“So that if one of the men you lead chooses to leave your command, then ‘tis very like a mutiny,” said Smythe.

“Exactly so,” replied Fleming, nodding. “I could not have said it better.”

“Now I understand what transpired earlier today,” said Smythe.

Fleming looked at him. “What happened?” he asked, and briefly Smythe described their encounter with the Steady Boys while he and Dickens were on their way to the theatre.

“I just knew those two would be trouble,” Fleming said, when he had finished. “And now, regretably, you have become mixed up in it. You would do well to avoid them, if you can.”

“Did you expect me to run off and leave Ben to face them by himself?” asked Smythe.

“Of course not,” Fleming replied hastily. “I know you better than that, Tuck. But just the same, I wish you had not become involved. Ben knows what they are like, and he knows what to expect of them. And not meaning to slight your abilities in any way, Ben is also a trained soldier who has been to war. He knows well how to take care of himself.”

“Well, ‘tis not an army we are talking about, after all, John,” said Smythe, “just a few young malcontents and troublemakers.”

“Just the same, they can be dangerous,” insisted Fleming. “If you do not wish to give me credence, then go ask your blacksmith friend, Liam Bailey, whose former apprentice was killed in one of their street brawls. Do not underestimate them merely because they are young, Tuck. Aside from which, those two, Darnley and McEnery, are of an age with you, or very nearly so. Some of the others might be younger, but put enough of them together and they can be trouble enough, believe me. They might forgive Ben, in consideration of the past, but they have no reason to grant you any such consideration.”

Smythe nodded. “I shall keep that in mind, John. But ‘tis not in my nature to run away from trouble.”

“Just see that you do not run toward it,” Fleming said, “ ‘Allo, what have we here?” he added, looking out past the stage into the yard. “ ‘Twould seem that Master James has brought us visitors.”

The rehearsal stopped as the players came down off the stage into the yard to greet James Burbage, Richard’s father and the owner of the Burbage Theatre, who had arrived with a party among whom were Henry Darcie, one of the investors, his daughter, Elizabeth, Ben’s friend, Corwin, and another gende-man, dark and foreign looking, richly dressed in silks, who came in company with a beautiful young woman whose pale skin was a striking contrast to her jet black hair. Even before they were introduced, Smythe had already guessed that this was Master Leonardo, the wealthy Genoan merchant trader, and his lovely daughter, Hera, who had so captivated Corwin.

There was yet another gentleman who came along with them, a man Smythe did not know. He was large, heavy, and robust-looking, with a florid face and a thick, bushy gray beard. Shoulder-length gray hair came down from beneath a soft, dove-gray velvet cap, which matched the three-quarter length cloak and short, soft gray leather boots that set off his burgundy hose and quilted black doublet shot through with silver thread. They must have come in carriages, thought Smythe, for otherwise those new, expensive clothes would have been filthy from the mud outside.

The red-faced gentleman turned out to be Master William Peters, the goldsmith to whom Corwin had been apprenticed and in whose shop he now worked as a journeyman, well on his way to establishing a successful reputation as a craftsman in his own right. James Burbage made the introductions, pointing out the individual players to his guests. Henry Darcie and Elizabeth, of course, already knew them all, but this was apparently the first time that Master Leonardo and his daughter had ever seen the Burbage Theatre. Master Peters had attended several of their productions in the past, but he was apparently not a regular. He came, primarily, to act as an intermediary for Master Leonardo with James Burbage and Henry Darcie. And doubtless he also came for Corwin’s sake, for it was clear from the way his eyes never left Hera for an instant that the young journeyman was very much in love.

“Well met, good players, well met all!” said Master Peters in a jovial tone, after Burbage had completed the introductions. “I beg you, do not allow our merry company to interfere with your busy preparations. We have merely come to visit and observe. My friend, Master Leonardo, late of Genoa and newly arrived upon these shores, is in the mind of considering new ventures here in London and, in that regard, was curious to learn something about the business of a company of players. Thus, upon learning of his interest, I could think of nothing better than to introduce him to my old friend, Henry Darcie, whom I knew to be an investor in your theatre. Therefore, ‘tis my great pleasure to introduce Master Leonardo, and his fair young daughter, Hera, and the rest here, I believe you all already know.”

“Indeed, we do, good Master Peters,” the younger Burbage said, speaking for them all, “and you are all most welcome to the Theatre. Sad to say, we cannot regale you with a play, for as you doubtless know, by order of the council, the playhouses of the city are all closed ‘til further notice and we are thus enjoined from performing for you.”

“Indeed,” said Master Leonardo, speaking excellent English, albeit with a pronounced Italian accent, “I was aware of the decree, though ‘tis a pity, for I had hoped to learn something of your work and, at the same time, perhaps provide some amusement for my daughter, who has never seen an English company perform.”

“Well, good Master Leonardo,” Shakespeare said, “we cannot disobey the council’s edicts, as you know. But while the council did close down the playhouses to prohibit our performing, fearing that the plague could breed among the crowds, they did not prohibit our explaining to a prospective investor in our theatre how a play is staged. And so, as we were in rehearsal for one of our productions when you arrived, you might find it both diverting and enlightening if we were to explain to you how such a production is prepared for a performance.”

“Methinks a Papist could not have split a hair more finely,” Kemp said wryly, and then grunted as Speed gave him an elbow in the ribs.

“The man’s a Roman, you bloody great buffoon,” he said, under his breath.

“Please, come this way,” said Smythe, beckoning to them. “We shall set up some benches on the stage for you so that you may see how our company prepares for the performance of a play.”

The guests climbed up upon the stage and took their seats at the side while the company resumed rehearsing. James Burbage explained the process to them as the Queen’s Men went through the play, stopping at intervals to correct or change a line, or else to adjust their movements on the stage and fine tune their entrances and exits.

While Master Peters played the part of genial host, asking questions or else calling out encouragement to the players, Master Leonardo watched with interest, and with a critical, discerning eye it seemed, as James Burbage explained what they were doing and Henry Darcie offered the occasional supplementary remark. Watching from the wings, Smythe could see that Hera was thoroughly enjoying it all, watching with bright eyes and laughing at their antics, for despite the fact that it was only a rehearsal, the players, being players, could not resist joking around and clowning for their audience. Elizabeth, who might have greeted Smythe more warmly were it not for the presence of her father, sat next to Hera and they spoke often to each other and laughed together like good friends. The two of them made a very comely sight. Smythe noticed that just as Hera scarcely took her eyes off what was happening before her on the stage, so Corwin scarcely took his eyes off her. But then he also noticed that just as Corwin scarcely took his eyes off Hera, so Elizabeth scarcely took her eyes off Ben.