Mal hesitated. Perhaps it was better to be honest. "This livery must have cost a great deal. Even if Sir James docks my entire pay for this commission, it might not be enough."
"I will give Sir Leland money," Kiiren replied. "It is small price for saving of my life."
"Thank you, sir, that is most generous."
Mal put aside the livery and donned his own clothes once more. His best doublet and hose were of plain English wool, nothing like as fine as the royal livery, but good enough for a dinner at the Guildhall followed by trade negotiations, which was all the "entertainment" planned for today. After yesterday's excitement, it would be a relief to guard the ambassador in surroundings that did not bristle with deadly weapons. Still, he would have to remain watchful and alert. There must be a few merchants whose trade had not benefited from the alliance with the skraylings.
Though he was getting used to the skraylings' presence, he longed for the company of his own kind. He wondered if it was against ambassadorial protocol for him to invite Ned over one evening, or perhaps young Hendricks. No, not the boy. The ambassador had made it plain he could not discuss the contest, so asking one of Suffolk's Men to sup with them would not be wise. And even Ned had theatre connections, through Parrish and Henslowe. Dammit, the sooner Sunday came around the better. He would go and see Sandy after church, and perhaps have a drink with Ned before returning to the Tower. Leland had assured him he would be allowed time off duty on the Lord's Day; though the skraylings might not care to hear the word of God, they respected Christian custom at least that far.
He returned to the dining room, where the ambassador was greeting yet another well-wisher, a foreigner by his clothing.
"I am Monsieur D'Arrignan, aide to His Excellency the Ambassador of France," the man said in heavily accented English. "The ambassador regrets he cannot visit you himself, but he has been much distracted by bad news from Paris. A Catholic assassin tried to kill His Most Christian Majesty since only a few days."
"I do not understand," Kiiren said. "Is not your king of same faith as his people?"
"Since one month only, and not all believe he is sincere."
The ambassador shook his head. "It is very sad thing, that some men are so blind from own hatred they cannot see good in others."
Mal glanced at the ambassador, wondering if this statement was aimed closer to home. Had the ambassador understood the remarks at the admiral's dinner after all? He must surely have been briefed on the political situation in England, even if his people could not understand the details.
D'Arrignan presented Kiiren with an inlaid wooden box containing a gilded spoon and fork. Mal had seen table forks used in Italy, though Englishmen considered them unnecessary and effeminate. After a cursory examination he took the box and handed it to a servant, with instructions to wash the implements thoroughly in case the ambassador wished to use them at dinner.
As he was leaving, D'Arrignan addressed Mal in French.
"My master wishes me to convey his regrets that your family has suffered so much in recent years. Your late mother was truly an ornament of the French court, and she is sadly missed."
"Thank your master for his kind words, sir."
"He also wishes me to say that your mother's family's legal affairs are very… complicated. It is possible that mistakes were made in assigning the dowry, and that her sons may yet be entitled to certain modest estates currently in the possession of our sovereign, Henri."
More bribes, eh? At least the French had the delicacy to couch it in terms that almost sounded reasonable and just. Treason was still treason, however.
"Please tell your master I appreciate his concern for my family. Should any such matter be presented to an English court of law, I would be most happy to accept the outcome."
The diplomat smiled thinly at the rebuff.
"As you wish, monsieur."
Mal was relieved when D'Arrignan left. First the Spanish, now the French; who else was lining up to bribe, threaten or cajole him into betraying his commission?
Master Naismith cancelled the day's rehearsals and called a meeting of the principal actors at his house in Thames Street.
"'Tis a Papist plot to put us out of business!" Rafe Eaton's bellow made the door tremble on its hinges.
Eaton was pacing back and forth, shaking his fist at the ceiling and slopping beer on the floor from the tankard in his other hand. Coby slipped into the dining parlour, trying to stay unnoticed. She sat down at the table not far from Master Parrish, who was staring at nothing, his chin resting on interlaced hands.
"Give it a rest," Master Rudd said, his weary tones so unlike his onstage persona. "It's only words, after all."
"Only words?" Eaton hauled the clown from his seat by the back of his doublet. "Will you still be saying it is only words when you are dragged off to Bridewell to be tortured, like poor Tom Kyd?"
"Gentlemen, please!"
Naismith separated the two men, and Rudd resumed his place at the table.
"He's right," Parrish said quietly. "Kit Marlowe was arrested just because some libeller used the name of one of his plays as a pseudonym. Then they found an old essay of Marlowe's in Kyd's lodgings and arrested him for nothing more than that. Do any of us dare to come under such scrutiny?"
The actors pondered these unhappy events in silence. Though Marlowe had been released from prison almost immediately, he was killed in a brawl only a few days later. To many within the theatre, this seemed too convenient a happenstance.
"It is God's judgement," Rudd said, peering into his tankard as if seeing revelation there. "We have blasphemed and he is punishing us."
Eaton paused in his pacing. "What are you blathering about now, buffoon?"
"This aping of the skraylings," said the clown. "Until they came along we had only pageants and mystery plays, honouring the Lord and telling His scriptures."
"Nonsense," said Naismith. "My grandsire told me there were worldly plays when he was a boy, ere any skrayling ship was seen in these waters."
"But you can't deny the playhouses were not built until after our nations became allies, or that King Henry banned women from playing, just to curry favour with the skraylings."
"No," Naismith conceded. "But God did not do this dreadful deed; it is the act of men. Or a man, at any rate." He peered around the shadowy room, as if expecting the miscreant to leap out and declare himself.
"Who is this Jonah, do you think?" Coby asked.
"Whoever he is, he writes very poor verse," Eaton said. "If 'twere not for the foul libel therein, no one would pay it any mind."
"Might there not be something in the writing?" Parrish said. "All poets have their own style, and we here must know every scribbler in Southwark. Perhaps we might make a guess?"
"You read it out, lad," Master Naismith said, passing the notice to Coby. "I will not dignify it with an actor's oratory."
Coby cleared her throat, and began to read.
"When Christian men should be at prayer
The trumpet sounds and every player
Gathers to hail their great naysayer,
The smith who forges blasphemy.
Alas! 'Tis plain for all to see
A tarnished glass this Mirror be."
Her voice shook, and she eyed Master Naismith anxiously. His features were dark with controlled anger, but he gestured for her to continue.
"Chains of silver bind their souls.
Their capering doth fan the coals
Of Satan's fires and turn the whole
Of virtue into venery."
"The refrain is the same as before," she added.
"So we perform for money," Dickon Rudd said. "And if my japes bestir a woman to lust, what of it?"
Coby put her hand over her mouth to cover a nervous snigger. The thought of anyone lusting after Master Rudd was, well, laughable.
"Peace!" Master Naismith glared at the clown. "Have some respect for those more cruelly defamed. Go on, boy."
Coby glanced at Master Parrish and swallowed. This next verse was perhaps the most venomous of all.
"Unnatural actors, aping graces,
Flaunt their shorn and painted faces
Like the New World's savage races–
Whoring boys in sodomy."
Parrish's face betrayed no emotion as she read, only a slight tightening of the clasped hands hinting at the turmoil beneath. The city authorities usually turned a blind eye to their citizens' sexual misdemeanours, unless it involved children. And now Parrish was staying under the same roof, sleeping in the same chamber as the apprentices. The accusations in the poem would be hard to ignore.
Eager to have the business over, Coby read the final verse.
"Set apart from God's creation
And Christ's message of salvation,
How should any Christian nation
Hold with such vile heresy?"
"There," Eaton said. "What did I tell you? Does not the Pope himself rail against the skraylings' rejection of the Gospels?"
"And you are the good Protestant, I suppose," Rudd replied. "Who was it cried God's vengeance? And who is least slandered in this doggerel?"
Eaton turned pale. "You think I wrote that?"
"Can you prove you did not?"
"Enough!" Master Naismith moved between them, holding up his hands. "No one here is the perpetrator of this foul deed, of that I am certain."
"Then who?" Eaton asked, looking round at them all. "There is nothing in the style to suggest any playwright of my acquaintance. 'Tis more like a street ballad."
"This is futile," Rudd said. "We should take the matter to the Privy Council. Such infamous deeds should be rooted out."
"No," Parrish said in a low voice. "I beg you, do not."
"Angel is right," said Master Naismith. "Mark the mentions of a glass, and the name Jonah. This quarrel may be aimed at Master Lodge, but we are all tainted by association."
"Then what are we to do?" Eaton asked.
"Do? We do nothing," Master Naismith replied. "Coby here has already thwarted the villain's evil intent by finding the notice before anyone else could read it. The failure of his scheme is justice enough."
"He may try it again," Parrish said. "He must have a copy of the verse – what is to stop him from posting it anew?"
"We must set a guard on the theatre," Coby said.
They all looked at her.
"Splendid idea," Master Naismith said. "And since you were so diligent in rising at sparrow-fart to catch this fellow, who better to do it?"
Coby's heart sank. This was not what she had planned at all. On the other hand she was in no position to argue, since she had no other work to speak of.
"Very well," she said. "I will pack up my belongings and install myself at the theatre until the performance."