'He's full of self-love. It's not enough for him to be the leading actor with the company. They have to fawn and flatter at every turn to suit his taste, and Samuel could not bring himself to do that. They were playing Scipio Africanus.

'A miserable piece,' sneered Firethorn. 'Nothing but stale conceits and dribbling verse. I'd not soil my hands with it.'

'Giles Randolph was playing the hero. He had a scene with Samuel in the role of a tribune. It was-' Nicholas broke off abruptly and shrugged his shoulders. 'Ah, well. You've no wish to hear all this.'

‘Go on, go on.'

'It may just be idle gossip.'

'What happened, Nick?'

Lawrence Firethorn was keen to know. He and Giles Randolph were deadly rivals, talented artistes who competed with each other every time they walked on to a stage. Anything that was to the detriment of Randolph would come as welcome news. Curiosity made Firethorn tap his book holder on the chest.

'Come on, sir. They had a scene together.’

‘At an important point in the action.'

'Well?'

Nicholas had worked with actors long enough to learn some of their tricks. He delayed for a few seconds to heighten the tension then he plunged on.

'When Samuel gave of his best, Randolph complained that his performance was too strong. It stole the hero's thunder.'

'Ha! Some hero! Some thunder.'

'Samuel is a forthright man. He told the truth.'

'That Randolph is a babbling idiot!'

'That a leading actor should lead and not surround himself with poor players who would make him look all the better.'

'And me?' said Firethorn, intrigued. 'What of me?'

'Samuel used you as an example, master. You would outshine any company. The finer the players around you, the more you rise above them. They feed your inspiration.'

Firethorn beamed. No praise sweeter than that from a fellow actor. He judged Samuel Ruff to be very perceptive and began to forgive him for his association with Banbury's Men. Nicholas took advantage of his changed mood.