The Diary of William Shakespeare, Gentleman Read Online Free PDF

could I tell the girl that her country manners would cause her to be mocked at court? She has been taught dancing by a master, but who can teach her the quick wit of the court? Not I, for I have tried. Once I thought she might suit the younger daughter’s lot, to care for her parents in their decline, but I would as put our wellbeing in the hands of No Eye Sue the beggar than Judith.
    At last, tired of her complaining, I hied upstairs and to my pen. And with my pen came memories.
    I did not forget Ned. Players came often to Stratford in those years, when creeping plague thrust its foul cloak over London’s lords and beggars, and actors too, if they did not flee. Each time I hoped Ned might be one of the company. But though I asked, none had ever heard of Ned Forrest.
    It was four years before I found out why Ned wept, and why he could not tell me what his tears were for. The company who came to us that year was Sir Edmund’s Wrothson’s Players (each company must have its sponsor or be vagabonds, bound for gaol, not the stage). This company played at the guildhall, where gentlefolk sat upon good seats and the motley stood behind.
    Father knew by then that I had a liking for such things, and from his goodness took me afterwards to the room where the actors changed their clothes. He introduced me to the chief actor and company manager, who offered me a tankard of small ale while Father went to speak to another of the company. Father had paid the fine for usury and the scandal had not spread. Yet once again he seemed worried. I was glad to see him smiling and among important men, or men I thought important then.
    I drank, though the ale was sourer than we had at home, and said, ‘I enjoyed your Antony and Cleopatra , sir.’
    The player bowed. ‘I thank you, young master.’ He winked. ‘I vow there are a few tonight who would be Antony to our Cleopatra.’
    â€˜I do not understand, sir.’ I glanced over at Cleopatra, still in his dress, his black curls brushed like a girl’s. Two men chatted to him, one a grain merchant, the other a farmer of some estate. As I watched, the merchant chucked the boy under the chin, winked, then came up to the manager.
    â€˜A shilling,’ he said.
    â€˜Five, and he is yours for the whole night,’ the manager told him.
    The merchant spat on his hand and they shook to seal the bargain. The merchant took the shillings from his purse, handed them to the manager, then made his wayback to Cleopatra, who still wore the actor’s smile that had wooed young Antony. I watched as they went out together.
    I knew that women sold their bodies to men. I had even found out what fornication meant. But I had not discovered this. I realised now that Ned had known. When the players bought him, they must have explained his other duties and how to do them well. His father must have known too, for why else would he get a price so high for one young son? Enough for turnip seed, enough for wheat seed the next season, enough to keep his family and his fields.
    â€˜Sir, have you come across Lord D’Naughten’s Players?’ I asked the manager. ‘They were here four years ago.’
    He frowned. ‘The name I know. They travelled to Denmark when London’s taverns were last closed, I think, or was it the Low Countries? I have not heard of them since.’
    â€˜And one Ned Forrest? He was my friend. He went with them.’
    A world of understanding filled his face. ‘Four years ago? He would be young then. I’m sorry, lad, I know him not.’ He paused, then added, ‘Our Cleopatra shares in all our takings. No one is forced to go where there is true dislike.’
    But not for love, I thought. And never free.
    Poor Ned . . . I must finish his tale here, or I will dream of him again. And I have dreams enough to haunt me.
    It was more than twenty years before I had news of him. We had built the Globe by then. Beggars who had been