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Master William Shakespeare were numbered among her friends.  How many other young women could make such a claim?  It was just that she felt that something was missing from her life, that which was said to make one's heart feel light and gay.
    Until tonight she had been confused as to what her heart yearned for, but now she knew.  She wanted a man to love her so very much that he would risk the queen's anger for her .
    Closing her eyes , she thought of the dark-haired nobleman again.  How could she help it?  What woman could ever forget his face?  She could remember the line of his eyebrows, the finely wrought shape of his nose, the crisp thickness of his hair where it waved against his temples.  He had been so close to her, so heart-stoppingly near.  Would she ever meet such a man again?
    Turning over on her stomach , Alandra remembered what she learned from watching the pantomime of the masque tonight; that the handsome raven-haired nobleman and the golden-tressed woman were lovers.   That knowledge unleashed a strange new emotion within her breast. Strange that only seeing the two together could spark such jealousy.
    Well, I will not let myself think of it any longer , she thought irritably.  Someday a man would love her just as fiercely as her elusive lord what’s-his-name desired his pink rose.  He would love Alandra just as passionately, so much so that he would put his devotion in a sonnet.  It was such a delicious thought that she laughed, bringing lines of poetry to her mind.
    Alandra's artful musing was harshly interrupted by muffled shouts, curses and the sound of tr ampling feet outside her door. The jumble of sounds drifted disturbingly to her ears. Bolting from the bed, she pressed her ear against the door in an effort to determine what was going on, but she could only hear snatches of conversation.
    "Killed 'im deader than a doornile 'e did.  Roight in the back.  I saw the 'ole thing, I did.  But I ain't ne'er about to tell.  Someone's 'ead is gonna role and I don't want it to be mine."
    "The 'ole plice is swarmin' with guardsmen and such.  Poor bloke, 'e will be caught afore the cock crows in the mornin'."
    "So who cares?  Do you think the likes of  him would care about what happened to one of us?  No, I say."
    "But he didn't stab him!"  A woman's voice shrieked high amid the baritone voices of her companions.  "I saw for myself what happened."
    "But only a fool would tell, Bessie!”
    “But…..”
    “ You don't know the way of these noblemen, Bessie.  Speak up and your own neck will be encircled by a noose."
    "But....but I saw....I heard....."
    The voices all spoke up at once, in agitated quarreling so that Alandra could understand no more.  She could discern, however, that someone of importance had been killed right within the walls of the inn's taproom.  How ghastly!  How frightening, and yet murder was common  in this area of town.  Feuds and vendettas were familiar, violent occurrences.  There were bodies aplenty floating in the Thames. 
    Nevertheless, bothered by what she had heard, Alandra said a hasty prayer for the dead man's soul.  She supposed it had been a matter of thievery.  Some poor devil down on his luck, with the look of a pauper about him, had quarreled with a wealthy nobleman over a shilling or two.  A fight had broken out, and in the scuffle the affluent lord had been slain.  Alas, for the poor man accused of the crime! Alandra could not help pitying him, for his fate would most likely be an unpleasant one.  Closing her eyes she whispered a prayer for that man as well.
    Returning to the narrow, lumpy bed Alandra tried once more to get to sleep , but there were too many distractions mingling with her dreams.  The wind which had been fierce earlier but had died down, now gusted again, adding to the tumult.  A large tree outside the room set its many branches in rhythm with the gale, tapping against the outer wall.  The noise grew louder and louder, so