The theatre, nothing more than a slanted stage set before rows of chairs on a lawn, crowds with ladies in their finest dresses and men showing off their latest hats. Children swathed in too-big second hand clothes scurry through the rows, leading nobles to their seats on the lawn and offering small fans to those who are most affected by the midsummer heat. William peers from the curtains of his tent, scanning the crowd. Tonight's production is yet another showing of Titus Andronicus, a play Shakespeare's troupe had yet to grow tired of. The gasps drawn from the audience by the tragedy never fail to boost their egos as actors.
"William," a voice from behind startles him from his crowd gazing. "Where is our Titus?" William glares at his companion.
"Richard," He begins sternly, "You mean to tell me we're performing Titus Andronicus without Titus Andronicus?" Richard frowns.
"I only mean to say our start time is likely to be halted for now. I will check with George." He turns away to hurry through the darkening tent, nearly toppling a stacked set of robes to the grass. William watches his retreating form before turning back to the open tent flap. He's startled to find a beautiful face peering back at him, merely inches from his own.
"William," the man smiles softly.
"Earl Wriothesley," William addresses. "To whom do I owe this pleasure of meeting you?"
"My mother, I wager. and please, do call me Henry. As your loyal patron I hardly find honoraries necessary." His smile grows. William watches his delicate fingers reach into his pocket as he draws out a folded piece of parchment. "You wouldn't happen to know why my mother was so entertained by your sonnet, would you?"
William inwardly sighs. "As a matter of rather unfortunate fact, I would." He meets Henry's eyes, only slighter higher than his own. "Walk with me."
William leaves the darkness of the tent, his eyes slowly adjusting to the last of the light from the setting sun. They stroll towards the small cluster of trees across the lawn from the actor's tent. People call to William as he passes, raising their hands in a sort of salute. He smiles and nods to each one in turn, the ladies blushing and men boasting to their friends.
"Henry,'' William begins as they pass the last of the theatre-goers. "You must know you're getting older."
"I'm no older today than I was yesterday." Henry states, well aware of how untruthful it was.
"In soul and complexion, perhaps not. But in constitution you dwindle away with each night you spend alone." William was unfortunately all too aware of the things young men did at night when no one was watching, especially those who rarely had a companion to aid them. Married and a father shortly after turning 18, his time for those activities was brief, but disturbing to think back on regardless.
Henry does his best to seem frustrated, hiding away the smile that threatens to betray him. It was amusing watching William struggle to articulate this politely. "How I spend my nights is none of your concern."
"It becomes my concern when the days of your fertile youth slip away and you've produced no heirs to carry on your legacy of making the world more beautiful." Henry does smile at this, the flattery displayed by William once again striking a chord in his heart.
"Are you so interested in all of your benefactors?"
"Only those who grief their mothers into fearing the end of their lineage." This was also only a partial lie, William playing a part like the actor he is. He would not care about any of his other theatre patrons. Unless of course, they also were paying him.
"So," Henry concedes. "She has persuaded you to do this, after all."
William inhales, prepared to defend himself, but he is interrupted by Richard nearly crashing into the two of them. He's out of breath from running across the lawn, and pants for a few moments before announcing, "We've found our Titus."
"Marvelous!" William claps his hands together in a sort of grand exclamation. "The theatre awaits, Henry. We shall continue this conversation another time." He takes Richard by the arm, together striding off to the impatient crowd. Henry follows at a distance, but instead of turning towards the stage he paces to the back of the seating area. He watches the play's events unfold for what must be the fourth time this season, gasping at the appropriate moments for any wandering eyes looking in his direction, but no one seems interested in the young man behind them. Though eyes may not be wandering, his mind is, and he cannot seem to focus on the stage's events for long enough to hear a single line.
When the play is over and the thunderous applause subsides, Henry makes towards his waiting horse just outside the park's lawns. Before he can even reach the lead, however, one of the small child ushers grabs hold of both of his hands, dragging him back towards the stage and actor's tent. The boy pushes Henry into a seat in the now empty front row before scurrying off to join the other unattended children still milling about the grass, likely looking for misplaced coins. Henry looks around before bringing his eyes to the stage, where William is unrolling a comically large scroll. He clears his throat once for practicality, and a second time for good theatrical measure. In his loudest and most proud actor's voice, he begins:
"When forty winters shall besiege thy brow
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now,
Will be a tattered weed, of small worth held.
Then being asked where all thy beauty lies
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days
To say within thine own deep-sunken eyes
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use
If thou couldst answer "This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count and make my old excuse",
Proving his beauty by succession thine.
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold."
Emphasizing the last few syllables, William snaps the scroll back together and surveys the empty amphitheatre, save for Henry. He bows, then turns dramatically on his heel before marching off the stage, disappearing into the tent. Henry watches the tent fabric wave slightly before settling again, laughing quietly to himself. Regardless of the sonnets' somber message, William was clearly not planning to lose his theatrical touch while carrying out the Countess's wishes. Henry claps slowly before exiting the theatre for a final time. Yes, he would have to thank his mother later. This was going to be rather entertaining for him.
YOU ARE READING
A Rose by This Name
RomanceWilliam Shakespeare is the most successful actor in his day. Henry Wriothesley, Earl of South Hampton, is being pushed into marriage by his mother. When she is unsuccessful, she consults the poet in an attempt to reach her son in a way she is unable...
