“There they are!” Sir William shouted, pointing.

Yes, it was them! Smythe could see the long black cloak on the lead rider. But they would never catch up to them before they reached the Theatre. Even now, Smythe could see that the four riders had reached the gate and were dismounting, handing their horses over to the ostlers by the gate. Once they got inside, it would be difficult, if not impossible, to find them in the crowd. He had not been able to get a good look at any of them, save the one ostler to whom he gave his horse back at the inn. That one man, whom he had seen only briefly, was all that he would have to go by, aside from the black cloak of the leader, whose face he had never even caught a glimpse of. Smythe felt his heart sink. His best chance would be to reach Will first and warn him of the danger.

As they came galloping up to the Theatre, a couple of the ostlers came running up to meet them, doubtless thinking they were late arrivals hurrying to catch the opening of the performance. They recognized Smythe at once and reacted with surprise.

“Smythe! Odd’s blood! Where have you been? You’re late!”

“Aye, Will’s been asking everybody if they’d seen you. The play’s already started!”

“Never mind that,” Smythe said. “There were four riders who arrived ahead of us, big, tough-looking rufflers, led by a man in a long black cloak. Who took their horses?”

“Dunno. Never saw them.”

“Wait, I think I did! Tommy got one of them, I think.”

“Where’s Tommy?”

“In the stables, I should imagine. Why?”

“Those men came here to kill Will.”

“What, Kemp?”

“No, no! Shakespeare! They are going to kill Will Shakespeare!”

“What? Are you joking?”

“I am in deadly earnest! Run and get Tommy, right away! Find out who got their other horses. We have to find those men in there before they get to Will!”

“God blind me!”

“Go!” said Smythe. “Get all the other ostlers, too! And tell them to get weapons! These men are killers! Hurry!”

“Wait!” Sir William said, sharply, as both ostlers started off. “Not both of you, for God’s sake! You, stay here and hold the horses. Now, listen to me. There will be men arriving shortly. Tell them that Sir William gave strict instructions to close off the playhouse and make certain no one leaves until I give the word. And then to stand by for further orders. Understand?”

“Aye, milord!”

“Good man,” Sir William said. He turned to Smythe. “Now, did you get a good look at any of them?”

“I caught a glimpse of one of them,” said Smythe. “I think I would recognize him if I saw him again.”

“For your friend’s sake, you had damn well better hope so. Where is he now? Is he in the production?”

“He is the book-holder for this play,” said Smythe. “He will be inside, backstage, in the wings.”

“Would these men know that?”

Smythe thought quickly, then nodded. “Aye, ‘tis very likely. Dick Burbage brought Will over to meet Sir Anthony this morning at rehearsal. Dick said that he was interested in plays and was a possible investor, and so he puffed things up a bit and told Sir Anthony that Will was about to make his mark as one of England’s greatest playwrights.”

“And he signed his death warrant in the process,” replied Sir William. “ Gresham has your friend confused with Marlowe.”

“But… why would Sir Anthony make such a mistake?”

“Because he is not Sir Anthony!”

“What? Not Sir Anthony? What do you mean? You called him Gresham.”

“Aye, Alastair Gresham. Anthony’s twin brother.”

“His twin brother?”

“I shall explain later. There is no time now, we have to find those men. The guard will be arriving shortly. We need to get to your friend, Shakespeare, in the meantime, and keep him out of sight. ‘Tis doubtful that they shall try anything during the play, but afterward, when everyone is leaving, would be the perfect time for them to make their move. Or perhaps during the break between the acts. Then they could slip away in the confusion. How long is the first act? When does the break come?”

Smythe was at a loss. “I… I cannot remember! After the second act, I think. Aye, after the second act. But as to the time…”

“Never mind. Get to your friend. Warn him and tell him to stay out of sight. When your ostler friends arrive, have several of them stay with him to protect him, then take the others and get out among the groundlings in the yard. ‘Tis where those men will be. If you recognize the one you saw, point him out discreetly and have your ostler friends get as close to him as they can. Watch to see with whom he speaks, that will help us to spot the others. I will look for the one in the black cloak. With any luck, we shall have them before they can make their move.” He glanced down and frowned. “Where the devil is your sword?”

“I… I left it in the tiring room.”

“Well, there’s a useful place for it,” Sir William said, wryly. “Be a good lad and get it, will you? I suspect you may have use for it before too long.”

As they went into the crowded yard, they separated and Sir William made his way around to the far side, heading toward the stairs leading to the upper galleries. Smythe made his way along the railing of the lower gallery toward the stage, which projected out into the yard.

The groundlings, those members of the audience who had paid the cheapest rate of admission and stood in the dirt yard to watch the play, had packed the yard so completely that there was scarcely any room to move. Under any other circumstances, Smythe would have been pleased to see that, for it meant more money for the ostlers, more revenue for the company, more profit for the Theatre, and a boost in Shakespeare’s reputation for having so improved the play that the size of the audience had nearly tripled. The groundlings stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the yard and as Smythe looked up, it seemed to him that every seat in the upper galleries was filled, as well. Good news for the company, bad news for anyone trying to pick out four men amongst this crowd… four men who could easily have split up by now.

It occurred to Smythe as he tried to make his way through the crowd that none of this was as he had imagined it would be. Back home, somehow, he had always pictured the London stage as being so much more elegant, so much more… refined. Actually, quite the opposite was true. All around him, coarse and common-looking people were shifting their weight from foot to foot, changing position to avoid discomfort or else in an attempt to get a better view. They talked amongst themselves and laughed and belched and farted boistrously and called out to others they recognized among the crowd, even while the play was already in progress. A steady drizzle had started to come down into the open yard, which so strongly resembled the courtyards of the country’s inns, upon which the design of the Theatre had been modeled, with only the galleries upon the upper stories covered over with wood and thatch roofing. The light rain was soaking into the thick thatch and making the rushes strewn over the hard packed dirt of the yard slippery underfoot, the wet smell of the straw mingling with the steamy smell of bodies in damp woollen cloaks and the acrid odor of urine from theatregoers relieving themselves into the scattered straw. The briney smell of the Thames blown in upon the breeze hung over everything, occasionally bringing with it on the air the shouts of the rivermen in their boats not too far distant. Together with the creaking of the floorboards on the stage and on the walkways of the galleries, it all had a strangely nautical feel, as if the entire edifice were some sort of crudely constructed ship, its timbers sagging wetly as it floated at its moorings.

Smythe looked for Sir William and spotted him after a few moments, heading up the back stairs to the uppermost gallery, where he would have a commanding view of the stage and the entire courtyard. Smythe quickly swept the galleries with his gaze, but saw no sign of the mysterious man in the black cloak.