Shakespeare's Globe (2 page)

‘I know what’s in those baskets on the first cart,’ I told Mother. ‘Gorgeous costumes.’

‘Really?’ she said, in a not-interested voice. ‘I should have thought players too poor to have finery.’

‘Wealthy people give clothes they do not want to their favourite players. Lords do that. Ladies, too.’

Mother raised her eyebrows. ‘Lords and ladies go to watch the plays?’

‘They do,’ I said. ‘Nobles love plays. Lord Hunsdon, the Lord Chamberlain, is the company’s patron. And Queen Elizabeth herself used to invite the Chamberlain’s Men
to perform in her palaces,’ I said. ‘She loved Master Shakespeare’s plays above all.’

It was true about the palaces, but I do not know if Will Shakespeare’s plays were her favourites. No matter. Mother cannot know otherwise.

She considered my words, then said, ‘Queen Elizabeth is dead. Come, let’s go before the fish rots and gives your aunt something else to complain about.’

I swung the basket as I walked. I felt so excited. It was months since I’d been in the playhouse. Now we could watch a play right here in town! And not just one, because players put on
different plays each day. I remember the Chamberlain’s Men acting
Julius Caesar
one afternoon after rehearsing
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
that morning, and they would act
another the next day! A player might perform a murder in ancient Rome after spending the morning as the king of the fairies or a poor weaver with the head of an ass, called Bottom!

I remember men and boys sitting in out-of-the-way places in the Globe, clutching pieces of paper. The words they would speak were written on those papers. They would stare at the sky with their
lips moving as they struggled to learn them by heart.

I am good at learning by heart, so it will be no problem for me when I am a player.

For that is what I will be. And nothing will stop me.

It was only as I shut Aunt Meg’s hens in for the night that I remembered Master Bottell calling the company of players the King’s Men. Now Queen Elizabeth is dead,
we have a king called James. He is probably the patron of the King’s Men. A king is higher than a chamberlain, so they must be very good.

I had to see them perform. I had to!

I raced inside, nearly tripping over Hoppy, who was curled up beside Aunt Meg. She looked fed up, because Uncle Jem was snoring by the fire, and Mother was mending my jerkin.

‘For goodness sake, stop tearing around,’ said Mother. ‘Do some drawing.’

Aunt Meg sat up. ‘Draw me, Billy!’

Not again, I thought. I went up to the attic room where I sleep, and fetched the leather bag Father gave me when he last came home. Inside was a wooden box of charcoal that he bought on his
journey, and a thick pile of paper from the ship. The paper has sketches and writing on one side, but the other side is perfect for drawing. Charcoal is messy, but good for sketching, and I love to
draw.

Father said when I’m older I can go to sea with an explorer, and draw the things we discover, to show learned men back in England.

No. I will be a player, and bring pleasure to everyone who sees me. Players bring words alive. I have seen Master Shakespeare’s words written down, and they do not have half the life they
have when he speaks them.

I brought my drawing things to the fire, and fetched Mother a cup of ale. I wanted to please her.

First I drew an eye then, next to it, a heart. Finally, I drew a sheep. I wanted it to be a female sheep, but all sheep look the same, so I drew a riband round her neck, tied in a bow.

I took my drawing to Mother.

‘What is this?’ she asked.

‘A letter,’ I said. ‘A letter to you.’

‘But there is no writing,’ she said.

Of course not. Mother cannot read, so what was the point of writing words?

‘Read the pictures,’ I said. ‘What is this?’

‘An eye.’

‘And this?’

‘A heart.’

‘And what is a heart full of?’ I asked.

‘Love,’ she said.

I pointed to the sheep. ‘And this?’

She thought for a moment. ‘A sheep, with a bow round its neck, so … it must be a ewe.’

‘That is right!’ I said. ‘So, what does your letter say?’

She looked again. ‘Eye … love … ewe… Oh, Billy, it says “I love you!”’ She hugged me. ‘You sweet boy!’

I waited a while as Aunt Meg dozed and Mother sewed. She finished the jerkin, and picked up a chemise.

‘I wonder,’ I said, quietly, so as not to wake my aunt.

‘Wonder what?’

I took a deep breath. ‘May we go to the play tomorrow?’

She sipped her ale. ‘No.’

Without opening her eyes, Aunt Meg said sleepily, ‘Why not?’

‘Billy knows I disapprove of players. If it was not for him having his father’s permission, he would not be allowed anywhere near the Globe.’

I wanted to cry. Why couldn’t she understand?

I snapped my fingers. Hoppy got up obediently, and came to me. I gave him my signal to die for the king, and he lay down, perfectly still, while I drew him. The only sound was the
shch
shch
of my charcoal, the crackle of the fire, and Aunt Meg’s breathing.

I finished my drawing, and clicked with my tongue. Hoppy sprang up. I hugged him, feeling so miserable. One day, I
thought. One day Mother will see me act, and she’ll be proud of me.

But at that moment I didn’t see how it could ever be possible. The thought brought tears to my eyes. I sniffed.

‘Billy?’ said Mother.

‘Yes.’

‘Look at me.’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘Look at me!’ she said.

I turned my face to her.

She gazed at me for a few moments, then said, ‘All right.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ll take you to the play. You have little to entertain you here, I know. I also know how much it means to you. I suppose that if your father were here, he would take
you.’

I leapt up, throwing my arms round her. ‘Thank you!’

‘But mind,’ she said, ‘no talking to players.’

I hardly slept that night. I felt so happy.

I woke early next morning to find Mother still abed.

Aunt Meg said, ‘Susan was sick during the night, but she’s asleep now, so your mother is resting, too. Why not go and look for mushrooms, Billy? There might be some about.’

I ate some bread and drank two cups of milk. We have plenty of milk. Kinglake Manor has its own farm, and Uncle Jem and the farmer do swaps. We get milk, butter and cheese, and Uncle Jem gives
him pheasants, rabbits and venison.

I took Aunt Meg’s collecting basket, called Hoppy and set off. Gathering mushrooms was an excellent excuse for wandering around. I hate the countryside, but I like the animals. I have seen
badgers, foxes and hedgehogs, which are covered in prickles. I never saw anything like that in London. It is the strangest creature ever. When it is frightened, it rolls into a ball!

On the far side of Kinglake Stream there was a field where mushrooms sometimes grew.

We rounded the lake, left Kinglake Manor grounds, and followed the path over a hill.

I heard a sudden shout, followed by a shrill scream. It came from the foot of the wooded slope.

I hurtled downhill so fast my feet nearly got left behind, and burst out of the trees to see Big Tom poking something on the ground with his fishing pole. It looked like a bundle of clothes.

As Tom poked again, the bundle moved, and a terrified little face peeped out. It was a child!

‘Stop!’ I yelled. ‘You’re hurting him!’

Tom laughed, and poked the child again.

I ran at him, and shoved him in the back. He staggered forward and hit a tree with his shoulder.

‘Get away, you doddypoll!’ Tom bawled, his face red and angry. He swung at me.

I jumped clear, fell backwards, and scrabbled around, feeling for a stone or a broken branch – anything to defend myself with. My hands found only dried leaves.

Tom loomed over me. He raised the pole back over his head and swung it down towards my face. I grabbed the pole with both hands, and swung it to the side. He stumbled in the same direction but,
as he caught his balance, he pulled hard.

The pole slipped through my hands, leaving splinters of wood.

I yelped in pain, making Hoppy bark.

Hoppy! Of course! I clapped my hands.

Instantly, my little dog bared his teeth, snarling and growling. He looked quite menacing.

‘Walk!’ I ordered, pointing, and he walked his funny hopping walk towards Big Tom, still growling.

‘Call him off!’ he said, backing away.

The great oaf was just a coward.

‘Not until you go,’ I said.

Hoppy drew nearer to him, head low, lip curled above bared teeth.

Tom retreated. Slowly at first, then faster. When he was far enough away, I called, ‘Come!’ to Hoppy.

I turned to the child. ‘You’re safe now,’ I said. ‘He’s gone.’

The bundle uncurled, and a skinny little girl with long dark hair flung her arms around me.

‘Thank you, master,’ she said. ‘You and your dog saved me from that ’orrible boy!’ She glanced at Hoppy. ‘Will ’e bite me?’

I laughed. ‘No, he’s a good—’

There was a crashing sound behind me. I turned to see a huge man charging out of the trees, brandishing a big stick. My heart seemed to stop.

‘Put my Rosa down,’ he roared.

The little girl ran towards him. ‘Stop!’ she shrieked. ‘Stop, Pa!’

He crouched and hugged her, but his eyes never left me.

‘What did ’e do to you, Rosa, my sweeting?’ he said.

‘Nuffin’,’ she replied, ‘but ’e saved me from this other boy who was hurting me. This boy’s a good ’un, honest.’

The man stood and strode towards me.

My feet wouldn’t move. I couldn’t speak.

The man hefted the stick into his left hand, and reached out with his right. ‘I will shake your hand, boy, if you please,’ he said. ‘I thank you for helping my daughter. I
won’t forget.’

We walked through the woods together, Rosa between us. The man’s name was Gilbert, and they were travelling people, going north to be with family. He wore baggy breeches and an embroidered
jerkin over a full-sleeved shirt. On his head was a piece of bright green cloth, knotted at the back.

Rosa’s skirt was made of layers of blue and yellow materials, and her bodice had brightly coloured ribbons fastened on it.

‘Are you gypsies?’ I asked.

‘We are like gypsies,’ he said, ‘but we are English–born, so no one can accuse us of being Egyptian. But for your sake, boy, it’s best not to be seen with
us.’

I knew that gypsies who were not born in England could be hanged, so I stopped and said, ‘I must go. I am supposed to be finding mushrooms.’

‘Nay, boy,’ he said. ‘I shall reward you for helping Rosa. Look, just here.’

He went to a hollowed-out yew tree, reached inside and pulled out a rabbit. He must have trapped it.

‘For your supper,’ he said. ‘Now you need not hunt for mushrooms.’

He put the rabbit in my basket. I did not tell him we can have rabbit any day of the week.

I said goodbye and wished them a safe journey.