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Beeston was just about to say something else callous or demeaning to Sam the Hedgehog when a man’s voice called out. It was the Poet.

“Hey-ho, boys!” he said, cheerily. “Are you all getting acquainted with our newest apprentice?”

All the apprentices adjusted their expressions to show benevolence and friendliness. It wasn’t that they were afraid of the Poet, it was clear that all admired him and cared for him greatly. As for my part, I nearly yipped with glee at the sight of his pleasing face, for already it felt like a sort of home to me.

“Yessir,” Beeston said, speaking politely now as if he were a completely different person. “Hughes seems a most upright fellow. We’re all keen to help him get up to snuff.”

“Yes, Will,” Alex said. “We were just explaining how things work around here.”

“Don’t be too rough on him, lads,” the Poet said. “There’s something special about young Hughes here. I’m hoping by September he’ll be able to take on some of the lead roles in earnest—he’s already given me some ideas for a new play. He’s got a marvelous singing voice as well. Give the lads a taste, would you?”

“No, sir. I don’t think I—” I begged.

“Come, come, lad. Give us just a bit, that high part that could make the angels cry. Go on!”

I cleared my throat, and sang one of my evensong solos, which ended in a high falsetto. The whole time I sang, I saw Beeston and Sam roll their eyes, mouthing unkind words behind the Poet’s back. It was absolutely the worst thing that could have happened. But it wasn’t just the bullies’ disdain I was gaining, I could see upon Alexander’s face, a look of insecurity breaking through his previous friendliness. By the end of my song, only the Poet and Little Goat were clapping in earnest, while the other three apprentices joined begrudgingly.

“God’s teeth! Simply stunning, isn’t it?” the Poet said. “Such a voice. And, as you can all see, that face …” He took my chin in his hand and looked at me in that way he would. “Remarkable, isn’t it? His face is neither Adonis nor Venus, but the best of both, don’t you think?” He affixed his eyes upon me like a rabbit he was about to spear.

I saw the jealousies of the other apprentices mount by the moment—all except for Little Goat who appeared to be reveling in their verdant envy.

“Have you seen anything like those lips, boys?” the Poet enthused. “Those lashes?” His hand brushed my cheek. “Look at his blush, he’s got the complexion of a babe. Alex, is it lambs’ fat you said you use to keep your skin youthful? You must teach Hughes how. By Saint George, the plans I have for him.” The Poet then sighed, gave a friendly wave of his hand, and as he walked away, he called out: “Get on with it, my good lads! We shall be before an audience in less than a week. Much to do!”

As soon as he was far enough away not to hear, Beeston turned toward me and sneered. “Those lashes!” he mocked, then pretended to puke at the sight of me.

“That skin!” Sam joined, delighted that I might have raised his standing, by lowering my own. “Clearly Will’s been writing too late in the night. His eyesight has clearly dimmed to near blindness.”

All the boys laughed bitterly; all that is, except for Little Goat.

“I’m sure he was only being nice,” I said, joining their laughter most awkwardly. Then I addressed Alexander specifically. “He’s just trying to make me feel welcomed. I’m not even close to being as good looking as you.”

Alexander did not even look at me. “Come, boys,” he said. “We should get to rehearsal.” As the boys gathered their things, he said to me, barely masking his bitterness. “Hughes, I realize I misspoke when I said I’d help you with reading. I’m going to be very busy this summer. But as Will said, you’re so very talented, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. But I suggest you do it fast. The sharers will not tolerate an apprentice who doesn’t learn his words.”

Then Beeston snarled and poked me in the shoulder. “You should have seen the last boy who didn’t learn his words. God’s teeth, your Master Augustine snapped the small of his back, he did.”

Without another word the two lead apprentices left for their alleged practice, whispering their dislike for me. Little Goat gave me a pitying look and squeezed my arm kindly. Sam, however, looked at me and ruefully smirked. At least someone found joy in the tragedy of my introduction.

EightThe Eye of Heaven

Wherein Willy Hughes makes friends.

To me, fair friend, you never can be old,

For as you were when first your eye I eyed,

Such seems your beauty still.

—from Sonnet 104

As one might guess, I was suddenly flooded with fear that I was soon to encounter Augustine Phillips, my new master. Yet by the end of that first day, I still had not met him. (It appeared he was waylaid tending to an emergency at his home in Wapping. Something to do with a hog falling into a well.) And then a change of plans: Rather than departing London the following week, it was announced we’d be leaving the very next day. The abrupt change of schedule was due to the news of Dickie Soames’s death and the fear we might lose another company member due to the pestilence. In the Fleet Ditch area alone, there had been reports of thirty to forty people dying of plague daily. The bodies, they said, were stacked like sacks of grain outside the prison.

Meanwhile, the Queen and her court were escaping to Windsor Castle, after one of the Queen’s chambermaids took ill. And so, the Lord Chamberlain’s Men would take flight to what was believed to be plague-free environs, including Oxford, Leister, and even Dover by the sea. There were also rumors that we might go to Devonshire, where my first love Barnaby Stubb was reported to be living. While my heart had mostly recovered from that childish love, there was a residual curiosity as to what would happen should we ever meet again.

And so, I bid farewell to my whore of a mother, who was still drunk from the night before. She grunted something about making sure not to get sacked, and to bring home any money from “doing whatever it is you do.” While I often despised the witch, I still felt a twinge of melancholy as I walked out the door with my fardel, her drunken curses chasing me down the High Street.

The melancholy didn’t last long, as I was keen to explore the world, try my hand as an actor’s apprentice, and most important, get closer to the Poet. When I arrived at the playhouse, it was surrounded with carts and wagons, all being loaded with scenery, trunks full of costumes, and whatever wives and children were coming (very few) or being left behind (many).

Being either the last apprentices hired (Little Goat and I) or least vital (Sam the Hedgehog), we three were to crowd into one small donkey cart that would become our sleeping quarters at night if there were no rooms available. Needless to say, I hoped the forced closeness would allow me to get to know these compatriots better—especially Little Goat, who already had been so kind to me.