Don't get antsy- I ain't slept
It was late in the afternoon and the sun had just begun heading down. The repetitive crunch of the wooden wheels rolling over stone and earth was lulling everyone to sleep. I was watching the world bob up and down outside the window like the cork on on a fishing line.
"Well, I suppose that does make sense." I said aloud needlessly.
I was considering the view as my eyelids fought to shut out the light. We were running late today. We really should've arrived by now. It'd be easier to stay awake if we had arrived already. I stuck my head out the cabin door and looked ahead relieved to see something besides country side. Up ahead down a long road rolling with the hillside sat the first line of thatched roofs and simple wooden structures that signify a town. I could feel the excitement build in the pit of my stomach- it was almost show time. I adjusted my breeches and began to dress. The other people in the cart bustled and jostled each other in anticipation. The team of carts pulled up to the edge of town and came to a stop.
Hopping out of the cart I looked around and took in the sight of the town poignantly ignoring me and my comrades. I used the one glass among every other person in my cart and looked about cleaning up the young man with shaggy brown hair and bright brown eyes that some women insist has flecks of gold in them that stood in the mirror. I stretched languidly feeling the weight of my black leather vest and belt pull down against my light cotton shirt and slacks. I knew my job and quickly started unloading the tents poles. Given time it didn't look as though wey'd have time to get word out that players had arrived in this sleep hamlet but odds were good that the people who were good and virtous were already discussing how they were all sinners and whores and should be shunned. By night fall they'd have all decided that a little show wouldn't be bad but certainly they wouldn't be among the first- one must make the attempt to refrain very clear. By the time the moon was in the night sky they'd likely have become a half way decent audience. So the stage must be set immediately.
"Good lad, I trust you can get that stage set by yeself?"
"I can, Morgon. I trust tonight we'll make enough to recieve a little pay."
"Shakespeare, you are the trusting type." Morgon, a squat and sturdy fellow swung from the head of the cart. A hirsute man with an expressive man Morgon was known to be deceptively agile in body and mind. I'd known him as employer and friend. As the actor manager of a company of players Morgon was half to decent but as the leader of a band of scoundrels and thieves he would have been legendary- that is if he'd were fool enough to ever let it on. Even I, who had joined as a boy 5 years and an untold number of towns ago was still freshly briefed on. It had been almost two years before I'd realized my place among this group. They were a band of artists- by many definitions.
Morgon's Men were known to entertain and enthrall hamlets of any size; Morgon thought this with such conviction that he had commissioned a gifted scribe draw up a post sheet with that very claim scrawled across a only passable resemblance to the group. After receiving the parcel with two hundred likewise designed sheets it had been time for the group to kiss sweet freedom lest Morgon be charged.
"Don't forget out the post sheet, Lad. We don't want the people to be expecting bear baiting- we had to sell the bear costume remember."
"Fondly, Morgon. Where are we, sir? I don't recall you giving me the name."
"We're but a step from lady fortune lad, But a step."
"Are we at her back, or to her front sir?"
"That, lad, depends on the goal."
"The goal sir?"
"Oh, aye, lad. If we want her purse we should be to front. If it's after her secrets you are then you'd best head to her rear."
"Her secrets?"
"That she keeps private lad. I speak confusingly"
"No, sir, cunning."
"That's it lad, Cunning."
"I find these exchanges a little difficult"
"We are players lad- we speak filth prettily. If I said I came here to find some cunny- I'd be the farmer working a honest day in a field."
"Sir, we are players- and the only honest work we do is at night."
"And sometimes under assumed names. You're reaching lad. Get the tent up. We'll spar again."
Morgon clapped a meaty palm to my back that pushed me to my duties. "Cunning" I thought. If the old man wanted a rut he should've picked a better town. This town was too small for that. Here there would be too many women who didn't know the difference between a fun night and a miserable life. Not to mention the difference in how the livestock rut and how to please a man."
I went to work on the stage. I set the pole to hold up rich red fabrics across one another to make a proscenium. It wasn't ideal but it looked nice and the red of the fabric always got the smaller towns to feel extravagant. Dyed red! Really, and for players! Well, when you've a barrel of spoiled red wine there really is only two things to do- cook or dye.
It was Morgon who had taken me into this company personally. Shakespeare- the name he gave me- was the name of a poet he liked and was teaching me. It was the very book that had started me with this band. But I've always found the story of my inauspicious induction to this crew a boring story so it is rarely discussed.
"Well, I suppose that does make sense." I said aloud needlessly.
I was considering the view as my eyelids fought to shut out the light. We were running late today. We really should've arrived by now. It'd be easier to stay awake if we had arrived already. I stuck my head out the cabin door and looked ahead relieved to see something besides country side. Up ahead down a long road rolling with the hillside sat the first line of thatched roofs and simple wooden structures that signify a town. I could feel the excitement build in the pit of my stomach- it was almost show time. I adjusted my breeches and began to dress. The other people in the cart bustled and jostled each other in anticipation. The team of carts pulled up to the edge of town and came to a stop.
Hopping out of the cart I looked around and took in the sight of the town poignantly ignoring me and my comrades. I used the one glass among every other person in my cart and looked about cleaning up the young man with shaggy brown hair and bright brown eyes that some women insist has flecks of gold in them that stood in the mirror. I stretched languidly feeling the weight of my black leather vest and belt pull down against my light cotton shirt and slacks. I knew my job and quickly started unloading the tents poles. Given time it didn't look as though wey'd have time to get word out that players had arrived in this sleep hamlet but odds were good that the people who were good and virtous were already discussing how they were all sinners and whores and should be shunned. By night fall they'd have all decided that a little show wouldn't be bad but certainly they wouldn't be among the first- one must make the attempt to refrain very clear. By the time the moon was in the night sky they'd likely have become a half way decent audience. So the stage must be set immediately.
"Good lad, I trust you can get that stage set by yeself?"
"I can, Morgon. I trust tonight we'll make enough to recieve a little pay."
"Shakespeare, you are the trusting type." Morgon, a squat and sturdy fellow swung from the head of the cart. A hirsute man with an expressive man Morgon was known to be deceptively agile in body and mind. I'd known him as employer and friend. As the actor manager of a company of players Morgon was half to decent but as the leader of a band of scoundrels and thieves he would have been legendary- that is if he'd were fool enough to ever let it on. Even I, who had joined as a boy 5 years and an untold number of towns ago was still freshly briefed on. It had been almost two years before I'd realized my place among this group. They were a band of artists- by many definitions.
Morgon's Men were known to entertain and enthrall hamlets of any size; Morgon thought this with such conviction that he had commissioned a gifted scribe draw up a post sheet with that very claim scrawled across a only passable resemblance to the group. After receiving the parcel with two hundred likewise designed sheets it had been time for the group to kiss sweet freedom lest Morgon be charged.
"Don't forget out the post sheet, Lad. We don't want the people to be expecting bear baiting- we had to sell the bear costume remember."
"Fondly, Morgon. Where are we, sir? I don't recall you giving me the name."
"We're but a step from lady fortune lad, But a step."
"Are we at her back, or to her front sir?"
"That, lad, depends on the goal."
"The goal sir?"
"Oh, aye, lad. If we want her purse we should be to front. If it's after her secrets you are then you'd best head to her rear."
"Her secrets?"
"That she keeps private lad. I speak confusingly"
"No, sir, cunning."
"That's it lad, Cunning."
"I find these exchanges a little difficult"
"We are players lad- we speak filth prettily. If I said I came here to find some cunny- I'd be the farmer working a honest day in a field."
"Sir, we are players- and the only honest work we do is at night."
"And sometimes under assumed names. You're reaching lad. Get the tent up. We'll spar again."
Morgon clapped a meaty palm to my back that pushed me to my duties. "Cunning" I thought. If the old man wanted a rut he should've picked a better town. This town was too small for that. Here there would be too many women who didn't know the difference between a fun night and a miserable life. Not to mention the difference in how the livestock rut and how to please a man."
I went to work on the stage. I set the pole to hold up rich red fabrics across one another to make a proscenium. It wasn't ideal but it looked nice and the red of the fabric always got the smaller towns to feel extravagant. Dyed red! Really, and for players! Well, when you've a barrel of spoiled red wine there really is only two things to do- cook or dye.
It was Morgon who had taken me into this company personally. Shakespeare- the name he gave me- was the name of a poet he liked and was teaching me. It was the very book that had started me with this band. But I've always found the story of my inauspicious induction to this crew a boring story so it is rarely discussed.