Free The Point of Death by Peter Tonkin Page A

secure,' added Burbage and Henslowe together.
    'Where is the nearest graveyard?' asked Will.
    'Behind St Mary Overie Church hard by the bridge,' answered Henslowe who knew the South Bank well - particularly as he owned so much of it.
    'There are new-made graves there, I'll be bound,' said Will. 'We could add to their number tonight.'
    'There's a risk,' warned Hemminge, the churchwarden. 'If you played such a trick at my church at St Mary Aldermanbury, the sexton would be on your heels fast enough. And the authorities would be called in by the week's end.'
    'Then,' said Tom grimly, 'we'd best stow him where the recording's not so nice. Where's the nearest plague pit?'
    Again it was Henslowe who answered most readily - too readily, for he did not immediately see where the question was leading. 'There's a new pit out beyond the Paris Garden, round towards Lambeth Palace,' he said. 'It's but poorly closed off. I fear the authorities are expecting to reopen it soon enough.'
    'Is it well guarded?' wondered Tom.
    'A couple of boys and a dog o' Sundays.'
    Henslowe shrugged dismissively. 'Who'd be mad enough to break in there?'
    'Who indeed?' asked Tom, glancing across at Will and Ugo.
     
     

 
    Chapter Nine - Bull Pit and Plague Pit
     
    The company broke up just before ten. Those careful of their pennies wanted to be free to cross the Bridge before the City Gates closed; those like Hemminge and Condell more careful of their souls and reputations, wanted to be free of the Bank side before all Hell was let loose. But in truth there was little to keep them. All the plans they could make were laid and wanted nothing but action. From tomorrow they would be putting on a second performance between five and seven - giving patrons an unrivalled opportunity to spend the early afternoon at Master Henslowe's baiting pits, the early evening in his playhouse and the night in his taverns and brothels close by.
    As full darkness came and Bow Bells echoed distantly, chiming their nightly ten o'clock peal, Tom, Ugo and Will followed Henslowe himself out into Rose Alley. Between them, Tom and Ugo pulled the small cart favoured by the Wardrobe Master, piled with old rags of long-faded finery. Its ancient wheels creaked and its axle shuddered as they pulled it out into the street which was little more than a path worn in the grass and a little bridge over a stream. As though its venerable frame found the weight of these piled scraps of tawdry far heavier than usual, it continued to com plain. A link boy waited to guide the busy entrepreneur to whichever of his adventures he wished to visit next. 'Bull Pit,' he ordered gruffly. The four of them slopped through the muddy pathways with the puddle of golden light appearing to brighten and dim in opposition to the light around them, which varied in turn, according to the vagaries of the moon behind the last of the fleeing storm clouds. The axle of the ancient cart squeaked and howled as the notion took it. Maid Lane wound between the half-open fields behind the Bankside tenements and the great places of entertainment. To the south of the Lane lay the Winchester Park, running up to Winchester Palace itself, London domicile of the Bishop who owned most of the land between here and Lambeth and whose Law ran south of the Thames. Almost before the last echo of Bow Bells died, their ears were assaulted by the howling of the dogs Henslowe kept kennelled in the gardens behind both the Bear Pit and the Bull Pit. Right into Bear Gardens they turned then left through a little cut to the Bull Pit itself.
    The Gatherer guarded the door still, though the last bull of the day had long since gone screaming down to death. He let the four of them into the great woodenwalled space, not so very different in design from the Rose. But whereas the walls of the theatre were decorated with gilding and paint, here they were spattered with blood and offal. There the air reeked of ground lings and - occasionally - Master Henslowe's