Teazle.
“Ah, sirs,” he said quietly, calmly regarding them. “You come not a moment too soon. I have penn’d a wondrous entertainment, a magnificent play. I call it
He hesitated and frowned. “Is this all it is? Naught?” He stared suddenly at the empty table before him and started to chuckle hysterically.
As Constable Drew and Master Cuthbert Burbage were walking back toward Bankside, Drew asked: “Were those his own lines which he was quoting with such emotion?”
Master Burbage shook his head sadly. “No, that was the epilogue from
Master Drew smiled wryly. “Didn’t Will Shakespeare once say that the lunatic, the lover, and the poet are of imagination all compact?”
METHOUGHT YOU SAW A SERPENT
Methought you saw a serpent.
Master Hardy Drew, the newly appointed deputy to the Constable of the Bankside Watch, gazed from the first floor latticed window onto the street, watching in unconcealed distaste as a group of drunken carousers lurched across the cobbles below. The sounds of their song came plainly to his ears.
The young man turned abruptly from the window back into the room with an expression of annoyance.
On the far side, seated at a table, the elderly Constable of the Bankside Watch, Master Edwin Topcliff, had glanced up from his papers and was regarding the young man with a cynical smile. “You have no liking for the popular sympathy then, Master Drew?” the old man observed dryly.
Hardy Drew flushed and thrust out his chin. “Sir, I am a loyal servant of Her Majesty, may she live a long life.”
“Bravely said,” replied the constable gravely. “But, God’s will be done, it may be that your wish will be a futile one. Tis said that the Queens Majesty is ailing and that she has not stirred from her room since my lord Essex met his nemesis at the executioners hands.”
It had been scarcely two weeks since the flamboyant young Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, had met his fate in the courtyard of the Tower of London, having been charged and found guilty of high treason. Rumor and disturbances still pervaded the capital, and many of the citizens of London persisted in singing ditties in his praise, for Essex had been a hero to most Londoners, and they might even have followed him in overturning the sour, aging Queen, who now sat in solitary paranoia on the throne in Greenwich Palace.
It was rumored that the auspices were evident for Elizabeths overthrow, and even the usually conservative Master William Shakespeare and his theatrical company had been persuaded to stage a play on the deposing and killing of King Richard II but a couple of weeks before Essex’s treason was uncovered. It was claimed that many of
