By John Gross

16 November, 1996

The Herbal Bed

THE YEAR is 1613. John Hall, a physician in a country town, takes on a boisterous young man called Jack Lane as a pupil, but then dismisses him for misconduct. Lane revenges himself by spreading some nasty rumours. He claims that the doctor's wife, Susanna, is suffering from gonorrhoea, and that she has committed adultery with a neighbour, Rafe Smith.

Hall feels that if they want to clear Susanna's name they have no choice but to sue Lane for slander, an action that will involve appearing before an ecclesiastical court. Susanna and Rafe Smith have no choice but to agree.

There is a snag, however. The allegation about gonorrhoea isn't true (though there were curious circumstances that planted the suspicion in Jack Lane's mind). The allegation about adultery isn't technically true, either - but only just. Susanna and Rafe are secretly in love (and her husband, without saying anything, guesses as much). They have come very close indeed to having the "carnal knowledge" of which they are accused.

Such is the central situation in Peter Whelan's The Herbal Bed, in the Pit Theatre at the Barbican. Whelan has written a rather old-fashioned play, in the sense that he sees it as his first task to tell a story. And it is a good story. It keeps you guessing: in the courtroom scene, with a zealous vicar-general pursuing his enquiries beyond the call of duty, it brings you right to the edge of your seat.

The events we see have an added dimension, too, since Whelan has based his story on an actual case. He elaborates on the few known facts; much of what he writes is necessarily invention or speculation. But there was a real John Hall, who lived in Stratford-upon-Avon. There was a real Jack Lane, who spread the same rumours that he does in the play. There was a real Susanna Hall, who sued him for defamation; and she was the daughter of William Shakespeare.

The Herbal Bed both is and isn't a play about Shakespeare. He never appears: the final scene, where he is just about to, is like one of those dreams where you wake up just before the crucial moment. But you are constantly aware of his proximity. Looking at Susanna, you can't help wondering how far she resembles him. And in a more subtle way, his spirit transforms the action - deepening it, making it seem more momentous. One can't pretend it would have the same impact if Susanna were the daughter of A. N. Other.

At the same time (and it is surely one of Whelan's points), the characters are as caught up in their own lives as anyone else. They may be Shakespeare's relatives and neighbours, but first of all they are themselves.

What makes their story so engrossing, beyond the level of "what happens next?", is the tangle of motives. Susanna still has an unshakeable respect for her husband. Rafe, the victim of an unhappy marriage, is racked with guilt; both he and, to a lesser degree, Hall are puritans. There are no villains (not even Jack, who is hopeless rather than heartless). Passion spins the plot - including Susanna's passionate commitment to the healing art. Nothing must be allowed to interfere with her husband's vocation.

The piece is solidly constructed and beautifully written, in an idiom which is neither archaic nor jarringly modern. There are a few anachronistic notes: I don't think a Jacobean would have described someone as "not feeling up to it". But these are small matters. The warmth and humanity that pervade the play are large ones.

As for Michael Attenborough's production, I found it even more impressive than I did when I saw the play in Stratford earlier this year. It is impossible to choose (as it should be) between the main players. Liam Cunningham as Hall, the man whose dedication has come at a price; Joseph Fiennes as Rafe, tormented and obtuse; Teresa Banham's Susanna, at once more straightforward than either of them and better at dissembling; David Tennant's Jack, whom in spite of everything you can't dislike for long - they are all equally good.

But then so is everyone else, from Stephen Boxer's tight-lipped inquisitor to Jo McInnes's plucky servant girl. Add an atmospheric set by Robert Jones and the result is an exceptionally satisfying evening.