Page 18 of The Two Wills

Beeston scoffed. “For some reason, at least one of the sharers believes you won’t screw it up like some of the other boys have.” He tossed a look at a taller, dark-haired boy of eighteen with gnarled teeth and a mangled foot, who had a distinct shadow of beard to his face—something a boy who plays ladies should never have.

The young man cast his eyes on the ground, then peeped them at me, scowling. He clearly had been the previous back-up and either failed for talent, or for the fact that he looked as much like a lady as a Scotsman’s hairy back.

“Isn’t that right, Sam the Hedgehog?” Beeston asked the embarrassed boy.

The cruel name made the other boys snigger at the homely young man. “That’s right, Beeston,” Sam the Hedgehog said, chuckling himself, trying to look like he was joining in on the fun.

“Of course I’m right,” Beeston continued. “This tour will be the Hedgehog’s last season playing the ladies. Come September, if he’s not sacked, he’ll be playing King Henry’s bear rug!”

This inspired nearly all to laugh uproariously. Despite Sam the Hedgehog’s own laughter, I knew the insult cut him. It was heartbreaking. Meanwhile, the leading boy, Alexander, shook his head at the meanness.

The only other one not laughing was a smaller boy standing next to Sam. He was not more than thirteen and would have been nearly as pretty as me except for what appeared to be a recent burn mark across his cheek. Despite his age, I felt certain he had already experienced a difficult life. Perhaps it was the festering wound on his cheek or the hollow, frightened look in his eyes.

“Stop being cruel, Beeston,” the smaller boy said. His voice was much like a girl’s, soft and light. I could tell he would excel at playing the ladies’ roles. “It’s not funny.”

“I think it is,” Beeston said threateningly, stretching himself to emphasize his height against the smaller boy, who, in turn, rolled his eyes.

Then, ignoring his bullying, bigger peers, the younger boy smiled at me and bravely crossed to shake my hand. “I’m James Sands,” he said. “But everyone calls me Little Goat.”

“Little Goat?” I repeated his odd name. “Why do they call you Little Goat?”

“Because of my laugh,” he said. “They say it sounds like a goat bleating.”

Beeston scoffed. “Stop lying! That’s not why we call him that. It’s because our little man can’t keep his hands from milking the tiny little udder between his legs.”

All the boys except for Alexander broke into more laughter, which made Little Goat turn red, though he didn’t seem as hurt as Sam the Hedgehog had been when he was teased.

“That’ll be enough, Beeston,” Alexander warned, casting a kind eye on Little Goat, who appeared to blush at the gesture. I intuited a brotherly fondness between these two.

“As you will, your majesty.” Beeston rolled his eyes, but it was also clear that Alexander was the one with the real power among the apprentices.

“Anyway, Hughes,” Alexander said with a teasing smile, “these rodents will be your comrades for the tour and onward.”

“Only if Augustine keeps him on past the summer,” Beeston added.

“Augustine is a tyrant, the old beast,” Sam the Hedgehog chimed in.

“Is he strict?” I asked.

“The strictest,” Alexander replied. “But he’s fair, unlike some of the other masters. Though I’d make sure you learn your words, or he’ll box your ears.”

“Or worse,” Sam warned.

“What if I don’t read well?” I stammered, causing some of the boys’ mouths to gape.

Beeston then chortled and said, “Not being able to read is going to be a little difficult if you’re to memorize thirteen different roles, innit? I hope that skinny arse of yours can handle a brutal whipping.”

“Shut it, Beeswax,” Alexander snapped before turning to me, his eyes growing kind once more. “You can always ask Sam or Little Goat to read over the words with you,” he said. “Or maybe I could even help. I’ve got my tricks. Once you’ve got the words memorized, I can also show you what I do with the roles—this’ll give you a running start before Augustine puts you through it.”

“Thank you,” I said in earnest, wishing all had his gentility.

“Just don’t come to us with them lines half learned and waste our time,” Beeston said. “We have a rule in the Lord Chamberlain’s Men—if you don’t have your lines learned you are the last to eat.”

“And you’ll be lucky if there’s anything left but cabbage water,” Sam the Hedgehog added with a forced, cruel laugh, causing the other apprentices to look at him with annoyance. Sam, it appeared, was hoping that I, being the newest apprentice, would alter his position as being the brunt of all the bullying. Unfortunately for him, that wasn’t the case.

“Shut it, Sam,” Beeston said. “The only reason you’re still here is because poor Dickie Soames is breathing his last breath in the pest house. Sure as the day is bright, you’d be left in Shoreditch to sell your mouth in the jakes if it wasn’t for the company’s need for an ugly boy who can play a poxy whore.”

Beeston’s nasty comment about working the jakes I thought might be directed at me, but then it was not uncommon for actors to make such lewd comments. Still, I averted my gaze for fear my reaction might betray my previous employment. I had lived all my life around rough, cruel boys, though the ones I had encountered until that point used their fists rather than their tongues, and, at that moment, I would have much preferred the fists.