The Vagabond Clown (12 page)

‘But he is a jewel we should polish up,’ said Hoode.

‘He’ll have his chance to sparkle.’

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas, ‘we have a long way to go yet, Edmund.’ He sipped his wine. ‘I wonder when we shall overtake Conway’s Men.’

Firethorn inflated his chest. ‘In all that matters, we overtook them years ago.’

‘Sebastian said they had played in Dover and Rye.’

‘And here in Maidstone,’ said Hoode.

‘Where does that leave? Rochester, perhaps? Faversham? Canterbury?’

‘There’s not room for two companies in one town.’

‘Then we’ll drive them out like dogs,’ said Firethorn.

‘Not until we have put some questions to them,’ said Nicholas. ‘I still feel they were implicated in the affray at the Queen’s Head. Even if they were not there in person,
they could have incited those young rascals. Then there is the murder to consider. Their patron’s nephew betrays them by going over to Westfield’s Men. I do not think Lord Conway would have sent best wishes to Fortunatus Hope.’

‘Conway’s Men are scoundrels!’

‘But they’d stay their hand at murder, surely?’ said Hoode.

‘I’d believe anything of Tobias Fitzgeoffrey.’

‘We need more proof,’ said Nicholas solemnly, ‘or our accusations are empty. Sebastian knows the county better than we. Let’s ask him to find out where the company will next be. Then we can stalk them.’

Firethorn gave a ripe chuckle. ‘I’d rather stalk Sebastian’s daughter.’

‘She’s old enough to be your
own
child, Lawrence,’ said Hoode.

The comment went unheard. Into the taproom had come three men, bearing the body of a third. They did not stand on ceremony. After flinging their burden down on the floor, they stamped out again. Nicholas was the first on his feet, horrified at what he saw. Lying flat on the floor, covered in blood, caked in filth and positively reeking of ale was Giddy Mussett. He raised himself up on one elbow.

‘Who wants a fight?’ he challenged.

Then he passed out.

When they set out early next morning, Westfield’s Men were downcast. Maidstone had been kind to them. It had enabled them to stage two highly successful performances that had brought in the money that would help to pay for their tour. The Star Inn had been an amenable hostelry and they had warmed to the town itself. Yet they left the inn yard in a state of despondency. One reckless act threatened the future of their work. In the space of a couple of hours, Giddy Mussett had changed from being the saviour of the company into its potential destroyer. Having seen him at his best on stage, they now had a glimpse of Mussett at his worst. A drunken evening in the arms of a prostitute ended with a tavern brawl that he had almost certainly started. When he was dragged unceremoniously back to the Star and dumped in their midst, the actors were reminded how slender was the thread from which their continued success
hung. On the slow journey to Faversham, their new clown provided no laughter.

Nicholas Bracewell was afflicted by pangs of guilt. He was the one who had advised that Mussett be employed and he had promised to keep the latter under control so that he would not indulge his well-known vices. Nicholas had failed in his duty. Mussett had sneaked off when the book holder’s back was turned. He had been so badly beaten at the Black Eagle that he could not even make his own way back to his friends. It had fallen to Nicholas to clean the blood from his face and bind his wounds. A strip of linen around his head, Mussett now dozed in the back of the leading wagon, surrounded by George Dart and the four apprentices, who stared with horror at the bruised face and the hideously swollen lip. The clown was not the man he had once been. They felt that they had lost a friend in exchange for a troublesome stranger.

As if to match the mood of the travellers, steady drizzle was falling, moistening the backs of the horses and making the occupants of the wagons huddle together. Mussett was oblivious to it all, still trying to sleep off the effects of the beating. Every time that Nicholas glanced over his shoulder, he saw that the man lay in the same position with a weary smile on his battered face. What had happened at the Black Eagle on the previous night was not yet clear. While he was being doctored, Mussett was too inebriated to give a coherent account of events and Nicholas was determined to drag the truth out of him in due course. He had also come to an agreement with Owen Elias and Edmund Hoode
that each of them in turn would keep their clown under observation. They could not risk another escapade like the one in Maidstone.

There was one source of consolation for Nicholas. After refusing even to consider the notion of using the wheelbarrow, Barnaby Gill had become reconciled to it. Except as an alternative bed, Gill had not actually used it but he consented to have it loaded on to the wagon with the rest of the baggage. Nicholas had every hope that he would soon agree to be moved about in the wheelbarrow, making it much easier for Dart to transport him from place to place, and, more importantly, keep him apart from his rival. Gill was the one person to derive pleasure from Mussett’s fall from grace and he predicted that it would only be the first of many such lapses. Most of the actors were inclined to agree with him. It was largely up to Nicholas to confound the prophecy.

When Mussett finally opened his eyes, he looked up to see a lattice-work of branches above him as they passed through a small wood. The drizzle had stopped but not before it had bathed and soothed the wounds on his face. He saw the anxious eyes of the apprentices, staring down on him, and tried to give them a reassuring smile but his bruised jaw ached and his swollen lip throbbed violently. It was minutes before he worked out where he was and what had occurred during the preceding night. His conscience pricked him mercilessly. As soon as could summon up enough strength, he hauled himself up and clambered onto the seat beside Nicholas. They were back in open
countryside now, wending their way along a twisting track that climbed a hill.

‘Good morrow, Nick,’ began Mussett.

‘Ah,’ said Nicholas. ‘You have awakened at last.’

‘And wished that I had not. I am in such pain.’

‘So are we, Giddy. And the fault is yours. You brought disgrace upon us.’

‘I know,’ admitted Mussett. ‘I owe you a thousand apologies.’

‘They will not atone for the damage you have done,’ said Nicholas pointedly. ‘We rode into the town as one of London’s leading theatre companies and we ride out with our reputation blemished. Instead of remembering us as the players that gave them
A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady
and
Cupid’s Folly
, they will always think of us the troupe with the drunken clown. You were fortunate not to spend the night behind bars.’

‘I was attacked, Nick.’

‘Where?’

‘At the Black Eagle.’

‘Had you been with us at the Star, no harm would have befallen you.’

‘I needed to get away to celebrate.’

‘By getting drunk and picking a fight?’

‘No, Nick,’ said Mussett. ‘I thought to spend an hour with a friend, that is all. Bess is good company. I love you all but I miss the touch of a woman. So it was that I sought Bess out and rescued her from some bearded oaf with groping hands. When I came back downstairs, he was sitting there
with friends, calling me foul names and hurling insults that could not be borne. I knocked him from his chair.’

‘In other words,
you
started the brawl.’

‘His lewd taunts did that.’

‘Your hot temper was to blame, Giddy.’

‘His friends set upon me, all three of them.’

Nicholas turned to him. ‘What encouragement did you give?’

‘None beyond a few remarks.’

‘Taunts and curses, more like.’

‘They did not frighten me, Nick. I had to show them that.’

‘So you provoked them instead,’ said Nicholas. ‘No wonder they assaulted you. If you punch their friend and call them vile names, what do you expect?’

Mussett forced a smile. ‘I expected to win.’

‘You are lucky that you survived, Giddy. Others might have left you for dead or hurled you into the river. And how did they know where you were staying?’ asked Nicholas, eyes back on the road ahead. ‘My guess is that this friend of yours must have told them.’

‘Yes, I think she did. When they stopped kicking me, I heard Bess mention the Star.’ He winced aloud and felt his side. ‘My ribs are wondrous sore this morning.’

‘It’s no more than you deserve,’ said Nicholas coldly.

‘Am I to have no sympathy at all?’

‘It’s reserved for Westfield’s Men. The landlord thought us welcome customers until you were brought in like that. It changed his opinion. Jonathan Jowlett was glad to see the
back of us today. I daresay he was relieved that you started the brawl elsewhere and not at the Star Inn.’

‘That bearded rogue was to blame.’

‘No,’ said Nicholas firmly, ‘
you
were. And it’s not the first time, is it?’

‘It’s the first time since I joined Westfield’s Men.’

‘First and last, Giddy.’

‘I swear it!’

‘Your word is easily given, and just as easily forgotten.’

‘Fists and feet reminded me of that last night,’ said Mussett with contrition. ‘Because I forgot my oath to you, I was justly punished. My face is on fire and my body aches as if a herd of cattle trample over it.’ He put a hand on Nicholas’s arm. ‘Forgive me, Nick. I’ll make amends.’

‘How?’

‘By taking a vow of abstinence that I mean to keep.’

‘That will not wipe away the memory of last night.’

‘Then I’ll do more.’

‘What more is there?’

‘There must be
something
,’ said Mussett, casting round for a way to regain his approval. ‘Something that will prove to Westfield’s Men how much I value what they did for me. I have it!’ he announced, smacking his knee. ‘I’ll help you to find the killer of Fortunatus Hope. Only I can do that, Nick. If Conway’s Men are involved in any way, I can tell you for sure.’

Nicholas was interested. ‘Go on.’

‘We know that they are in the county and may not be far away.’

‘Sebastian Frant has offered to find out where they are.’

‘When he does,’ said Mussett, desperate to impress, ‘send me off to them. Tobias would hate to see me again but I still have friends among Conway’s Men. One, in particular, owes me a great favour. He has no love for Tobias Fitzgeoffrey. If there is scandal to report, I’ll hear it from him.’

‘We could never trust you enough to let you out of our sight.’

‘Then come with me, Nick. Or give me another companion to watch over me. If you seek the truth about Master Hope’s death, this is the best way to find it.’ He gave a crooked smile. ‘Will this win back your good opinion of me?’

‘No,’ said Nicholas bluntly, ‘but it will prove that you are in earnest.’

Lawrence Firethorn called a halt near a large pond so that they could have a rest and water the horses. Edmund Hoode’s donkey was the first to trot to the edge of the pond, its loud bray scattering the ducks that had been floating around in search of food. Now that the drizzle had abated, the sun peeped grudgingly through the clouds to show the travellers what beautiful countryside they were passing through. Apple orchards stood off to their left. On a farm to their right, pears, plums and cherries were grown. The soil was rich and the climate benevolent. Kent was a truly county of abundance. Like other visitors from London, Westfield’s Men felt that the cows were much
larger, the poultry much finer and the sheep much fatter than those raised on the fringes of the capital. Unwilling to leave the Queen’s Head, they were finding that travel had its compensations.

After leading his horse to water, Firethorn had a quiet word with Nicholas.

‘What does he have to say for himself?’ he asked.

‘Giddy is full of penitence.’

‘He was too full of ale last night. There’s nothing penitential about that.’

‘I taxed him with his folly.’

‘What of his injuries?’

‘Good fortune attended him,’ said Nicholas. ‘Nothing was broken, apart from his promise to us, but he’ll be in pain for some time. Giddy is a strong man. Others would not recover so quickly from such a beating.’

‘He’ll get another from me if he lets us down again.’

‘You’ll not lack for helpers.’

Nicholas looked in Mussett’s direction. Squatting at the edge of the water, he was dabbing a wet cloth gingerly on his face. Everyone else had turned away from him. There was no happy banter. It was as if the others were pretending that he was not there.

‘He’ll not play Bedlam in that condition,’ said Firethorn.

‘Nor Rigormortis. Those dances are well beyond him. His legs are black with bruises and make him stagger rather than walk.’

‘Our choice is made for us, Nick.
Vincentio’s Revenge
, it shall be in Faversham.’

‘Or
The Loyal Subject
,’ argued Nicholas. ‘It gives him less to learn.’

‘Watch him closely.’

‘I will.’

‘Acquaint him with the degree of my anger,’ said Firethorn.

‘I think he knows that.’

‘Then keep him out of my reach or I’ll not be able to reign in my temper.’

‘That was Giddy’s offence. He was too choleric.’

‘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.