Page 17 of The Two Wills

“God’s teeth!” I cried. “You don’t really expect me to learn all them words by heart, do you?”

“We do. We’ll be playing at least six plays in repertory throughout the summer. And, knowing Will, he’ll also surprise us with something new along the way. Each town we’ll do six performances, each performance a different play. You have thirteen roles to memorize in case one of the regular boy players gets sick. Your other parts, the ones you do on stage, are so small you’ll be able to learn them in rehearsal.”

“More than these thirteen?” I asked.

“Of course. But they are more like ladies-in-waiting or ‘stop-who-goes-there’ sort of slop. You’ll also play the rabble as well as several dead bodies—which are not included in the scrolls but on the list right there.”

I looked at the long list of scribbles on the paper. My insides clenched, as I was overcome with a desperate need to empty both my bladder and my belly. “How much time have I to learn the words?”

“Not much at all,” Ed said. “We have two days’ travel and setup and should be on the boards by Tuesday next by my estimation. Oh, remember that when we arrive, we’ll need you and the other lads to put up bills and make the rounds, beating the drum and announcing our performances. And, as an apprentice, you’ll be finding time to learn swordplay, tumbling, and dancing, and practice your instrument.”

“An instrument?” I repeated.

“Of course. All the apprentices have to play an instrument. You don’t play the lute, do you?”

“No, sir.”

“Then you’ll need to fit that in as well. We’ve no time for slackers here.”

I must have looked pale, since Ed put his hand on my shoulder in a show of kindness. “Don’t fret, lad. ’Pon my word, your master Augustine will teach you all you need. Listen well to him; you’re lucky to be bonded to him. Though he can be most salty at times, all he does is for your benefit.”

My heart trembled. “When shall I meet my master, sir?”

“Soon enough, soon enough. Just be on top of your words if you don’t want to get sacked. Remember that. I hope you’re a quick study.”

I looked at all the scrolls in my arms, like a bouquet of unopened lilies—none of which I was capable of reading.

“It’s impossible.”

“Playmaking is always impossible, lad,” Ed said. “Just wait. During the regular season in London—if you last until the regular season—you’ll need to learn at least thirty different plays.”

“Thirty? My head isn’t big enough to hold all those words.”

“If you’ve a true actor’s head, then its most certainly big enough. Now, get to it! Here’s the list of your roles, dead, living, or otherwise. Go introduce yourself to the other apprentices—they are over there, gossiping and preening like a gaggle of swans. Henceforth, they shall be your closest family next to your master, Augustine. Here’s a sack for your scrolls. Don’t lose them! The scrivener does not take kindly to having to do double work! Now, off with you, lad.”

With that, Edward Knight busied himself with handing other players their roles. I looked again at my hessian sack filled with scrolls covered in black scratches. My meager breakfast heaved into my throat. As I approached the other apprentices, a new terror seized my bones. It is a well-known fact that a new boy, be it in school or on the game ball field, will be brutally picked on, especially when he has a delicate though well-formed countenance. As I approached, I sized each one in terms of strength and their ability to fight. One was younger than me and slightly built. Him I did not fear. Three others, however, had arms rippled from swordplay and faces full of sneers.

“Good day to you, lads!” I said, readily smiling but then ingesting my lips, and mustering my best threatening glare—hoping it might inspire some trepidation.

“What’s this?” A rat-faced boy, who was blonde like me and slightly taller, called out to the group of boys. “Must be Augustine’s new apprentice who’s been circling poor dying Dickie Soames like a vulture.”

All the other boys turned and gawked at me, like I was a dropped piece of beef and they were hungry dogs. .

“Let us say hi,” said a finely-drawn young man of a similar age as me—though I looked much younger. “So this is what all the fuss is about?”

This beauteous young man had fine and soft skin with just a brush of freckles. I could see he had started to shave off just a few hairs from his chin. His hair, tied with a rag, was red and curly, and like mine, longer than was the fashion. He had striking green eyes that glowed when they set upon you. I knew instantly he was the leading boy the Poet told me about, the one who played the major roles I would be backing up.

“I’m Alexander Cooke,” he said, offering his hand, smiling with teeth white as turtle eggs. Barely any were missing. “Pleased to meet you.”

“A pleasure.” I tried to imitate Alexander’s posh elocution, which, while mellifluous, was clearly parroted from someone of a better class. “The master of the book said I’d be learning your roles.” The jargon still felt awkward in my mouth. “I hope I do a good job. It’s all new to me.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, Hughes,” the rat-faced boy said, feigning annoyance. “You have a better chance of shagging a duchess than Alex ever being sick.” The others laughed.

I would soon learn that Alexander and the rat-faced boy had been with the company for more than two years, playing the best roles of heroines or younger, heroic youths. What’s more Alexander was Burbage’s apprentice and therefore had extra prestige.

“I’m Christopher Beeston,” the rat-faced boy said. He was fifteen and slightly built. Just a twist of his mother’s cervix, and he might have been truly beautiful, but as fate would have it, he had that pointy face and sharp teeth, and no doubt would eventually play villains. He had originally been apprenticed to Will Kemp, the comedian, but having no sense of humor, was switched to another player who excelled in tragedy. “You can call me Beeston, not to be confused with any of the other dozen Christophers around here. Besides covering Alex’s roles, Ed Knight says you’ll also be backing me up in the Henry plays for Joan la Pucelle and Countess of Auvergne, and Nate for the roles of Young Margaret, as well as Queen Elizabeth in Richard III.”

“God’s teeth!” I swore. “Why did he give me so many roles?”