Warning: Attempted rape
Two months of furious preparation and rehearsal had passed, and they were ready to perform.
The new apprentice, Edward Woodrose, proved to have a singular talent for the stage. His
sweet nature and eagerness to please endeared him to his fellows - even Owen, who could have
allowed envy to consume him, took Ned to his heart.
Sean endured - the spark that had bloomed at their meeting had come to full flower - a powerful
attraction that would not be denied; though try to deny it he would. He is so young... his
conscience whispered. I am not a lover of men! The Fates laughed in his face. His role in the
play did not help matters...
~~~~~
He looked around the crowded backstage. John McAllen, promptbook in hand, ran through the
cues for the last time. Edward and Owen were in the tiring-room under the care of Mistress
Kate. Everyone else was ready. It was time. John stepped out onto the stage and bowed to
their patron, who watched from the balcony.
"Hearken, good people, to a tale," he began. "'Tis a tale of love and betrayal, and a moral,
which is for you to judge.
"The tale of 'The Wayward Daughter."
Will Scot strolls onto the boards, resplendent in slashed doublet and parti-coloured hose. He
plays the part of a traveling merchant, one Harry by name, and introduces himself to the
audience as 'a merry gentleman, a knave who dealt in trinkets fair'. He tells them that he seeks
'the rustic denizens of dale and glen'; suddenly a lamb's bleat is heard, and Susanna makes her
entrance from the far end of the stage.
None had seen Ned since he and Owen had retired to be costumed and painted, and a muffled
gasp rose from the cast and gallery as he came into view. The beautiful youth made a lovely
maiden. The black wig framed his flawless face to perfection, stray curls laying on creamy
shoulders and well-padded breast. Greasepaint enhanced the sapphire of his eyes and the
generous curve of his rosy lips; he wore a tight-fitting bodice over a shift and several petticoats,
and carried a shepherd's crook. Will gaped, instantly smitten, and the crowd sat still, rapt and
expectant.
Susanna holds her hands out to the audience in mournful appeal, and her voice bells out, sweet
and musical:
"Shall I grow old before my time,
Worn down by toil, unremarkéd,
When yonder the lights of London-Town,
Shine bright on privilege, undeservéd?
Daughter of the soil I am, and yet that state
Of birth I did not choose, and wish away."
Through Acts I and II, Susanna is lured to London by the silver-tongued merchant with promises
of marriage. There she discovers that the merchant has a family and desires her as a mistress,
nothing more. After a dramatic encounter with Owen, playing the wronged wife, Susanna runs
away, consumed by humiliation and guilt, and determines to end her ruined life.
Act III begins with Sean, walking the streets of London. He plays Lord Valentyne, third son of
Viscount Montague, and at the moment bored and dissatisfied with his aimless life. He spies a
maiden poised to leap into the Thames and stops her, imprisoning her body within the circle of
his arms.
Sean had managed to avoid this scene during rehearsals, miming it instead; earning not a few
odd looks from his mates, and one of hurt and puzzlement from Ned. He had dreaded this,
dreaded and desired it with every fibre of his being. His cock was already half-hard with
anticipation, and with the slender body trembling against his, with Ned's scent in his nostrils; it
came to full and aching attention. Not for the first time, he blessed the roomy codpiece he
wore, for it hid his desire and shameful lust. The script called for them to look into each other's
eyes, for love at first sight was a major theme of the play. Sean shut his eyes and took a
steadying breath; then opened them to twin whirlpools of blue that sucked him down, and
robbed him of coherent thought. He saw a startled awareness, the slightest widening of Ned's
eyes, and wrenched his gaze away with an effort, forcing his willful body to the task at hand.
Susanna struggles to break free, and Valentyne tightens his grip:
"You run from him who can your pain remove,
Your sins redeem, your honour save.
And all the burdens of this woeful world
Lift from your back. Deny me not..."
The last act opens on a scene set in a drawing room made lavish by cloth of gold and a rich
carpet. Lord Valentyne and Susanna are arguing over the constancy of a nobleman's love.
Susanna's father, played to pathetic perfection by John McAllen, enters off the stage; he has
found his wayward daughter, and entreats her to come home. The scene is further complicated
by the arrival of Dominick Merriman, playing Viscount Montague, who has learned that his
youngest son is involved with a common farmer's daughter. The two older men confront each
other, and the Viscount recognizes a long-lost cousin, disinherited for marrying below his
station. Susanna's father is revealed as being far from a common farmer, and one who holds
considerable land in his own right.
All is confusion and the audience settles, awaiting the foregone conclusion -- which Martyn's
play does not give them. Instead, Susanna, who has since realized that a life of luxury has its
pitfalls, turns to Valentyne, pleading:
"Come live with me and be my love;
Forsake this rootless life, and find
Sweet heaven in my arms and on my lips
Taste paradise enow..."
Sean moves toward her in a daze, his eyes fixed on Susanna's beseeching face. It is a mercy
that he has no more lines to deliver, for he could not have uttered another word to save his life.
Will capers onto the stage again as the motley Fool, jangling in cap and bells. He serenades
the lovers with bawdy verse, while the cousins reconcile, the entire Company takes its bows....
And the curtain falls.
~~~~~
The common room of the Queen's Arms rang with the sound of celebration. John sat at the
table, gleefully counting the day's takings, while all about him, the rest of the company made
merry. The play had been a rousing success - even Lord Osborne could find no fault in it.
Sean yawned widely, feeling the first rush of excitement drain from him. The heavy thrum of
emotion had subsided, leaving him sodden with exhaustion. He looked up as the door opened
and Owen came in, and tried to ignore the hot wash of disappointment that warmed his face.
"Are done so soon?" he asked, for the apprentices' task it was to clear the properties after each
performance. "Where is Edward then?"
"Gone to the stables to store away the canvas." Owen replied with a knowing leer. "The last of
his duties. He will be in directly."
Sean leaned back against the wall and tried to relax. The Welshman's words had started the
infernal itch in his brain again, the aimless foreboding that grew in strength with each passing
minute. He sat quietly, turning it over in his mind, then got to his feet and went out the stable
yard door.
Ghostly tendrils of fog reached out to him as he stood in the doorway, listening. He swept the
yard and outbuildings with his gaze, the feeling of unease a cold lump in his belly, and hurried
across the cobbles to the dark bulk of the stable. Light and warmth flooded out as he pulled the
door open, and he heard, above the restless movement of the horses, the dull sound of a fist
striking flesh and a familiar voice rising in a scream cut short.
Sean was weaponless, but there was no hesitation in him. He rounded the stalls at a run and
slammed to a halt at the sight before him, a red haze rising to overwhelm his senses. Ned lay
writhing on the straw-covered floor, his glorious eyes glazed, his mouth a-gape as he fought for
breath. Astride him, a man knelt, a lascivious smile on his piggish face, potbelly spilling out of
his open doublet, his hose around his knees and his thick, meaty cock digging into the lad's
body. The brute had one hand around Ned's neck, strangling him, and with the other tore at the
laces of the lad's hose, laying him bare.
Sean threw himself at the intruder, his fists lashing out, and knocked him away from the
gasping boy. His opponent was large, but fury lent Sean strength and the man, hobbled by his
hose, was slow to move. The hot copper taste of bloodlust filled Sean's mouth as he felt the
crunch of bone beneath his fist, and he felt a fierce exultation rise, all-consuming, irresistible.
Again and again he struck, his vision scarlet with his rage, until exhaustion wiped the madness
away, and he saw the man senseless on the floor.
He crawled to Edward's side, trembling, his eyes drawn to the patch of silken skin and crisp
curls laid bare by the torn hose. Bruises bloomed on Ned's face, and a trickle of blood ran down
his chin. At his touch, the lad let out a mewling cry, and tried to squirm away.
"Ned, love, 'tis I, Sean," he whispered. "Hush now, you're safe with me. The bastard's down and
will trouble you no more."
"Sean..." Ned's hoarse voice broke and his body shook with the force of his sobs.
Sean's breath caught in pain and his resolve melted away in the face of the lad's torment. He
drew his cloak over Ned's nakedness and then gathered him into his arms and rocked him
gently, stroking his soft hair in wordless reassurance. They stayed thus until the harsh weeping
had subsided and Ned began to shiver with reaction.
"Come," Sean murmured gently. "You will catch your death of cold. Let me bear you back to the
inn."
When they heard what had befallen their friend, the company erupted in fury and outrage. Sean
gave Edward over into the keeping of Mistress Kate and collapsed onto a bench, his knuckles
bloody and his head fit to burst. He was deep in his second ale when he felt a hand on his
shoulder. He looked up blearily, into John's kindly eyes. "Did I kill him, then?" he mumbled
dully. He found it difficult to care overmuch.
"Nay," John replied. "You broke his nose for him, and gave his head a few large knots, but he
will mend in time. The lads have called the night watch. You are not to worry." He fell silent for
a moment, then asked diffidently, "Sean - was Ned - did the bastard -"
Sean shook his head. "I arrived in the nick o' time, thank God." His jaw firmed and iron glinted
in his eyes. "I wanted to kill him, John. I should have."
"Aye. Ned owes you his life this night. That brute's shaft would have split him in twain." John
peered at him shrewdly. "Is there not something you should be telling the lad, Sean?"
Sean looked away, into the fire, and for a moment he saw Ned's face writhing in the flames. He
shuddered and his face set stubbornly. "Nay - there is nothing. I know not what you mean."
~~~~~
Two months of furious preparation and rehearsal had passed, and they were ready to perform.
The new apprentice, Edward Woodrose, proved to have a singular talent for the stage. His
sweet nature and eagerness to please endeared him to his fellows - even Owen, who could have
allowed envy to consume him, took Ned to his heart.
Sean endured - the spark that had bloomed at their meeting had come to full flower - a powerful
attraction that would not be denied; though try to deny it he would. He is so young... his
conscience whispered. I am not a lover of men! The Fates laughed in his face. His role in the
play did not help matters...
~~~~~
He looked around the crowded backstage. John McAllen, promptbook in hand, ran through the
cues for the last time. Edward and Owen were in the tiring-room under the care of Mistress
Kate. Everyone else was ready. It was time. John stepped out onto the stage and bowed to
their patron, who watched from the balcony.
"Hearken, good people, to a tale," he began. "'Tis a tale of love and betrayal, and a moral,
which is for you to judge.
"The tale of 'The Wayward Daughter."
Will Scot strolls onto the boards, resplendent in slashed doublet and parti-coloured hose. He
plays the part of a traveling merchant, one Harry by name, and introduces himself to the
audience as 'a merry gentleman, a knave who dealt in trinkets fair'. He tells them that he seeks
'the rustic denizens of dale and glen'; suddenly a lamb's bleat is heard, and Susanna makes her
entrance from the far end of the stage.
None had seen Ned since he and Owen had retired to be costumed and painted, and a muffled
gasp rose from the cast and gallery as he came into view. The beautiful youth made a lovely
maiden. The black wig framed his flawless face to perfection, stray curls laying on creamy
shoulders and well-padded breast. Greasepaint enhanced the sapphire of his eyes and the
generous curve of his rosy lips; he wore a tight-fitting bodice over a shift and several petticoats,
and carried a shepherd's crook. Will gaped, instantly smitten, and the crowd sat still, rapt and
expectant.
Susanna holds her hands out to the audience in mournful appeal, and her voice bells out, sweet
and musical:
"Shall I grow old before my time,
Worn down by toil, unremarkéd,
When yonder the lights of London-Town,
Shine bright on privilege, undeservéd?
Daughter of the soil I am, and yet that state
Of birth I did not choose, and wish away."
Through Acts I and II, Susanna is lured to London by the silver-tongued merchant with promises
of marriage. There she discovers that the merchant has a family and desires her as a mistress,
nothing more. After a dramatic encounter with Owen, playing the wronged wife, Susanna runs
away, consumed by humiliation and guilt, and determines to end her ruined life.
Act III begins with Sean, walking the streets of London. He plays Lord Valentyne, third son of
Viscount Montague, and at the moment bored and dissatisfied with his aimless life. He spies a
maiden poised to leap into the Thames and stops her, imprisoning her body within the circle of
his arms.
Sean had managed to avoid this scene during rehearsals, miming it instead; earning not a few
odd looks from his mates, and one of hurt and puzzlement from Ned. He had dreaded this,
dreaded and desired it with every fibre of his being. His cock was already half-hard with
anticipation, and with the slender body trembling against his, with Ned's scent in his nostrils; it
came to full and aching attention. Not for the first time, he blessed the roomy codpiece he
wore, for it hid his desire and shameful lust. The script called for them to look into each other's
eyes, for love at first sight was a major theme of the play. Sean shut his eyes and took a
steadying breath; then opened them to twin whirlpools of blue that sucked him down, and
robbed him of coherent thought. He saw a startled awareness, the slightest widening of Ned's
eyes, and wrenched his gaze away with an effort, forcing his willful body to the task at hand.
Susanna struggles to break free, and Valentyne tightens his grip:
"You run from him who can your pain remove,
Your sins redeem, your honour save.
And all the burdens of this woeful world
Lift from your back. Deny me not..."
The last act opens on a scene set in a drawing room made lavish by cloth of gold and a rich
carpet. Lord Valentyne and Susanna are arguing over the constancy of a nobleman's love.
Susanna's father, played to pathetic perfection by John McAllen, enters off the stage; he has
found his wayward daughter, and entreats her to come home. The scene is further complicated
by the arrival of Dominick Merriman, playing Viscount Montague, who has learned that his
youngest son is involved with a common farmer's daughter. The two older men confront each
other, and the Viscount recognizes a long-lost cousin, disinherited for marrying below his
station. Susanna's father is revealed as being far from a common farmer, and one who holds
considerable land in his own right.
All is confusion and the audience settles, awaiting the foregone conclusion -- which Martyn's
play does not give them. Instead, Susanna, who has since realized that a life of luxury has its
pitfalls, turns to Valentyne, pleading:
"Come live with me and be my love;
Forsake this rootless life, and find
Sweet heaven in my arms and on my lips
Taste paradise enow..."
Sean moves toward her in a daze, his eyes fixed on Susanna's beseeching face. It is a mercy
that he has no more lines to deliver, for he could not have uttered another word to save his life.
Will capers onto the stage again as the motley Fool, jangling in cap and bells. He serenades
the lovers with bawdy verse, while the cousins reconcile, the entire Company takes its bows....
And the curtain falls.
~~~~~
The common room of the Queen's Arms rang with the sound of celebration. John sat at the
table, gleefully counting the day's takings, while all about him, the rest of the company made
merry. The play had been a rousing success - even Lord Osborne could find no fault in it.
Sean yawned widely, feeling the first rush of excitement drain from him. The heavy thrum of
emotion had subsided, leaving him sodden with exhaustion. He looked up as the door opened
and Owen came in, and tried to ignore the hot wash of disappointment that warmed his face.
"Are done so soon?" he asked, for the apprentices' task it was to clear the properties after each
performance. "Where is Edward then?"
"Gone to the stables to store away the canvas." Owen replied with a knowing leer. "The last of
his duties. He will be in directly."
Sean leaned back against the wall and tried to relax. The Welshman's words had started the
infernal itch in his brain again, the aimless foreboding that grew in strength with each passing
minute. He sat quietly, turning it over in his mind, then got to his feet and went out the stable
yard door.
Ghostly tendrils of fog reached out to him as he stood in the doorway, listening. He swept the
yard and outbuildings with his gaze, the feeling of unease a cold lump in his belly, and hurried
across the cobbles to the dark bulk of the stable. Light and warmth flooded out as he pulled the
door open, and he heard, above the restless movement of the horses, the dull sound of a fist
striking flesh and a familiar voice rising in a scream cut short.
Sean was weaponless, but there was no hesitation in him. He rounded the stalls at a run and
slammed to a halt at the sight before him, a red haze rising to overwhelm his senses. Ned lay
writhing on the straw-covered floor, his glorious eyes glazed, his mouth a-gape as he fought for
breath. Astride him, a man knelt, a lascivious smile on his piggish face, potbelly spilling out of
his open doublet, his hose around his knees and his thick, meaty cock digging into the lad's
body. The brute had one hand around Ned's neck, strangling him, and with the other tore at the
laces of the lad's hose, laying him bare.
Sean threw himself at the intruder, his fists lashing out, and knocked him away from the
gasping boy. His opponent was large, but fury lent Sean strength and the man, hobbled by his
hose, was slow to move. The hot copper taste of bloodlust filled Sean's mouth as he felt the
crunch of bone beneath his fist, and he felt a fierce exultation rise, all-consuming, irresistible.
Again and again he struck, his vision scarlet with his rage, until exhaustion wiped the madness
away, and he saw the man senseless on the floor.
He crawled to Edward's side, trembling, his eyes drawn to the patch of silken skin and crisp
curls laid bare by the torn hose. Bruises bloomed on Ned's face, and a trickle of blood ran down
his chin. At his touch, the lad let out a mewling cry, and tried to squirm away.
"Ned, love, 'tis I, Sean," he whispered. "Hush now, you're safe with me. The bastard's down and
will trouble you no more."
"Sean..." Ned's hoarse voice broke and his body shook with the force of his sobs.
Sean's breath caught in pain and his resolve melted away in the face of the lad's torment. He
drew his cloak over Ned's nakedness and then gathered him into his arms and rocked him
gently, stroking his soft hair in wordless reassurance. They stayed thus until the harsh weeping
had subsided and Ned began to shiver with reaction.
"Come," Sean murmured gently. "You will catch your death of cold. Let me bear you back to the
inn."
When they heard what had befallen their friend, the company erupted in fury and outrage. Sean
gave Edward over into the keeping of Mistress Kate and collapsed onto a bench, his knuckles
bloody and his head fit to burst. He was deep in his second ale when he felt a hand on his
shoulder. He looked up blearily, into John's kindly eyes. "Did I kill him, then?" he mumbled
dully. He found it difficult to care overmuch.
"Nay," John replied. "You broke his nose for him, and gave his head a few large knots, but he
will mend in time. The lads have called the night watch. You are not to worry." He fell silent for
a moment, then asked diffidently, "Sean - was Ned - did the bastard -"
Sean shook his head. "I arrived in the nick o' time, thank God." His jaw firmed and iron glinted
in his eyes. "I wanted to kill him, John. I should have."
"Aye. Ned owes you his life this night. That brute's shaft would have split him in twain." John
peered at him shrewdly. "Is there not something you should be telling the lad, Sean?"
Sean looked away, into the fire, and for a moment he saw Ned's face writhing in the flames. He
shuddered and his face set stubbornly. "Nay - there is nothing. I know not what you mean."
~~~~~
