Everyone pressed in upon the fallen man.

'Stand back!' ordered Nicholas. 'Give him air.'

'What happened?' mumbled Fowler drowsily.

'It was my fault,' confessed Ruff, covered in remorse as he knelt beside the wounded man. 'I tried to stop him and he stabbed you under my arm.'

'Curse him!' groaned Fowler.

The hostess pushed through the crowd to view the hideous sight. Brawls were common enough in the tavern but they did not usually involve swordplay nor end with someone losing his life-blood all over the floor.

'Carry him to the surgeon!' she urged.

'He cannot be moved,' said Nicholas, doing what he could to stem the flow of blood. 'Bring the surgeon here. Tell him to hurry!'

The hostess despatched her boy with a curt command. Nicholas was still cradling his friend in his arms and shuddering with disbelief. Will Fowler had been such a powerful and energetic man yet his life was now draining rapidly away in the miserable setting of a Bankside stew. The sense of waste was overwhelming.

'Who was he?' murmured Fowler.

'Save your strength, Will,' cautioned Nicholas.

'I want to know,' he said with a last show of spirit. 'Who was the rogue?'

He looked up questioningly but nobody had the answer.

Nicholas Bracewell was consumed with grief and anger. It was only now that he was about to lose Will Fowler that he realized how much the man's friendship had meant to him. The actor's warmth and effervescence would be sorely missed. Nicholas held the body more tightly to pull him back from death but he knew that it was all to no avail. Will Fowler was doomed.

Samuel Ruff was in tears, tormenting himself with the thought that he was to blame, muttering endless apologies to the prostrate figure. Nicholas saw the blank horror in his face then he noticed that Ruffs sleeve was dripping with blood that seeped from a wound of his own. The sword thrust had cut his arm before killing Will Fowler.