“Damn you!” said Camden, pale with fury. “I demand that you apologize at once!”
“Oh, forgive me, milord; I do humbly beg your pardon. I did not mean to interrupt,” said Speed.
“Not you, you simpleton, I meant this gentleman!” said Camden, indicating Braithwaite. “I shall not stand here and suffer to be ridiculed!”
“And yet you do it so very well,” said Braithwaite.
“Perhaps if we all took a moment-” Shakespeare began, but Speed began tugging on his sleeve again.
“We have set up the stage and have been trying to rehearse all day, but ‘tis a near impossibility without our book holder and the author of our play!” said Speed. “Kemp has lost all patience and has refused to proceed without you, for he does not like his scenes and demands changes, and Burbage has ordered everyone to spread out through the estate and find you-”
“Will you shut up!” said Camden.
“-and now there is all this talk of murder once again and no one even knows if we are to perform tomorrow-” “I said, shut up, you cursed fool!”
“Oh! Forgive me, milord,” said Speed, “I do humbly beg your pardon, but I thought that you were speaking to the other gentleman again.”
“Idiot!” said Camden, and lashed Speed viciously across the face with his leather glove.
“I say, that was uncalled for,” Braithwaite said. “See how you like a taste of your own broth.” He removed his glove and struck Camden in the face with it.
“Oh, God save us,” said Shakespeare, backing away hurriedly and pulling Speed along with him.
Camden ’s rapier sang free of its scabbard. “You shall die for that, you villainous churl!”
“Lay on, barrister,” said Braithwaite, drawing steel, “and damned be he that first cries, ‘Hold, enough!’ “ “A fight!” cried Speed.
“Gentlemen, please, put up your swords!” cried Shakespeare, but they were already engaged and a crowd quickly began to gather as the combatants dueled.
“Upon my word, what’s this?” asked Burbage, joining the assemblage as Braithwaite and Camden exchanged thrusts and parries.
“More than I had bargained for, I fear,” said Shakespeare.
“What had you to do with this?” asked Burbage.
“Everything and nothing,” Shakespeare said. “I stirred up this brew, I fear, but now have naught to do with the result.”
“I do believe they mean to kill each other,” Burbage said.
“Aye, look at ‘em go!” cried Speed, delighted with the spectacle, as indeed, were most of the observers, who cried out encouragement to one or the other of the combatants as they moved back and forth, their blades clanging against one another. The crowd surged back from them to give them room as they maneuvered. Camden lunged and Braithwaite parried, leaping backwards and knocking into the display board where the pies had been set out. Everything went crashing to the ground and the old man cried out and put his hands up to his head in consternation as his entire stall seemed in danger of collapsing, but Braithwaite recovered quickly and moved to the attack, and then Camden suddenly found himself on the defensive as he backed away, parrying furiously.
Shakespeare recalled that Smythe had said something about Camden wearing a duelist’s rapier, and indeed, the barrister seemed skilled, but Braithwaite was no slouch with a blade, himself. The two seemed evenly matched. As they moved back and forth, the crowd moved with them, growing by the minute as everyone present on the fairgrounds responded to the noise and came to see what was occuring. Camden lunged again, but Braithwaite parried his thrust and riposted quickly, catching the barrister off balance. Camden staggered back awkwardly as Braithwaite lunged. Camden seemed to parry the stroke, but fell back into the crowd as he did so. There was a collective cry as they caught him and shoved him back up again, but then with a gasp, Camden fell to his knees.
“A touch! A touch!” several voices in the crowd cried out.
Braithwaite shook his head, perplexed. “Nay, I never pricked him!”
“But look, he bleeds!” cried Speed.
On his knees, Camden dropped his blade and brought a hand up to his side. It came away bloody. He gasped with pain, staring at Braithwaite with wide-eyed incomprehension.
“But…’twas not me!” Braithwaite said. He examined the tip of his sword, then held it out towards Shakespeare. “See for yourself My blade is yet unblooded!”
“He speaks the truth,” said Shakespeare.
Camden pitched forward onto his face and lay motionless.
“Seize that man!” The cry came from an anguished Sir Richard, who had arrived upon the scene just in time to see his son fall dead onto the ground. “Seize him! There is your murderer! And he has killed my son!”