And 'LIVING ON CREDIT' - an intriguing tale of downfall and redemption with a supernatural twist:
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People have often commented on the genius of my longtime friend and associate, William Shakespear.
Some have considered that his chronicles bear some resemblance to the works of his namesake, that best selling Elizabethan author William Shakespeare - with an 'e'.
Indeed, they have also remarked upon the further coincidence that I carry the same name - and literary flair - as that other scholar of Shakespearean times, Francis Bacon.
It is a coincidence that has oft led me to wonder how much further my reputation may have travelled had I engaged in writing for a career. In the event, I became an engineer specialising in copper ductwork, an occupation from which I now enjoy early retirement.
Suffice it to say that it is the fortuity of chance which plays a major part in the contemporary coupling of myself and my companion William Shakespear - without an 'e', and that the events I set down as his diarist are of a true nature.
It must be said, however, I have long suspected the lack of copyright on the works of the great bard, may sometimes have influenced the greater flights of narrative fantasy to which my dear friend Will is prone. But a great writer such as he must accustom himself to accusations of plagiarism, and suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous criticism rained upon him by lesser pens.
But enough of this pre-amble and on to my story, which concerns a short recreational diversion William and I spent some years ago at the Hotel Elsinore in Denmark.
The journey by train and boat to the Scandinavian shore had been arduous. Will was not a good seafarer and was laid up for most of the crossing in his cabin.
I for my part had grown up close to Hyde Park, and my father, a former municipal gardens attendant had taught me the skills of boating, spending many exciting hours together rowing from one end of the Serpentine to the other. This wealth of aquatic experience had bestowed upon me an excellent pair of 'sea legs'.
It was with relief that the latter part of our journey, in an extremely bumpy horse drawn coach skirting round endless fjords, was coming to a close, as at dusk we approached the Hotel Elsinore travelling down a long gravel driveway. The large residence was in a style reminiscent of a small castle, complete with mock battlements, and overlooking a somewhat turbulent sea which was shrouded in mist throughout most of the duration of our stay.
"I have a feeling this will be an extremely interesting holiday," remarked Will, looking a good deal better than when on board ship, with a little colour returning to his cheeks, although on the whole they were rather pallid at any time. He was not a strongly built man and never looked particularly healthy, although I put this down to his obsession with writing and not enough sleep.
The coach driver helped us unload our belongings and at the approach to a short flight of steps leading into the hotel, we were greeted by a broad shouldered young man who introduced himself as Horatio.
He lifted our heavy suitcases with the ease of a man unburdened, climbed the steps to the hotel entrance and then quite unexpectedly turned upon us with a venomous gaze commanding:"What are you? By heaven, speak!"
I can tell you we were somewhat taken aback by his manner and thankfully were helped over our bewilderment by a rather portly gentleman coming out of the hotel, his reddened face and sagging eyes etched I surmised by years of over-indulgence.
"He just wants to know your names," the gentleman explained, jovially introducing himself as Polonius, the hotel supervisor. "He's had a bit of a turn in the last day or two. Swears he saw a ghost over yonder battlements," Polonius pointed to the place on the far side of the hotel building.
"I told you this would be an interesting holiday," William whispered to me. I returned in equally quelled tones that it was probably a stunt for tourists. "They're just trying to give the place a bit of character," I told him, dismissing the claim of a spiritual entity as tommyrot. Then, chiding myself for nearly forgetting my manners, I made our introductions to Polonius. "This is my colleague William Shakespear and I am Francis Bacon," I bowed.
"Not the William Shakespeare. Good Lord, I thought he was dead. This is surely a miracle," gasped Polonius.
"No, a namesake," corrected Will. "Shakespear without the 'e'."
"Without the what?"
"Without the 'e'," Will repeated.
"I didn't know he had one," Polonius was perplexed. Then revelation fell upon him. "Oh, you are the famous writer William Shakespear without an 'e'," Polonius was equally impressed.
"Well, yes," William replied swelling with pride, a deadly sin to which he was oft prone and in need to pray for forgiveness.
"Absolutely marvellous, congratulations, well I think you'll have a very enjoyable stay," Polonius opened the hotel door inviting us to enter.
Inside wood panel walls abounded. A large, sweeping stairway led to a half landing dominated by the backdrop of a richly colourful stained glass window, depicting some act of medieval carnage.
At the reception desk we were greeted by a pretty girl with long, flowing blonde hair covering much of her face and shoulders.
"This is Ophelia, my daughter," Polonius introduced us. She had a rather distant expression and seemed somewhat distracted. It was a peculiar thing, but she was also smoking a pipe. I noticed a number of daisy petals scattered on and behind the desk and scribbled on one of the booking forms the sentences, 'he loves me, he loves me not....' repeated for some length down the page.
"I believe this young lady is in love," I confided to William. At that moment, however, Will broke into a fit of involuntary sneezing spasms.
As William convulsed, I was aware of a tall, dark, handsome man approaching the reception desk dressed in fine, gold embroidered robes. He carried an expression of suppressed fury as he spoke to the young lady Ophelia.
"I've told you not to go out with him. He's just toying with your emotions. Look at these damnable petals all over the desk."
"Oh, it's all right. I'll clear them up in a minute," Ophelia dreamily replied, unpeturbed by the warnings the young man had conveyed.
"Hamlet will break your heart. I swear it," he laid in again, undeterred.
"Oh, be off with you dear sweet brother, and mind your own business," she deflected his pleas.
"Don't say I didn't warn you," the young man turned sharply and departed through the reception lobby door.
"You had a good earwig?" Ophelia called out. I looked to see if the young gentleman was still in range of hearing her.
"No I mean you." I realised at once her question was directed at me.
"Have I what?" I retorted, somewhat confounded.
"Had a good listen to my private affairs?" Ophelia smiled wryly.
"Madam, forgive me if you feel that I have intruded," I apologised effusively, wishing at that moment the floor would open and swallow me whole.
"Aren't you a funny one," she reinforced my abject embarrasment laughing loudly then confided, "don't worry my dearie, I enjoy a good earwig myself. If you must know that's my brother, Laertes. He's always telling me how I should run my love life. But I know that Hamlet cares for me."
"Jolly good," I replied, trying to make light of the matter.
Meantime, William was still shuddering with his spasm so I went to assist his plight.
"Dammit! It's the blasted pollen from those bloody daisies," he yelled, struggling to control his temperament. "They've started my hay fever off again," he erupted.
"Will you sign the visitors book please?" Ophelia appeared oblivious to his distress, indicating where to place our signatures. I obliged whilst William convulsed in repeated attacks of wheezes, snorts and sneezes.
Polonius all the while had disappeared into a small room behind the reception desk and now reappeared on the scene. Sighting William's distress, he walked over and started slapping him heartily on the back. From that moment I knew we were going to meet some queer folk in this establishment.
Will refused to go anywhere near the desk again and I offered to sign the book for him. "Oh, no. That would be forgery," Ophelia warned me. "He'll have to sign it later."
Horatio meantime had been standing absolutely still, continuing to hold the suitcases. When he heard that we had been allocated a room on the fourth floor of the building he looked rather disgruntled. "Oh bloody hell, can't you give 'em one on the ground?" he argued with Ophelia. "How many times do you want me to bloody well lug cases all the way up there?"
"Ground floor are all booked," she puffed vigourously on her pipe, clouds of vapour partially masking her face.
"First floor then?" he was persistent.
"I say," I interjected. "Isn't there a lift?"
Horatio looked sourly at Ophelia and then at Will and me. "Yes, I'm the bloody lift!" He gripped the suitcases again and made for the large stairway.
After a rather laborious trek, and much cursing on the part of Horatio, during which our suitcases acquired a significant number of dents, we at last settled in to our hotel room, but not before being told in terse terms by our porter that in the matter of giving tips to servants, I had much in common with a mallard's posterior.
The room had a small verandah overlooking what would have been a splendid view of the sea, were it not for that all pervading mist, which now in darkness with moonlight shining opaquely through it had taken the form of an eerie shroud.
True, our quarters did lack the certain standards which our holiday brochure had led us to expect. However, for a few nights we considered we could settle for a much abused thinly stuffed mattress, an old metal safe doubling for a bedside bureau and a dining table that had seen a long and industrious life as a carpenter's workbench.
A copy of the Holy Bible contained unrequited love messages for Hamlet, the gentleman whose name I had heard earlier. They were scribbled on the inside covers and signed by Ophelia. I gathered from this she also came to the rooms to enact maidly cleaning duties, though I was rather puzzled by her reference to 'lone gentlemen travellers a speciality'.
After refreshing ourselves with our ablutions, Will and I descended the lengthy stairway and entered the hotel dining room for dinner at 7.30 p.m.
The electric light bulb had reached the shores of Denmark by this era and several of them glowed from the ends of long cables overhanging the room, looking somewhat incongruous in a setting designed more rudimentally for the oil lamp. It was indeed a masterly stroke when at a later phase of Anno Domini, someone was minded to invent the electric lampshade.
The walls of the dining room were hung, rather too liberally I thought, with the heads of elk and reindeer, indicating proprietorship of a sporting nature.
Polonius greeted us, introducing a young sinewy man by the name of Marcellus. His face looked rather smooth and boyish, effeminate even I would say, with golden locks that fell about his ears.
"Marcellus will be your waiter for the duration of your stay at the Hotel Elsinore," Polonius announced. "If there is anything you need, and I mean anything!"........he emphasised rather luridly, "Marcellus is your man." With that he made a small bow and parted.
As soon as we had settled on rather uncertain and precarious dining chairs, Marcellus handed us each a menu. I noticed that as usual, William was accompanied by his notebook and pen which he placed beside him on the table.
"I'll have the lamb cutlets," I resolved, after studying the bill of fare.
"What?......has this thing appeared again tonight?" Marcellus exploded rather unnervingly.
"I beg your pardon!" I expostulated, rather taken aback at his loud manner.
"I mean sir, that's the fourth time this week they've had lamb cutlets on the menu," Marcellus complained. "I tell you sir, this is a very crummy joint. I'm thinking of handing in my notice."
"Oh really," I was unprepared for this avant garde style of waiting at table. "Well, I'll have something else if it bothers you."
"Oh no, you're the customer. Have what you like. I don't care," Marcellus insisted rather churlishly.
"I'll have the wild duck in orange sauce," Will interrupted.
"A wise choice, if I may say so sir," Marcellus congratulated him. "And what's your poison?"
For some inexplicable reason I felt a chill as Marcellus asked us, in the vernacular, which wine we would like with our meal.
"What does the maitre d'hotel recommend?" Will responded.
"Who Claudius?" Marcellus sounded surprised, a hint of derision and mirth in his tone I detected.
"I wouldn't drink anything he recommended," Marcellus was in full flow. "Do you know how often he's on the throne!"
"Yes, yes, thank you very much," I interrupted, "we'll choose some wine in a moment." I waved him away, wishing to defend my good friend's ears from the uncouth quicksilver that coursed through the veins of this raw youth.
"Have a nice day," Marcellus turned and disappeared toward the kitchen.
William picked up his pen and began to scribe in his notebook. I took out my Engineer's pocket diary and read a rather interesting section on The Dimensions and Detail of Double Feed Indirect Copper Cylinders.
When it eventually arrived, the lamb cutlet was interesting, if somewhat challenging in stature. I wondered if the hind section of the elk's head overlooking our table had been preserved specially for the occasion, and, by a strange process of gastronomic alchemy, turned into the cutlet that lay before me. Despite my best efforts, it defied all attempts to be quartered for consumption.
"The duck is superb," Will enthused with delight, making me feel quite envious. I pushed my plate to one side and began to examine the card, determined to choose a pudding which might vanquish my considerable hunger.
There was a notable lack of guests in the dining room, save for the callow figure of a young man seated a few tables away with a cloak about his shoulders. He appeared to be muttering amd mumbling to himself. I called to him:"Good evening sir, have you travelled far?"
Slowly he turned his head toward us, glowering menacingly as if I was disturbing some important moment.
"Aye madam, death is common," he announced, then returned to his own personal mutterings and gibberings.
"He's obviously short sighted," observed William wryly. "He thinks you're a woman."
"And he's obviously quite mad," I whispered. "I think we'll give him a wide berth."
"This place grows more interesting by the minute," said Will, making another entry on his writing pad.
At that moment, Polonius returned. "Are you enjoying your meal?" he enquired.
I was about to express my concern over the quality of the lamb cutlet when he interjected, "good, I'm so glad you like it". I felt it would be in bad taste to make a fuss, so I let the matter drop. I enquired about the young man sitting at the nearby table.
"Oh, that's Hamlet," Polonius made it seem an obvious point.
"He appears to be troubled somewhat," I ventured cautiously, not wishing to be mistaken for a dining room tittle tattle.
"Ah, that's because he's in love," Polonius noticed some crumbs on the table and swept them into his hand.
"In love?" I repeated.
"Yes, he's in love with my daughter, Ophelia. It drives him to distraction," Polonius, threw the crumbs into a small receptacle beside our table.
"Does she not love him then?" William entered the conversation, not suffering any aversion to being tagged a gossip.
"She does, but I have forbidden her to requite his advances, after all we are mere servants in this establishment, whilst young master Hamlet is the guvnor's stepson," Polonius began folding napkins at the next table.
"The governor?" Curiosity overpowered my instincts of gentlemanly conduct. I blushed.
"Claudius, the proprietor." Polonius seemed irritated at my lack of further response. "He's his uncle too."
Our mentor went on to explain that Hamlet's father was the former proprietor of the Hotel Elsinore. When he died, his brother Claudius married Hamlet's mother, Gertrude, and took over the hotel.
Polonius bent forward and whispered:"Bit of bad blood between Hamlet and Claudius though. Don't say I said anything, mind," he touched his lips with his index finger signalling secrecy.
"I see," I replied, not entirely convinced that I did.
"Now where has Marcellus got to? I bet he's skiving round the back of the kitchen." Polonius bade us bon appetit and left.
"I believe there is more to this plot than meets the eye," observed William eagerly, jotting yet more notes in his book. "I believe it is not just love that troubles young Hamlet." Will was in his element. "I believe villainy is afoot and we must consider if there is rot in this state of Denmark." I told him he was off on a flight of fantasy, but he would have nothing of it.
Our travel to the hotel had left us somewhat depleted of verve and we decided upon early retirement to bed. After another arduous journey up the stairs to our room, I was soon robed in gown and nightcap. William, unfortunately, had chosen to bring along his bright red pyjama suit which caused some offence to my eyes. For some time, we sought unsuccessfully to gain comfortable accommodation on the unsprung mattress provided.
Let me, at this point, make it clear to those who would in future generations interpret otherwise, the reason why William and I shared a bed together was purely for fiscal considerations. In our travels we found it economically more viable to book double rather than single board. However, William's eruptive snoring did oft leave me wondering if this was a wise decision.
Eventually we settled to rest. On my part, somewhat fitfully, disturbed not occasionally by the discordant snuffles, whistles and snorts emanating from Will's mouth and proboscis. At last, however, I had begun to sink into a deeper slumber when a most alarming commotion was thrust upon us.
It started with shouting and much thudding of boot and shoulder on our bedroom door, followed by that same rectangular object flying inward with vigour and halted only in its downward progress by the floor.
Our eyes were a little accustomed to the darkness and we saw the shadowy figure of a young man leaping into our room with three companions close at heel.
"Where did you see it, Horatio?" cried out the the young man in anguished tones.
"Yonder on verandah, Hamlet," the person who I took to be Horatio pointed the direction to his companion. It was certainly a more dynamic Horatio than the one we had met as our porter on arrival at the hotel. He moved with a swiftness and agility that had been entirely absent during our first encounter.
It was then I noticed beams of light issuing forth from the foreheads of the intruders. After experiencing momentary alarm at this strange spectacle, I realised they were wearing miners lamps.
Unfortunately neither I or Will, who at this moment was unsuccessfully scrabbling for his notebook and pen, were unable to obtain such a fruitful view of the objects which lay around us. The hotel had turned off the electricity generator at 10.30 p.m. sharp.
The youths progressed with violation across our room, and on finding the verandah door locked, availed themselves of a chair with which they smashed both implement and obstruction in several blows.
Stepping over glass and timber fragments they launched on to the verandah.
"I saw the ghost of your father here," Horatio expounded with passion. "Look even as we speak it appears and beckons."
By now I had managed to find and light an oil lamp, and both Will and I left the discomfort of our bed to observe in wonderment the activities of our uninvited guests.
"Hold him back, Bernardo, Marcellus," Horatio commanded of his two other companions. "The mist is rising and soon he will be enveloped within."
"Do not go out with it," Marcellus warned, the lad now appeared rather more manly in stature and I hardly recognised him as our waiter earlier that evening.
"Why?" Hamlet cried. "What should I fear. I do not value my life above the price of a pin. It waves me forth again. I'll follow it."
By now William was writing frantically, possessed by obsession to record each detail of event and word.
For all the world, everyone present but I appeared transfixed by apparition, mist and evocation of the unknown. All I could see was a strange collection of lunatics, obviously the worse for drink, dancing and prancing around on the verandah.
I feared for any remnants of sanity which they might yet possess and more particularly for their lives.
"Be careful you damn fools," I cried, "you'll fall off the verandah!"
They froze and silence fell upon us. Each turned their head to gaze at me with eyes that variously reflected contempt, puzzlement and confusion.
At length, Hamlet spoke:"Oh most vile woman. Oh villain, villain; smiling, damned villain."
William looked toward me from his jottings and with a fatuous grin informed me:"He still thinks you're a woman, Francis. I suppose it's your name."
I retorted contemptuously. "I think it's more to do with the fact he has consumed too much alcohol or opium, or both."
As the words left my lips, the quartet pushed rudely past us, hurried into the corridor and disappeared thus from our view.
"By thunder, what an exciting time we're having. This is absolutely excellent material for my next book," Will was ecstatic. I was somewhat less overjoyed.
We settled as best we could for the remainder of the night amid the splinters and fragments of the fray. We were only troubled thereafter by loud and angered cries of "shut up", as Will's snoring, now unfettered by the absence of a door, permeated the rooms and corridors of the Hotel Elsinore. Odd how this angered the residents more than the acts of vandalism we had received only a short time before, of which no complaint was made.
At the breakfast table, there appeared to be rather more guests staying at the hotel than had been indicated at dinner the previous night. I thought it rather rude when some of them suggested William should get his 'damned nose' seen to.
I was examining an item of meat on my plate, described as bacon on the menu but singularly failing to pass visual muster as such, when we were greeted by an extremely good looking woman. She had long fair hair, gentle blue eyes and a bewitching smile and was accompanied by an equally good looking man with a strong penetrating gaze and muscular physique. I thought it unusual they were both wearing crowns on their heads, but put this down to a peculiar local custom.
"Mr Shakespear and Mr Bacon, I presume. This is my wife, Gertrude, and I am Claudius, the maitre d'hotel," he announced.
"I must apologise for the commotion in the night," Claudius began earnestly, "but you know what young men are like when they quaffe too liberally of the wine."
I acknowledged understanding of his point, but explained it had nonetheless caused us some alarm.
"My son is rather troubled at present," Gertrude interjected. "He is, how you say in your country, a bit bats in the belfry." Her voice was so beautiful, so sweet, so enchanting. I felt myself blush as I realised I was gazing at her in a manner less formal than one should on meeting a person, especially a woman, for the first time. I looked across to Will, expecting admonishment, but saw that he was already beginning to scribe again.
"Don't worry, I understand," I answered the lady somewhat sheepishly.
"You see, he's in lerve," she went on. "Driven to distraction by his longing for the fair Ophelia," she insisted on explaining.
"Yes, yes," I was embarrased by this talk of passion at the breakfast table.
"I think there is more to it than just love," Will interposed quietly, but firmly. I was taken aback, but not more so than Claudius whose countenance darkened at these words.
"Have you been listening to rumours?" Claudius was stern.
"Your nephew seems to be troubled by a spectre, apparently it appeared to him on our balcony last night," Will persisted.
"Lies, damn lies. That isn't the ghost of his father. I never murdered him," Claudius exclaimed in anger verging on hysteria. With that, he turned and stormed out of the room. His wife, the beautiful Gertrude started at Will, her features now turned to fury:"You should get your nose seen to," she barked at him, turned and followed her husband out of the room. Will wrote with gusto. His enthusiasm for this jaunt was thorough. I on the other hand was much less settled.
"Well!" I chided. "Why on earth did you have to upset them?"
"I did not upset them," Will beamed with conviction. "They upset themselves. They are riddled with guilt."
I contended that I was in disagreement with William on this issue. However, for the sake of old friendship, I let the matter pass.
The guests at the other tables had maintained an air of quietude whilst the altercation had proceeded. Now the mutterings of vain gossip took wing.
"Well, you certainly got that fellers juices stirring," ventured one less inhibited soul at an adjacent table, smirking at my discomfort.
"I'd get some ear protection if I was you," he laughed coarsely. By the manner of his uncultured tongue, lurid brightly patterned shirt and the fact he was wearing short trousers at breakfast, I could only conclude he was of antipodean origin.
After breakfast we decided to take in the sights of the local village, lying on the coast about one half of a mile to the north west of the hotel.
In the event it was a disappointment, since the small conurbation comprised mainly of a church, not in itself unattractive, a rather austere, shabby looking hostelry and a gift shop displaying cheap goods that would not have been out of place at a popular charabanc resort.
As we strolled down the high street, lined with grey stone terraced houses, we were confronted by a rather over familiar woman. Her face bore too much paint and mascara, her bosom was exposed rather more than I would call decent, and the cut of her dress barely covered her ankles.
"You gents looking for a good time?" she enquired, rather impertinently I thought.
"Well yes we are," I replied, "but there doesn't seem to be a museum or good coffee house in the vicinity."
She laughed rather loudly at this and I was decidedly surprised, not to say a little taken aback, to see William join in her mirth.
"Look Francis, why not be a good fellow and take a stroll by the sea," Will suggested.
At this the lady, if I may take the liberty to describe her as thus, shrieked uncontrollably with laughter.
"But don't you wish to walk with me," I was puzzled by his suggestion.
"Indeed I do," said Will, "but I have some business to attend to with this woman first. I shall meet you on yonder beach in about an hour," he pointed to a small cove.
"Just a quickie then, eh love?" the woman risibly cackled as she disappeared inside her drab residence. Will followed, clutching his notebook. The door closed and I could hear shrieks of laughter from within.
I was confused. William hitherto had not spoken of undertaking any business with a woman during our visit to Denmark, and least of all with one who blatantly had little in common with the intellect of William Shakespear.
I continued to ambulate alone, mulling over the events of last night's intrusion of our room by Hamlet and his playfellows, and the frenzied denial of an act of murder by Claudius.
Why should he have denied killing Hamlet's father, when no-one had made the slightest accusation of guilt towards him in this respect? The Hotel Elsinore was indeed a strange and puzzling place. I considered that the holiday company through which we had made the booking for this excursion should be acquainted with these facts. In my opinion, the Hotel Elsinore should be categorised as an Adventure Holiday, and re-advertised as such in next year's brochure. We were obviously sold a pup.
Absorbed in these thoughts, I now found myself approaching the beach. It had rather a pebbly surface. Grey stone cliffs towered on each side and, despite the calm weather, the sea raged as if a storm were blowing.
That same swirling mist we had observed from the hotel obscured much of the view seaward, and my eyes could never catch to focus the thousand shapes of demons and gargoyles curling within those vapours.
It was easy to see how a demented mind like Hamlet's could see spectres and monsters therein; especially with a generous infusion of alcohol.
My attention was drawn to a fisherman perched on an outcrop of rock some 100 yards north. He appeared to be mending a net. With some difficulty I picked my way toward him, balancing with care on the slippery stony surface of the beach.
"Good-day," I called out as I neared the old salt. He looked up without expression, most of his features covered by an all embracing beard. His navy blue jumper seemed to have limpets attached to it and his dark corduroy trousers sported sprigs of seaweed and white salt stains.
"Mending your net," I struck up with the obvious to fan the flames of conversation. He grunted in an inconclusive way.
"I'm here on holiday with my companion William Shakespear," I prompted. Again I could not grasp the intimation of his grunt.
"He's seeing a woman on business at present," I kindled the discourse further.
At this he smiled, and I was glad that we had established a point of communication.
I commented on the unusual phenomenon of the weather at this resort. He observed it was something to do with 'global warming'. I confess it was a phrase to which I was unacquainted, and put it down to my poor grasp of the Danish language.
We could have talked for hours, but I was alerted by the frantic cries of my colleague William, whom I observed was sprinting rather athleticly in my direction.
"Quick, quick, we've got to hide," he shouted with some urgency in his voice.
"By heavens," I thundered, "is the devil and his brigade at our feet!"
"You could say that," William sounded breathless. "I was three shillings short."
There are times when the antics of my associate leave me bereft of explanation, and I could not imagine to what he was alluding.
"I didn't have enough to complete my business deal," he urged. "We've got to get back to the hotel without being seen."
At once the penny dropped. William had not been forging a business transaction with the woman, but engaging in some iniquitious gambling syndicate, to which he had now incurred a debt of three shillings.
"William, William," I lectured, "have I not warned you about the perils of gambling?"
"Yes, yes, but right now if you wish to keep your head, we'd best make ourselves scarce."
I prepared to issue him with further good advice when the wisdom of his own words impressed me with some urgency.
Some few hundred feet distant a group of burly, bearded seafaring types appeared, mouthing unpleasantries in our direction and waving their fists.
At speed we made our way towards the far end of the beach, clambering over rocks at the foot of the cliff and by luck chancing upon a stony pathway leading upwards and outwards from that place. Our flight was aided by the sweeping sea mist, acting as a cloak agin our would be captors. All the while Will clutched his notebook for all he was worth, which was very little in my opinion at present.
After much strenuous taxing of muscle, nerve and sinew we eventually made our way back to the hotel and despite the oddity of its occupants, I confess that I was relieved to enter its portals and avail myself of the sanctuary it provided.
"You gents look as though you've been through the wars," a soft woman's voice made us turn to the reception desk. It was Ophelia, still plucking away at daisy petals and puffing happily on her pipe. Apart from that particular acroutement in her mouth, she looked the picture of womanhood in a pretty floral dress.
She stopped plucking the daisies and reached out for the key to our room.
"They've replaced the door then," I commented, taking the key. "But will it still be there in the morning?" I added in quizzical tone, thinking it sounded rather witty.
She didn't share my humour but instead gazed at us in a penetrating manner.
"Had I offeneded her?" I thought and then realised that it was our dishevelled appearance that still captivated her attentions. There were tears and dirty marks all over our clothes and my bow-tie was completely askew. I felt ashamed.
"Been having a good time?" Ophelia enquired, removing the pipe from her mouth.
"Indeed we have," replied Will, sharp as you like. We had a wager on who could run fastest back to the hotel from the beach. That's why we are in this rather unkempt state.
"Who won," she had a wry smile and sounded somewhat dubious of our story I surmised.
"Why I did," announced Will triumphantly. "So that's three shillings you owe me, Francis old thing."
"What a rascal," I thought. grudgingly reaching into my pocket to pay him. For the sake of decency I could not reveal in front of a lady the truth about his gambling default and the reason for our present predicament. I would insist on the return of my three shillings later.
"Are you coming to the dance tonight?" Ophelia changed the subject.
"I didn't know there was one," I replied.
"Oh yes, there's always a hotel dance on Wednesday nights," she informed me.
"Oh really," I replied, intent on avoiding this jollification.
"How splendid," William took up the theme. "Francis just loves to dance, don't you."
He knew perfectly well that I did not, and I was more than a little put out at his deliberate attempt to embarrass me.
"Oh wonderful," Ophelia exclaimed, "perhaps you would like to dance with me this evening then, Mr Bacon."
I made for the stairway, feeling my face redden at the forwardness of her suggestion. A wholesome woman does not invite a gentleman to dance, and least of all in the confines of a hotel reception lobby.
In our absence, a vain attempt had been made to restore our room to its former inglorious condition. The door which had lain on the floor was now rehinged and the chairs bound with bandages to hold the joints in place. It was a pity, however, that the interconnecting door to the balcony had now been entirely removed for later re-instatement. In its place was a flimsy curtain, offering no defence against a gusty sea breeze.
We abluted and then refreshed ourselves taking luncheon in our room followed by a short nap. For the remainder of the afternoon I read some rather interesting poems about Scotland by William McGonagall, whilst my companion pursued his writing.
Later we were in the process of dressing for dinner when there came a sharp rap at the door. I crossed the room, dressed only in my vest and long pants, to cautiously open the door. Suddenly I was overwhelmed by the forceful entry of Hamlet, pushing his way vigorously on to the premises.
"Steady, steady, you impudent scamp!" I growled. "You'll have the damn door off again." He just scowled at me and roughly enquired, "where is your master?"
"Master indeed!" his impropriety knew no bounds.
"Are you looking for me?" William called out. He had emerged from a small adjoining dressing room and was straightening his bow tie. I could not deny that he looked dapper in evening dress, highlighting my own and opposite undressed appearance. I fumbled to extract my trousers from the wardrobe.
"I am indeed looking for you sire," Hamlet answered, assuming a deferential air. "You are a scribe, are you not sire?"
"A writer too," confirmed Will.
"Then tonight I shall give to you a story of legend," the young man spoke as if in a trance, eyes ablaze, and now somewhat more worryingly, drawing a steely, sparkling razor-edged sword from a sheath hidden by his cloak.
"Steady, steady," I urged nervously as he swung it round his head, nearly severing the overhead electric light cable.
"But first you must listen to my tale and help me with a small favour in my quest," Hamlet demanded, replacing the sword back in its sheath, much to my relief.
Will and I sat on the bed, still preferring not to test the structural strength of our newly bandaged chairs. Hamlet told his tale in a display of histrionics, wandering and strutting around the room and making countless theatrical sweeps and gestures with his hands. I confess his performance left me in a state of utter bewilderment.
"To be or not to be, that is the question," he began. "Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them? To die, to sleep: to sleep: perchance to dream: Ay, there's the rub; for in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil.....
The poor deranged fellow must have babbled on like this for a full five minutes. Once again, I considered my sadly lacking knowledge of Danish may have led me to miss the point, since William seemed to be lapping it up, writing in his pad with fury.
At length, and I mean at length, it transpired Hamlet held the strong conviction that his father, the former hotel manager, had been murdered by his uncle Claudius, who is or was his father's brother and who in turn married his sister-in-law Hamlet's mother, Gertrude, making Claudius his step father as well as his being his uncle. Gertrude had, however, managed to remain as Hamlet's mother throughout.
Danes, it appears, lead extremely complicated lives and I now realised the reason for the malarky with Claudius at the breakfast table.
We were also enlightened as to the nonsense we had suffered the previous night when Hamlet and his cohorts had burst into our room and leapt around recklessly on our balcony. It was his firm belief that his late father had been making spiritual appearances there for some nights, bemoaning his fate and calling upon his son Hamlet to avenge his murder.
If that was Hamlet's only evidence of foul play, I was somewhat concerned it would not stand up in a court of law.
Anyway, the upshot of it is Claudius now owns the hotel and Hamlet wants to avenge his father's death by murdering Claudius and teach his mother a jolly fine lesson for betraying his father by marrying his brother, that is, or was his father's brother his uncle Claudius.
It also transpired that Hamlet was indeed in love with Ophelia, but he was pretending not to be because he wasn't sure if she was in cahoots with Claudius via his good friend Polonius, her father. I gathered that Polonius was a past master at the art of spying and trickery. He'd been feeding information about Hamlet's behaviour to Claudius and Gertrude.
Polonius thought Hamlet's strange behaviour was generated by love for his daughter Ophelia, and had told Claudius so. In fact Hamlet was feigning madness as a way of throwing Claudius off the scent of his real intent to avenge his father's death.
I suggested he was very good at the pretence.
However, Claudius it seemed, still suspected that Hamlet had knowledge of his dark deed and had invited two of Hamlet's former university friends, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to stay at the hotel, employing their 'old boy' chumminess to winkle the truth out of his nephew.
Hamlet had told them:"I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw."
On hearing this, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, quite naturally I presume, would also have been convinced that Hamlet was bereft of his senses, and that's why they were now helping Claudius to have him certified and removed to a nursing home in Guildford.
All the while, Hamlet enthused with passion as he told his tale.
"And now sire," Hamlet rounded on William, "I would ask of you to aid me in my quest to unmask my uncle at the dance tonight."
"Well, I don't think the dance is really quite our cup of tea," I suggested, hoping to steer William away from the awful prospect of spending one moment listening to a popular modern beat combo, seducing young people to act without the least sense of inhibition or decorum.
"Don't be so stuffy, Francis," William admonished. "I'm sure we'll have a wonderful time."
Hamlet stared at me with raging eyes. I feared for a moment that he might lash at me with his sword. Fortunately he assumed his composure and continued.
"During the evening," he directed William, "I want you to request a particular song of the orchestra."
"Oh really, why is that?" William asked, shaking his wrist to ease the circulation in his scribing hand.
"Because it is a tune that was played, I am assured, at the wedding of my father and mother," Hamlet's tone became tinged with poignancy as he considered days when his parents had enjoyed great happiness together.
"And what is the tune?" enquired William.
Hamlet paused, suppressing a sob I thought, before answering:"I Only Have Ears For You."
"Eyes," I interrupted.
"Pardon!" Hamlet turned on me sourly.
"Eyes," I repeated. "I think it would sound better if it was titled, "I Only Have Eyes For You."
Hamlet snarled and reached for his sword. It was only the swift action of William placing a restraining arm on his shoulder that made Hamlet pause and re-sheath his weapon, saving us from mayhem I vouch.
Of course, when Hamlet further explained the manner of his dear father's demise, I felt extremely foolish and embarrased, not to say queasy.
"My God," I sympathised, "it must have rudely awoken your father from his slumber as Claudius poured the poison into his ear."
At this Hamlet appeared to whimper and shake, quite beside himself. Well, understandably it was an emotional memory for him.
William agreed to do Hamlet's bidding. The poor man seemed to be in a state of shock. We led him from the room. You could tell his madness was deepening. Hitherto, he had confused me as being a woman. Now, as we conducted him into the corridor, he thought I had adopted the guise of a male organ of generation.
"Why does Hamlet want you to request that tune?" I asked William as we returned to our room.
"Because he wishes to see the reaction of Claudius," Will informed me.
"Why is it his favourite song too?" I was puzzled.
"Yes," Will replied, though I felt he was being somewhat disingenuous.
I was in a mood of deep reluctance with regard to attending the dance, but William would hear none of it.
"This will be a night to remember, with a story to tell your grandchildren," he enthused.
I reminded him that my son and daughter lived variously overseas in America and the Indian subcontinent and therefore I was rarely in contact with my grandchildren.
"Well you can tell your wife," came Will's agitated riposte.
I reminded him that since I spent such inordinate tracts of time in his company, diarising his work, my wife had some ten years earlier left me for a more exciting life with a Welsh sheep farmer.
"Well send her a letter," he was running out of patience.
By now I had dressed for dinner and we awaited the sound of the evening meal gong.
"Time for a quick fling," Will announced, grabbing my arm and breaking into a Highland dance.
I pulled myself from his grasp, insisting that I had no desire to participate in this ridiculous activity. For a man of his intellect, it never ceased to amaze me that he slavishly embraced this ritual form of pagan jollification as a social pastime. Thank God he wasn't wearing a kilt on this occasion.
After some minutes of annoying me and, no doubt, the residents of the room beneath us, the gong sounded and he desisted from that banal occupation, composing himself for dinner.
I said I could eat a horse. Will remarked that was just as well.
The meal left me wondering why the hotel was accredited with five stars. Indeed the whole ambience of the place was not worthy of one star. However, it was a gentle evening and I had had the foresight to pack ample quantities of indigestion tablets.
It was summertime and in these climes the sun remained bright to a relatively late hour. We decided to stroll in the hotel grounds before plunging into the dance, the musical strains of which now echoed across the rolling lawns planted with large mature firs.
How I yearned for the sight of a stout oak.
As we walked, we chanced upon two gardeners in conversation with that saddened figure Hamlet.
"No sir," I heard one of the gardeners correct him. "His name was Yorrick not Corky!"
"I knew him well, too," replied Hamlet.
The ragged, soily appearance of the artisans contrasted strongly with the neat, dark robe and tightly fitting pants of Hamlet's attire. He caught sight of our approach.
"Good even sire," he addressed William, ignoring me. "I was talking over old times with these good fellows," he gestured the gardeners. They smiled wryly at us.
"We're planting up some flowers," the elder, balding one of them explained.
I remarked that it must be a jolly large flower they were about to plant, given that the dimensions of the hole they had just dug were approaching circa 6ft long by 6ft deep.
At this Hamlet and the nurserymen cackled somewhat evily. After some moments the younger gardener, with a red kerchief tied round his neck, gained his composure. "That's 'cause we're gravediggers too.....and we gets a little confused as to what we're planting sometimes....." the trio burst into another childish spasm of mirth and, to my dismay, I noticed William had joined in with them.
They gained themselves at further length and appeared to be quite exhausted in the process.
Hamlet, whom I had never seen so merry, had fallen to his knees and peered into the depths of the gaping chasm, his brief happiness now eclipsed by the swift axis of his mood.
The lightness of air condensed to thunder as his leaden whispers tumbled into the pit. "Of course, thy belly may be feasting flesh before the milkman drives his cart to fated Elsinore."
William and I took our leave and decided upon a stiff drink at the bar prior to our engagement at the dance.
The entertainment venue of the hotel was quite large, formed from an adjoining building to the main hotel quarters. I remarked upon this and my conjecture that the projection's external cladding was cleverly in keeping with the original gothic architecture of the overall complex.
Will did not proffer any reaction to this observation and I concluded his mind was on other matters, though I could not imagine what he could find more interesting than the rich and varied subject of domestic, commercial and industrial structures.
My dread of this whole dance project was fully justified as we entered the premise. The hall was filled with young people, many seated at tables on the periphery of the dancing area, but some gyrating vulgarly to a tune that had until this moment happily escaped me.
William's eye and countenance, on the other hand, verily gleamed at the proceedings.
The musicians looked as though they had raided the robing room of an Italian mime artist, dressed in harlequin apparel and looking quite ludicrous.
One of them, a short chappie, was fiddling away for all his worth, extracting a tune not unreminiscent of an Irish jig. I prayed that they would not attempt any highland dancing music, for William would be unable to resist making a fool of himself in public. I think he detected my hesitation and grasped my arm to prevent me from leaving.
"Don't be a killjoy, Francis," he encouraged me. "I think I'll have writer's cramp before daybreak," he was positively fired with inspiration, tapping his breast pocket to indicate that his pen was at the ready.
We had barely been in the room for 15 seconds when we were hailed by the maitre d'hotel, Claudius. He was sitting at table with his radiantly beautiful wife and, I presume, some friends.
"Mr Shakespear, Mr Bacon," he beckoned us to his table. We crossed the room, dodging precariously between flailing elbows and legs controlled by the rhythm of the fiddler's tune. We approached our host.
"Why Mr Bacon, how lovely to see you again," the lovely Gertrude greeted me. The ire of our earlier meeting seemed to have completely vanished. I confess that I blushed quite freely and uncontrollably as she bade me to sit with them. I was unable to prevent my heart from beating almost audibly and when I came to reciprocate her welcome, I fear my vocal chords provided something akin to a strangulated groan. How graceless I must have appeared.
However, it seemed she did not notice my deep embarrasment as I settled instead for a gentlemanly nod in her direction.
William, by contrast had no such inhibitions, clasping the good lady's hand and placing what I considered to be a rather overlong kiss upon it.
"Have some poison," Claudius smiled, holding forth a bottle of wine. William took an unused glass from the table and offered it for filling. I, however, remembered what Marcellus had said about Claudius' bowel problem resulting from his choice of wine, and instead plumped for a mineral water.
Gertrude enquired if we were enjoying our visit to Denmark. Whilst I had certain doubts about our divertissment to date, I found myself unable to give voice to them in the presence of this charismatic woman.
"I understand you are an author of some note in your own land, Mr Shakespear," probed Claudius.
"Indeed, I am," William replied, without a hint of modesty.
"And you have come to write about us," Gertrude smiled, raising a glass of wine to her lips.
"A description of your beauty alone would fill the pages of a book," Will responded with stomach churning smarm.
I thought Claudius might be offended at the quite obvious overture of affection to the lady, but he appeared oblivious, eyeing at this moment a scantily attired young woman upon the dance floor with a lasciviousness much unwarranted amongst civilised company.
"By Jove there are some beauties here tonight," he remarked.
"Forgive my husband's, how you put it, 'roving eye' Mr Bacon," Gertrude could see I was disconcerted, "but he is a very full blooded man," she laughed, with a sweetness that danced upon my soul.
"Are you and Mr Shakespear partners, or just good friends?" she enquired. I must admit I was utterly aghast at the inference that Will's relationship with myself was anything other than purely platonic. She gauged my embarrasment.
"Oh you are married to a lady," Gertrude was quick to help me gain my composure. "Is she at home in England?"
I explained that my wife and I had parted and that she was now resided in the principality. After describing where the principality was situated, she enquired further, "have you ever visited Wales?"
I thought that her line of enquiry was broaching on the intrusive, albeit unwittingly on her part.
"You must forgive me, Mr Bacon, but here in Denmark we are not, how you say, 'stuffy' when it comes to matters of the heart, unlike you Englishmen."
"Fie," interjected William. "I'm not stuffy about matters of the heart." Gertrude and William laughed together in a manner that was overfamiliar for the circumstances and, to cap it all, William confirmed that I was rather 'stuffy'.
Our social intercourse was interrupted by the sound of raised voices at a table some ten yards distant.
"But you said you loved me, and now you reject my love," came the earnest cry from a young lady rising to her feet. I recognised the little girl lost tone of Ophelia's voice. Now more urgently she demanded, "why won't you speak to me, Hamlet?"
The young man rose to enjoin the chorus. "Because you are in league with my wretched uncle and his strumpet wife my mother."
"I have no such allegiances," pleaded Ophelia, "I love only you."
"I did love you once," declared the sombre Hamlet.
"Indeed, my lord, you made me believe it so," Ophelia lowered her head in sorrow.
"You should not have believed me, I loved you not," thundered Hamlet, somewhat contradicting what he had just said.
Ophelia raised her head, her gentle features tensed by tears and anger. She snatched at a glass filled with wine on the table and jettisoned the contents into Hamlet's face. He flinched momentarily. Ophelia turned and stormed across the dance floor, the guests parting like waves to accommodate her exit through the large open doorway leading to the north lawn.
The swaying of the long drapes on each side of the opening, occasioned by the evening breeze, highlighted the stillness that had fallen upon the scene.
Claudius coughed nervously and within moments the whispers of gossip and scandal rose tumultuously. Hamlet mopped his brow with a cloth and his companions at table laughed awkwardly as if to make light of this disturbing interlude.
"Damn and confound Hamlet," Claudius muttered under his breath. He was furious.
"My lord, it is but a lover's tiff," Gertrude appealed on her son's behalf.
"Mr Shakespear, I must apologise for my stepson's behaviour," Claudius attempted to redeem the evening.
"Not at all," Will consoled, "I'm having a positively great time," a somewhat tactless comment I thought.
The music started up again and soon an atmosphere of jollity was upon us once more, though Hamlet and his companions had slunk into a cabal at their table, speaking closely and guardedly in conspiratorial manner.
Claudius began swilling wine, rather too liberally in my opinion, laughing and joking with guests who came to attend him with grace and favour at table.
Will arranged himself at a position beside the lovely Gertrude that appeared to border on the intimate, and at one time even touched her upon the shoulder during an exchange of merriment.
I felt sure Claudius might protest, but drink seemed to have taken hold of his senses as he too fraternised tactually with some tastelessly over rouged female admirers, one of whom even having the tenacity to sit upon his knee! I felt witness to Sodom and Gomorrah.
The musicians by now had begun to take requests for favourite medleys from the assembled audience. I remembered Hamlet's call upon William to signal a particular tune, but looking at his absorption with the fair Gertrude, I concluded he had forgotten his promise.
I was wrong.
Several medleys played at the behest of the crowd had passed when Will, breaking his conversation with Hamlet's mother, called out to the musicians," I Only Have Ears For You".
The players of course nodded in the affirmative, but Claudius, who had been part way through a swig of wine, near choked on the draught, redirecting it from his gullet to the table cloth and adjacent surrounds.
When he had recovered from the spasm sufficient to breathe, his face turned with the deepest rage I have ever yet countenanced towards William.
"So you are a plotter in the camp of that feckless stepson of mine too. You can pack your bags and leave at first light on the morrow," he commanded.
Claudius rose to his feet and raised his arm. I thought he was about to strike William, but Hamlet's voice arrested him.
"So your conscience pricks you uncle," he bellowed, and for the second time that evening the room was stilled.
"Foul murderer, take charge of him," Hamlet ordered his fellows and Horatio, Marcellus and Bernardo rushed forward with swords drawn.
Claudius attempted to escape, but was forced back by the blades.
Gertrude pleaded, terrified and fearful for her husband's life. What yobbery was this?
A rope appeared and soon Bernardo had tied Claudius to his chair. Gertrude was becoming hysterical and, outrage of outrages, Hamlet smacked her across the face, which quieted her somewhat.
The crowd looked on, anguished and intrigued.
"Now!" cried Hamlet taking full command of the proceedings," bring on those treacherous dogs who would falsely pass themselves as my friend, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern."
Three young men entered the dance hall from the reception lobby, pushing and shoving the unfortunate pair whose arms were tied behind their backs. They looked as though they had been considerably roughed up, bearing injuries to their faces and their shirts and trousers torn in several places.
"Now we shall have some sport," Hamlet warmed to the occasion, thoroughly enjoying his new found celebrity.
A large wooden board was carried into the room by more of Hamlet's hitherto hidden henchmen, and erected where the musicians now summarily ejected from the podium had performed.
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern quaked with fear as they were further tied in place beside each other, their chests and legs encircled by ropes threaded through holes in the board and securely knotted at the rear.
Until now I admit that I had been entirely mesmerised by the incredible events unfolding before me. This latest escapade, however, took the biscuit. I rose to go to the aid of the trussed unfortunates, but Will took hold of my arm.
"Don't be a fool Francis, these are wild and desperate men," he warned.
"Honour demands it!" I protested, and then became aware of a rather painful prick in my side. One of Hamlet's ruffians was pressing the tip of a dagger into my flesh.
"Sit!" he ordered. It was utterly outrageous, I was already mentally penning a letter of complaint to the tour operators who had recommended this venue for quiet repose. Nothing less than a full refund would suffice.
If I was shocked by the foregoing, I was more infinitely perturbed by the events which followed.
The fellow who had restrained me at the point of the knife stepped forward and joined together in a group with Horatio, Marcellus and Bernardo to confront the wretched pair R and G.
The aggressors raised their daggers in unison and hurled them towards the captives.
I awaited the worst outcome, expecting the imminent demise of the prisoners, but the daggers thudded into the board, narrowly missing head, limb and torso of the cringeing R and G.
"What rotten shots," I involuntarily muttered.
"They missed deliberately," Will rather sharply informed me in a whisper. "It's all part of their torture."
"Oh," I replied.
If I could not condone raw thuggery, I could congratulate their co-ordinated skills as dagger throwers.
Re-supplied with projectiles, the four took aim once again, skimming flesh and bone, but without ever drawing blood. R and G now began to scream as the torment continued, and although some of the maidens present fell into a swoon, I am sorry to say that most of the assemblage watched in awed rapture as if it were some cheap fairground entertainment.
Claudius, however, was not amused. He roundly cursed Hamlet, mouthing murderous threats which I shall not pen on paper. Poor Gertrude. She had made a vain attempt to release her husband, but was now in a state of complete shock, eyes agog and seemingly unable to grasp the truth of the events.
But perhaps most outrageously in all this time, William had drawn out his notepad and was actually etching the ensuing scene pictorially, no doubt for an illustration he was obviously planning to publish with the story at a later date. His callousness was boundless.
At length, the knife throwing stopped and I thought that I detected some cries of disappointment from the audience.
Hamlet, who had been helping to supply the projectiles, came to our table. Gertrude appeared to regain some of her senses.
"Have you forgotten who I am?" she demanded of her son.
"No, not so. You are the hotel manager's queen, your husband's brother's wife: and, would it were not so, you are my mother," Hamlet growled.
I must admit the man's pedantic obsession with genealogy was beginning to rancour with me. This was not the time to discuss matters of the family tree.
"Will you murder me? Help?" Gertrude cried. Hamlet raised his sword. I was fearful.
"Release them," the bitter prince commanded and with much swishing of steel the ropes fell away from the prisoners.
Hardly able to realise their good fortune, they fell upon their knees crying, "forgive us good lord, forgive us".
"Stop snivelling," Hamlet snarled. "Leave before I lose favour with my generosity".
At this R&G leapt to their feet and fled through the doorway to the north lawn. Hamlet drew a dagger and hurled it in their direction, but it was aimed at the drape hanging to the left of the exit.
There was a sharp cry of pain and next moment a pool of blood stained the fabric followed by a man's body rolling out from the curtain and slumping lifelessly across the open doorway.
"What have you done?" Gertrude gasped disbelieving.
"I have slain your snooping servant Polonius," Hamlet declared with satisfaction.
"Oh what a rash and bloody deed is this," his mother sobbed.
"A bloody deed," retorted Hamlet. "Almost as bad, good mother, as kill a king and marry with his brother!"
Claudius growled. I thought that his fury would snap the bonding of his rope restraint.
Next moment events were overtaken by a new protagonist. It was heralded by a blood curdling howl of pain and sorrow from a man nestling over the body of Polonius. Slowly he rose, his broad shoulders filling much of the opening to the north lawn. He wore armour upon his chest and looked as though he had just returned from the field of a medieval war or jousting ceremony. It was at this point I realised it was Laertes.
"Hamlet," he called darkly. "I return from my tournament sport to find that you have spurned the love of my sister Ophelia, driving her to the distractions of a simpleton, and that you have slain my father Polonius here lying at my feet, all upon the same eve. For this you must die!"
I felt like taking issue over the matter of Ophelia's sanity, as she had displayed abnormal mental tendencies since the arrival of Will and myself at Elsinore. However, I concurred that the Laertes was in much distress and probably would not have brooked correction at this particular moment.
Hamlet, who had sheathed his sword, now withdrew it in the direction of his aggressor.
"Laertes," he responded," you arrive at an unfortunate time."
Either Hamlet was a master of understatement or possessed a particularly unpleasant sense of humour, but Laertes overlooked the comment.
Instead, he too unsheathed his own sword, a broad and murderous looking implement, and began towards the impudent stepson. Of course, his cronies Horatio, Bernardo, et al, all moved to back their colleague, daggers drawn.
Bloody mayhem would surely have ensued, but for the intervention of Gertrude and Claudius pleading that they stay their weapons.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen, we can settle our scores without all this blood letting," cried Claudius, struggling to unleash himself from his restraints.
"Laertes would only fall to your bidding," Hamlet replied with contempt. "He is in league with you as was his serpent father Polonius. I have done well to cut him down and now I shall put an end to his son," Hamlet made to go forward.
"No, no, we can resolve this in a contest of skill," interjected Claudius. "But first you must release me."
Hamlet paused. He looked to his cohorts for counsel. None came. "What manner of contest would you propose?" he requested of Claudius.
There was a moment of silence before he answered. "I suggest a darts match."
"A darts.........." Hamlet's astonishment temporarily deprived him of speech.
"A capital idea," bellowed Laertes quickly on the uptake and one couldn't help thinking that his rapid enthusiasm for such a preposterous undertaking was pregnant with, as yet, some unspecified form of subterfuge.
"Alright, I accept the challenge," Hamlet positively enthused, "but on the grounds that whoever loses the contest must forever remain banished from the Hotel Elsinore." He paused. "And....that if I win.....Claudius must pass ownership of the hotel to me."
Claudius visibly gulped, Eleanor gasped and the surrounding crowd stared in stunned silence.
There was an expression of anguish and much calculated thought before Claudius eventually smiled, somewhat evily I considered.
"Done Hamlet, you have a deal, but the banishment will be yours. Now untie me so that I may consult with my conquering hero Laertes."
I whispered to William that perhaps the police should be called, but he drew my attention to a rather burly and heavily armed man standing at the door to the reception lobby. And a cursory glance at Polonius' body somewhat dashed my plans to summon help via the north lawn exit, since I was rather keen to avoid a dagger puncture in the small of my back.
I have witnessed some bizarre events in my time, but none so bizarre as this. A man lay murdered on the floor and they had decided to play a game of darts!
William seemed entirely oblivious to the insanity of the situation, continuing to write his notes furiously.
I looked at the beautiful Gertrude and at the tears trickling down her cheeks. I put my hand on her knee to comfort her and was rewarded by a rather severe slap across the face.
Next moment the proceedings were interrupted by a grossly unkempt person whom I quickly realised to be one of the gardeners we had conversed with earlier.
"Sire, sire," he stumbled towards Claudius, the crowd parting to make way for him more in desire to avoid the foul stench that emanated from his person than any wish to give him accommodation in the room.
"Sire," he fell to his knees at the feet of Claudius.
"Sire....."
"Yes, yes get on with it you oaf," urged Claudius.
"Sire, we have just pulled the fair Ophelia's body from the lake. I fear she has committed suicide for unrequited love."
Claudius turned accusingly towards Hamlet. Laertes howled in a rather strange animal fashion and swiftly unsheathed his sword pointing it venomously at Hamlet.
"Now you have driven my sister to take her own life, the devil take your soul," he rushed at Hamlet who in turn raised his own weapon in defence.
"No!" bellowed Claudius. "We shall settle the score at darts."
Laertes eyes narrowed, and then as if estimating a greater notion of revenge against Hamlet in some trickery as yet undefined, replaced his sword.
"I loved Ophelia," Hamlet protested. "Forty thousand brothers could not with all their quantity of love make up my sum. Will you weep? Will you fight? Will you eat crocodile?"
I felt a certain unease as I reflected upon the texture of the meat I had eaten earlier at dinner.
Enough of this," Claudius rose to his feet, knocking over the gardener who had been fawning before him. "Come Laertes, we must discuss our strategy for the game," Claudius placed his arm warmly across Laertes strong shoulders and led him from the room.
Gertrude rose from her seat and followed in the direction of her husband.
Hamlet and his cronies gathered together at a table nearby in a concerned and secretive huddle.
Although it was rather ungentlemanly, I must confess that I listened to their conversation.
"If your mind dislikes anything, obey it," Horatio advised Hamlet, who appeared uneasy in his manner. "I will say you are not well."
Hamlet thought for a moment and then seemed resolved of his course. "Not a whit!" he said. "There's a special fate in the the fall of a sparrow. If it is not now, it is to come. If it is not to come, it will be now. If it is not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all."
His followers nodded agreement at this, and it seemed to confirm my suspicion that these fellows had obviously met as in-patients at some mental institution and had continued their friendship upon release. Either that, or my grasp of Danish was worse than I had at first feared.
"Well Francis," didn't I tell you this would be a cracker of a holiday," William rubbed his hands gleefully having rested from his writings.
"Holiday! Holiday!" I protested. "A man lies murdered, a young woman has taken her life and you call this a holiday! I shall need one to recover from it."
"Oh come on," said Will. "It's better than going to your stuffy museums and admiring fine pottery displays."
I reminded him that such activities were educational and far safer than the current situation in which we found ourselves.
My bladder was beginning to cause me some discomfort at this stage and I informed William that I was off to seek a convenience within the building.
"Have one for me," he chuckled somewhat childishly.
Upon my return the chairs and tables in the hall had been repositioned to give the best vantage point for the darts contest which was to ensue, and by now the place was packed to the rafters with people drinking freely, laughing, even placing bets. I found it hard to palate that the public could be so cynical, so bloodthirsty.
"Come on Frankie, old chap," I heard William's voice from the crowd. I did hate it when he referred to me as Frankie, after all it was incorrect and not the name attributed to me by my parents on the solemn occasion of my baptism. Nor was it written on my birth certificate.
William had obtained a table giving ringside seating for the spectacle. A short distance in front of us the large hoarding to which those unfortunates Rosencrantz and Guildenstern had earlier been shackled, now supported a darts board and beside it a scoring slate. Upon a small table nearby were chalks and a duster.
The chatter in the room died away as the contestants made their way down the aisle towards the arena. Each camp was followed by their respective supporters. Claudius was beside Laertes, whispering words of strategy no doubt in his ear as they approached.
Hamlet scowled, leading Horatio, Marcellus and Bernardo with a collection of sly fellows in tow. Each party had their own tables on opposite sides of the contest area.
I noted Gertrude's absence and then caught a glimpse of her hurrying along at the back of the room and making her way towards our table. She managed a troubled smile for William as she took her seat beside him at table, somewhat pointedly, I thought, moving her chair further from me. I was of the opinion that she must have misconstrued my intentions when I had attempted to comfort her by placing my hand on her knee at the earlier proceedings.
It annoyed me to see William virtually snuggling up to her without any reproach on her part, and I wondered what attractions he might possess for the opposite sex that were not privy to me. I was, after all, a fully qualified engineer.
Claudius turned to the crowd.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight we are here to witness a thrilling championship darts match between two worthy opponents." A loud chorus of mixed cheers and boos ensued.
"To my left is my reluctant stepson Hamlet of Elsinore," Claudius introduced him with something of a sneer in his tone, " and to my right....." Claudius smiled wickedly, ".....a warrior and scholar of great distinction, Laertes, fine son of my beloved great and late friend, Polonius." At this a cheer went up from the crowd, interspersed with tasteless whistles and catcalls.
Claudius continued:"The contest will comprise a maximum three rounds of 501, and may the best man win!" Once again the crowd raged.
Each contestant simulated warming up throws for the tournament and then a hush of anticipation made statues of us all. Even I had to admit to a tingling of excitement not felt since chancing upon Benjamin Scrivener's collected works of 'Flora and Fauna of Dorset in the 18th Century'.
The match was about to begin when Hamlet made a surprising approach to Laertes.
"Give me your pardon, sir; I have done you wrong," he began.
I thought this to be uncharacteristically gentlemanly of Hamlet, an apology indeed from Claudius's stepson or nephew or whatever, for the misfortunes he had visited upon Laertes and his family. Perhaps I had misjudged him.
The big chap seemed to accept these overtures towards reconciliation, but insisted the contest continued. He had been testing the weight of his darts in his hand and declared, "this is too heavy".
One of the seconds came forward with another set of darts which Laertes toyed with for a moment, peering along the flights and weighing them in his hand again. This time he seemed satisfied and nodded he was ready for the challenge to begin.
Hamlet stepped toward the line and carefully taking aim launched the contest.
The arrow flew through the air and with a deep thud implanted itself in the upper sector of the 20 segment. There were low gasps and both Claudius and Laertes looked a little tense at this auspicious start.
Hamlet took aim again, the dart travelled well and true positioning itself within half an inch of its predecessor in the topmost boundary.
Stepping slightly to the left and gearing his eye on the board yet again released the third missile. It rose and descended unhesitatingly into the main flank of the 20, landing just outside the triple score zone enclosure.
A voice behind me suddenly boomed: "One hundred!" The raucous tone of the announcement took me by complete surprise and I nearly fell off my chair. I considered this loud, attention seeking showmanship unfortunate in the extreme and should be nipped in the bud before becoming inexorably embedded in popular public subculture.
Laertes stepped forward to the line, frowning but assuming an attitude of strength and command. One felt that he was going to pull something of a rabbit out of the hat. My postulation in this respect soon winged it way to fruition as instead of raising just one dart, Laertes held all three in the launch position.
At first there was laughter. Indeed we all felt that although this man stood head and shoulders above others perhaps in mortal combat, his grasp of dart playing and, in particular dart thowing, left a considerable amount to be desired.
But no, it was us, the assembled audience upon whom the last laugh was to be meted.
With his gaze transfixed on the intended target, Laertes left fly. All three projectiles set forth in formation and then as if by some potent invisible force, parted evenly to the horizontal to descend perfectly aligned within the confines of the triple 20 enclosure. What deftness of skill! What magic! What a master of dexterity!
"One hundred and eighty!" came the grating cry of the scorer, rising above the gasps of wonderment among the crowd.
Laertes maintained his austere composure. Hamlet and followers looked troubled, whilst Claudius danced triumphantly in a circle, goading the opposition camp and chanting "we are the champions, we are the champions", somewhat precipitately, but pressaging no doubt the likely outcome of the challenge, judging by Laertes enormous ejaculatory talent.
Unhurried, however, Hamlet rose to the occasion in superb fashion. Stepping up to the contest, he was accompanied by Horatio who instead of furnishing Hamlet with a dart, handed him a dagger.
There was a gasp of surprise from the audience and I think we all felt a chill of fear, surmising for a moment that Elsinore's prince might be deciding to launch the weapon at a human target in rather unsporting style.
But we were not the objective of his intentions as he raised his right arm and deftly initiated the blade's motion, irresistably forcing its way to the wood circle. The dagger alighted in the triple 20, seeking deep accommodation from the thrust of the throw and severing the wire encasment in the process.
Again the crowd roared in amazement and awe.
"The bastard's smashed the dartboard," yelled the scorer, a look of total confusion in his face.
The main protagonists of the tournament turned, snarling and furious, to face each other.
"Wait, wait," cried Claudius. He had been seated and stood up. In so doing I noticed his left arm stretching behind him as if to aid his balance. The hand was clenched and I noted that gingerly it opened, poised ever so briefly above a goblet of wine, and in that same moment I'll swear I perceived some form of tablet drop into the drinking vessel.
"Give him the cup," Claudius smiled, turning to lift the same goblet with his right hand and proffering it to Hamlet.
"I'll play this bout first," Hamlet retorted coldly and made to raise another dagger at the dart board.
"You can't play with daggers, it's against the rules...." the words of the scorer faded as Hamlet rounded on him as the newly intended target.
"Here Hamlet, take my napkin and rub your brow," called out Gertrude, defusing Hamlet's ire and more than probably saving the life of the man on chalks.
Then she snatched the goblet from Claudius's hand and declared, "here's to your good fortune, Hamlet," she lifted the chalice.
"Do not drink," Claudius implored of her, sweat visibly bursting from his brow.
"I will my lord," Gertrude raised the vessel to her lips and drank the liquid furiously.
Claudius raised his arms to his face, an expression of sheer horror, "it is too late", he cried with pitiful anguish.
I turned toward William. "I think Claudius has poisoned that drink," I declared.
"I think that it is his wife he has poisoned, old chap," Will replied, forever the pedant. "But the potion was intended for Hamlet."
"Good God!" I was dumbfounded and deeply glad that I had stuck to mineral water.
Events now began to take a very rapid turn indeed.
Claudius collapsed into his chair. Gertrude had begun to lower the goblet when she was gripped by an intense pain in her stomach. The vessel fell from her grasp and she clutched at her abdomen, gasping for air.
Hamlet alerted to the convulsion quickly gathered what treachery had passed and made to unleash his sword.
In that moment Laertes launched a dart in the direction of his opponent, piercing Hamlet in the forearm and arresting his movement. The prince's face smarted with pain for a second. Then unflinchingly he pulled the intrusive point from his limb, stared at the bloodied end and realised that he too had been the target of a poisoned barb.
Defiantly he rubbed the point in the toxic stream of his blood and before Laertes could evade the counter plan, threw the winged harbinger of death back at his enemy, piercing the left side of Laertes neck.
Most mortals would have winced at the pain from such an injury, but this man mountain maintained his dignity without recoil or fear.
Coolly he raised his left arm and grasped the offending arrow, plucking it from the wound, no hint of feeling registering on the contours of his rugged face.
For a moment he stared at the offending object with disdain, as if considering for it an unenviable fate. But his mind had weightier matters to consider as he threw the flighted carrier of his imminent demise to the floor. Blood, dark and deadly trickled from his neck.
Gertrude began to sway and stagger in Hamlet's direction.
"How is the queen?" he called to her.
"If he doesn't know by now...." Will whispered to me in extremly poor taste, continuing to write details of the unfolding events with a fury that would have dislocated the hand of a lesser scribe.
Hamlet, not for the first time, raised his sword at Laertes, but then seemed to lose his balance. Obviously the evening's drinking and the toxins infused by the poisoned dart were beginning to get the better of him.
"Oh my dear Hamlet, I am poisoned," Gertrude gasped, and the dear lady, a magnificent specimen of womanhood, fell dead to the floor.
"Villainy!" Hamlet cried out. "Let the door be locked! Treachery, seek it out!"
"It is here, Hamlet; you are killed," Laertes grimly pronounced with more than a hint of pleasure in the tone.
Hamlet knew that his end was nigh, yet smiled drawing satisfaction from the fact that Laertes too was doomed. Then his face grew grim as his ire built and focussed upon Claudius, who was now attempting to escape pushing his way through the encircling crowd.
In rage, Hamlet summoned his waning strength and commanded his men to apprehend his fleeing uncle. Horatio barred his exit and Hamlet caught up. He thrusted his sword at Claudius who, turning to face his opponent defensively took the full force of the weapon in his stomach. He staggered a pace backward and collapsed.
Marcellus then came forward with a chalice which he handed to Hamlet. The prince's strength ebbed but he knelt, mustering enough power to take hold of his uncle's head, forcing him to drink from the chalice.
I thought perhaps at this last moment Hamlet was taking pity on his uncle and attempting to revive him with drink. William, however, informed me that he was more than certain the potion contained a potent poison. Within moments Claudius gave out a most agonising cry and slumped dead.
I concluded Will was probably correct in his assumption regarding the toxicity of the beverage.
All around everyone was gasping at the unfolding events.
Laertes lurched forward and uncertainly took several paces back, halted by a table behind him. He lost his balance and fell backward on to the table, smashing it into two separate sections as goblets, plates and food tumbled inwards upon his hulking, lifeless frame.
At that moment a young rake burst in upon the scene dressed in the attire of a banana republic military dictator, all showy with outlandish medals and ribbons. He was followed by a troupe of similarly attired skirmishers brandishing pistols.
"What warlike noise is this?" Hamlet, now lying on his back, struggled to breathe out the words, his head nurtured by Horatio.
"It is Fortinbras, returned from a gig in Poland," Horatio informed him.
At this Hamlet sighed with relief.
"Wow, this must have been some party," Fortinbras was amazed. "What's everyone been taking?"
"I die Horatio," Hamlet called out, "but I do prophesy that the Hotel Elsinore will fall to Fortinbras."
"Oh wow, a hotel all of my own," Fortinbras couldn't contain his excitement.
"Not if I can help it," I'm sure I heard Horatio murmur under his breathe and patting the handle of his sheathed dagger with his free hand.
Then he turned again to Hamlet, nursing his souless body.
"Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince and flights of angels sing you to your rest," Horatio whispered passionately.
"I never guessed you two were such chums," Fortinbras winked at Horatio, kneeling down beside him.
"Why don't you go back to Poland," Horatio snarled. I thought a new scene of carnage was yet to begin, but suddenly someone cried out: "It's the old bill!"
"I've never seen a room empty so quickly. Tables overturned, pools of wine and trampled food on the floor. We could see the local constabulary chasing people out into the darkness of the north lawn.
Soon William, myself and the assembled corpses, were the only occupants left in the room. It was some minutes before we were approached by an officer of the law.
We were obliged, of course, to remain for a few more days whilst the due processes of the Danish legal system took their course. Fortunately we booked into a better class hotel for the duration.
Officers questioned us at length about the affair and were somewhat put out, I feel, by the fact that the main protagonists had bumped themselves off leaving no-one to actually stand trial for murder.
Horatio and his blackguards were detained, but at length it could not be proved they had been the actual instruments of slaughter. I believe they were merely charged with causing and affray.
I learnt later that Fortinbras was a successful Danish music performer and his military attire and pistol were part of his stage act. He was immensely wealthy and at one time had attempted to purchase Denmark. He and his group, as I believe they are described in a popular culture sense, had often performed at Hotel Elsinore variety nights and Fortinbras had expressed a desire on more than one occasion to purchase the property.
Claudius had promised him first refusal if ever he decided to sell the hotel, and I understand that is to what Hamlet was referring on his death bed, since the property no longer had any owner.
I suppose it could be said that if any good came out of this saga, it was that Hamlet no longer had to suffer the vagaries of a confusing lineage.
Had he lived, I vouch he would have been a most unworthy successor to the management of the hotel.
What a tragedy that such a supreme manifestation of femininity in the form of Gertrude should be taken from the world in the blossoming summer of her womanhood. Had circumstances been different, I feel a deep and meaningful relationship could have developed between us. That she would have realised my physical encounter with her knee on that fateful night, was indeed a display of my concern for her well being, and not a bungled attempt at molestation.
As for Will and I, it was the end of an unforgettable..........I was about to write holiday. But in truth it was a nightmare. Except, of course, for William, who stated it was one of the most stimulating breaks from the hum drum that he had ever experienced.
Back in Blighty, and on the train home, he once paused from his incessant writing to ask me what he might title the tale he was now penning of our sojourn at the Hotel Elsinore.
I was reluctant to be drawn into such an unsavoury project, but at length suggested: "Unfortunate Events at the Hotel Elsinore."
Will pondered for a moment, gazing in the air. Then he replied: "I was thinking something more on the lines of 'Hamlet - Prince of Denmark."
"A title like that would never catch on," I told him frankly.
Best wishes,
Benjamin Wessex