The Vagabond Clown

Chapter Twelve

Given the circumstances, the performance of The Foolish Friar was an extraordinary achievement. Westfield’s Men were beset by all kinds of problems. Their new clown had been murdered at the Blue Anchor and it left them in the state of cold fear. Coming, as it did, in the wake of the ambush at the ford, the crime made them feel highly vulnerable. Most of the actors just wanted to creep away from Faversham. Their old clown, Barnaby Gill, forced to step into the breach, was nursing a broken leg and could only take the title role if changes were made to the play that permitted its foolish friar to be moved around the stage in a wheelbarrow. To make up for the lost dances, additional songs were written. To master the new scenes that Edmund Hoode had provided, intensive rehearsal was necessary. Owen Elias, in particular, was put under immense pressure. He was called upon not only to learn a different role at short notice but, as a fellow friar, had to wheel Gill around in his wheelbarrow and, at the height of the action, sing a duet with him. Mistakes came so thick and fast during rehearsals that they despaired of ever getting the play in a fit state for an audience.

Yet somehow they succeeded. Staged before the citizens of Faversham in their town hall, The Foolish Friar was a glorious romp that was played to the hilt by the actors. None of the spectators would have guessed that the actors were mourning the death of Giddy Mussett, stabbed to death less than forty-eight hours earlier. Grief was hidden beneath joyous abandon. Gill surpassed himself in the role of a cunning friar with so much charm and guile that he was able to exploit the people of a small town for bed, board and money. Pleading poverty, he nevertheless contrived to become the wealthiest man in the town. His folly consisted in overreaching himself. Not content with living off the townspeople, he tried to collect sexual favours as well, assuring the young women in question that he would absolve them of any sin that they committed with him.

Lawrence Firethorn played the local magistrate, taken in at first by the friar’s plausible tales and allowing him and the other friar to live under his own roof. It was only when the magistrate’s daughter — Richard Honeydew at his most enchanting — aroused the lust of the lecherous friar that their guest was revealed in his true light. Using his supposedly broken leg as a means of gaining sympathy, the friar had no disability once he had enticed his prey into a bedchamber. To expose the man, and to get his revenge, the magistrate encouraged his daughter to agree to an assignation and then, at midnight, went to the friar in her place. Firethorn had made his name playing tragic heroes but he proved that he could disguise himself as a woman just as effectively as any of the apprentices. Donning a cloak and covering his beard with a veil, he worked the friar up into such a passion that the man confessed his base desires. It was left to the magistrate to beat him, arrest him and push him swiftly around in circles in the wheelbarrow before tipping him into the river.

The splash that the audience heard was nothing more than a bucket being dropped offstage into a barrel of water by Nicholas Bracewell but it was so well timed that it sounded very convincing. Instead of being tipped out, the friar was, in fact, lifted from his wheelbarrow by Elias and Hoode, who were stationed behind the scenery for the purpose. It was only one of many effects that the book holder had devised and, like all the others, it worked remarkably well. The audience went into ecstasies. A comedy with darker undertones, The Foolish Friar was hailed as something that was infinitely superior to the play given earlier by Conway’s Men. Even the mayor was impressed. He still had reservations about the whole notion of drama but they did not prevent him from joining in the laughter with everyone else.

Nicholas was relieved that the performance had gone so well and congratulated Gill on his ability to improvise so brilliantly. Firethorn actually embraced the invalid and everyone in the company agreed that the foolish friar had been hilarious. Gill was happy at last. He was the undisputed clown once more. It appealed to his vanity that the person the mayor first wanted to meet was the friar. Firethorn, for once, did not bristle with jealousy. The reputation of Westfield’s Men had been upheld and that is what mattered most to him. They had also earned some money in the process. He was very conscious of the main reason for their success. He took his book holder aside.

‘We owe it all to you, Nick,’ he said.

‘It was a victory for the whole company.’

‘Only because you suggested a play that could entice Barnaby back on stage.’

‘I’ve never seen him better,’ said Nicholas.

‘Nor I. Perhaps we should keep him in that wheelbarrow in perpetuity. That device gained more laughs than I did,’ he complained good-humouredly. ‘You’ll have to make one for me as well, Nick.’

‘Barnaby would prefer to have two good legs rather than a single wheel.’

‘He’s back with us and for that blessing I must thank you.’

‘Edmund did his share, so did Sebastian Frant.’

‘Yes,’ said Firethorn. ‘It was good to have our old scrivener back again. I must go and speak to him — and to that beautiful daughter of his.’ He gave a ripe chuckle. ‘I’m sure that Thomasina would prefer a handsome magistrate like me to a foolish friar with his leg in splints.’

He left the room that they had been using as their tiring-house and went out into the hall to receive plaudits from all sides. Most of the audience had dispersed but a number of spectators still lingered. When he followed the actor-manager, Nicholas was touched to see that Pieter Hendrik was waiting to see him.

‘I did not expect to see you here in Faversham,’ said Nicholas in surprise. ‘Did you enjoy the play?’

‘Fery much,’ replied Hendrik, grinning broadly. ‘The friar, he make me laugh. But ver is the other man, the one I see in Medstone?’

‘Giddy Mussett was unable to appear today, I fear.’

‘Fery sorry to hear that.’

‘What brings you to Faversham?’

‘Vork, my friend. I hev customers here so I deliver what they buy. Then I hear that these actors will put on a play, so I stay to vatch.’

‘I’m glad that you did,’ said Nicholas.

Hendrik’s grin vanished. ‘Ver is Conway’s Men?’

‘Still in Canterbury, I hope. We travel there tomorrow morning.’

‘You speak to Master Fizzgoffrey?’

‘Oh, yes,’ promised Nicholas. ‘Tobias Fitzgeoffrey and I have more than one thing to discuss. Your bill is among them. I’ll remind him of the money that he owes.’

‘Fery good, I thenk you. Give my luff to Anne.’

‘I’ll give her your letter as well.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Hendrik, waving a farewell. ‘That, I forget.’

Nicholas watched him go then switched his gaze to Firethorn, who was being introduced to David Frant and his wife. While lapping up their praise, the actor’s chief interest was in Thomasina and he took her hand to kiss it. Nicholas could see that she was not sure how to react. He went to her aid.

‘A whole bevy of Frants,’ he observed. ‘We are honoured.’

Frant smiled. ‘We came in force to support you, Nick.’

‘You did more than that, Sebastian. You provided me with the only pieces of the play that I could read clearly.’ He turned to Thomasina. ‘Your father claims that his hand no longer has its former neatness but that’s not true.’

‘I know,’ she said fondly. ‘Father has lost none of his accomplishments.’

‘What are your accomplishments?’ asked Firethorn, smiling at her ‘Apart from a lovely face and a graceful carriage, that is. What hidden talents do you have?’

‘None, Master Firethorn.’

‘Come, come. I’ll not believe that.’

‘Thomasina is too modest,’ said Frant with paternal pride. ‘She has many accomplishments. She sings well and plays upon the virginals. But her greatest talent lies in the way that she looks after her father.’

‘I’d love to hear you play something,’ said Firethorn, catching her eye. ‘I, too, have a keen interest in the virginals.’

The remark embarrassed Thomasina and made her father wince slightly. David Frant and his wife did not seem to notice Firethorn’s double meaning. They looked at him in awe, still dazzled by the wonder of his performance.

‘Did you enjoy the play?’ Nicholas asked them.

‘Oh, we did,’ said David Frant. ‘We’ve never seen anything like it.’

‘What about you, Sebastian?’

‘You know my opinion of Westfield’s Men,’ said Frant affably. ‘They are the King Midas among theatre companies. Whatever they touch, they turn to gold.’

Firethorn gave a token bow. ‘Thank you, Sebastian.’

‘Do you agree with your father?’ asked Nicholas, turning to Thomasina.

‘Yes,’ she replied.

‘You have seen us twice now. Which of the plays did you prefer?’

‘Cupid’s Folly, I think.’

‘Why?’

‘I liked its merriment.’

‘But there was merriment in The Foolish Friar,’ argued Nicholas, ‘and a sharper edge to its plot. Did you not approve of the play?’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Thomasina brightly.

‘I sense a reservation.’

‘There is none. It was truly wonderful.’

Though she spoke with enthusiasm, Nicholas somehow did not believe her.

The funeral of Giddy Mussett was held on the following morning. After the heady success of the previous afternoon, the actors were brought back down to earth again, reminded that their substitute clown had been killed by an assassin and that they themselves might now be under threat. As they gathered at the little church, they were racked by anguish and troubled by superstition. Every member of the company attended, including Barnaby Gill, who made some gracious comments about his former rival. It seemed a fitting end for a vagabond like Mussett that his bones should be laid to rest during a tour of a county far removed from the place in which he had been born. When the earth was tossed upon the coffin, the actors bade farewell to a remarkable man who would leave a trail of vivid memories behind him.

Kate Humble was among the mourners, holding back tears until the moment when they all moved away from the graveside. When he observed her slipping behind some yew trees to weep in privacy, Nicholas went after her to offer some consolation. As soon as she saw him, she went gratefully into his arms. He waited until her sobbing ended.

‘I have something for you, Kate,’ he said, releasing her.

‘You’ve already let me choose a keepsake from Giddy’s belongings.’

‘This is not a keepsake.’

‘Then what is it?’

Nicholas put money into her hand. ‘His wages.’

‘Oh, no,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I’ll not take his money.’

‘Giddy would have wanted you to have it.’

‘But he told me that he had to repay a debt to you for getting him out of prison.’

‘That debt was settled by his death. Take the money.’

Kate stared at the coins. ‘This is more than I can earn in a month.’

‘Then use it to buy something that will remind you of Giddy.’

‘Oh, I will, sir. I will. Thank you.’

‘Thank you, Kate. In telling me the truth about what happened at the Blue Anchor, you were a great help to me. It was good to know that it was Giddy who set Master Gill adrift in the creek.’

‘I told a lie,’ she confessed. ‘Master Gill will be furious with me.’

‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘That incident was buried with Giddy. I’ve said nothing to Master Gill or to anyone else. There is no reason for them to know.’

After heaving a sigh of relief, she leant forward to kiss him on the cheek before hurrying off on her own. Nicholas rejoined the others as they walked back to the Blue Anchor. Wheeled along by George Dart, Gill was explaining to all who would listen why Mussett was such a worthy rival of his. The untimely death allowed Gill to speak of him with a measure of respect and even a degree of affection. Nicholas did not wish to change that benign view of the dead man by telling Gill who had been responsible for the three cruel jests at his expense.

When they got back to the inn, they found Sebastian Frant waiting to wave them off. Firethorn was disappointed to see that Thomasina was not with him.

‘Where’s that divine creature you call a daughter?’ he asked.

‘Thomasina is at the cottage with her uncle and aunt.’

‘I was hoping for a farewell kiss.’

‘Then do not expect it from me, Lawrence,’ said Frant with a smile. He looked around the sad faces. ‘Was the funeral distressing?’

‘Very distressing,’ confided Firethorn. ‘Giddy was a rare fellow. I’ve not known anyone make such a lasting impression in such a short time.’

‘He certainly made an impression in Cupid’s Folly.’

‘He’d have done so in any play, Sebastian. He’s a huge loss.’

‘But it was swiftly repaired when Barnaby came to your aid.’

‘That was Nick’s invention. Like most things of consequence in this company.’

‘He even pressed me into service again.’

‘You can be our scrivener at any time you choose.’

‘A tempting offer,’ said Frant, holding up a palm, ‘but one that I must refuse. I am retired, Lawrence. I’m learning the joys of not having to work for a living any more.’

Firethorn grimaced. ‘If only I could do that, Sebastian,’ he sighed. ‘But there’s no release for me. I must go on and on until I expire on stage.’

‘That will never happen. You will act for all eternity.’

‘Save me from that — please!’

After shaking his hand, Frant went off to say goodbye to his other friends in the company. Gill, Hoode and Elias were especially sorry to take their leave of him. They appreciated the value of a meticulous scrivener. The last in line was Nicholas Bracewell. There was a warm handshake.

‘When do you set off, Nick?’ asked Frant.

‘Within the hour.’

‘Glad to shake the dust of Faversham from your feet, I daresay.’

‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘There were happier memories along with the one that has cast a shadow over today. We had our success with The Foolish Friar.’

‘It was more than a success, Nick. It was a triumph.’

‘Your daughter did not seem to think so.’

‘Thomasina liked it as much as I did.’

‘That was not the feeling that I had,’ said Nicholas. ‘Was there something in the piece that offended her?’

‘How could there be? It was harmless fun.’

‘Did she find it too bawdy, perhaps?’

‘Not at whit. The fault was not in the play, Nick. Thomasina had something else on her mind, as did I, and it came between us and full enjoyment. The doctor called to see my brother yesterday,’ he explained, ‘and I managed a word with him alone. The news is not good. According to the doctor, David has less than three months to live.’

Nicholas was upset. ‘I’m truly sorry to hear that. I so enjoyed meeting him.’

‘It made me feel guilty. I’ve neglected my brother shamefully. If it had not been for the fact that Westfield’s Men were coming to Faversham, I might not have seen him this time.’ He hunched his shoulders. ‘That is why Thomasina was distracted yesterday. Her thoughts were with her uncle.’

‘She strikes me as a compassionate niece.’

‘Oh, she is. Thomasina always puts others first.’

‘How long will you stay in Faversham?’

‘Until tomorrow,’ said Frant. ‘There’s a party travelling to Dover and we’ll join them for safety. We have commitments at home or we’d stay longer with David. So, my friend, we must part.’

‘Meeting you again was a happy accident.’

‘The happiness is all mine, Nick. I wish you well in Canterbury.’

‘Thank you,’ said Nicholas. ‘Shall we see you when we reach Dover?’

‘Yes, Nick. Thomasina and I will be there to watch you.’

‘We’ll count on you.’

‘Tell that to Lawrence,’ said Frant, glancing at Firethorn. ‘He looks as if he is in need of cheering news. When you play in Dover, you will have at least two spectators.’

Westfield’s Men set out from Faversham with some trepidation. With its uncomfortable memories, the Blue Anchor was an inn that they were glad to leave but the open road held even more danger for them. One assault on them had already taken place. They feared that a second, more deadly attack might come. Firethorn did his best to dispel their anxiety by riding at the head of the column with his sword in his hand. Armed and alert, Owen Elias brought up the rear on his horse. At Nicholas’s suggestion, the wagons kept much closer together than before so that one of them could not be picked off with such ease. The book holder drove the first wagon, carrying the apprentices and some of the baggage with him. Seated beside Nicholas was Edmund Hoode, who felt too exposed on his donkey so he had tethered the animal to the wagon.

It was a cloudy day but there was no imminent threat of rain. They rumbled along the well-worn track that pilgrims had taken in earlier days. Hoode took note of that.

‘How many feet have come this way, Nick?’ he wondered.

‘Far too many to count.’

‘The shrine of St Thomas was the most popular in England.’

‘Rightly so, Edmund.’

‘There are tales of wondrous miracles being performed there.’ He looked nervously around. ‘We could do with one ourselves.’

‘What sort of miracle did you have in mind?’

‘One that put us safely in the middle of Canterbury.’

‘We’ll get there in due course,’ said Nicholas.

‘But will we arrive in one piece?’

‘I am sure that we will. There are too many of us to tempt highwaymen and we are too vigilant to be caught in an ambush again. Rest easy.’

‘Someone has a grudge against us, Nick.’

‘Someone did,’ said Nicholas. ‘That is why Giddy was killed. But our enemy may have been satisfied by his death and quietly withdrawn.’

‘Do you still think that Conway’s Men may be involved?’

‘Not so much the company as its patron. He certainly bears a grudge. So does Tobias Fitzgeoffrey. He is eaten away with envy at what Lawrence has achieved.’

‘With the help of others,’ said Hoode.

‘I was not forgetting actors like Barnaby Gill, Owen Elias and James Ingram. Then there are these clever young apprentices curled up behind us. They all helped Lawrence to become what he is — as did a certain playwright called Edmund Hoode.’

‘Add your name to that list, Nick.’

‘I am only a small link in the chain.’

‘Away with this modesty! There are times when you are the chain.’

They paused for refreshment near Boughton-under-Blean then pressed on at a slightly faster pace. Once past the halfway point, the company felt more secure and there was even some light-hearted banter in the wagons. Firethorn sheathed his sword, Elias yielded his horse to Rowland Carr so that he could take his turn at driving a wagon and Hoode felt confident enough to ride his donkey. Occasional rays of sunshine pierced the clouds. The dejection they had felt since the funeral slowly began to fade away.

Still driving the first wagon, Nicholas was glad of Richard Honeydew’s company. The fair-haired young apprentice with the angelic face clambered on to the seat beside him and watched the two horses as they used their tails to flick away bothersome insects. Honeydew was still worried.

‘The others say that we are cursed,’ he began.

‘Do not listen to them, Dick.’

‘We’ve met one setback after another.’

‘That’s not unusual in this profession,’ said Nicholas resignedly. ‘Acting is a perilous road to follow. Only the brave and the sure-footed ever survive.’

The boy shuddered. ‘I’m not at all brave.’

‘Yes, you are. It took bravery to act the way that you did yesterday in The Foolish Friar. The whole company showed courage. I was proud of you, Dick.’

‘Were you?’

‘You set an example to the other lads.’

Honeydew lowered his voice. ‘Do you know what they are saying?’

‘What?’

‘They think that we are damned.’

‘That’s silly talk.’

‘I told them that but Stephen claimed there was clear proof.’

‘Proof?’

‘Yes,’ said the boy. ‘Giddy was our friend. He could make us laugh without even trying. He was much nicer to us than Barnaby, we all agree on that. Stephen says that he knew we were damned when it was Giddy who was murdered and not Barnaby.’

‘He should be ashamed of such a thought!’ said Nicholas angrily.

‘That’s what I told him.’

‘I’ll speak to him myself.’

‘You’ll only get me into trouble with Stephen if you do that.’

‘I won’t have anyone saying such things, Dick. We’ve had ill luck, that is all. Giddy must be mourned but we must be very grateful that Barnaby is still with us.’

‘He was his old self in The Foolish Friar.’

‘Remind the others of that.’

Nicholas was disturbed by the news that Stephen Judd, one of the apprentices, could make such an observation about the rival clowns in the company. It showed him how unpopular Gill was with the boys in spite of his attempts to befriend them. That they should actually wish him dead instead of Giddy Mussett was alarming. It was something that needed to be discussed fully with them.

‘Who is doing it, Nick?’ asked Honeydew.

‘Doing what?’

‘Trying to destroy Westfield’s Men.’

Nicholas gritted his teeth. ‘I am hoping to learn that in Canterbury.’

The road ahead curved slowly round to the right between two high, grassy banks. Until they reached the crown of the bend, there seemed no cause for alarm. Then a small avalanche descended from the top of one of the banks, hurtling down the incline to strike at the wheels of the first wagon and litter the ground with a pile of sharp stones. The suddenness of the attack spread instant fear. Firethorn’s stallion bolted, Hoode’s donkey threw him from the saddle again and the horses pulling the first wagon were so terrified that they broke into a gallop. Nicholas tried hard to control them but they raced on regardless with the wagon bumping and lurching violently. The apprentices were thrown from side to side and most of the baggage was tossed out of the wagon altogether. The horses had charged over two hundred yards at a reckless pace before Nicholas finally managed to pull them to a halt.

The four apprentices were in tears, bruised and lacerated after their headlong journey. Scattered on the road behind them were various properties and pieces of scenery, some of it smashed to pieces. After checking that nobody in the wagon was seriously hurt, Nicholas jumped down and went to calm the horses, stroking their necks as he talked to them. It was only when they stopped rolling their eyes that he felt they were soothed. Honeydew was the first of the apprentices to recover, hopping down from the wagon to see if he could be of assistance. Nicholas asked him to hold the bridles of the horses so that he could take stock of the damage. It was extensive. The wheel that had been struck hardest by the stones had lost a couple of spokes and another had shed its iron rim when they hit a deep pothole at speed. Something had snapped underneath the wagon so that it tilted at sharp angle. Without repairs, it was impossible to continue.

Having mastered his horse at last, Firethorn cantered up to them.

‘Is anyone hurt?’ he enquired, reining in his mount.

‘No serious injuries,’ said Nicholas.

‘Thank goodness for that.’

‘What about the others?’

‘More frightened than hurt, Nick.’

‘Then it could have been far worse.’

‘This is bad enough,’ said Firethorn angrily, pointing to the wagon and to the trail of baggage in its wake. ‘I hoped that we might be safe but we have not seen the last of them, after all. They want more blood.’

Adversity bonded them together. With the single exception of Barnaby Gill, who claimed that the avalanche had been directed solely at him, everyone did his share without complaint. The stones were removed from the road so that the other wagons could catch up with the first one. They camped in a semi-circle while the repairs were undertaken. Skills from other occupations were brought into action. During his time at sea, Nicholas had learnt a great deal from the ship’s carpenter and he put that knowledge to good effect. When the horses had been unhitched, the first wagon was propped up firmly so that the book holder could remove the wheel with the broken spokes. The actors watched in admiration as Nicholas fashioned some temporary spokes out of the oaken staffs that were used in The Foolish Friar. Once they were fitted, the wheel could be replaced.

It was Firethorn who took charge of the other wheel. The son of a blacksmith, he had not entirely forgotten what he had been taught in his father’s forge. The cracked rim was retrieved, a fire was lit and the actor-manager was able to show them how practised a wheelwright he was. Two daggers bound tightly together had to serve as tongs but that did not hold him up. When the fire was red enough, he plunged the rim into it in stages so that the metal slowly expanded. Aided by Nicholas, he got the sizzling rim back on the wheel then used a hammer to tap it into position. It all went so smoothly that Firethorn earned a round of applause. With the wheels now mended, Nicholas could concentrate on the broken struts underneath the wagon.

Slow, laborious work was made easier by the frequent shouts of encouragement from the others. Not all the actors were spectators. While most of them stayed behind, two of them — Owen Elias and James Ingram — had ridden on to Canterbury. Valuable hours would be taken up by the repairs to the wagon and they were anxious to speak to the mayor during his working day so that they could secure a licence to perform in the city. Firethorn had also instructed them to seek out a suitable inn for the company. When the actors returned, Nicholas was still flat on his back, hammering a new strut into position beneath the wagon. He crawled out to hear what they had to say.

Wearied by the ride, the Welshman acted as their spokesman.

‘Bad tidings,’ he announced.

‘Why?’ asked Nicholas.

‘They’ll not grant us a licence.’

Firethorn was outraged. ‘They refuse to let us play in the city?’

‘No, Lawrence,’ said Elias. ‘If we return in a week or two, they will be happy to see us perform. Tomorrow, it seems, they start a religious festival that takes over the whole city for days. Even Westfield’s Men could not outdo their grand pageants. In brief, we must take our art elsewhere.’

‘What of Conway’s Men?’ said Nicholas.

‘That was the other problem,’ replied Ingram. ‘Conway’s Men staged a tragedy there only yesterday. The mayor thought it unwise to have one troupe hard on the heels of another. He felt that a distance should be put between them.’

‘There is a distance between us and Conway’s Men,’ declared Firethorn. ‘It is a vast chasm. We are real actors while they are mere pretenders. But the mayor speaks sense. I do not wish to tread the boards immediately after Tobias Fitzgeoffrey and his vile crew. We must wait for the stink to clear first.’

‘Take me back to London!’ ordered Gill. ‘I’ll not stay in this barbarous county.’

‘You’ll do as I wish, Barnaby.’

‘It would be an act of suicide, Lawrence. We were ambushed on the road to Faversham. Giddy was murdered at the Blue Anchor and I was fortunate not to follow him into the grave. That avalanche was caused in order to crush me to death and now,’ he went on, pointing in the direction of Canterbury, ‘they have the gall to turn us away from the city like beggars. Let’s cut our losses and go home.’

‘Kent is our home for the time being,’ said Firethorn.

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘If one place spurns us, we simply go to another. Let’s stay the night in Canterbury while we make our plans then set off again tomorrow.’

‘Well said, Nick!’

‘There are inns aplenty in the city,’ noted Elias. ‘We can drink to our escape.’

‘And keep our eyes peeled for further attacks,’ warned Nicholas. ‘But what else did you learn of Conway’s Men, Owen?’

‘Only that their play was not well received.’

‘Are they still in the city?’

‘No, they left at dawn.’

Nicholas was disappointed. ‘Tobias Fitzgeoffrey is no longer there?’

‘No,’ said Elias. ‘He and his company have quit Canterbury.’

‘Where were they headed?’

‘Nobody seemed to know.’

The Three Tuns was a commodious inn that looked particularly inviting after the trials of their journey from Faversham. Once they had settled in, Westfield’s Men took advantage of the light evening to explore the city while they could. Conscious of possible danger, the actors went off in small groups so that nobody was isolated. George Dart, however, much to his disgust, was given the unenviable task of remaining at the inn to stand guard over Barnaby Gill, who refused to venture out. Nicholas Bracewell was in charge of the four apprentices. Firethorn and Hoode walked with them in the direction of the cathedral. As they strolled along, Nicholas took the opportunity to detach Stephen Judd so that he could have a private word with the lad. He scolded him for even thinking that Gill’s death would have been preferable to that of Giddy Mussett and impressed upon him how much Westfield’s Men owed to the talents of their clown. By the time that the book holder had finished with him, Judd was duly cowed and penitent. Nicholas was pleased to see that, when they entered the cathedral, the boy went off to kneel down and beg forgiveness.

The visitors spent an hour admiring the magnificent interior of the building and reading the inscriptions on the various tombstones. It was when they came back out through Christ Church Gate that Nicholas was seized by an impulse. Sending the others on ahead of him, he walked across to the Crown, the small inn that Giddy Mussett had recommended for its ale. Nicholas was not there in search of drink but in the faint hope that a certain person might still be there. A cursory glance around the busy taproom told him that he was wasting his time and he was about to leave. Then he caught sight of a dishevelled individual, sitting alone in a corner and staring into an empty tankard, half-hidden by three customers who stood directly in front of him. Nicholas felt the thrill of recognition. It was Martin Ling, the discontented book holder from Conway’s Men.

After buying two tankards of ale, Nicholas went over to Ling and sat down.

‘Have a drink with me, my friend,’ said Nicholas.

Ling looked up. ‘Who are you?’

‘My name is Nicholas Bracewell.’

‘I’ve heard of you. Giddy Mussett mentioned your name. You hold the book for Westfield’s Men. God bless you for this!’ he said, lifting the tankard to sip from it. ‘It comes when I most need it.’ He regarded Nicholas through watery eyes. ‘So you have reached Canterbury, have you? Why did you not bring Giddy with you?’

‘He’s no longer with us, alas.’

‘Fallen out with you already?’

‘Fallen out with everything,’ said Nicholas sadly, taking a first sip of his own ale. ‘Giddy is dead. He was murdered at the inn where we stayed in Faversham.’

Ling was so shocked by the news that he had to take a long drink before he could even speak. Nicholas gave him a brief account of what had happened, making no mention of the other attacks on the company. Ling’s haggard face was creased into folds of sympathy.

‘Who could have done such a thing?’ he asked, shaking his head with incredulity.

‘I wish we knew.’

‘Giddy made enemies as easily as friends but I can’t believe that anyone hated him enough to want him dead. These are dreadful tidings.’

‘Why did he leave Conway’s Men?’

‘For the same reason that I did,’ said Ling with rancour. ‘He could not stomach Master Fitzgeoffrey. The fellow is mean-spirited and vindictive. I only stayed with him for the sake of the others but he pushed me beyond my limit. Tobias Fitzgeoffrey abused me once too often,’ he went on, baring a row of blackened teeth. ‘When they set off this morning, I stayed behind. Let him find another book holder.’

‘You say that he’s vindictive?’

‘He’ll harbour a grudge for a decade.’

‘Did he have any grudges against Giddy?’

‘Dozens.’

‘Of what nature?’

‘The chief one was the most obvious,’ said Ling. ‘Giddy stole his thunder during a play. Master Fitzgeoffrey would not allow that. He cut the clown’s lines and took out two songs to bring Giddy to heel.’ He gave a hollow laugh. ‘It made no difference. The next time we staged that play, Giddy put in a jig that he invented and won the love of the audience. But he got no love from Tobias Fitzgeoffrey.’

‘Where is the company now?’

‘Searching for a book holder and wishing that they still had me.’

‘What’s their next port of call?’

‘Walmer.’

‘I know it,’ said Nicholas, noting that Conway’s Men would not be far from Dover. ‘How long will they stay there?’

‘Walmer is too small to provide them with an audience,’ explained Ling. ‘They are to perform at a house nearby that’s owned by a friend of our patron.’ He pulled a face. ‘Our patron, do I say? He’s mine no longer, thank heaven!’

‘What manner of man is Lord Conway?’

‘As full of spite as Master Fitzgeoffrey. They are twin fangs of malice.’

‘One last question,’ said Nicholas.

Ling smiled. ‘Buy me more ale and you can ask all the questions you wish.’

‘Did you ever meet a man called Fortunatus Hope?’

‘Why, yes. A number of times. He was Lord Conway’s nephew.’

‘Tell me about him.’

‘There’s not much to tell,’ said Ling, scratching his chin. ‘He was an amiable fellow, that I do remember, and a generous one as well. Once, when we played in Hythe, he bought us all a meal to celebrate the performance.’

‘A wealthy man, then?’

‘More free with money than his uncle, I know that.’

‘Why did the two of them quarrel?’

‘You said there was only one more question,’ complained the other.

‘Here,’ said Nicholas, putting some coins on the table. ‘How many answers will that purchase?’

‘As many as you ask,’ said Ling, scooping up the money gratefully. ‘But, first, let me pose a question. Why are you here?’

‘I’m trying to track down the man who killed Giddy Mussett.’

‘It was not Master Hope, I can assure you of that.’

‘I know,’ said Nicholas. ‘He, too, was stabbed in the back.’

Ling gaped at him. ‘He’s dead?’

‘Felled, I believe, by the same hand that killed Giddy.’

‘They were both such friendly souls.’

‘When did you last see Master Hope?’

‘It must have been some months ago,’ said Ling, noisily draining his tankard. ‘We were touring in Essex, walking at the cart’s arse from town to town. Lord Conway came to see us play in Colchester and Master Hope was part of his circle. Something happened to drive the two men apart but I know not what it was. All I can remember is that our patron was seething with rage.’

‘How close is he to Master Fitzgeoffrey?’

‘They are two yoke-devils.’

‘That is what I imagined,’ said Nicholas, about to rise. ‘Well, thank you, my friend. You have given me food for thought.’

Ling grabbed his arm. ‘Do not leave now,’ he pleaded. ‘We’ve so much to talk about. Book holders like us should stick together.’ He grinned obsequiously. ‘Dare I ask if you have room in your company for another hired man?’

‘Alas, no. We had to shed some of our fellows before we even set out.’

‘It was ever thus. Touring is a means of torture.’

‘We’ve had our share of that,’ admitted Nicholas. He removed Ling’s hand and got up from the table. ‘Pray excuse me. They’ll be wondering where I am.’

‘You’ve barely touched your ale.’

‘Drink it for me. I think you’ve earned it.’

‘But I haven’t told you about Master Fitzgeoffrey yet.’

‘Told me what?’

‘It’s only just popped into my mind,’ said Ling, pulling the other tankard across to him. ‘He heard that Giddy had come to see me here in Canterbury. He was not pleased about that. Then he told me something that I thought strange at the time.’

‘And what was that?’

‘He said that I’d never see Giddy Mussett again.’

Finding the man at the Crown had been a stroke of good fortune but Nicholas felt that he deserved one after all the reverses he had suffered. Martin Ling was a pathetic character, working for a man he loathed until he could no longer bear his insults, then abandoning the company for an uncertain future. Even if there had been a vacant place among Westfield’s Men, Nicholas would not have advised anyone to offer it to Ling. Iron had entered the man’s soul and drink had corrupted his judgement. He was an example of a man who had been broken on the wheel of his profession. Nevertheless, he had been able to give Nicholas some valuable information. When he left the Crown, he had plenty to reflect upon during the walk back.

Even allowing for Ling’s prejudices, Tobias Fitzgeoffrey sounded like a nasty and objectionable man but that was not conclusive proof that he was capable of murder. His presence at the Queen’s Head on the fateful afternoon of the affray was something that Nicholas thought highly significant. Why else would the man be there if not to relish the confusion into which a rival company was thrown? Fitzgeoffrey would hardly have been in the audience by chance. To get to London, he had left his company languishing in Kent, unable to perform without him. When money was in such short supply for Conway’s Men, why had their manager passed up the opportunity of a performance in favour of a visit to the capital? More surprisingly, why, on his return, was a man who was reputed to be stingy with money, suddenly overtaken by a spirit of generosity?

Nicholas decided that the crucial relationship was the one between Fitzgeoffrey and his patron. Until he could meet one or both of them, he could not reach a firm verdict but evidence was slowly piling up against them. In causing the affray, Nicholas reasoned, they hoped to bring to an end the occupation of Gracechurch Street by Westfield’s Men. When the company travelled to Kent, their new clown was first ambushed, then killed, as a means of bringing the tour to an end. But the troupe was too resilient to be quashed. Since it dared to soldier on, another attack was made on it during the journey to Canterbury. Firethorn’s prediction was true. They wanted more blood. The enemies of Westfield’s Men would not stop until they had halted the company in its tracks.

Absorbed in his thoughts, Nicholas strode through the streets alone without any fear for his own safety. It was only when he reached the door of the Three Tuns that he chose to look over his shoulder. A man dived quickly into the shadows. It was a sobering reminder. Nicholas had been followed.