The Greatest Lover in All England Read Free

comrade, then jerked it free. With the edge of One-Eye’s cloak, he cleaned the blade and glanced in the direction of the theater. He would go there next.
    To take care of Rosencrantz.

2
    Mischief, thou are afoot,
Take thou what course thou wilt.
    â€”J ULIUS C AESAR , III, ii, 262
    â€œ Sir Danny Plympton’s in the house. Stop the play.” Uncle Will waved one arm at the actors on the stage of the Globe Theater and clutched the script with the other. “By great Zeus’s lightning bolt, stop the play at once! He’ll memorize it and produce it himself before we can make a pittance.”
    The performers ground to a halt while Rosie sagged against one of the columns of the ground floor gallery. Her joints shook, her muscles were flaccid with exhaustion. She constantly scanned the round, three-storied, open-roofed structure, examining every bench in every tier. She watched the entrance, listened for the tramp of heavy feet outside, and tried to convince herself she and Sir Danny were safe.
    She flexed her dirty fingers and watched the movement with weary fascination. She’d incapacitated the captain with her knife thrust, but she hadn’t killed him. Maybe if she’d had a long, sharp knife. Maybe if she’d stabbed harder. Maybe if Sir Danny would stop rushing to meet trouble with open arms…She laughed, a rusty, choking laugh, and then a sob caught her by surprise. Rubbing her eyes with the back of her wrist, she knew that as long as Sir Danny was Sir Danny—exuberant, flamboyant, outrageous—they would never be safe.
    â€œHey, Rosie!”
    Dickie Justin McBride hailed her, and she jerked her hand down. She didn’t dare let the Chamberlain’s Men see her in tears. Every one of them had been with Sir Danny’s troupe at one time or another. Every one of them believed her to be a man, and a few of them scorned her as a craven. Nay, she didn’t dare let them catch her crying.
    â€œHey, Dickie!” she yelled back. She had despised the handsome actor when they were youngsters, and she despised him now. He had an ugly tendency to pick on those less muscled than he—mostly Rosie, and mostly when they were alone. He had made her life a terror. Now he jumped down from the raised stage into the dirt yard from whence the standing-room customers watched the plays and swaggered toward her.
    â€œI haven’t seen you that dirty since you fell into the pigsty when you were eight.” He flashed a grin at the actors who fell in behind him. “Good fellows, circle ’round and let me tell you the tale of how Rosie squealed louder than the pigs.”
    They advanced toward Rosie, and she recognized the tactics. Gather a gallery of rogues, bring them in a circle around her, then taunt her with jeers and contempt.
    She was almost glad when Dickie swerved away.“Whew! Haven’t you washed since you fell in that pigsty?”
    All the men waved their hands in Rosie’s direction, making elaborate gagging noises, and her sweaty palms slipped down the column. Aye, she stank, although she and Sir Danny had run to the edge of the silver Thames and splashed the worst of it off.
    With a flourish of his extended arm, Sir Danny proclaimed, “’Tis a sad day in Londontown when the worms of the earth mock the rose. The silver showers from the heavens will wash the rose and it will again be the noblest of flowers. But when the silver showers wash the worms, they will still crawl on their bellies through the dirt.”
    â€œAye, and if these worms don’t take their supper break now, their stomachs will wonder if their throats have been cut.” Script in hand, Uncle Will glared at the actors as they changed courses, heading for the entrance and jostling each other as they fought their way out. Uncle Will turned to Sir Danny. “They’re gone. What do you want?”
    â€œWhat makes you think I want something?” Sir Danny