The Vagabond Clown (29 page)

‘His death was forced upon me.’

‘I think that I can guess why.’

‘I doubt that,’ said Frant.

‘Then perhaps I should tell you that we called at your house earlier on. We spoke to Thomasina and admired the furniture in your parlour. Some similar pieces are stored down here in the hold, are they not? Your daughter told us why.’

‘Thomasina would never do that.’

‘She was too proud of her religion to deny it.’

‘Give me the dagger, Sebastian,’ said Owen Elias, ‘or I’ll take it from you.’

‘Not if you wish Lawrence to live.’ Frant’s hand shook and the blade of the dagger drew a trickle of blood from Firethorn’s throat. ‘Stay back, Owen. If you value his life, keep your distance.’

‘That’s sensible advice,’ agreed Nicholas. ‘Leave him be, Owen.’

The Welshman was perplexed. ‘Allow him to get away with this?’

‘Sebastian will get away with nothing.’

‘That depends on what kind of bargain we strike,’ said Frant.

‘You are hardly in a position to strike any kind of bargain,’ said Nicholas quietly. ‘The ship has been boarded and we’ve a dozen armed men on deck. Do you think that you can defy us all, Sebastian?’

‘I’ll trade my safety for Lawrence’s life.’

Elias was scornful. ‘Your safety! You
have
no safety.’

‘Let me handle this, Owen,’ said Nicholas. ‘My only concern is with Lawrence’s safety. We should rejoice that
he’s still alive. Sebastian deserves our thanks for that.’

‘He’ll get no thanks from me.’

Nicholas turned to Frant again. ‘Forgive him, Sebastian. He does not understand. There’s only one reason why you spared Lawrence and it was not because you needed him as a means of bargaining, was it?’

‘That no longer matters,’ said Frant, desperation making his voice hoarse.

‘I believe that it does.’

‘Lawrence’s life is in your hands, Nick.’

‘And what about Thomasina’s life?’ asked Nicholas. ‘Have you forgotten her? It’s a cruel father who’d save his own skin and leave his daughter to suffer the consequences of his crimes. I refuse to believe that Sebastian Frant is that callous.’ He took a step closer. ‘Thomasina loves you. She looks up to you. At least, she did until she heard that you were involved in murder and kidnap. Are you going to make her even more ashamed by taking yet another life?’

‘Be quiet!’ howled Frant, wrestling with his conscience.

‘Put the dagger aside, Sebastian.’

‘No!’

‘Put it aside,’ said Nicholas softly, moving in closer. ‘We both know that you could not kill Lawrence. You’ve too much compassion in you for that. You simply wanted him out of the way so that Westfield’s Men could not continue. Nothing will be served by his death now.’ He held out a hand. ‘Let me have the dagger, Sebastian.’

‘Stay back!’ shouted Frant, pointing the weapon at him.

‘Would you kill
me
as well? Then do so,’ invited
Nicholas, spreading his arms and offering his chest. ‘Come on, Sebastian. We know that you can hire an assassin. Let’s see if you have the courage to use that dagger yourself.’ He took another step forward. ‘We were friends once. End that friendship now, if you must.’

Frant raised the dagger to strike then lost his nerve. Opening his hand, he let it drop with a clatter to the floor. Nicholas was on him in an instant, pinioning him so that he could not move. Elias moved with equal speed to cut through Firethorn’s bonds. The actor-manager tore off the gag and the blindfold. He blinked up at Frant.

‘
You
had this done to me, Sebastian?’ he asked. ‘I’ll strangle you!’

‘No,’ said Nicholas, using his body to protect Frant. ‘We’ll take him back to face the rigour of the law.’

‘He’ll feel my rigour first, Nick.’

‘You do not look as if you’ve any to spare, Lawrence,’ said Elias, putting an arm around him. ‘Leave him to us.’

‘But he was the one who ordered my kidnap.’

‘Sebastian did not carry it out himself,’ observed Nicholas. ‘He’d not soil his Roman Catholic hands with that kind of crime. He instructed someone else to abduct you. Is that not true, Sebastian?’ He tightened his grip on Frant. ‘Who was the man and where is he now?’ Frant’s lower lip began to tremble. ‘I thought so. The villain is aboard.’

As soon as they were hailed from the deck of the
Mercury
, he knew that they were in severe difficulties. A ship would not be dispatched from Dover to overhaul them unless
there was a good cause. Flight was impossible. The only hope for Robert Armiger was to mingle with the crew of the
Mermaid
to pass himself off as one of them. Arrests would be made, the ship would be impounded and the captain would certainly be punished for his smuggling activities. Lowly members of the crew, however, might not suffer undue hardship. Armiger felt confident that Frant would not give him away and there was nobody else to identify him as a killer. Accordingly, he stood close to John Strood under the watchful eyes of the armed sailors who had come aboard from the
Mercury
.

His dream of escape was soon shattered. Nicholas Bracewell came bursting out of the hold with vengeance burning inside him. He looked around the deck.

‘Which one of you is Robert Armiger?’ he called out.

There was no reply. Crew members exchanged nervous glances but said nothing.

‘Where is that killer?’ demanded Nicholas. ‘Anyone who hides him is guilty of his crimes. I ask again – which one of you is Robert Armiger?’

‘He is,’ said Strood, pointing to his companion.

It was a dangerous admission. The words were hardly out of his mouth when Strood felt a dagger being thrust between his ribs by Armiger. Letting out a groan, he fell to the deck. Armiger fled from the spot, pushing his way roughly through the other members of the crew. Nicholas ran quickly to Strood to kneel beside him, cradling his head in one arm and trying to stem the bleeding. It was too late. Armiger’s thrust had been fatal. With a last smile of apology
to his old shipmate, Strood finally escaped the shame of making his living as a smuggler on the
Mermaid
. Nicholas swallowed hard and offered up a silent prayer for his friend. Then he looked for Armiger once more. The man was up on the quarter deck, holding three people at bay with the bloodstained dagger that had just cut down Strood.

‘Leave him to me!’ ordered Nicholas, running to the steps.

Everyone backed away from Armiger. Having killed once, he was clearly ready to do so again and would not be taken without a fight. What amazed all those who watched was that Nicholas had no weapon of his own. He stood within six feet of Armiger.

‘John Strood was a friend of mine,’ he said.

‘Then I’ll send you after him,’ retorted Armiger, waving the dagger.

‘You’ve murdered enough people already.’

‘One more would give me great pleasure.’

‘Your case is hopeless,’ said Nicholas. ‘We can have you shot down with muskets or run through with swords. Put up your dagger while you may.’

‘Then step a little closer,’ urged the other man, ‘and you shall have it.’

Nicholas did not hesitate. During his years at sea, he had learnt to handle himself in a brawl on deck and had disarmed more than one adversary. Armiger was a skilled assassin but he preferred to stab his victims from behind when they were unguarded. Circumstances had changed. They were on the quarter deck of a merchant ship that
was bobbing violently on the water. Nicholas was no unprotected victim. He was strong, alert and brave enough to take on an armed man. It put a tiny doubt in Armiger’s mind. As Nicholas came forward, he lunged at him with the dagger then made several sweeps to keep him away. Nicholas eluded the weapon with deft footwork then circled his man as he waited for his moment. It soon came. Armiger lunged again, missed, stabbed the air once more as Nicholas leapt back then hurled the dagger with vicious force. Nicholas ducked and the weapon went harmlessly over his head and into the sea.

Armiger gave a yell of exasperation and flung himself at Nicholas, grabbing him by the throat and forcing him back against the bulwark. They grappled, twisted and turned, then fell to the floor. Nicholas was momentarily dazed as his head struck the stout oak boards but Armiger did not pursue his advantage. Instead, refusing to end his days at the end of a rope, he decided to take his own life and clambered over the bulwark. Before he could jump, he felt Nicholas’s arm around his neck. There was another ferocious struggle as the two of them grappled and punched. Armiger would not be denied. With a last burst of energy, he jumped from the bulwark and pulled Nicholas after him. There was a loud splash as the two bodies hit the water. The moment they surfaced, they went for each other’s throats again.

Everyone on board rushed to the bulwark to watch the fight. Firethorn and Elias were among them, urging Nicholas on and wishing that they could help him in some way. Intent on drowning, Armiger was determined to take Nicholas with
him and they threshed about wildly. A boat was lowered but it could never reach them in time to separate them. Armiger got a grip around Nicholas’s neck and forced him below the surface. The two bodies vanished for well over a minute with only a patch of white foam to show where the fight was still continuing. Firethorn and Elias began to fear for their friend but their anxiety was premature. Nicholas’s head eventually appeared. After gasping in air, he hauled the spluttering Armiger to the surface.

‘He’s still alive!’ he shouted. ‘I saved him for the hangman.’

Lifted by the safe return of their actor-manager, Westfield’s Men entered Dover Castle with brimming confidence. They felt that they could conquer with their art a fortress that could not be taken by force. The first surprise that greeted them was the amount of livestock in the grassy courtyard. Over a hundred sheep and a dozen cows were grazing peacefully within the confines of the castle so that fresh milk and tender mutton were readily available. The Great Hall was larger than anywhere else where they had performed in Kent and the number of chairs and benches already set out indicated that a full audience was expected. Nicholas Bracewell had visited the place earlier to take note of its dimensions and to work out where best to erect their stage. All that the actors had to do was to polish a well-tried play. The morning rehearsal went well though Firethorn, still feeling the effects of his ordeal, was careful to pace himself. Refreshment was
then served before the company readied itself for the afternoon performance.

William Brooke, tenth Baron Cobham, presided over the occasion. As Constable of the Castle, he held an important post but, as Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports, he also had a ready source of wealth. Governor of the ports of Hastings, Romney, Hythe, Dover and Sandwich, to which Winchelsea and Rye had been added, he was allowed to deduct five hundred pounds from any parliamentary taxation levied on the towns. Several members of his family were in attendance, including his son, Henry, and, significantly, his son-in-law, Sir Robert Cecil. Lord Westfield had brought his own entourage and guests from a wide area came in to swell the numbers. It was a more distinguished and exclusive audience than the troupe had met before in the county. No standees were allowed and no sailors were permitted to wander in from the local taverns.

In view of recent events,
The Loyal Subject
was the obvious choice even though it had been staged earlier at the Guildhall. It dealt with themes that had great relevance for Westfield’s Men and gave Firethorn the opportunity to exhibit the full range of his skills. Though set nominally in Italy, everyone recognised that the play was about the dangers that threatened the English throne. The Duchess of Milan was a cipher for Queen Elizabeth and some of her leading courtiers could also be identified with their real counterparts by more perceptive spectators. It gave the piece a sharpness and immediacy that added to its appeal. Richard Honeydew was a beautiful but peremptory
Duchess with the other apprentices as his ladies-in-waiting. Having whitened his beard to assume old age, Owen Elias was a Chief Minister who bore much more than a vague resemblance to Lord Burleigh, whose son, Sir Robert Cecil, was in the audience. Edmund Hoode once again took the small but telling role of the judge while Rowland Carr, James Ingram and Frank Quilter all had individual chances to shine as conspirators. Barnaby Gill, a decrepit retainer, was liberated from his wheelbarrow and carried on stage in a chair. Deaf, scatterbrained and querulous, he provided some wonderful humour, his broken leg concealed beneath a long robe and his comic song a special moment in the performance.

It was Firethorn, however, who dominated the stage as Lorenzo. Brave, honest and glowing with integrity, he was a hero whose tragedy touched all who watched. His prompt action saved the Duchess from an assassin’s dagger. Yet it was his loyalty that eventually betrayed him and led to his execution. Firethorn used a particular couplet to give the fullest expression to his grief. Manacled by his gaolers and left alone in his cell, he spoke words that were a howl of pain.

At the close of the play, when the executioner held up the head that he appeared to have struck from Lorenzo’s shoulders, there was an outburst of protest from the hall and several of the ladies began to weep. Relief was mixed with gratitude when Firethorn led out his troupe to take
their bow and it was seen that the actor was still very much alive. The applause was deafening. After their disappointing performance at the Guildhall, the company had vindicated its reputation in the most striking way.

It was while they were in his apartment with their patron that the whole story began to emerge. Lord Westfield had invited Firethorn, Gill and Hoode to join him as the leading sharers and, because of his involvement in the rescue, Nicholas Bracewell was also there. All five of them were sipping Canary wine of the finest quality. Having been kept at the outer margin of events by his disability, it was Gill who felt that he had missed everything. He pressed for details.