Shakespeare's Globe by Valerie Wilding Page B

to me.
    ‘Mother, may I go and watch them preparing for the plays?’ I begged.
    ‘Certainly not.’ She rose and turned, swishing her skirts. ‘Come, we have fish to buy.’
    By the time we’d bought our trout the crowd had thinned. Two of the company’s carts were still waiting to enter the inn yard.
    ‘I know what’s in those baskets on the first cart,’ I told Mother. ‘Gorgeous costumes.’
    ‘Really?’ she said, in a not-interested voice. ‘I should have thought players too poor to have finery.’
    ‘Wealthy people give clothes they do not want to their favourite players. Lords do that. Ladies, too.’
    Mother raised her eyebrows. ‘Lords and ladies go to watch the plays?’
    ‘They do,’ I said. ‘Nobles love plays. Lord Hunsdon, the Lord Chamberlain, is the company’s patron. And Queen Elizabeth herself used to invite the Chamberlain’s Men
to perform in her palaces,’ I said. ‘She loved Master Shakespeare’s plays above all.’
    It was true about the palaces, but I do not know if Will Shakespeare’s plays were her favourites. No matter. Mother cannot know otherwise.
    She considered my words, then said, ‘Queen Elizabeth is dead. Come, let’s go before the fish rots and gives your aunt something else to complain about.’
    I swung the basket as I walked. I felt so excited. It was months since I’d been in the playhouse. Now we could watch a play right here in town! And not just one, because players put on
different plays each day. I remember the Chamberlain’s Men acting
Julius Caesar
one afternoon after rehearsing
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
that morning, and they would act
another the next day! A player might perform a murder in ancient Rome after spending the morning as the king of the fairies or a poor weaver with the head of an ass, called Bottom!
    I remember men and boys sitting in out-of-the-way places in the Globe, clutching pieces of paper. The words they would speak were written on those papers. They would stare at the sky with their
lips moving as they struggled to learn them by heart.
    I am good at learning by heart, so it will be no problem for me when I am a player.
    For that is what I will be. And nothing will stop me.

CHAPTER THREE
    It was only as I shut Aunt Meg’s hens in for the night that I remembered Master Bottell calling the company of players the King’s Men. Now Queen Elizabeth is dead,
we have a king called James. He is probably the patron of the King’s Men. A king is higher than a chamberlain, so they must be very good.
    I had to see them perform. I had to!
    I raced inside, nearly tripping over Hoppy, who was curled up beside Aunt Meg. She looked fed up, because Uncle Jem was snoring by the fire, and Mother was mending my jerkin.
    ‘For goodness sake, stop tearing around,’ said Mother. ‘Do some drawing.’
    Aunt Meg sat up. ‘Draw me, Billy!’
    Not again, I thought. I went up to the attic room where I sleep, and fetched the leather bag Father gave me when he last came home. Inside was a wooden box of charcoal that he bought on his
journey, and a thick pile of paper from the ship. The paper has sketches and writing on one side, but the other side is perfect for drawing. Charcoal is messy, but good for sketching, and I love to
draw.
    Father said when I’m older I can go to sea with an explorer, and draw the things we discover, to show learned men back in England.
    No. I will be a player, and bring pleasure to everyone who sees me. Players bring words alive. I have seen Master Shakespeare’s words written down, and they do not have half the life they
have when he speaks them.
    I brought my drawing things to the fire, and fetched Mother a cup of ale. I wanted to please her.
    First I drew an eye then, next to it, a heart. Finally, I drew a sheep. I wanted it to be a female sheep, but all sheep look the same, so I drew a riband round her neck, tied in a bow.
    I took my drawing to Mother.
    ‘What is this?’ she asked.
    ‘A letter,’ I said. ‘A