'I talk of deeper needs, Will. Think on it.'

Nicholas Bracewell and Will Fowler were close friends as well as colleagues. The book holder had great respect and affection for the actor even though the latter caused him many problems. Will Fowler was a burly, boisterous character of medium height whose many sterling qualities were betrayed by a short temper and a readiness to trade blows. Nicholas loved him for his ebullience, his wicked sense of humour and his generosity. Because he admired Fowler so much as an actor, he defended him and helped him time and again. It was Nicholas who kept Fowler in a job and it strengthened their bond.

'Without you, Westfield's Men would crumble into dust!'

'I doubt that, Will,' said Nicholas easily.

'We all depend upon you entirely.'

'More fool me, for bearing such an unfair load!'

'Seek more money. A labourer is worthy of his hire.'

'I am happy enough with my wage.'

'You are too modest, Nick!' chided the other.

'The same could not be said about you, I fear.'

Will Fowler broke into such irrepressible laughter that he scattered passers-by all round him. Slapping his friend between the shoulder blades, he turned a beaming visage upon him.

'I have tried to hide my light under a bushel,' he explained, 'but I have never been able to find a bushel big enough.'

'You're a born actor, Will. You seek an audience.'

'Applause is my meat and drink. I would starve to death if I was just another Nicholas Bracewell who looks for the shadows. An audience has to know that I am a good actor and so I tell them as loud and as often as I can. Why conceal my excellence?'

'Why indeed?'

Nicholas collected a second slap on the back.

They were crossing the bridge now and had to slow down as traffic thickened at its narrowest point. The massive huddle of houses and shops that made up London Bridge extended itself along the most important street in the city. The buildings stretched out over the river then lurched back in upon each other, closing the thoroughfare down to a width of barely twelve feet. A heavy cart trundled through the press. Nicholas reached forward to lift a young boy out of its path and earned a pale smile by way of thanks.