Read Online The Mad Courtesan by Edward Marston - Free Book Online Page B

ceremony.
    ‘What is the news, sir?’ he demanded.
    ‘The Queen will not hold court today.’
    ‘How so?’
    ‘Her Majesty is indisposed.’
    ‘What is the nature of her illness?’
    ‘Physicians are in constant attendance.’
    Lord Westfield stood back to let the man beat his own retreat from Whitehall. The general exodus could now be explained. Queen Elizabeth was unwell. A monarch who prided herself on her health, who was abstemious with her food and drink, who exercised regularly and who paced her life with extreme care, had actually taken to her bed. It was no minor indisposition. The Queen knew the importance of being seen by her subjects and it was not only her courtiers who viewed her on a daily basis. The main road from Westminster to Charing Cross ran straight through Whitehall so ordinary citizens could express their affection for their sovereign by bringing small gifts for her or simplyby waiting for hours to be rewarded by the glimpses of her person that she would considerately afford them. Elizabeth was a visible Queen who revelled in her visibility. But she was also on the verge of her sixtieth year and the burdens of her long reign must have taken their toll. If her physicians had been called then a crisis was in the offing.
    Lord Westfield turned on his heel and led the way back to his coach. The news was alarming enough in itself but its implications were even more disturbing. A wave of general sympathy would wash over the ailing Queen but her courtiers looked beyond it to a contingency that had to be faced.
    If Elizabeth died, who would succeed her?
    It was a question that was fraught with all kinds of possibilities and it transformed the stately waddle of Lord Westfield. For the first time in a decade, he broke into a breathless run, fervently wishing that his steps would take him in the right direction.
     
    Giles Randolph expired with a vulpine screech that echoed around the hushed auditorium. As he sank slowly from sight through the trap door in the stage at The Curtain, the spectators genuinely believed that he was being lowered into a vat of boiling oil. Steam rose up from below to reinforce the illusion and Randolph’s screech hit a new note of horror before vanishing with gurgling suddenness.
The Spanish Jew
was the lurid tale of a villainous moneylender who rose to power through unscrupulous means then held the whole country to ransom before overreaching himself. There wasa comic relish in his devilment that somehow endeared him to the onlookers and gave his fall a sad dimension. A man who had consistently lied, cheated, stolen, poisoned and stabbed his way to the top was now claiming frank sympathy. It was an astonishing achievement and a tribute to the skill with which Giles Randolph had played the title role.
    The piece itself was a somewhat ramshackle affair but his performance had given it a drive and a unity that it did not really deserve.
The Spanish Jew
was blatant in its prejudices, attacking Spaniards, Jews, usury and other things with a coarse brutality which Randolph softened to some extent but which nevertheless produced a deal of derisive laughter at its intended victims. There was an abundance of action and comedy to delight the groundlings but those who looked beneath the surface of the play could see a real figure lurking there and this gave the drama its extra bite and relevance. Giles Randolph had been handed the sort of part in which he could exhibit the full range of his genius and he held nothing back for two wonderful hours.
    Banbury’s Men came out to take their bow in the firm knowledge that they had at last found a winning play. With their actor-manager in the lead,
The Spanish Jew
would go on to thrill and move many an audience. Word of mouth was the best possible advertisement and the shouts of praise that now deafened their ears told them that their triumph would be voiced abroad in no time. Giles Randolph would die his terrible death many times at The Curtain