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Authors: Gillian Bagwell
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outside, the taproom was cozy, the flames in the fireplace chasing away the shadows in the corners and reflecting in the dark panes of the windows.
“What’s the Fifth of November?” Nell asked Ned.
“Why, it’s Guy Fawkes Day,” he said. “Sure you’ve heard of him? A Papist. Tried to blow up King James and all the lords in the House of Parliament, he did. When was it, Harry?”
“Sixteen hundred and five,” Harry said. “But they discovered the plot. ‘Fawkes at midnight, and by torchlight there was found,’” he quoted. “ ‘With long matches and devices, underground.’ ”
“So the king and all were saved,” Ned continued, “and Fawkes and the others that had intrigued with him were put to death. It used to be kept as a great holiday, but then you’re too young to remember that. In the old days, it was a right party. A great rout of people in the streets, fireworks everywhere. And of course we young ’uns would always build a Guy to burn.”
“But not before we got our penny,” Harry chimed in. Ned laughed at Nell’s blank expression.
“The Guy was a dummy, do you see, meant to be like Guy Fawkes. We would parade it through the streets, crying out ‘A penny for the Guy!’ And then the Guy would be put into a bonfire. Fires all over London, there were, in them days.”
“I’ll warrant there’ll be a Guy or two this year again,” Harry said.
HARRY WAS RIGHT, AND ON THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER BONFIRES LIT the night sky and Guys of wood and straw and cloth blazed at the center of baying crowds. It was a busy night in Lewkenor’s Lane, and Harry swaggered into the taproom in company with several other young men, whooping and in high spirits.
“We’ve done it!” he crowed to the room. “We put the final nail in old Nol Cromwell’s coffin tonight!”
“Aye,” laughed one of his mates. “We’ve just given a show at the old Red Bull, with the blessing of the king himself! The theater is back again, and no mistaking.”
“You couldn’t have chosen a better day for it than Bonfire Night!” Ned called from behind the bar. “Death to killjoys and traitors, and up with merriment!”
Cheers greeted this remark, and the lads were welcomed with slaps on the back and drink all around as they drew up stools and benches around a table. Their jubilation was contagious, and Nell worked her way through the admiring crowd that gathered around Harry and his crew. Rose and Jane had joined them, and Rose made room for Nell on the bench next to her.
“Here’s to the King’s Men!” Harry raised his tankard and all joined in the toast.
One of the company, a hulking man in his thirties with one squinted eye somewhat lower and larger than the other, who might have looked threatening were it not for the grin that split his face, banged his fist on the table for quiet.
“Here’s to His Majesty, who brought us back. And may tonight be the first of many shows to come!” Voices joined in from all over the room. “To His Majesty!”
Ned fought his way through the crowd and set a great jug of ale on the table before the squint-eyed man.
“Walter Clun!” he cried. “I saw you play at the old Blackfriars when I was but a boy. I remember it still—I laughed ’til I came near to piss myself.”
“Aye, that’s me,” Clun chortled. “Not a dry seat in the house.”
“Wat!” Harry called across the table to him. “Where are the others? I thought Charlie Hart was coming?”
Wat Clun threw up his hands and rolled his eyes heavenward.
“Now there you have me, lad. I told Charlie not to be such a stick-in-the-mud, and to shepherd the old men here on this our night of triumph. But will he now? That is the question!”
“And here’s me all this time thinking the question was ‘To be or not to be’!”
The voice boomed from the door, and Wat surged to his feet, roaring with laughter.
“Charlie! My own true heart! You’ve come after all!”
The dark-haired newcomer
“What’s the Fifth of November?” Nell asked Ned.
“Why, it’s Guy Fawkes Day,” he said. “Sure you’ve heard of him? A Papist. Tried to blow up King James and all the lords in the House of Parliament, he did. When was it, Harry?”
“Sixteen hundred and five,” Harry said. “But they discovered the plot. ‘Fawkes at midnight, and by torchlight there was found,’” he quoted. “ ‘With long matches and devices, underground.’ ”
“So the king and all were saved,” Ned continued, “and Fawkes and the others that had intrigued with him were put to death. It used to be kept as a great holiday, but then you’re too young to remember that. In the old days, it was a right party. A great rout of people in the streets, fireworks everywhere. And of course we young ’uns would always build a Guy to burn.”
“But not before we got our penny,” Harry chimed in. Ned laughed at Nell’s blank expression.
“The Guy was a dummy, do you see, meant to be like Guy Fawkes. We would parade it through the streets, crying out ‘A penny for the Guy!’ And then the Guy would be put into a bonfire. Fires all over London, there were, in them days.”
“I’ll warrant there’ll be a Guy or two this year again,” Harry said.
HARRY WAS RIGHT, AND ON THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER BONFIRES LIT the night sky and Guys of wood and straw and cloth blazed at the center of baying crowds. It was a busy night in Lewkenor’s Lane, and Harry swaggered into the taproom in company with several other young men, whooping and in high spirits.
“We’ve done it!” he crowed to the room. “We put the final nail in old Nol Cromwell’s coffin tonight!”
“Aye,” laughed one of his mates. “We’ve just given a show at the old Red Bull, with the blessing of the king himself! The theater is back again, and no mistaking.”
“You couldn’t have chosen a better day for it than Bonfire Night!” Ned called from behind the bar. “Death to killjoys and traitors, and up with merriment!”
Cheers greeted this remark, and the lads were welcomed with slaps on the back and drink all around as they drew up stools and benches around a table. Their jubilation was contagious, and Nell worked her way through the admiring crowd that gathered around Harry and his crew. Rose and Jane had joined them, and Rose made room for Nell on the bench next to her.
“Here’s to the King’s Men!” Harry raised his tankard and all joined in the toast.
One of the company, a hulking man in his thirties with one squinted eye somewhat lower and larger than the other, who might have looked threatening were it not for the grin that split his face, banged his fist on the table for quiet.
“Here’s to His Majesty, who brought us back. And may tonight be the first of many shows to come!” Voices joined in from all over the room. “To His Majesty!”
Ned fought his way through the crowd and set a great jug of ale on the table before the squint-eyed man.
“Walter Clun!” he cried. “I saw you play at the old Blackfriars when I was but a boy. I remember it still—I laughed ’til I came near to piss myself.”
“Aye, that’s me,” Clun chortled. “Not a dry seat in the house.”
“Wat!” Harry called across the table to him. “Where are the others? I thought Charlie Hart was coming?”
Wat Clun threw up his hands and rolled his eyes heavenward.
“Now there you have me, lad. I told Charlie not to be such a stick-in-the-mud, and to shepherd the old men here on this our night of triumph. But will he now? That is the question!”
“And here’s me all this time thinking the question was ‘To be or not to be’!”
The voice boomed from the door, and Wat surged to his feet, roaring with laughter.
“Charlie! My own true heart! You’ve come after all!”
The dark-haired newcomer
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