drawn. They’d pose until he’d finished, then they’d ask for their picture even though he’d scribbled it on a scrap of paper or some stiffened cloth he’d got from Mistress Witkens.
“How did you learn to do that?” Andrew asked.
“My mother taught me as she taught me to write my letters. I’ll teach you.”
Andrew’s sketches were rough at first, but William made him practice. “Look and look again,” he insisted. “Don’t be afraid to smudge out what isn’t right.” For days he had Andrew draw circles and ovals to learn the shapes of heads and where ears, eyes, and mouths go. “For everyone it’s the same,” he said. “The sizes of heads differ, but where eyes are, the ears, the nose—that’s the same.”
Peter teased that the two of them would end up common face-painters.
“Let’s make masks,” Andrew suggested one afternoon. “We made masks for plays at my school—pictures we held on sticks in front of our faces for pantomimes. We did stories about the Romans and King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. Once we made masks of the big figures in town—the Lord Mayor, the High Sheriff, the Bishop—and paraded around for the other boys at school.
“We could do a play for Durham House—the fable of the fox and crow. Can you make the face of a fox and the figure of a crow?”
“Sure!” said William.
He drew a fierce crow with a bright black-dot eye on a board Andrew found by the river. Crow black was easy enough, but fox red? How to get that color?
Andrew went to Pena. Pena took him to the kitchen, where they got a pot and mixed pig’s blood with flour and beet juice.
They rehearsed. Neither liked playing the fox, so they asked Peter if he would do it.
Peter wrinkled his nose and made sneering remarks about players and low-class street theater, but finally the chance to be the clever hero took him.
One night after supper, they gave their show in the refectory. Everyone agreed Peter made a good fox, sly and wheedling as he tricked the cheese from William the crow.
“What if you painted almost-likenesses of the Queen’s head and Mr. Raleigh’s?” Andrew asked that night as they whispered together.
“Why ‘almost’? I can do them to the life,” William protested.
“No. Make them just close enough to leave folks unsure.”
William gave Mr. Raleigh a feathered hat and pointed beard. The Queen got a drooping nose under a flaming red wig. They hinged her chin so she could open her mouth.
Andrew held the Raleigh mask before his face and said Mr. Raleigh’s lines as William pantomimed the Queen.
Mistress Witkens helped them with costumes, a length of fancy cloth for the Queen’s gown, blue velvet pants and a yellow shirt for Raleigh. They made props. The cheese became a sack of gold and a long flapping title deed with ribbons. They also wrote lines for Mr. Raleigh’s flattering.
“Madam, I hear it said at Court and even in the street that you are as kind as you are wise.”
The Queen shuffled and swished her gown as she nodded, the sack of treasure and the deed bobbing in her jaws.
“Truly, madam, it is reported that your realm, rich and glorious as it is, is but a faint reflection of your beauty.”
She tittered and bent her head in modesty as she fluttered her hands.
“And the lovely grace of your dancing, madam—it is the talk of every Court in the world and the envy of all women of quality.”
The Queen jigged a little and did an awkward turn, nearly falling.
“But those envious women hiss to each other that your voice is sour and cracking. Surely, madam, your voice is a fair match to your radiant face?”
At that, the Queen opened her mouth to sing and dropped her treasures.
“Oh, madam, I am honored,” said Raleigh, bowing low as he snatched them up, wrapping the title deed around his head like a crown and tucking the sack in his pants.
“Give it back!” the Queen yawped as she chased after Raleigh.
“Too late, madam,” he called over
“How did you learn to do that?” Andrew asked.
“My mother taught me as she taught me to write my letters. I’ll teach you.”
Andrew’s sketches were rough at first, but William made him practice. “Look and look again,” he insisted. “Don’t be afraid to smudge out what isn’t right.” For days he had Andrew draw circles and ovals to learn the shapes of heads and where ears, eyes, and mouths go. “For everyone it’s the same,” he said. “The sizes of heads differ, but where eyes are, the ears, the nose—that’s the same.”
Peter teased that the two of them would end up common face-painters.
“Let’s make masks,” Andrew suggested one afternoon. “We made masks for plays at my school—pictures we held on sticks in front of our faces for pantomimes. We did stories about the Romans and King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. Once we made masks of the big figures in town—the Lord Mayor, the High Sheriff, the Bishop—and paraded around for the other boys at school.
“We could do a play for Durham House—the fable of the fox and crow. Can you make the face of a fox and the figure of a crow?”
“Sure!” said William.
He drew a fierce crow with a bright black-dot eye on a board Andrew found by the river. Crow black was easy enough, but fox red? How to get that color?
Andrew went to Pena. Pena took him to the kitchen, where they got a pot and mixed pig’s blood with flour and beet juice.
They rehearsed. Neither liked playing the fox, so they asked Peter if he would do it.
Peter wrinkled his nose and made sneering remarks about players and low-class street theater, but finally the chance to be the clever hero took him.
One night after supper, they gave their show in the refectory. Everyone agreed Peter made a good fox, sly and wheedling as he tricked the cheese from William the crow.
“What if you painted almost-likenesses of the Queen’s head and Mr. Raleigh’s?” Andrew asked that night as they whispered together.
“Why ‘almost’? I can do them to the life,” William protested.
“No. Make them just close enough to leave folks unsure.”
William gave Mr. Raleigh a feathered hat and pointed beard. The Queen got a drooping nose under a flaming red wig. They hinged her chin so she could open her mouth.
Andrew held the Raleigh mask before his face and said Mr. Raleigh’s lines as William pantomimed the Queen.
Mistress Witkens helped them with costumes, a length of fancy cloth for the Queen’s gown, blue velvet pants and a yellow shirt for Raleigh. They made props. The cheese became a sack of gold and a long flapping title deed with ribbons. They also wrote lines for Mr. Raleigh’s flattering.
“Madam, I hear it said at Court and even in the street that you are as kind as you are wise.”
The Queen shuffled and swished her gown as she nodded, the sack of treasure and the deed bobbing in her jaws.
“Truly, madam, it is reported that your realm, rich and glorious as it is, is but a faint reflection of your beauty.”
She tittered and bent her head in modesty as she fluttered her hands.
“And the lovely grace of your dancing, madam—it is the talk of every Court in the world and the envy of all women of quality.”
The Queen jigged a little and did an awkward turn, nearly falling.
“But those envious women hiss to each other that your voice is sour and cracking. Surely, madam, your voice is a fair match to your radiant face?”
At that, the Queen opened her mouth to sing and dropped her treasures.
“Oh, madam, I am honored,” said Raleigh, bowing low as he snatched them up, wrapping the title deed around his head like a crown and tucking the sack in his pants.
“Give it back!” the Queen yawped as she chased after Raleigh.
“Too late, madam,” he called over
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