Page 20 of The Two Wills

Little Goat was very delicate by nature, and quite small as I’ve mentioned. This would allow him to portray children with ease, as well as infirm old men, and the ladies, of course. Though the new wound on his face would preclude him from playing any role wherein perfect beauty was required—at least until it healed. While he certainly was shadowed in some mystery, there was no mistaking the boy’s gentle heart, natural prettiness, and preternatural intelligence.

Sam the Hedgehog was Little Goat’s opposite—crude and cumbersome—and looked even older than his eighteen years. His talent, it was said, was the weakest in the company, and it was believed he would not last the term of his contract. He was useless in the female roles other than playing the hideous and homely wives of inn keepers. His personality when off stage was equally off-putting—as I had already seen.

“You’ll sleep at that edge of the cart,” demanded Sam as I laid my fardel on the pile of hay at the front near the driver.

“Why?” said I.

“Innit obvious, ninny?” said he. “Because Little Goat sleeps in the middle, and I sleeps near the driver. You’re the newest and have not even begun training. Let’s supposing the cart trips over a rock in the night and you fall out, crack open your melon and die … well, we hasn’t lost much, has we?”

“Oh, I see,” I said, hoping to make peace. “I guess that’s fair reasoning.”

As I moved my cloth to the end of the cart, Little Goat pulled me over. “Psst. That spot of hay is where Dickie Soames slept,” he whispered, fear animating his eyes. “It might still be dirtied with pestilence. It should be cleaned out first.”

“What’s it?” A fire blazed in my belly. “Vile knave! Oi, Sam! I will not sleep where Dickie slept! We will leave the edge empty ’til we get fresh hay. Me and Little Goat will sleep snuggled in the middle.”

“God’s teeth, you won’t!” Sam shoved me against the side of the cart. “See here, you worthless starveling, I’m older, stronger, and been with the Lord Chamberlain’s Men longest. I’m sick of you blathering on like you’re the next Alexander Cooke in the making. Ha! That’s a lark. Everybody knows where you come from. I wouldn’t worry about a little plague, since the pox you got up your skinny arse should scare it away.”

Little Goat gasped at Sam’s cruel comment. “Stop it, Sam!” he cried.

“Take that back,” I stammered.

“I shan’t take it back. Fight me, if you must. Beeston told us already! You’re a whore and a thief, and so is your mother!”

Now, as I’ve already pointed out, I had always been the slightest boy in the yard, dependent on the likes of Barnaby Stubb to come to my rescue when faced with a bully-thrashing. But, having observed hundreds of alehouse brawls growing up, I had learned a few moves, and while I might be the one who ended with more bruises, it was rare that anyone left our dust-up without a little of their own blood spilt. Knowing my position with the company was yet to be secure, I was loath to cause Sam any serious disfigurement.

“If you don’t take it back,” I said stepping a foot closer to the bully. “I’ll tell Will, I will.”

“A tattletale and a muck house whore, is it?” Sam spit his words into my face so that I squinched my eyes.

“Sam, I insist you stop this!” Little Goat demanded. For a welp, he was brave.

“I’m not neither,” I said to Sam, my voice growing calm and cold. “And, frankly, I’d rather be a whore and tattletale than a hairy, snaggletoothed, untalented, club-footed slag.”

Little Goat’s eyes widened at the precision of my insult, and I could see the cruelty of my word-arrows plunged deep into Sam’s heart. If ever I had a skill beyond acting, it was knowing what comment could cut a man to the kidneys. Tears puddled in the corners of Sam’s misshapen eyes. He, so obviously, had been told all his life he “might have been a beauty” if it hadn’t been for this-or-that deformity of his features. And now that he was growing hairy, and what little loveliness he once had was seeping from every nook and cranny, he knew his days playing the ladies—or anything at all—were numbered. It is the blight of many beautiful boys that maturity does not always serve them. (Though there are times when youthful beauty seamlessly flows into mature handsomeness—which, may I be so vain to suggest, was my destiny—at least these many years hence. Of course, we all end in a pile of unattractive bones and gristle, but that’s not something we should dwell on here.)

“Please, both of you, stop it,” Little Goat begged. “We’re just starting the tour, lads, and it will be a very long summer if we don’t try and get along. What say you? Or would you prefer I leave you two alone to tear each other’s eyes out?”

“Fine,” Sam growled. “Sleep where you like except not near the driver. That’s my spot.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking my place in the carriage next to Little Goat. I could see Sam was still annoyed by my insult, and, no doubt, brainstorming some other revenge.

“Oi, Hughes!” Little Goat said. “It’s quite the luck you’re to be bonded to Augustine.”

“Is he not cruel,” I asked, “like the others suggested?”

“Not cruel, just strict and thorough. He’s trained some of the best actors. That Will bonded you to him says something.”

“He first wanted to attach me to Burbage, but I refused.”

“Refused?” Little Goat said, astounded. “You refused to be bonded to one of the greatest actors in all England?”

“A turd to his teeth!” I snarled loudly. “Burbage is a scoundrel and a thief! I’d rather be bonded to a plague-infested rat.” I raised my voice even higher as if to let the entire street know my thoughts. “Also, I’ve watched him many-a-time on the stage (this was a lie, of course). And in my opinion, he’s the worst actor in all of England, nay, all the world! And he’s an arrogant bastard.”

Sam and Little Goat looked around as if they were terrified someone had heard. Sam pulled at my shirt to come closer to him. Suddenly his entire demeanor toward me changed to one of accomplice rather than enemy. “Shh!” Sam warned. “If you value your head, you’ll keep your voice down.”

“There’s spies everywhere in the company,” Little Goat added.

“But you’re right about Burbage,” Sam said, sotto vocce. “He is arrogant, and a scurrilous, drunken bully as well.”