Bartholomew Fair

by Ann Swinfen

  ‘We were a large party, as I said, but I suppose I was mostly with Anne Lopez.’

  ‘Then take her with you again.’

  ‘I do not think I could persuade her into that tent again. It was – unpleasant. And you must understand, her father was mocked. She will not want to repeat the experience of sitting through that.’

  ‘Hmm. Very well. I still think you are better not alone.’

  ‘I could accompany Kit,’ Arthur Gregory offered. ‘Not as good, perhaps as man and maid visiting the Fair, but often groups of friends will go.’

  Phelippes nodded. ‘Aye, that’s a good plan. You both know Poley, so you can both look out for him. And two pairs of sharp eyes looking over the audience will be better than one. Well thought of, Arthur.’

  I smiled at Arthur. ‘We’ll buy more gingerbread for your wife.’

  ‘Do not forget. This is a serious business for Sir Francis.’ Phelippes frowned a little, as though he thought my remark foolish.

  ‘We must look like every other fairgoer,’ I said firmly. ‘If we stand about, spying on everyone, we will attract attention at once.’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘I noticed yesterday,’ I said, ‘that as well as the performance at two o’ the clock, there was to be another in the evening, at eight. If there are two shows today, do you want us to attend both?’

  ‘Best if you do. It will give us a clearer picture of who is associating with these Italians and their treasonous plays. Keep your eyes open for troublesome soldiers as well. I have been told that they camped in Finsbury Fields for the night, but they are unlikely to stay there. I want to know what they are doing, where they are going, even if the Lord Mayor is dealing with their leaders and considering their demands.’

  ‘Certainly,’ I said. It struck me then that I had not mentioned my encounter with Adam Batecorte. I would not do so. The man had probably saved my life once. At least I could keep his whereabouts to myself now.

  ‘I will stay late here in the office,’ Phelippes said. ‘If you have anything serious to report after you have attended the evening performance, come straight to me here. I will wait until midnight. If I hear nothing, I will assume you have nothing to report, and you can both come here tomorrow morning, when we will consider whether there is anything else which needs to be done.’

  I nodded. ‘Very well. Arthur?’

  ‘Aye.’ He looked a little troubled. ‘My wife is somewhat near her time. I would not wish to be too late going home.’

  ‘If there is anything urgent to report,’ I said, ‘it will not need both of us. You can go straight home to your wife after the second performance – if there is one. I can come on here by myself.’

  I turned to Phelippes. ‘Of course, there may be no evening performance. In that case, how long do you want us to stay?’

  ‘Come back about seven o’ the clock in that case,’ he said. ‘If you hang about the Fair too long with nothing to do, that might raise suspicions.’

  And put us in some danger, I thought.

  Phelippes handed me a purse. ‘There is enough there for you to take a fast wherry back here from Smithfield. If you go wandering about the streets of London as late as that, you may be set upon.’

  He glanced at my side. ‘Keep your sword with you.’

  ‘I will,’ I said, somewhat fervently, and they both laughed.

  Not that I could regard myself as a skilled swordsman even now, despite the training Sir Francis had arranged for me with Master Scannard at the Tower. I knew that I was quick, and that I was a good judge of an opponent’s character and intentions from watching his eyes, but my wrist would never be as strong as a well-built man’s. As far as skill was concerned, I was probably a fair match for an average swordsman, and Master Scannard always said that skill was what mattered most, but against a really skilled opponent, or one with sheer brute strength, I would have little chance in hand-to-hand combat.

  These less than comforting thoughts accompanied me back to Wood Street. I would take an early meal there, then meet Arthur where we had arranged, by the Conduit in Cheapside, which would give us time to reach the Fair before the first performance of the puppet show. I found myself hoping that there would not be a later performance, for I did not care for the thought of being abroad so late at night, even with money to take a wherry back downriver. I began to work out the various possibilities in my head as I walked.

  If there was to be no evening performance, we would take a wherry back to the upriver side of the Bridge at seven and report to Phelippes. I could then walk home no later than usual. If we had to stay late for the evening performance, then after reporting at Seething Lane, I could take a wherry back up river as far as Queenhithe, but I would then have to walk up from the landing through a rough and unsavoury part of the city all the way to Wood Street. At that time of night it would be dangerous. I wished I could take Rikki with me, for he was capable of scaring off any casual cutpurse or attacker, but I could not take him to the Fair. It would make me too conspicuous, for he was a large dog, and I would draw even more attention to myself if I tried to take him with me into the puppeteers’ tent.

  The only answer seemed to be to spend the night at Seething Lane. I had done so before, when we were hard pressed. I could do so again. I frowned. I was beginning to wish I had never troubled to take word of the puppet show to Phelippes. It might well turn out to be a great blow about nothing.

  Arthur was already waiting by the Great Conduit when I arrived, a little before one by the clock of St Mary-le-Bow. Despite his concern for his wife, he seemed rather pleased than otherwise to be having this unexpected holiday from the toils of Seething Lane.

  ‘We may be undertaking a serious mission for Master Phelippes,’ he said, ‘but there is no reason we should not enjoy the Fair, is there, Kit?’

  ‘No reason at all,’ I said, with a grin. ‘And there is an excellent inn set up in Smithfield, where we may take supper. Phelippes has given me coin enough.’

  We set off at a smart pace until we reached Newgate, where the crowds became so thick that no one could move faster than a donkey’s pace. With the weather remaining fine, it seemed that even more citizens were taking time off from their lawful occupations to come to Smithfield. There was a large crowd of apprentices in front of us, in their blue tunics. From their noisy chatter is seemed they were apprenticed to master drapers, so I suppose they had some legitimate business here at the Cloth Fair, though I thought it unlikely they would be spending all their time fingering fine English broadcloth and Italian damask. There was certainly some talk amongst them of betting on the cock fights.

  At last we were through the gate and on our way up Pie Corner to Smithfield. Music floated through the air towards us from the fair ground, for there must be some entertainment of dancing or singing afoot. There was also cheering from somewhere over to the left – sport of some kind, wrestling or bear baiting. I hoped the stand for the bear baiting was secure. The temporary structures on the Fair could never provide the same safety as the Southwark bear gardens. A few years ago an eager boy had leaned forward for a better view at the Smithfield bear baiting and fallen over the barrier. Before anyone could save him the bear had seized him and mauled him to death in front of his horror-struck parents. Since then the barriers had been made higher by law, but they were still flimsy.

  ‘This way,’ I said to Arthur.

  By now I had a clear map of the temporary streets and booths in my head. One thing I have been blessed with is a good sense of direction.

  ‘The Cloth Fair is over there,’ I said, ‘beside St Bartholomew-the-Great. That is all well guarded and respectable. There will be no malpractices there. Too many watchful eyes. The inn I mentioned is right at the north end. If we follow this lane of stalls along to the end, we’ll come out beside the platform where the Lord Mayor opened the Fair. Since then it has been used by different groups to put on their shows.’

  We sauntered along, like any other visitors to the fair
ground, stopping to examine the stalls and exchange jests with the shopmen.

  ‘At the end of this lane,’ I said, ‘is the gingerbread stall where I bought your dragon.’

  ‘My wife was delighted,’ Arthur said with a grin. ‘I fear it may all be eaten by the time I reach home tonight.’

  ‘Then we had better get another. Shall we buy our gingerbread now, which means we must carry it with us, or wait until later?’

  ‘Let us buy it now. Later all the best pieces may be gone.’

  The same mother and daughter were hard at work, as they had been the day before, and the display on the counter was undiminished. I bought several pieces of the plain ungilded gingerbread to share with the Lopez family, while Arthur bought another dragon and a love knot, both gilded. He reddened when he saw me grinning at the love knot.

  ‘Well, Kit, I do love my wife! I am not ashamed of it. And she has been very much afraid with this child she is carrying. We have lost two already before they were born.’

  ‘I am not laughing at you, Arthur. You are a very fortunate man. Look, I shall buy this gilded baby for her. Tell her she must not eat it until the new babe is safely born. It will be a good luck talisman for her.’

  I handed over more coins from my own purse. I was carrying both Phelippes’s purse and mine tucked into the breast of my doublet, after my experience with the cutpurse at my belt two days before. Arthur had also taken the hint and hidden his purse.

  ‘Now,’ I said, as we came out into the open space where the wrestling had taken place before the Lord Mayor, ‘you can see along several lanes from here. The one ahead of us leads to the far end of the fair ground, where the inn is. Over to our right, as you can see, in St Bartholomew’s Hospital, and further along the church and the Cloth Fair.’

  The music we had heard must have come from here, for a group of musicians was packing up their instruments – fiddles, lutes, crumhorns, a psaltery and a simple type of portative organ. Two men were dismantling a temporary May pole on a stand and laying the pieces in a donkey cart along with the instruments. There were half a dozen women in blue gowns with full white sleeves, and half a dozen men in white shirts with waistcoats and breeches of the same blue.

  ‘Dancers,’ said Arthur. ‘’Tis a pity we missed them. You don’t see so much dancing in the City any more. Some of those on the Common Council look on it with disfavour.’

  ‘Puritans!’ I said in disgust. ‘They would banish all fun and joy from life.’

  ‘I do not understand their doctrine,’ Arthur said earnestly. He was still watching the musicians rather sadly. ‘They say that, before ever we are born, some of us are destined to be saved, all the rest destined to end in the everlasting torments of Hell. How can that be? Does God not care how a man leads his life?’

  I reflected that I had never heard Arthur say so much in all the years I had known him as I had heard him say today.

  ‘It does call in question the worth of a man’s good conduct,’ I said. ‘If a man is destined for Heaven, he need not bother how he leads his life. Let him misbehave how he will. And if he is destined for Hell, why should he be a good man on this earth? It seems to me a doctrine leading to chaos.’

  As if summoned by our words, but more probably by the sound of music which had floated across Smithfield, a dark-visaged and angry man strode toward the platform, where the May pole was now dismantled and the last of the instruments, a couple of tambourines and a small drum, were being added to the cart. He carried a heavy staff with a brass handle and wore the gloomy dark grey clothes of those very Puritans we had been discussing. Instead of a ruff, he had a wide flat collar of a rather grubby white, and on his head he wore the distinctive tall hat of the Puritans. Anne had once said she believed they wore them to make themselves look taller and more important than the common folk they raged against.

  ‘Sons and daughters of Beelzebub,’ he shouted, ‘you come here with your filthy mummeries, you lewd music and disgusting capers, and turn the minds of the people to lust and every kind of abomination.’

  Quite a crowd was beginning to gather, and there were a few nervous titters, but I saw that most people looked grave or even frightened. The musicians paid no attention to him, but continued gathering up their belongings.

  ‘Heed me, you scum!’ The Puritan shouted, and swung his staff so that it clouted one of the men on the neck. It was a nasty blow. The man was not one of the dancers in blue, but must have been one of the musicians. He staggered slightly, but regained his balance and turned to faced the ranter.

  ‘Go your ways,’ he said, loudly but calmly. ‘We do no one any harm, man woman or child. Not like you with your talk of hell fire, frightening the very wits out of weak women and children. All of your kind, you are no more than bullies, though you think yourselves so godly.’

  There was a gasp from the crowd. Few would dare defy the Puritans so boldly. They were widely disliked, but most people simply tried to avoid them.

  ‘No harm, fellow? No harm!’ The Puritan was incandescent with fury now, spittle flying from his mouth as he leaned toward the musician. ‘You shall not go unpunished!’

  At that he brought down his heavy staff on the pile of instruments in the donkey cart. There was a terrible splintering noise and the twang of snapped strings. Several of the musicians cried out and began to lift their broken instruments from the cart. One of the fiddles was smashed into fragments, most of the strings of the psaltery were broken, and the portable organ – surely their most valuable possession – looked damaged beyond repair.

  ‘Constable!’ The shout was taken up by several in the crowd, as the musician grabbed the Puritan’s staff and snapped it over his knee. The cry echoed along the lane and I saw a Fair official and two constables nearly running toward the fracas. I took Arthur by the elbow and drew him to the back of the crowd.

  ‘It will be a case for the Court of Pie Poudres,’ I said.

  ‘We should bear witness,’ Arthur said. ‘It was the Puritan started it all.’

  ‘Aye, it was, but Phelippes would not want us to become involved. It will make us conspicuous and it will be impossible for us to do what he asks. It is near time for the puppet show.’

  ‘You are right,’ he said reluctantly, ‘but I do not like to see that vile ranter go unpunished.’

  ‘I do not think he will. There are plenty in the crowd who saw what happened. Such men are not loved. There will be enough there ready to see him punished.’

  ‘Very well.’ He was still doubtful.

  ‘Look,’ I said, ‘that is the puppeteers’ tent just across there, and they are getting ready to admit the audience. The toy man’s stall is three pitches along and on the other side of the lane, do you see? And it is closed up. So I suppose that means he is playing their music again.’

  There was no sign of Robert Poley.

  We each bought a twopenny ticket and took our places amongst those standing behind the three rows of stools, near enough to see everything, but better placed to leave at the end than we had been yesterday, when we were trapped at the front of the audience. I was not sure whether the performance would be the same – I should look a fool if it was some harmless comedy today.

  I was soon justified in having gone to Phelippes and brought Arthur with me today. I think he was not quite convinced of all I had told them, for it had been difficult to convey the menace I had felt. I knew that Arthur had a little Italian. His Latin was good, and that is a great help in understanding Italian, which is, after all, just a modern dialect of Latin, even if the pronunciation has changed a good deal over the centuries. Arthur would be able to follow much of the dialogue, more than most of the audience, I suspected.

  By the time Il Dottore and Pulcinella had made their entrance and begun to speak, he glanced at me and gave a slight nod. He believed me now.

  I cannot swear that every word of the performance was the same, for I suspect that the puppeteers were speaking without a book, what my player friends would have called �
��speaking at liberty’ or ‘ad lib’, but the sense of the whole was the same – the folly of the country’s leaders, the disaster of the recent expedition, and above all, the asserted love of England for popery and the corrupt scheming of Drake and the Queen.

  I spent less time watching the stage this time, but covertly eyed the audience, trying to make out what sort of people were here. Some were clearly ordinary fairgoers – families with children, pairs of young lovers who welcomed the private darkness of the tent for reasons of their own – but there was a large group of men whose demeanour suggested that they were not here for entertainment. Some, I was almost certain, had come from amongst the makeshift army. As Phelippes had said, they were not likely to spend all their time in Finsbury Fields. For one thing, they must eat. If indeed they had between them no money at all, then they must steal to eat, and what better place than here, amongst the crowds and stalls?

  When the performance was over, there was even warmer applause than there had been on the previous day, and as Arthur and I made our way out of the tent, I saw that some (though not all) of those I took to be soldiers had remained behind.

  ‘Well?’ I said, once we were out of earshot of the rest of the audience.

  ‘You are right.’ He looked worried. ‘It is subversive and dangerous. I wonder what they really have in mind.’

  ‘Did you take note of the faces?’

  ‘Aye. A mixed lot. Many ordinary folk, but I think some were soldiers.’

  ‘So do I. And there was one swarthy fellow who stood just inside the entrance. I do not think he was English.’

  ‘I did not see him.’

  ‘He was in the shadows. Difficult to see if you were watching the puppets. He was not. He was watching the audience, as I was.’

  ‘What do you want to do now?’

  ‘I think we must quarter the whole of Smithfield, searching for Poley, if we can do it without drawing attention to ourselves. I would also like you to take note of the toy man, Nicholas Borecroft. He may be quite innocent, and he may be telling the truth, that the Italians asked him at the last minute to play for them. Still, I would like to be sure. I have just seen him return to his stall, behind you. Don’t turn round. I’ll work my way along this lane and then into the next one. Perhaps you could buy something from his stall. Get a better look at him.’