Free Mask of Night by Philip Gooden

pretty absurd tragedy when I first read it at Richard’s insistence, but Shakespeare had humanized some of the action and the characters while retaining the crowd-pleasing bits (usually involving amputation and incest). And when you realize that, whatever it might look like on paper, a piece is actually working on stage – to say nothing of having a good many lines in it yourself – it’s strange how your critical faculties get blunted.
    The next afternoon we staged a newish play by William Hordle, a shy writer with a large and still expanding family. For the Chamberlain’s Company he was working his way through the lexicon of love. His
Love’s Disdain
we performed in the summer of 1601 while
Love’s Diversion
had appeared the following year. Now we were presenting
Love’s Loss
which was the most cheerful of the three, despite its title. Doubtless he was already working on
Love Regained
. His play production had to outstrip the rate at which his wife produced children and so, while supplying the Chamberlain’s with the light fare of love, he offered meatier matter to the Admiral’s Men, pieces that climaxed in battle-scenes and the suicides of generals. In
Love’s Loss
I played a simple soul, a contrast to the rampant avenger of
The World’s Diseas’d
.
    Love’s Loss
was also well received by the Oxonians. In fact our reception was so good that we considered that if things went badly in London – if, that is to say, the entire city fell victim to the plague or if the Globe playhouse burnt down – then we would be able to set up in Oxford instead. It was a paper dream, for the place was much smaller than London and could not have sustained a company of the size of the Chamberlain’s, even at our present reduced numbers. And, once established in the capital, which person has ever
seriously
considered leaving London? Nevertheless, two or three of our number began to make connections and arrangements with some of the townsfolk, or (to be more precise) with some of the townswomen. It crossed my mind to do the same, if the occasion arose, but I remembered Lucy Milford back in London and thought she deserved at least a week or two of fidelity. Oh honourable Revill!
    Playing at the Golden Cross Inn was much more basic than playing at the Globe, but we didn’t mind. Give us costumes and a few simple properties (dagger or crown, for instance), give us the lines, above all give us a crowd, and we’ll do it anywhere. All of this activity meant that I forgot my frightening encounter with the hooded group of men. However, I did not wander off in the evenings again but kept to the main thoroughfares.
    As a treat the audiences were promised Shakespeare’s
Romeo and Juliet
but not now, not yet . . . since we wanted word to spread that the Chamberlain’s were in town. Of course we were also due to offer this tragic romance in more intimate circumstances, and those I’ll come to in a moment.
    No more alarming news of King Pest arrived from London. In fact some of the married men were receiving letters already – we had been easily outstripped by the post-horses in our gradual progress towards Oxford – and their contents were reassuring enough (although this turned out to be misleading). I would have welcomed a letter from Lucy Milford but she did not choose to write, and so whatever I heard was at third-hand. All the news, apart from domestic matters, was to do with the Queen, who was reported to be sinking at a faster rate.
    Whether John Davenant, the gloomy landlord of the Tavern further down Cornmarket, was right in his fear that we would cause him to lose trade, or whether WS was right when he claimed that for every play-lover there’s somebody who can’t stand the things and will take shelter in the nearest tavern to escape them, I never discovered.
    What I did discover was Davenant’s wife, Mistress Jane.
    Two or three days after our arrival in Oxford, I was standing in the Cornmarket in the early morning when I