The Vagabond Clown Page 13

  ‘I like drink and women as much as any man,’ confessed Firethorn. ‘And, yes, I can be choleric on occasion. But I’d never let my weaknesses put Westfield’s Men in danger. For that is what he did.’

  When they set off again, Nicholas relinquished the lead to the wagon that bore Barnaby Gill and some of the other actors. He was content to bring up the rear, letting someone else control the pace and direction for a change. Mussett kept trying to ingratiate himself with the apprentices but they were on their guard against him. Even Dart, who had giggled ridiculously before at all of the clown’s jests, was wary of him. Nicholas drove the wagon and chatted to Hoode, who rode alongside him on his donkey. They were no more than a dozen yards behind the wagon in front of them.

  The road to Faversham was full of undulations. The ascent of a hill might slow them down but they quickened on the long descent. When they crested yet another rise, they saw a stream at the bottom of the slope. Fringed with trees and bushes, the fast-flowing water rippled over a stone bed and glistened in the sunshine. The only way to cross the stream was by means of a ford. It was no more than twenty feet wide but it was surprisingly deep, as Firethorn discovered when he spurred his horse across. Water reached above the animal’s knees. To get the wagons across, the load had to be lightened. All but Barnaby Gill and the driver jumped out and waded behind the first wagon, putting their shoulders to it to help it over the uneven surface. Rocked and bounced across the stream, Gill complained bitterly about the pain in his broken leg.

  Two wagons got safely across and continued on their way. Since he was much heavier than the clown, Nicholas asked Mussett to take over the reins so that he could lend his strength to that of the others as they shoved from behind. Hoode rode alongside and exhorted them to greater efforts. They were in the middle of the stream when the ambush occurred. Without warning, three hooded figures suddenly came out of the bushes on horseback. Splashing through the water, they headed straight for the wagon. Two of them brandished swords but the third had a rope that he was twirling in the air. The donkey was so alarmed by their approach that it bucked wildly and dislodged its rider. Hoode was still flailing around in the water as the attackers closed in.

  Nicholas drew his sword and stood protectively in front of the apprentices. As one of the men thrust his weapon at him, the book holder parried it skilfully before jabbing hard to open a small wound in his arm. Furious at the resistance, the rider brought the flank of his horse around to buffet Nicholas then lashed at him with renewed vigour. As he fought one man off, Nicholas kept an eye the other two. They had ridden straight for Mussett, one trying to dislodge him from his seat by throwing the rope around him while the other hacked at him with his sword. Mussett shed all of his stiffness. Faced with a battle for his life, he proved as lithe and cunning as ever. He dodged the rope and leapt into the rear of the wagon, grabbing a stool from among the stage properties to fend off the flashing sword, and somehow keeping his balance as the wagon continued to bump its way through the water.

  One of the attackers was soon put to flight. When Nicholas parried a second thrust, he responded so swiftly with his own that he slit his adversary’s wrist and forced him to drop his sword. Abandoning the field, the man wheeled his horse round so that he could splash his way out of the water and gallop off along the road to Maidstone. His confederates were not far behind him. The noise of the ambush had roused Firethorn and Elias into action. Pulling out their swords, they kicked their horses into a canter to come to the aid of their friends. The attackers saw that their cause was hopeless. In a last vain attempt to strike at Mussett, the man with the rope took out a dagger and hurled it at him but the clown was ready, lifting the stool as a shield and letting the point of the weapon sink into it. As his assailant tried to escape, Mussett hurled the stool at him and caught him a glancing blow on the side of the head.

  The ambush was over. Before Firethorn and Elias reached them, the two hooded figures fled in the direction of their accomplice. The apprentices were shivering, Dart was whimpering and Hoode, who had finally regained his feet, was spitting out water and wondering what had happened to his donkey. By the time that Firethorn and Elias had established that nobody was hurt, it was too late to go in pursuit. Mussett was grinning with exhilaration, feeling that his prompt action would earn him some admiration. Nicholas was puzzled by the fact the attackers had made for the clown.

  ‘Who were they?’ asked Elias.

  ‘The three rogues who beat me at the Black Eagle,’ said Mussett, retrieving the stool from the water. ‘They came to finish what they started last night.’

  ‘Is that what happened, Nick?’

  ‘I am not sure,’ replied Nicholas. ‘But one thing is certain.’

  ‘What is that?’ said Firethorn.

  ‘Someone does not wish us to play in Faversham.’

  After travelling by a different route and at a faster pace, Sebastian Frant and his daughter arrived in Faversham well before the actors. They first called at the cottage where Frant’s brother and his wife lived, and where they were given a cordial welcome. David Frant, a frail old man with a tonsure of snowy hair, now retired from a lifetime’s involvement in the manufacture of gunpowder, was in poor health. He was surprised and delighted to see his younger brother and his niece. Not having met for over six months, they all had much gossip to trade but Frant eventually excused himself. Leaving Thomasina with her uncle and aunt, he went off into the town to make some enquiries on behalf of Westfield’s Men. By the time that the three wagons finally rolled into the town, he had the information that Nicholas wanted. He met the company in the square.

  ‘Welcome to Faversham!’ he said.

  ‘Thank you, Sebastian,’ replied Firethorn, dismounting from his horse. ‘We are fortunate to get here unscathed. Highwaymen attacked us not five miles away.’

  Frant’s face puckered with concern. ‘Highwaymen?’

  ‘Three of the villains.’

  ‘What did they take?’

  ‘They seemed to be after blood rather than money. They went away with neither.’

  ‘Thank heaven for that!’

  ‘Nick Bracewell and Giddy Mussett were the heroes. They fought them off.’

  ‘I rejoice to hear it,’ said Frant. ‘Kent is a lovely county but it has its share of highwaymen, alas. No road is entirely safe. Thomasina and I travelled with a larger party to get here. We would never dare to ride such a distance alone.’

  Firethorn beamed. ‘How is that pretty daughter of yours, Sebastian?’

  ‘Very well. She stays with my brother and his wife.’

  ‘I trust that we’ll have the pleasure of seeing her again.’

  ‘Yes, Lawrence. She was much taken with the play last evening. Thomasina will want to see anything that you present here.’

  ‘I long to know her better.’

  Other members of the company had now dismounted or climbed out of their respective wagons. Those who knew him came to exchange greetings with Frant. He recommended an inn where they could stay and where he had already established that sufficient accommodation was available. Before they set off, Nicholas contrived a word alone with their former scrivener.

  ‘Do you hear any word of Conway’s Men?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, Nick.’

  ‘Were they in Faversham?’

  ‘Barely a week ago,’ said Frant. ‘They are now settled in Canterbury and mean to stay there for a few days more.’

  ‘This is excellent news, Sebastian. I had not hoped they’d be so close.’

  ‘A good horse will get there in an hour or so.’

  ‘We’ll need two for Giddy Mussett will come with me.’

  ‘Giddy?’

  ‘He played with Conway’s Men and still has friends in the company.’

  As Nicholas was speaking, Mussett came round the angle of a wagon. Frant saw the bruises on the clown’s face and the bandage that poked out from beneath his cap. He also noted the wet attire.

  ‘What a sorry sig
ht!’ he said. ‘Is that the highwaymen’s work?’

  ‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘Giddy brought that upon himself. He started a tavern brawl in Maidstone and came off worst. He is in disgrace with us.’

  ‘I thought that Lawrence called him a hero.’

  ‘His bravery is not in question, but it does not excuse his drunken behaviour.’

  ‘He looks contrite enough now.’

  ‘Giddy abused our trust. He knows how much we need him, Sebastian. He and Lawrence are the twin pillars on which all our plays rest. That gives him power and Giddy let that power overwhelm his other senses last night.’

  ‘You’d certainly be lost without him,’ said Frant. ‘Cupid’s Folly would be empty indeed without its clown to dance his way to glory. But I hold you up,’ he went on, seeing the others climbing on to the wagons. ‘Go with them, Nick. You deserve refreshment after your journey. And Giddy Mussett looks as if he needs a long sleep.’

  ‘That’s more than we will get,’ said Nicholas with a smile. ‘From now on, we mean to watch him twenty-four hours a day, like misers poring over their gold.’

  Faversham was an attractive town. With over four hundred houses, it was a thriving community that derived much of its prosperity from the fact that it was sited on a navigable branch of the River Swale. There was constant activity at the creek, where several ships and smaller vessels were moored. Goods of all kinds were imported while grain, shellfish and oysters were the major exports. On marshy land to the west, gunpowder was made, using imported saltpetre and sulphur along with charcoal from local woodland. Townsfolk like David Frant had helped to build up a proud reputation for the trade over the years. Fear of a Spanish invasion had not vanished with the defeat of the Armada a few years earlier. All of the larger towns in Kent were required to keep a ready supply of arms and ammunition so that any further naval attack could be repulsed. As a result, the demand for Faversham’s gunpowder never flagged.

  Nicholas Bracewell was pleased that they were staying at the Blue Anchor. Its nautical character appealed to someone who had spent his most impressionable years at sea. Situated close to the creek, the inn was large and full of a gnarled charm. The river and the nearby oyster-pits provided its kitchen with a range of fresh food. Nicholas once again decided where the various members of the company would sleep, reserving the best rooms, as always, for the sharers. Firethorn took charge of the apprentices so that Nicholas could occupy a small bedchamber with Owen Elias, Edmund Hoode and Giddy Mussett. With three of them watching over the clown, it was felt, his opportunities to go astray would be removed altogether. Mussett did not object to the new regimen. If anything, he seemed to welcome it. Injured during the brawl in Maidstone, he was also feeling the effects of the desperate struggle at the ford. At the earliest opportunity, he took to his bed.

  It was early evening when Nicholas set out. Leaving his two friends to guard the sleeping clown, he went in search of a licence to perform in the town. Though he was in time to see the mayor, he was given nothing like the reception that he had enjoyed in Maidstone. Reginald Gilder had none of Lucas Broome’s passion for the theatre. He was a stout man of middle height with a face that rarely lost its sour expression. Before he would even consider Nicholas’s request, he demanded to see the company’s patent and their licence to travel, complaining that they had already had a troupe in Faversham only a week before and they did not really need another. Patient and tactful, Nicholas argued their case and the mayor agreed to grant them permission to play. However, only one performance was allowed and that would not take place for a couple of days. When he left the town hall, Nicholas was resigned to the fact that Westfield’s Men would be paid less than half the generous sum of five pounds that they had been given in the shire town.

  He was about to report back to the Blue Anchor when he noticed two people whom he recognised. Sebastian Frant and his daughter were talking to a man farther down the street. It was only when they broke away that they saw Nicholas walking towards them. Thomasina was pleased to meet him again and eager to hear what the company intended to perform in Faversham.

  ‘The decision has not yet been taken,’ he said, ‘but it will be neither of the plays that we offered in Maidstone.’

  ‘I would willingly sit through Cupid’s Folly again,’ she said.

  ‘So would I,’ added Frant. ‘Even though I know every last line of it.’

  ‘Father says that you have many plays from which to choose.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘We travel with costumes and scenery that can be used in a variety of ways. Comedy has been in request so far but I feel that tragedy may take the stage in Faversham.’

  Thomasina smiled nervously. ‘A tale of murder and intrigue?’

  ‘With darker passions at work.’

  ‘Then you have brought such a play to the right place,’ observed Frant.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Have you not heard tell of Arden of Faversham?’

  ‘He that was killed by his wife and her lover? Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘Everyone knows that story even though the case must be forty years old by now.’

  ‘Almost exactly that, Nick. Walk with us down Abbey Street and I’ll show you where the crime took place. Thomas Arden was once the mayor of the town.’

  ‘I hope that he was a more affable one than the man who now holds the office.’

  ‘Were you given short shrift by him?’ asked Frant.

  ‘Our work has had warmer embraces.’

  ‘That does not surprise me. My brother, David, does not speak well of the new mayor. The man is too full of self-affairs. Still,’ said Frant, indicating the direction, ‘let us go this way.’

  The two men walked along with Thomasina in between them. Though he was very interested to view the site of a notorious murder, Nicholas sensed reluctance on the girl’s part. Eyes down, she had withdrawn into her shell. Abbey Street was a main thoroughfare that ran south from the square. It contained many of the finest houses in the town, some stone-built and others with timber frames, all combining to give an impression of unobtrusive affluence. Thomas Arden’s house stood at the gateway of an abbey that had contained the tomb of King Stephen until the building perished during the Dissolution of the Monasteries. It was not a large property but its pleasant, half-timbered façade and its prime position suggested wealth and taste.

  ‘Lust and gain,’ noted Frant. ‘Those were the evils that led to his murder.’

  ‘He was obviously a rich man,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘Few in the town were richer, Nick. Not only was he involved in the distribution of confiscated church property such as the abbey that stood here, Thomas Arden was also Commissioner of Customs at the port here.’

  ‘A lucrative post for a respected man.’

  ‘It is a pity that his wife did not share that respect.’

  They discussed the crime for a few minutes but Thomasina remained silent. As her father related the details of the murder, she seemed to be mildly distressed. When he glanced at her, Nicholas was shocked. There were tears in her eyes.

  Giddy Mussett was revived by his nap. When he joined the others in the taproom of the Blue Anchor, he had regained some of his natural exuberance. Edmund Hoode, who had watched over him while he slept, was glad to be relieved of that particular duty. He could now relax with his friends. Mussett did his best to make his peace with the actors, openly admitting that he had been at fault and that they had every right to despise him for it. His apparent sincerity won them over slowly but there was one member of the company who stayed as hostile towards him as ever. Barnaby Gill began to taunt his rival.

  ‘You should be grateful to those men,’ he suggested.

  ‘Grateful?’ said Mussett. ‘Because they gave me a sound beating?’

  ‘They improved your face greatly with their fists. It is nowhere near as ugly as it was before. Strive to keep that appearance, Giddy. It becomes you.’

  ‘Goad me and I’ll improve your ugly visage, Barnaby.’
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  ‘Nothing could improve my face.’

  ‘Except a mask.’

  ‘Keep those two apart,’ said Firethorn from the other end of the table. ‘They are fellows in the same company, not fighting cocks with spurs on.’

  ‘Let’s watch the feathers fly,’ urged Elias. ‘My money rests on Giddy.’

  ‘And mine on Barnaby,’ said James Ingram.

  Mussett shrugged. ‘It’s not a fair contest. I’ll not fight with a man whose leg is broken and whose reputation is in tatters.’

  ‘My reputation is impregnable,’ said Gill, tossing his head.

  ‘You did not see A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady.’

  ‘Giddy speaks true,’ said Elias. ‘His Bedlam was a magical creation.’

  ‘The mayor told me that I was a finer clown than you.’

  Gill curled a lip. ‘What do country bumpkins know of such things?’

  ‘Master Broome has seen you at the Queen’s Head whenever he was in London. His judgement is above reproach. That’s why he chose me.’

  ‘You were never a true clown, Giddy. You are a vagabond.’

  ‘I wear that title with pride.’

  ‘All you could offer was the false lure of novelty.’

  ‘That was preferred to the decaying skills of an old man.’

  ‘I am not old!’

  ‘Your body may still have vigour, but your mind has aged beyond recall.’

  ‘At least, I have a mind,’ responded Gill. ‘You lack anything that might be taken as a brain. Dumb animals show more sense than you, for which of them would drink themselves into a stupor so that three men could beat them for sport?’

  ‘I left my mark on them as well,’ boasted Mussett.

  ‘You’ve left one on this company and it’s a hideous stain.’

  ‘Do they still snarl at each other?’ said Firethorn with annoyance. ‘Knock their heads together, Owen, and let’s have some harmony.’

  Mussett raised both palms. ‘No need of that,’ he said, producing a broad smile that brought a stab of pain to his swollen lip. ‘The fault is mine. Barnaby deserves my respect. And I think he needs it badly, for he’ll get little of it elsewhere.’