Lost for Words: A Novel by Edward St. Aubyn Read Free Book Online

King Edward, second of that name.’
    Before William could respond to this amazing tale of murder most foul, strange and unnatural, John rose up in his chair, in a state of great excitation, and pointed through the window.
    ‘All eyes! All eyes! My lord Essex comes hard upon us with a great retinue of men. How finely caparisoned they are, and point device in their accoutrement.’
    ‘Oh happy horse that bears the weight of Essex,’ said William, straining out of the casement to catch a glimpse.
    ‘See how his mount’s proud impatient hoof doth ring fire from the cobblestones!’ said old Thomas Kyd. ‘How like a god is he in countenance, in bearing how like a king.’
    William sank back down next to Master Ben despondently.
    ‘My pleasure lies in Essex,’ he sighed, ‘but I wait in vain for any sign, or any summons. I am a mere slave that tends upon the hours and times of his desire.’
    ‘Come, William,’ said Ben, slapping him on the shoulder, ‘enough of that. Let us have one more gaudy night and mock the midnight bell. I have sold my latest play to this innkeeper for five shillings of sack. He understands not a word of it, poor fool, but hopes to sell it for a profit to the Chancellor’s Men.’
    ‘Would I had a play to sell,’ said William, ‘and we would have roasted capons withal, but I only started one this morning and shall not finish it till the morrow.’
    ‘What is its argument?’ asked Ben.
    ‘Why, ’tis a Roman play,’ said William. ‘It tells the tale of Anthony and how one of the three pillars of this world was made into a strumpet’s fool.’

    Penny couldn’t help admiring the way it made you feel you were really in a tavern with William Shakespeare and his pals. That was the wonderful thing about historical novels, one met so many famous people. It was like reading a very old copy of Hello! magazine. She read on eagerly.

    ‘Speaking of strumpets,’ said Thomas, ‘is that not Mistress Lucretia that comes hard upon us?’
    ‘Ah,’ said William, ‘now let us speak of Africa and golden joys. She comes so perfumed that the winds are love-sick that follow her.’
    The fair Lucretia hoisted up her skirts, the better to straddle William’s legs.
    ‘Fye, William,’ she said, clicking his golden earring against her teeth, ‘where is that sonnet you promised me?’
    ‘Why, ’tis in my codpiece,’ said William, ‘for a man is a fool who keeps not a poem in his codpiece, and a codpiece that hath no poem in it is indeed a foolish codpiece.’
    ‘It is a naughty codpiece,’ said John, ‘for it hath naught in it.’
    ‘Ho-ho,’ said goodly Master Jonson, draining his tankard of sack, ‘a battle of wits!’
    ‘With this naught,’ said William, clasping Lucretia by the waist and pulling her towards him, ‘I shall make a copy of thy fair face; I shall so plough thy field with this nothing that it will yield thee a crop of Lucretias. With this round O I shall make thy belly round, and by my death,’ he added, shuddering and sinking backwards in his chair, ‘I shall make thee immortal.’
    ‘Fye, Will,’ said Lucretia, arching backwards and pulling William towards her, ‘keep thy wit for thy plays, for wit is a poor actor that comes on and plays his part and leaves the stage and is heard no more, but the part I would have you play hath more will in it than wit.’
    Penny was definitely going to give All the World’s a Stage the thumbs up. It was chock-a-block with colourful characters and period detail , just like her other favourite, The Enigma Conundrum , a real page-turner about the ‘Enigma’ code-breaking operation at Bletchley Park during the Second World War, which included a marvellous portrait of the brilliant, but alas gay, Alan Turing, the Cambridge mathematician who had done the thinking behind the computer. There was also a portrait of the unsung hero who had built Colossus, the first actual computer, right here in Britain. After the War, this ordinary postal