A Mystery of Errors (Shakespeare & Smythe 1)

“Let go of me, you lout! Let go, I said!” Kemp launched into a torrent of oaths that would have done a seaman proud, but Shakespeare relentlessly marched him out of the tavern and into the street to general laughter all around. Even Alleyn joined in, despite himself.

“You may let me go now, Burbage, and you too, young man,” he said to Smythe. As they released him, the actor rubbed his shoulders. “I am going to be bruised, I fear,” he said, looking at Smythe. “You have quite a grip there, fellow.”

“Forgive me,” Smythe said. “But you are a powerful man. It took

all my strength to hold you.”

Alleyn smiled. “I think not. I suspect you had a good bit more left in reserve. You are not even breathing hard. Remind me not to arm-wrestle you for drinks.” He glanced at Burbage. “Are you all right, young Dick? I did not hurt you, did I?”

Burbage rubbed his jaw. “Good thing I had my tongue out of the way when my teeth clicked together as you sat me down, else I would now be speechless.”

“And what a loss to the Theatre that would be, eh?” Alleyn said, with a grin. “Especially now that the Queen’s Men shall need all the talent they can muster.”

“What do you mean, Ned?” asked Robert Speed, one of the shareholding members of the company.

“I meant that I was going to kill that ludicrous popinjay, Kemp, and I shall do it,” Alleyn replied, “but much more thoroughly than if I simply smashed his skull in like a wine keg. I am going to leave the company.”

“Ned!” said Burbage, with shock. “You’re not!” “I am,” said Alleyn. “I am going to join the Admiral’s Men.” “What?” said Burbage. “Because of him? “He pointed at the door, where Kemp had been hustled out by Shakespeare. “You are going to let the whole company down because of him? “

“The company is already down, young Burbage, and not just because of him, although he certainly does not help the situation any,” Alleyn replied. “The man plays the fool so well onstage because he is one offstage, as well. But the fact of the matter is that without poor old Dick Tarleton, who is on his last legs, I fear, there is no longer any reason for me to remain. I stayed this long only out of friendship for an old comrade. The Queen’s Men have no decent repertory anymore. All the plays are all played out. The Admiral’s Men have Marlowe and they have the Rose, which for my money is a better playhouse.”

“And Henslowe, who owns the Rose, has a pretty daughter, as I hear,” said Speed. “A comely, young, unmarried daughter. You’ve heard that, have you, Ned?”

Alleyn turned red. “I’ll not dignify that with a response.” “You already have,” said Speed, with a grin. “Ned,” said Burbage, with concern, “you are the finest actor in the company. The best in all of England. It is only fitting that the best be with the queen’s own company of players!”

“Dickie, my lad, my mind is set,” Alleyn replied. “And this company, sad to say, is no longer the best. That honor rests with the Admiral’s Men. They have the best playhouse in the Rose; they have the finest resident poet in Kit Marlowe and the best and freshest repertory. Once I have joined them, they shall have the best actor, as well. And meaning no offence to your father, young Dick, but Philip Henslowe is by far the better manager.” “Ned, he runs a brothel,” Burbage said, in exasperation. “Among other investments, aye, and it turns a very handsome profit for him,” Alleyn replied. “Besides, there is little enough difference between whores and actors, anyway. And a brothel is simply a playhouse with better furnishings.”

“Ned, you cannot mean this!” Fleming said. “If you leave, ‘twill sink us sure as Drake sank the Armada!”

“John, this ship is well and truly holed and sinking fast already,” Alleyn said. “There shall be no saving it, I think.”

“What sort of creature is it that leaves a sinking ship?” asked Speed, scratching his chin and staring at the ceiling as if in deep thought.

“Bobby, I shall ignore that because you are drunk,” said Alleyn, with an edge to his voice.

“Truer words were never spoken,” Speed replied, raising his tankard. “I shall now proceed to get much drunker. It has been a privilege working with you, Ned. Now go sod off.” He drained the tankard in one gulp.

“Well, there is my exit cue, I think,” said Alleyn, with a grimace. “Gentlemen, I wish you all the best. Except for that scoundrel Kemp, of course, but then, he is no gentleman. Good, sweet night to you.”

“And a bleedin’ good riddance to you,” said Speed, with a prolonged belch, as Alleyn made his way toward the door.

Shakespeare came back in just as Alleyn was leaving. He sat on the bench beside Smythe and grinned. “Well, he swore and frothed and shouted up a storm, but did not resist me beyond a mere token show. Once he saw that Alleyn was not hard upon his heels, he blustered for a while out in the street, shook his fist, then headed home. And thus the storm blows over.” He glanced around at everyone’s expressions of gloom and doom. “On the other hand, maybe not. They all look as if someone has just died. What did I miss, Tuck?”

“Alleyn’s exit,” Smythe replied.

“No, I passed him going out as I came in,” said Shakespeare.

“I meant his exit from the company.”

“What? He quit the company?”

“Aye. That he did.”

“An artistic show of temper, surely.”

“I do not think so,” Smythe said. “He is off to join the Admiral’s Men and play the Rose. I had the impression that all of the arrangements had already been made.”

“Oh, they were made, all right,” said Burbage, miserably. “He would never have gone off like that unless the deal were done.”