LITMIR.BIZ

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here, day in, day out.

      ORDULF Emperor at home to Pope—

      HAROLD Pope away to Anti-Pope—

      LANDOLF King away to Anti-King—

      ORDULF Like war with Saxony—

      HAROLD Plus with revolting barons—

      LANDOLF His own kids . . .

      BERTOLD Now I know why I’ve been feeling wrong in these clothes; these are not your French 1580s.

      HAROLD Forget the 1580s.

      ORDULF Think the ten hundreds.

      LANDOLF Work it out; if Canossa was January 1077 . . .

      BERTOLD I’m fucked.

      ORDULF Royally.

      BERTOLD I’ve been reading up the wrong . . .

      LANDOLF Sad. We’re four hundred years behind you. Ahead of you. You’re not even a twinkle in our eye.

      BERTOLD (angered) You got any idea how much stuff I read in the last two weeks about Henry IV of France?

      HAROLD Didn’t you know Tony was our Adalbert, Bishop of Bremen?

      BERTOLD What Adalbert?—no one told me anything!

      LANDOLF Well, when Tony died, at first the young Count . . .

      BERTOLD The Count Di Nolli? He’s the one who gave me the job. Why didn’t he . . . ?

      ORDULF He must have thought you knew.

      LANDOLF . . . first he thought the three of us would do. Then Himself started moaning—“They’ve driven out Adalbert!”—he didn’t realise “Adalbert” had died on us, he thought the bishops of Cologne and Mainz had booted him out, Tony I mean—all clear so far?

      BERTOLD Wait. Bishop Tony of what?

      ORDULF You’re fucked.

      HAROLD Forget the bishops. The bishops are not the problem, the problem is we don’t know who you are.

      BERTOLD So what am I playing?

      ORDULF Um, Bertold.

      BERTOLD Bertold who? Why Bertold?

      LANDOLF Himself kept yelling, “They’ve driven out Adalbert, so get me Bertold! I want Bertold!”

      HAROLD We eyeballed each other—who dat?

      LANDOLF Never heard of him.

      ORDULF And here you are.

      LANDOLF You’ll be great.

      BERTOLD No, I won’t, which way’s out?

      HAROLD No, no, relax.

      LANDOLF This’ll cheer you up—we don’t know who we are either. He’s Harold, he’s Ordulf, I’m Landolf, that’s what he calls us so that’s who we are, you get used to it, but it’s a puppet show. Who are we really? . . . Just names of the period. Same with you, I suppose, Bertold. Tony was the only one with a proper character, the Bishop of Bremen. He was a good bishop, too, God rest him.

      HAROLD Always reading himself up.

      LANDOLF And he bossed Himself about, not himself, Himself, His Majesty; he was like his teacher. With us, we’re his Privy Counsellors but we’re only here to take up space. It’s in the books—the barons had it in for Henry for surrounding himself with young bloods not quite premier league, so that’s us. Royal hangers-on, do anything for him, like a drink, a few laughs . . .

      BERTOLD Laughs?

      HAROLD Just do what we do.

      ORDULF It’s not as easy as it looks.

      LANDOLF Bit of a waste really. We’ve got the scenery, we’ve got the costumes, we could put on proper shows, history’s always popular, and there’s enough stuff in Henry IV for several tragedies. But us four—we’re stranded, nobody gives us our moves, nothing to act, it’s that old form-without-content. We’re worse off than the real ones. They were given sod-all to play, true, but they didn’t know that, so they just did what they did because that’s what they did. Life. Which means, look after number one. They sold titles and stuff. And here we are, great outfits, handsome surroundings, shame about the puppets.

      HAROLD No, fair do’s, you have to be ready to come out with the right answer or you’re in trouble.

      LANDOLF Yeah, that’s true.

      BERTOLD Well, that’s it, innit? How’m I supposed to give him the right answer when I’ve been learning the wrong Henry?

      HAROLD You’ll have to put that right right off.

      ORDULF We’ll all pitch in.

      HAROLD There’s lots of stuff on him, a quick skim will do you for now.

      (indicating portrait) Here’s one . . . who’s the skirt, do you know?

      BERTOLD Her? Well, spot the deliberate mistake . . . she doesn’t belong, for a start, a modern picture like that . . .

      HAROLD You’re not wrong, you’re right.

      LANDOLF But here’s the thing—it’s only a mistake if you think of them as portraits.

      BERTOLD Which is what they are.

      LANDOLF They are and they aren’t. To Himself, seeing as he never touches them—

      BERTOLD So what are they to him?

      LANDOLF This is just my theory but I bet I’m right—to him they’re more like representations of—what you’d see in a mirror. That one is him just as he is, same clothes, in this throne room, which is right in every detail, no surprises. If it was a mirror, you’d see yourself in the eleventh century. So that’s what he sees. Himself. So it’s like mirrors reflecting back a world which comes to life in them, like it will for you, you’ll see, don’t worry.

      BERTOLD Don’t worry?

      HAROLD It’s a laugh.

      BERTOLD So how did you get to be so into it . . . ?

      LANDOLF Over nine hundred years of experience.

      ORDULF Take your cue from us.

      BERTOLD What about her—the Emperor’s wife?

      HAROLD Not at all. His wife is Bertha of Susa, sister of Amadeus II of Savoy.

      ORDULF He can’t stand her. He wants to dump her. He likes being one of the lads, like us.

      LANDOLF (indicating portrait) That’s his sworn enemy—Matilda, the Countess of Tuscany.

      HAROLD The one who put the Pope up.

      LANDOLF At Canossa.

      ORDULF Pope Gregory VII. We hate him. (a bell tolls) You’re on. Go out there an unknown, come back a star. Let’s go.

      They brace themselves to go “onstage,”

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