b>
     Betsy, now's the time. Are you ready?

     <b>BETSY</b>
     <i>(annoyed)</i>
     Ready for what?

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     We must leave. Immediately.

     <b>JOANNE</b>
     <i>(to Lionel)</i>
     You're not a man, Lionel. You're a monster.

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     <i>(to Chris)</i>
     What the hell happened? You look like you just saw a ghost.

     <b>BETSY</b>
     I'm sorry, Chris. I'm not going anywhere.

     <b>JOANNE</b>
     <i>(to Lionel)</i>
     Take it all back. Everything you just said.

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Betsy!

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     <i>(to Chris)</i>
     Listen, Chris....

     <i>Joanne slaps him across the face.</i>

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     Ouch!

     <b>BETSY</b>
     <i>(annoyed and feeling guilty)</i>
     Mother, will you  please behave  yourself! This is a public  place, for
crying out loud!

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Do you mean that?....

     <b>BETSY</b>
     I'm sorry, Chris. I suppose I've betrayed you.

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     Chris, you must run, they're after you.

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     <i>(to Betsy)</i>
     What's the matter? Have I offended you?

     <i>Betsy turns away impatiently.</i>

     <b>JOANNE</b>
     <i>(to Lionel)</i>
     You stupid creep!

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     Chris, did you hear what I just said?

     <i>Joanne  makes another attempt to strike him. He  catches  her wrist and
roars at her.</i>

     Shut up!

     <i>She is so astonished, she freezes and stares at him. He turns to Betsy.</i>

     You too!

     <i>Betsy draws back. The floor is his. He turns to Chris.</i>

     Lord Warwick is  on  his way to France  and beyond anyone's reach. They
suspect  you  of  high treason. Whether it was really you who  warned him is
unimportant. They want your  head,  and  they'll get it unless you act  now.
Leave. Immediately. Stay  off major highways. On  your  way  to the Channel,
don't speak to anyone. If anyone calls out to you, don't answer. Decline all
offers  to  share a  meal. Don't stop anywhere until  you  reach France.  My
regards to old Warwick.

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     <i>(the truth dawns on him)</i>
     You!

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     Yes.

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     But.... It seems to  me,  sir, that you're not doing anything different
from what I did. You're betraying your trust.

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     I'm allowed.  So would be Robert if  he  wished to let someone  off the
hook.  Our rank is higher than yours, that's  all.  I can't  stop them  from
chasing you. But I can tell you to take precautions.

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Why can't you stop them?

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     Because the chase was ordered by the highest authority possible.

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     <i>(desperate)</i>
     No! The Great Bitch?

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     Yes.

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     I thought Robert bore me a grudge.

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     He does. But  so does she, and her grudge seems to be even greater than
his. And she  knows how to bear  grudges,  believe me. The odds are  against
you. The sooner you clear out, the better.

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Betsy....

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     Forget it, Chris. Be a man. She never really loved you.

     <b>BETSY</b>
     <i>(turns to him, furious)</i>
     How dare you!

     <i>Stage-right, enter William.</i>

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     Ah, Chris! Oh, look who's here.... Everybody.

     <i>Betsy steps towards him quickly.</i>

     <b>BETSY</b>
     Who was that woman? Is she gone?

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     Oh. It's you. Yes. Er.... Chris?...

     <b>BETSY</b>
     Wait. What have you decided?

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     About what?
     <i>(to Chris)</i>
     Look, I  don't know whether  it's going to improve  or worsen anything,
but I've spoken with someone about you....

     <i>Chris clutches his head and moans.</i>

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     This is a nightmare. Wobbly, why are you involved in this?

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     Me? I don't know that I'm particularly involved in anything.... I....

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     He's not involved. At least not yet. Chris?

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Yes?

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     There's  one thing  I'm sure of. So long as your friend here is around,
no one will dare touch you. He's under special protection. I have to talk to
this lady here. Let's meet at the inn after the performance.  I'll  give you
all you'll need to make it safe to France.

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Lionel....

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     Please,  take your friends  someplace, have  a  snack,  and come to the
theatre. We'll be doing  this pseudo-Greek nonsense tonight,  you don't want
to miss it, do you? Master William, I look forward to being directed by you.

     <i>William is baffled,  and Betsy overwhelmed.  Chris is  decided. He nods
and leads his friends away. Lionel turns to Joanne.</i>

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     Now, Duchess....

     <b>JOANNE</b>
     Who are you, Lionel Collins? That's not your real name, is it?

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     What difference  does it make? Now,  make sure you don't breathe a word
of  what you've  just  heard here.  Master William is a  capable man, and he
writes brilliant plays.

     <b>JOANNE</b>
     I  see.  It still  comes down  to the same  thing.  You don't  need  me
anymore.

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     I didn't say that.

     <b>JOANNE</b>
     You meant it.

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     No.

     <i>He smiles. Her eyes widen. She steps back.</i>

     You know, Duchess, you shouldn't have slapped  me so hard. Now my cheek
will  blow up to an  absurd size. How  am I suppose  to act with a cheek the
size of your buttock?

     <b>JOANNE</b>
     Lionel.... What are you doing?

     <i>He steps towards her. He takes her by the shoulders.</i>

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     We  go on as usual.  You'll still see  me  in all my  shows, and  we'll
remain lovers for as long as you wish.

     <b>JOANNE</b>
     But.... Why?

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     I'm kind of fond of you, that's all.

     <i>He runs his hand through her hair.</i>

     <b>JOANNE</b>
     Now wait a  minute.... I'm so confused all of a sudden. You're a member
of the Secret Service, is that it?

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     No more and no less.

     <b>JOANNE</b>
     Acting is only a front.

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     I wouldn't put it that way. I adore acting, and I think I'm rather good
at it. Don't you think I'm rather good at it?

     <b>JOANNE</b>
     You're magnificent at it.

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     Your understatements are  beginning to annoy me, but  fine, I'll accept
magnificent. Anyway, why don't we go to your place and spend these few hours
together? And then go to the theatre?

     <b>JOANNE</b>
     <i>(suddenly smiling and inclining her head slyly)</i>
     Suppose we're late for the performance?

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     <i>(indignantly)</i>
     Do you imagine they'll dare begin without me?

     <i>She laughs. He smiles, kisses her on  the lips. She returns  the  kiss.
Curtain.</i>

     <i>Scene  Two.  A  cheap sort of inn. A table in  the middle,  with chairs
around it. On the table, a pitcher  and three clay mugs. The Man In Black is
sitting at the table,  sipping ale from a large crude mug. Stage-left, enter
Lionel, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief.</i>

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     Robert. What are you doing here?

     <b>THE MAN IN BLACK</b>
     Meditating. Are you done clowning?

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     Quite. They're still  cheering like mad. Most of  them are  out-of-town
merchants;  never saw a  theatrical performance  before.  The piece is sheer
nonsense. Takes more  than that to lure the average Londoner into the place.
This will change when the new owner assumes his  duties. He hasn't been told
yet, poor devil.

     <i>He sits down, pours himself a mugful from the pitcher.</i>

     <b>THE MAN IN BLACK</b>
     Was the Queen present?

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     Yes.

     <b>THE MAN IN BLACK</b>
     Did you speak with her?

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     Yes, and  she  promised to  recompense you for whatever loss you  think
you've suffered because of your uncle.

     <b>THE MAN IN BLACK</b>
     <i>(rising)</i>
     Well, I'd better go. By the way, are you going to dump your Duchess?

     <i>A pause.</i>

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     Why does this interest you?

     <b>THE MAN IN BLACK</b>
     Now that my uncle is gone, she can no longer be of any use to us.

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     <i>(smiling)</i>
     I see. You  know,  this constant  urge you have  to  do  your uncle one
better  is an  intolerable bore. Why  is it that you absolutely must succeed
where he has failed? Why don't you try acting or playwrighting instead?

     <b>THE MAN IN BLACK</b>
     You're keeping her, then?

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     I can't very well do that; the lady's married.

     <i>A pause.</i>

     <b>THE MAN IN BLACK</b>
     <i>(fraternizing)</i>
     Well, if the husband is the only obstacle, why not do away with him?

     <i>A pause.</i>

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     <i>(nonchalantly)</i>
     My  dear  Robert,  what a  low-born  creature  like yourself  may  deem
appropriate is not always so for a man of my birth and position.
     <i>(sternly)</i>
     Please stop meddling in my affairs.
     <i>(casually)</i>
     I'm expecting some friends. Would you mind very much if I  asked you to
leave?

     <b>THE MAN IN BLACK</b>
     <i>(furious, humiliated; almost whispers)</i>
     Yes, Duke.

     <i>Lionel  smiles contemptuously. The  Man In Black turns around and exits
stage-left. Lionel sips from his mug.</i>

     <i>Off-stage, loud merriment. Enter Chris and William. Chris is carrying a
guitar; he is slightly drunk. They are followed in by Betsy who is laughing.</i>

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     What a  piece!  The author must be a  genius. Don't  you  think he's  a
genius? Wobbly?

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     <i>(frowning)</i>
     How did that line go?
     <i>(suddenly giggles)</i>

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Oh,  I  don't know.  Hi, Lionel.  Let me  see.  Oh  my  most  beautiful
bodacious mermaid! I, standing on my gouty knees before you.... Wobbly?

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     Declare that you must soon accept my offer
     Of marriage, otherwise I'll puke profusely.

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Accept, o gorgeous, all I have to offer....

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     My castle, land, myself and my six inches....

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Or else I'm liable loudly to fart.

     <i>Both laugh. Betsy, blushing, is trying not to. Lionel smiles.</i>

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     Nice instrument.

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     A real  Spanish guitar,  man! Just bought it off a  Spanish journeyman.
Boy, do those Castilians smell! Listen, I haven't played in ages. In fact, I
don't  remember  playing since my last trip to  Spain. Seven  years ago! Get
that shit off the table, or I'll spill it.

     <i>Lionel  removes the pitcher, placing it on the floor. Chris sits on the
edge of the  table. William  sits in one of the chairs, Betsy stands next to
it. Chris tries the strings.</i>

     A bit out of tune. Let me see.

     <i>He tries a few chords, satisfying himself that he still can.</i>

     Now, listen to this. Ahem. The Ballad Of An Author Making  Up His Mind.
Now, I want everyone's attention here.

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     Just don't fall over.

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Never fear, old man! Listen, all.
     <i>(sings, accompanying himself on the guitar)</i>
     I have two girls who run my show,
     And Bill has none.
     Bess was born high and Joe Anne low,
     And both are fun,

     Yet Billy claims a lighter load
     Is easier packed:
     His Mary Jane minds his abode
     But not his act.

     Where Bess is subtle and astute,
     Joe Anne is straight.
     Yet they share traits which, saint or brute,
     One learns to hate:

     Their merits differ but, alas,
     Their faults concur;
     For each time Bess falls on her ass,
     Joe Anne must err.

     My name is Chris, and I know this
     (And you'll agree):
     Though I can't say that Billy's way
     Appeals to me,

     Scorned by Joe Anne and vilified
     By haughty Bess,
     One day I might give it a try
     Nevertheless.

     <i>He plays  a  few  chords,  stops.  He jumps  off the table and, turning
around, bows to his audience. William and Lionel applaud. Betsy is pensive.</i>

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     I've always said you're ore of a minstrel than a playwright. Good song,
though.

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Your  problem, Wobbly,  is  that you're  not  at all musical. A typical
Englishman is not supposed to be musical, in fact.

     William shrugs, smiles crookedly. Suddenly, he remembers.

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     By the way, Lionel, permit me to....

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     No need, sir. The play was  lousy.  I don't like  congratulations  that
sound like, well, commiserations. Now, Chris.

     <i>Lionel reaches into his pocket and produces a bundle of scrolls.</i>

     Here are some maps and instructions. All easy to follow.

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     <i>(sobering up)</i>
     Thank you.

     <i>He takes the bundle, twirls it in his hands pensively, stuffs it in his
pocket and becomes morose.</i>

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     France is as good a place as any, I suppose.

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     <i>(frowning at Chris)</i>
     France? You are going there, after all?

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Yes. I need a vacation. Such  is my opinion, and also, I hope, that  of
my close  friends and relatives. Listen, Wobbly, you  take care of yourself,
all right? And especially of her.

     <b>BETSY</b>
     Now, Chris!...

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Do not interrupt me,  Betsy. Whatever may happen to you,  Wobbly, don't
ever think that you can start all over again. Clean slate my ass. Writers do
not earn bad reputations, they  are  born with them. No  one will ever trust
you  or  take you seriously. Except  her. Funny, but she  has  that quality.
She's the real thing, Wobbly.  When I found out, it was too late.  I met her
too early, when she was still unformed, an  affected little Philistine  with
crazy  ideas and  ugly teeth; full of  complexes. From start to  finish, our
affair  was one  unending caprice. And listen, man, I.... never really liked
you, but.... Ah, shit, I need a drink.

     <i>Enter De Maisse.</i>

     <b>DE MAISSE</b>
     Good evening, gentlemen.  My lady, your servant. Now, is Master William
here by any chance?

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     I'm tired of this fellow.

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     Now, Chris,  let me clarify a few things for you. First,  I haven't the
slightest intention....

     <b>DE MAISSE</b>
     Now, Her Majesty, in order to  express her extreme appreciation of your
works, sir, would like to offer you a present.

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Good for her. To me, she only offered a past.

     <b>DE MAISSE</b>
     <i>(producing a scroll)</i>
     This  document is to confirm that as of today, you are the owner of the
Blackfriars theatre. Her Majesty would like you to come  with me immediately
to claim it. Please.

     <i>Betsy opens her mouth. Lionel smiles. Chris frowns.</i>

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     I see. Thank you.
     <i>(accepts the scroll absentmindedly)</i>
     Now,  Chris,  the  important  thing is, I  think I  could  persuade Her
Majesty....

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Wobbly....

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     She could still pardon you.

     <i>De Maisse is astonished. Chris shakes his head.</i>

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     The Great Bitch? Not in  a  thousand  years,  Wobbly.  These capricious
broads, once they get past a certain age, are so vindictive and vain they'll
sell their mother to the devil to see you cringe.

     <b>DE MAISSE</b>
     Master William....

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     Just a minute. Now, Chris, you don't understand....

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     Master William, I think  you should thank the gentleman who brought you
the good news.

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     Yeah, all right....

     <b>BETSY</b>
     I think....

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Forget  it, Wobbly.  Just  thank this faggot  here  and  go  meet  your
destiny. Whatever  you  do, though,  keep your gratitude to  yourself. Don't
waste it on the Great Bitch, she's not worth it.

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     Chris, you'll be pardoned before long. As a matter of fact....

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Pardoned. What am I guilty of?

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     You'll  see, Chris.  The Queen likes  you. She'll  tell you so herself,
you'll see. Even tonight. In writing.
     <i>(to De Maisse)</i>
     Sir, I'm ready.

     <i>De Maisse shrugs, leads the way. He  and William exit stage-left. Betsy
looks after them. Chris looks at her, smiling ruefully.</i>

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Well?

     <b>BETSY</b>
     Chris, you're a wonderful person....

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Please. Don't. You want to be with him? Go. Go, Betsy.

     <i>She hesitates,  looks at Lionel.  Lionel  smiles  and  nods.  She rises
reluctantly. Suddenly, she dashes out.</i>

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     Curious fellow.

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Who?

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     Master William. Anyway, why don't you explain to me why you had to warn
old Warwick? Is he a good person?

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Warwick? The man's the meanest son of a bitch I ever met.

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     Was it gratitude, then?

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Gratitude?

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     I believe he financed one of your publications once.

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     That was part of the bargain. He  was going to  seduce some duchess  or
other;  he asked me to write him a  sonnet for her, so that he could send it
to her as  his own. Which I  did, but only after I made  sure  the press was
already running.  Warwick is  stingy  as hell, and  the last person one  can
trust. Not what you'd call a charitable person.

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     Do you remember the sonnet?

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Some of it.

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     How did it go?

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Oh, who cares. ....I used Wobbly's favorite rhyme scheme. A bit boring,
but serves the purpose well.

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     So why did you have to go and warn Warwick?

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Lionel, what's the matter with you? It was in my  power to save him, so
I just went ahead and did it. How difficult is this to understand?

     <i>A pause.</i>

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     I see. Well, I have news for you.

     <i>He  reaches  into  his  pocket  and  produces a  scroll.  He throws  it
nonchalantly on the table. Chris looks askance at him.</i>

     Break the seal and read it. It's for you.

     <i>Chris does so. He squints, holds the scroll close to  his face. He sets
it  down on the  table,  wipes his forehead,  brings the scroll close to his
face again.</i>

     You're nearsighted, aren't you?

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     This says that the Queen grants me her pardon.

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     That's correct.

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     I am forgiven, then?

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     Unless some new evidence turns up, you're free to do whatever you like.
They've made an exception for you. You may consider yourself a member of the
Secret Service no longer.

     <i>Chris rises. He is very pale. The hand which is  holding the manuscript
is shaking. He steadies it by pressing the scroll to his chest.</i>

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     I can't believe this.

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     There will be no new evidence, I trust. Or am I wrong?

     <i>Chris  is  about  to say something. He  inhales deeply  and  holds  his
tongue.</i>

     If I were you, I'd still go abroad for a while. Let this whole  Warwick
business  blow over and settle. Make sure you come back with at least  three
new plays, and make sure there are major parts for me in all three of them.

     <i>Chris smiles faintly.</i>

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     I  can't  fucking  believe  this.... I.... How  come  you're  an actor,
Lionel?

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     <i>(laughs)</i>
     You should  know these things, Chris. You're a writer. Man shall always
seek that which he does not possess. How come you're a nobleman?

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     I?

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     Yes, the son of a  shoemaker. The Service. That's why you joined in the
first place. You knew that sooner or later your plays would be produced. But
nobility  papers  - no fame and no money could  buy you  that.  The  Service
granted  you your little title; it  granted me  the opportunity  to  do that
which I adore doing. A duke  cannot  possibly join a theatre company without
making a laughingstock of himself.  But a Service man can become anything on
earth,  and  everyone minds his  own business  in the meantime. We were both
stuck  for a while.  On  your  part,  you  have  somehow found your way out.
Myself, I'm pretty much doomed. But I have what I want. I'm an actor.

     <i>He rises. Chris sits.</i>

     I'm going to join the  festivities.  Your  friend is being crowned  the
king of clowns. I'd advise you not to appear there now.  Leave. Just pick up
and  go. You'll  get all the money you want from  Warwick. See you in  three
years, son of a shoemaker.

     <i>He leaves quickly stage-left. Chris bends  over the table, clutches his
head. A pause.</i>

     <i>Stage-right, enter the Man In Black.</i>

     <b>THE MAN IN BLACK</b>
     Christopher.

     <i>Chris shudders, stares in front of himself.</i>

     The time of reckoning has come. Don't move.

     <i>He goes around the table and sits beside Chris.</i>

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     I have Her Majesty's pardon.

     <b>THE MAN IN BLACK</b>
     You have my permission to shove  it  up your ass.  Go ahead, I'll wait.
No? Well. A friend of yours has been arrested.

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     What friend?

     <b>THE MAN IN BLACK</b>
     His surname is Kyd. Also a playwright of sorts.

     <i>Chris stares.</i>

     It  seems,  from the evidence he has provided, that  my  dear old uncle
wasn't the first person who escaped  justice thanks to your  -  how should I
put it? - endeavors.

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     You tortured him!

     <b>THE MAN IN BLACK</b>
     The Kyd person? Sure. You wouldn't believe how  little it takes to push
a  human being  past his natural limits. The Great Inquisitor has nothing on
us, trust me. It seems, Christopher, that  it's almost a passion with you to
save lives.  What are you trying  to do, gain a free passage to  Paradise? I
would have expected a better taste from  a man of letters in fact. You don't
discriminate. I've  looked over  the list  of  criminals wondering at  large
thanks  to your efforts. Goodness gracious!  Dukes and peasants,  peers  and
commoners, state treasury  embezzlers and horse-thieves, Jews converted  and
otherwise, protestants, Catholics,  baronesses  and  prostitutes, a vagabond
Spanish fiddler, an Italian prince. Mere seven years! Awesome.

     <i>A pause. The Man In Black's gaze becomes reflective.</i>

     At first, I thought of presenting the Queen with the list, just to show
her whom it was she  was pardoning.  Then I  thought better of it. Women are
capricious, you know. She  might pardon you  again. We can't have  that now,
can we?

     <i>He slaps  Chris across the  face. The blow is hard enough to take Chris
out of  the chair. He staggers  but remains  on his  feet.  The Man In Black
rises heavily and faces Chris.</i>

     I'm off to France.  I  can't entrust this business to  anyone  else. My
dear old uncle must die.  But I couldn't bear the thought of leaving without
settling  the score  with you, Christopher. Do  you have  any idea how  much
humiliation your charity has caused me?

     <i>He slaps Chris again. Chris backs away. The Man In Black catches him by
the neck and holds him in front of himself at his arm's length.</i>

     Vagabond players talking back to me! I could have been duke  two months
ago!

     <i>He shoves Chris on the floor. He kicks him. Chris crawls away from him.</i>

     My uncle married the girl I loved. Fine! Let him keep it. I proposed to
another  girl. I didn't love  her. But she was of high birth, and her father
had millions. I was refused by her father, whose wife my uncle was trying to
seduce at the moment! She said I wasn't sufficiently well-bred!

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Betsy.

     <b>THE MAN IN BLACK</b>
     Yes. Betsy.  Lionel sleeps with her mother. Suddenly  I found  out that
you, of all people, are the daughter's lover!

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Wait a minute!

     <b>THE MAN IN BLACK</b>
     Shut up!

     <i>His kick misses. Chris manages  to crawl  away  in  time. Now he rises,
holding his side.</i>

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     You're not marrying Betsy.

     <b>THE MAN IN BLACK</b>
     If he refuses me a second time, when I'm a duke, I'll just do away with
him. I'm sick  and  tired of  all these little warms  of no consequence with
handles to their names! And I'm tired of you, Christopher.

     <i>He draws his sword. Chris jumps back.</i>

     Don't run away from me, Chris. You know it's useless.

     <i>Chris draws his own sword and throws himself clumsily on guard. The Man
In Black laughs.</i>

     You wish to do some fencing, I see.

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     You are not marrying Betsy, Robert.

     <b>THE MAN IN BLACK</b>
     Put that sword away, Christopher. You know you can't fence.

     <i>He lunges forward. Chris backs away in a circular manner, swinging  his
sword wildly. The  Man In Black chuckles and presses. It  is evident that he
is only  playing with Chris. An ominous smile is on his lips. They go around
the  table.  Chris tries to pull the  chair  between them. The Man In  Black
kicks the  chair away. He makes  a  thrust. Chris  jumps back, swinging  his
sword.</i>

     <i>Curtain.</i>

     <i>Scene three. The plaza in front of the Blackfriars. Lit torches.</i>

     <i>The Woman In Black, now brilliantly attired in light colors and without
a mask, is at  last  frankly and unmistakably the  Queen.  She  is  chatting
pleasantly with De Maisse.</i>

     <b>THE QUEEN</b>
     I assure you, my dear Monsieur De Maisse, there's nothing unusual about
it. It is simply one of our  traditions. Women do not become players in this
country - simple as that.

     <b>DE MAISSE</b>
     But  surely this  doesn't  strike anyone as strange? Any country has  a
number  of conventions; and the  French  are  no  better than anyone else, I
suppose. But this! I mean, people must feel that something is wrong. Unless,
of course, there aren't many theatre goers here.

     <b>THE QUEEN</b>
     Most Londoners are theatre goers. Our national pastime, you know.

     <b>DE MAISSE</b>
     Well, I'm sorry, Your Majesty.  It's just.... Unnatural! I  just  can't
believe that they all take it as a matter of course, especially the women.

     <b>THE QUEEN</b>
     Sure they do. You may ask anyone. There's someone coming - ask her.

     <i>Stage-right, enter Anne. She intends  to pass by  them  when  De Maisse
stops her.</i>

     <b>DE MAISSE</b>
     My dear girl.

     <i>Anne  who,  at her age, is not used  to be  addressed in this  fashion,
stops and turns slowly, a faint smile playing on her lips.</i>

     <b>ANNE</b>
     I'm sorry. Did you just call me your dear girl?

     <b>DE MAISSE</b>
     Well, yes.

     <i>Anne  laughs. The  Queen smiles. De Maisse, refusing to  see the  joke,
frowns and fingers his moustache.</i>

     <b>ANNE</b>
     Well?

     <b>DE MAISSE</b>
     Doesn't it strike you as very odd that only men are employed by theatre
companies?

     <i>Anne  has to  think  about  this.  The Queen looks  triumphantly at  De
Maisse.</i>

     <b>ANNE</b>
     What do you mean exactly, sir?

     <b>DE MAISSE</b>
     Well, you know. Men playing female parts. Don't you find that strange?

     <b>ANNE</b>
     Oh. But that's just one of the  conventions. That's how theatre is. You
aren't from around here, are you?

     <i>She seems to be amused if not outright patronizing.</i>

     <b>DE MAISSE</b>
     No. I'm sorry. I press my question. The particular convention of having
men play female parts; you don't find anything wrong with it?

     <b>ANNE</b>
     Well, from the purely logical point  of you, there's plenty wrong  with
it. But theatre is neither logical nor pure. For instance.... Well, have you
ever been to a theatre?

     <b>DE MAISSE</b>
     Yes.

     <b>ANNE</b>
     Well, then. For instance, there's always  the boy  who runs out between
the scenes carrying a sign. It says on the sign where the next bit of action
is going to take place.  Like, it's  a forest, or a castle, or riverbank, as
the case might be. But the stage is still the stage. You don't actually  see
the  forest,  or  the castle, just imagine that they're  there.  Or,  if you
actually listen to what the players say - it's all blank verse. People don't
speak like  that. Yet  it's taken  for granted  that characters in plays all
speak like that. Same  with the rest. Theatre is an  art  form, and like any
other art form, it must have its boundaries and, well, conventions. Take one
away, and it won't be theatre anymore. See what I mean?

     <i>The Queen is so impressed by Anne's soundness of judgement and sense of
logic that she draws forth and says,</i>

     <b>THE QUEEN</b>
     My dear, you seem to know a great deal about theatre.

     <b>ANNE</b>
     Well,  I've been married to  a playwright for quite a while  now,  so I
guess I ought to know a thing or two.

     <b>DE MAISSE</b>
     Oh! We'd better ask someone else, then. You're naturally too partial.

     <b>THE QUEEN</b>
     And is your husband a good playwright, dear?

     <b>ANNE</b>
     I think  he's rather good. Nothing  grand, you understand,  but  fairly
good.

     <b>THE QUEEN</b>
     Is he famous?

     <b>ANNE</b>
     <i>(frowns)</i>
     Famous? How can a playwright be famous?

     <b>THE QUEEN</b>
     Well, certainly Aristophanes is famous?

     <b>ANNE</b>
     Oh, but that's classics.  Aristophanes died more than  a thousand years
ago, didn't he?

     <b>THE QUEEN</b>
     What is your name, dear?

     <b>ANNE</b>
     Anne, Madam.

     <b>THE QUEEN</b>
     Your surname?

     <b>DE MAISSE</b>
     Madam, the Duchess.

     <b>THE QUEEN</b>
     Oh.

     <i>Enter Joanne.</i>

     <b>JOANNE</b>
     Madam....

     <b>THE QUEEN</b>
     Good evening, Duchess. Are you here for the festivities?

     <b>JOANNE</b>
     Festivities?

     <b>DE MAISSE</b>
     Her Majesty has  been generous enough to  pay for  the little  carnival
tonight, celebrating the new  owner's ascent. Masks  will be worn and scenes
from various plays will be recited.

     <b>ANNE</b>
     Ah! There's a new owner, then?

     <b>JOANNE</b>
     I'm not feeling well, Your....

     <b>THE QUEEN</b>
     Stay, Duchess. A friend of yours will no doubt wish to take part in the
festivities, especially in the recital part.

     <b>DE MAISSE</b>
     Oh, yes, Duchess. It's going to be most amusing.

     <i>Enter Lionel and Betsy.</i>

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     <i>(sonorously)</i>
     Ladies and  gentlemen!  Permit me  to introduce a  new  member of  Lord
Chamberlain's Men, Thomas Carlyle.

     <i>The  Queen inclines  her head.  Anne looks with interest. Joanne nearly
faints. De Maisse rushes to her side and helps her remain on her feet.</i>

     <b>DE MAISSE</b>
     Something has happened to the good Duchess. Duchess?

     <b>JOANNE</b>
     Lionel!

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     I give you my word of honor, Madam. It's perfectly all right.

     <b>JOANNE</b>
     Thomas Carlyle!

     <b>BETSY</b>
     I....

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     <i>(quickly to Betsy)</i>
     Go ahead.

     <i>Betsy strikes a pose. The rest  of them form a semi-circle to the  left
of her, with De Maisse still assisting Joanne.</i>

     <b>BETSY</b>
     O beautiful Adonis, come, my love,
     My idol who has robbed me of my peace,
     You are that which I have been dreaming of,
     My gift divine and rare, my sweet caprice.

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     The passion of this captivating creature
     Is irresistible; no man could bear
     Waiting a moment longer; every feature
     In her speaks of delight and tender care.

     <b>BETSY</b>
     If this be lust....

     <i>She stops, seeing William enter stage-right. Lionel turns  around, sees
him two.</i>

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     Ah. It would be only fair if we let the new owner open the festivities.
Your Majesty....

     <b>THE QUEEN</b>
     Duke. Please.

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     I'm sorry.

     <b>ANNE</b>
     William.

     <i>She crosses over to him. Betsy makes a movement, Lionel holds her hand.</i>

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     Er.... Why is everyone looking at me?

     <b>ANNE</b>
     I'm afraid to think this.
     <i>(looks over her shoulder at the others)</i>
     I.... No. Hear for yourself, whatever it may be.

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     My  dear  Master  William, Her Majesty is  good enough to  make  you  a
present of  that little  hut  over there,  current  residents  included.  In
addition, I myself  congratulate  you most sincerely and hope that you still
remember your promise to accept me as a member of your company.

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     Yes. I mean, thank you.

     <b>ANNE</b>
     <i>(quietly)</i>
     Oh, William. Go and thank the Queen.

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     Anne....

     <i>Betsy twists herself free and runs over to William.</i>

     <b>BETSY</b>
     Master William, you must go and thank the Queen.

     <b>ANNE</b>
     <i>(through her teeth)</i>
     Are you his mistress?

     <b>BETSY</b>
     Whose?

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     Thank the Queen. Yes. All right.  Anne, get a grip. Look at  her, she's
merely a child.

     <b>ANNE</b>
     <i>(skeptically yet hopefully)</i>
     You don't have a mistress, then?

     <b>BETSY</b>
     Master  William!  Madam, let him go and thank the  Queen first. You may
always figure out the rest later.

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     <i>(irritably)</i>
     Of course I have a mistress. I thought we'd established that.

     <i>Anne closes  her eyes, opens them, and pushes William towards the Queen
almost violently.
     William crosses the stage, stops in front of the Queen, bows.</i>

     Your Majesty.... I  was  just  thinking. I'm very grateful,  of course.
Thanks a lot. I mean, real nice of you and all. But, you see.... a friend of
mine is in danger.

     <i>The Queen makes an impatient  gesture. De  Maisse looks at her, than at
William. He seems to be amused.
     Enter Chris  dragging the corpse  of  the  Man In Black. He  crosses to
center  stage,  drops the corpse,  wipes his forehead with the back  of  his
hand.</i>

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Good  evening,  all. I hope I'm not too  late.  Ah, you haven't started
yet. Good.

     <i>General consternation.</i>

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     Chris....

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Yeah, Wobbly  man, this is, like, grand, right? You were about to thank
Her Majesty for everything she's done for you. Go ahead. Don't mind me.  You
were just  going  to speak of  gratitude and beauty  and  all. Beauty. We're
still pagans in this country. We worship beauty out of context.

     <i>Lionel  makes  a  step  towards Chris.  De  Maisse and the Queen remain
standing, curious as  to what is going to happen next. Betsy is  frightened.
William is trying to rationalize what it is that is going on.</i>

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     <i>(to Lionel)</i>
     Don't come near me, actor.

     <b>BETSY</b>
     Chris!

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Ah, Betsy. You alone can sense it. Good girl. Not even Wobbly, with all
his  insight and talent and what all else can figure  this simple truth out.
Eh, Wobbly?

     <b>THE QUEEN</b>
     De Maisse,  please go and round up  the first guard squad you can find,
and bring them here.

     <b>DE MAISSE</b>
     Your Majesty....

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     No need, Madam. Think I'm going to escape?

     <i>Betsy begins to cry.</i>

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     Betsy. It's all right. Now, Chris....

     <b>JOANNE</b>
     I always knew he was a troublemaker.

     <i>Chris straightens up and throws her a flaming glance.</i>

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Did you ever, Madam! How very observant of you. Yet the fact that I was
also a playwright failed to draw your attention  altogether. Strange,  isn't
it? For three years, your theatre company performed a play of mine. It never
occurred  to  you that  its author  was  head  over heels in  love with your
daughter.

     <i>Betsy covers her face.</i>

     Shut up, Betsy.

     <b>BETSY</b>
     Oh, Chris!

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     <i>(drawing his sword)</i>
     We serve the Great Bitch!

     <i>William steps towards him, says quietly,</i>

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     Chris, come with me. We'll figure out a way to get you to France.

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     <i>(laughs)</i>
     France? Wobbly, don't be naive. Once the Great Bitch is angry with you,
it's  curtains.  My  only regret is that I must now die a murderer. I didn't
want to kill him! I  don't  even  know how to fence. He came to kill me.  So
that he could....

     <i>He looks at Betsy, falls silent.</i>

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     Chris....

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     No false generosity, Wobbly. I have less than an hour to live. Let them
call  the guards, let them  sentence me to  torture. Ah, this  is freedom at
last. They don't have time to do anything to me.

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     <i>(quietly)</i>
     Chris, you're mad. This is suicide. Shut up.

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Wobbly, please come to  grips with this. There are all kinds of  people
in the Secret Service. Commoners and dukes. Shepherds and their masters. But
they all have one  thing in common.  Their blades are poisoned. Brave Robert
here  made  a beautiful thrust.  Except he  forgot  that I couldn't fence. I
slipped, fell  to one  knee, closed my eyes. He pinned  himself on my sword.
But he touched me. He touched me!
     <i>(smiles)</i>
     A mere scratch, Wobbly, but, since the blade was poisoned, I'm  soon to
follow  him. Sweet, isn't it? Why don't you use it in a play, Wobbly. I give
you my permission.

     <i>He falls to one knee, clutches his chest. He drops his sword.</i>

     <b>ANNE</b>
     Poor man.

     <i>She  walks over to him.  He  looks up at her, smiles. She  takes out  a
handkerchief  and wants to wipe his forehead. He rises with an effort, stops
her.</i>

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     I was afraid,  Madam, that your  husband  here was going  to  commit  a
terrible mistake. You see, that's what we authors usually do in this kind of
situation.  People laugh at us and kick us when we're  down, and  starve us,
and break up our families. Then, suddenly, someone takes  pity on  the  poor
bastard and -  lo and behold! a genius  is  among us! When  this happens, we
forget everything; we're so  overwhelmed, we  pour  out  gratitude right and
left. Artists tend to  be over-generous with their  gratitude.  They have so
much to give,  you see. Before they know it, they start making  promises.  I
know I did. Betsy!

     <b>BETSY</b>
     Chris!

     <i>She rushes to him at last, but he looks over her head at the Queen.</i>

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Not you.

     <i>He walks over unsteadily. He looks the Queen in the eye, smiles.</i>

     Your body  is still  so  young. Graceful as ever. But you should  never
remove that mask you're so fond of wearing. Your face betrays you. There are
few  vices that  aren't written  in  it. It startled me  nine  years ago. It
startles me still.

     <i>He turns to Joanne. She backs away from him.</i>

     Stop. We're never  what we'd like ourselves to be. Duchess -  remember,
three years ago, you tried to seduce me?

     <b>JOANNE</b>
     <i>(pleading to everyone)</i>
     This is absurd!

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     I  wouldn't have minded much.  Except I had  just met your daughter. I,
who  used to  laugh  at virtue, who always  posed as  a  lady-killer, a bold
seducer, discovered that I was hopelessly monogamous. Funny, isn't it?

     <i>He turns to Lionel who is looking at Joanne in astonishment.</i>

     Remember, I  told you.... Lionel, pay  attention.  Remember,  when  you
officially recruited  me, I  told you  that writing was just a hobby for me?
Some hobby.

     <b>LIONEL</b>
     You  have no right  to blame me. I  offered you an alternative only  an
hour ago.

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Yeah, and then I decided to get myself killed. Just to keep the element
of surprise on my side.

     <i>He walks over to William.</i>

     Wobbly, I once  told you I disliked you a great deal. Well,  you're the
only friend I ever had.

     <b>WILLIAM</b>
     Chris, I....

     <b>CHRIS</b>
     Stick to playwriting. That's your true vocation. Your sonnets suck.

     <i>He goes into the foreground, faces the audience.</i>

     Finally, I, mocker, pagan, discovered that I had faith. I,  who used to
disdain  mankind  found myself making love to  it,  all of it  at  once.  I,
atheist and sinner, turned to God when they  were dancing around their pagan
bonfire. Betsy....

     <i>The Queen makes a movement. Chris almost laughs and then almo