The only way through to the actors’ rooms was to enter the arena pit, then run across the open space to the small door. There was nobody else down there, thankfully – the only thing that caught Beth’s eye was a thick stake driven firmly into the earth in the arena’s centre – but Beth still felt a surge of panic as she ran across the sandy ground.
The stake was to hold the lion, of course. It would be leashed there, unable to run away, while the hounds attacked it from all sides. Some people thought that made for good entertainment. Even Good Queen Bess, in her day, had loved blood sports such as bear-baiting. Beth shuddered. The barred gates to the animal enclosures looked like portcullises, and of course they had to be strong, to keep the animals from escaping. She couldn’t clearly see the animals behind the gates, but from one came an occasional low growl and from the other, the baying and yelping of a pack of hounds. It was easy enough to tell what was in there. As Beth watched, a vast dark shadow loped into view behind the nearest gate, then retreated back into the darkness.
She had only seen a lion once before, when she was a little girl and she’d been taken to visit the menagerie at the Tower of London. In the cage it had seemed majestic and beautiful, its fur shining in the sun like a heraldic beast. Now, it was a thing of darkness and danger.
As she crossed the middle of the arena, she imagined that the lion’s gate was beginning to rise, hoisted up by some unseen conspirator. Her mouth went dry and her heart thumped in her chest like a club. She picked up speed, terrified that the gate would begin to move. The beast would be on her in seconds, and would surely show no mercy...
She grabbed the handle of the actors’ door, flung it open and threw herself inside, breathing heavily. There was nothing behind her after all.
The room was dark, the only light came from a high, cobweb-strewn window in the curved back wall. Nobody had used this retiring room for a long time, by the look of it. The Hope Theatre had all but forgotten the days when plays would be put on. It was solely the Beargarden now, it seemed; blood sports were all the people wanted to watch here.
Even so, there were still plenty of signs that actors had once used the place. Beth looked around, her eyes growing accustomed to the gloom. A row of dusty costumes hung from a rail against the far wall. Chairs leaking horsehair stuffing had been pulled into a circle, probably for a last-minute read-through. A huge chest of props stood open, with wooden crowns, tin swords and a battered wooden dragon’s head gathering mildew inside. The whole room smelled of dust and neglect.
Remembering why she was there, Beth narrowed her eyes and looked more closely. Was there any sign that the conspirators were using this room to stage their attack?
She saw that the dust in the floor was marked with scuffed footprints, proving that people had certainly been there recently. There were plenty of places here for an assassin to hide. There could be one lurking among the costumes on the rail. Someone could be hiding in the props chest – it was certainly big enough.
Check the back door, whispered her inner voice. The actors’ entrance was close to the main door where the guards were stationed, but if they were distracted for any reason – or if someone caused a diversion – it would be the perfect way for assassins to slip into the theatre...
She quickly crossed to the door that led out to the street and tried the handle. Locked – but she noticed the bolts weren’t drawn, and hastily drew them across.
In the inner wall, a row of narrow curtained-off windows like arrow slits offered a view of the arena space, so that actors could watch for their cues. Beth peered through and saw the King was still addressing his generals. She exhaled with relief. The longer that took, the better – it gave her more time to ensure he was safe. She still had to check the costumes, just to be certain that nobody was hiding down among the faded silk and moth-eaten velvet...
Gingerly she moved them aside, then let out a yell and leaped back. Something human-shaped fell forwards and landed in a cloud of dust on the floor.
“Beth, for goodness’ sake,” she told herself out loud. “It’s just a dressmaker’s mannequin.”
She didn’t really want to touch it, but as she shoved it back among the old costumes, a noise from outside made her start. A single shrill whistle.
John’s signal! All was well with him, thank heavens. Now for Ralph.
Right on cue, Ralph’s two whistles sounded from the uppermost gallery.
Beth went to the arrowslit windows and gave three sharp whistles of her own. All clear, she thought. So far, so good.
But wait – something was happening in the arena. A short, stocky man wearing a helmet, a steel breastplate and leather body armour came striding out. Beth recognized the crest that he wore from one of the images the Rouge Dragon Pursuivant had shown her once. He was the bearward, the officer in charge of the King’s bulls, bears and fighting dogs. That must mean the blood sport was ready to begin.
As Beth waited, the palms of her hands sweating from anxiety, she saw a pigeon flutter down into the arena. It hopped about, pecking at the sand, hunting for scraps of food that had been dropped or thrown into the pit. It was coming close to the nearest barred gate. Many London pigeons were bold, but this one seemed completely oblivious. Beth couldn’t stop watching, though she dreaded what was about to happen.
Suddenly, a tawny paw shot out of a gap between the gate bars and pinned the pigeon to the ground. The bird flailed and beat its wings, sending downy feathers scattering, but it was already as good as dead. The paw dragged the struggling bird into the lion’s enclosure. Beth shut her eyes then, but it made no difference. She heard the frightened, feeble squawk and then a sound of munching.
Beth shivered. The bearward was heading for the gate now, whip in hand. Soon the beast would be in the arena. Just then a horrifying thought came to her – the back door was locked, and she didn’t have the key. The only way out of here was past the lion. If there was someone in here with her, still hiding despite her search, then they were trapped in there together.