The Vagabond Clown

by Edward Marston

  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.

  ‘Fidelity has always been my cry

  And constant will I be until I die!’

  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.

  ‘Sebastian was a friend of ours,’ he said. ‘Why did he let us down?’

  ‘He served another master,’ explained Nicholas, ‘and that was the Roman Catholic Church. In time, it made him lose all affection for us.’

  ‘Why was that, Nicholas?’

  ‘You’ve seen one of the reasons this very afternoon. The Loyal Subject is a play that’s anathema to those who follow the Old Religion. So was The Foolish Friar. In their different ways, both laid bare the iniquities of Popery. When we performed harmless comedies or dark tragedies about revenge, Sebastian Frant was happy enough to act as our scrivener and watch us at the Queen’s Head. Then we presented a play that he found so repulsive that he could not bear to stay in our employ.’

  ‘Which play was that, Nick?’ asked Firethorn.

  ‘Not one of mine, I hope,’ said Hoode.

  ‘No, Edmund,’ replied Nicholas. ‘the author was Jonas Applegarth.’

  ‘Then it must have been The Misfortunes of Marriage.’

  ‘The very same.’

  Lord Westfield stirred. ‘But I thought it no more than a simple comedy.’

  ‘It had a deeper meaning, my lord,’ said Nicholas tactfully, ‘and it was not lost on someone like Sebastian. He told me that it was an ordeal to copy out lines that abused the religion to which he had dedicated his life. That was the point at which he left us but it was not to go into retirement. He continued the work that he had always been doing.’

  ‘As a spy,’ said Firethorn with disgust. ‘We harboured a Catholic spy.’

  ‘He confessed the truth as we sailed back to Dover. It all began when he was secretary to the Clerk of the Privy Council. Secret documents passed before his eyes every day. Sebastian was only required to copy them out but his keen memory retained them so that he could pass on intelligence to French and Spanish accomplices.’

  ‘Thank heaven you caught him, Nick!’ exclaimed Hoode.

  Gill was puzzled. ‘Why choose to act as our scrivener?’

  ‘Because the work interested him,’ said Nicholas, ‘and it was a convenient mask behind which he could hide. When he quit his post, he needed to remain in London for a time. Westfield’s Men were only one of a number who employed him.’

  ‘I wish that we’d never met the rogue,’ growled Firethorn. ‘Although, I have to admit that he was not entirely without finer qualities. When that ruffian of his beat me aboard the ship, it was Sebastian who bathed my wounds. I thank him for that.’ His voice hardened again. ‘But it will not stop me cheering when he and Armiger are hanged.’

  ‘Their confederates will also suffer,’ noted Nicholas. ‘Both have been arrested. One was the messenger who led you astray with that forged letter.’

  ‘I was too easily fooled by that.’

  ‘Sebastian has a cunning hand.’

  ‘Too cunning,’ said Lord Westfield. ‘When he told us that he was to retire, I wrote to thank him for all the work he had done. He would have kept the letter to copy both my hand and seal.’

  ‘His days as spy and forger are over,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘What of his daughter?’ asked Gill. ‘Was she caught up in his nefarious work?’

  ‘To this extent only. Like her father, she kept alive the flame of the Old Religion. They bought furniture that had once belonged in Catholic churches and sold it in France. Sebastian told me that they sometimes brought back Catholic bibles in exchange. That’s what led them to use the Mermaid as their merchant ship. It was old and decayed but it was known to carry anything for money. When they searched the hold,’ said Nicholas, ‘they found that church furniture was not the only thing being smuggled. The captain will not be sailing a ship for a very long time.’

  ‘What will happen to Thomasina?’ said Hoode.

  ‘That’s for the court to decide.’

  ‘So lovely yet so seasoned in deceit.’

  ‘Thomasina had no part in the murders or the kidnap,’ Nicholas reminded him.

  ‘Her father did. He instigated all three. Why pick on Fortunatus Hope?’

  ‘That’s my question,’ said Lord Westfield, leaning forward.

  ‘Then I’ll give you Sebastian’s answer,’ replied Nicholas. ‘He and Master Hope were partners in treachery, passing secrets to our enemies abroad. At least, so it seemed to Sebastian. Then he realised that Fortunatus Hope was playing a deeper game as a counterspy. That discovery sealed his fate. Sebastian had him killed to avoid being exposed himself.’

  ‘But why arrange the murder at the Queen’s Head?’ said Firethorn.

  Gill tapped his chest with an indignant finger. ‘And why choose my dance as the moment to halt the performance? It was unforgivable.’

  ‘It was pure chance,’ said Nicholas. ‘Sebastian’s orders were to cause sufficient disturbance to distract everyone but the lads he employed went beyond that. They were too drunk to care. Once the affray started, it got completely out of hand. Sebastian wanted it to be a public murder so that it would embarrass us. From the moment that we began to stage plays like The Misfortunes of Marriage that ridiculed the Roman Catholic faith, he wanted to get his revenge on us.’

  ‘Is that why he had Giddy Mussett stabbed?’ said Hoode.

  ‘It was an attempt to stop us, Edmund. In driving us out of the Queen’s Head, Sebastian did the last thing that he intended. He set us out on the road to Dover. When he learnt where we were headed, he did all in his power to bring the tour to a halt, even if it meant killing our clown or kidnapping our manager.’

  Firethorn rolled his eyes. ‘At least, he spared my life.’

  ‘An old affection lingered.’

  ‘There’s no affection in being abducted and beaten, Nick.’

  ‘His aim was to stop us reaching here,’ continued Nicholas. ‘If we got as far as Dover Castle, it was inevitable that our host would learn of the death of our clown and, before that, of the assassination of Fortunatus Hope.’

  Lord Westfield rose to his feet. ‘I can explain why,’ he said, seizing his cue. ‘My good friend, William Brooke, Lord Cobham, is a man of consequence who knows the very nerves of state. Had the name of Master Hope been whispered in his ear, he would have realised at once that an English spy had been murdered for political reasons. It would have led him to do what he has now done and that was to order a search of the dead man’s papers that were kept at a secret address.’

  ‘A secret address?’ repeated Gill.

  ‘Here in Dover,’ said Nicholas. ‘Lord Cobham knew where it was because Master Hope reported to him from ti
me to time. Sebastian Frant did not. When he believed they were confederates, he sent letters to Master Hope that would expose Sebastian as a spy if they fell into the wrong hands.’

  ‘Now I understand why he did all he could to prevent us playing here at the castle,’ said Firethorn. ‘Stop the tour and he saved his life.’

  ‘But the truth about Master Hope was bound to emerge in time,’ said Hoode.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Nicholas. ‘That’s why Sebastian had someone searching the town for that secret address. He wanted to destroy those letters before they destroyed him.’

  ‘But how could they, Nick?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The letters would have been written in code that nobody but Sebastian and Fortunatus Hope could decipher. Sebastian would have been safe.’

  ‘Would he?’ asked Nicholas. ‘You’ve seen that neat hand of his. No matter how clever the code, there would be no doubt who actually wrote those letters. Sebastian Frant was betrayed by his own profession. His hand was wedded to an elegance that no other scrivener could have achieved. It would have been his undoing.’

  ‘You were his undoing, Nick,’ said Firethorn gratefully. ‘When I was tied up in that stinking hold, the last voice I expected to hear was yours. I was sore afraid, I confess it. When Sebastian held that dagger to my throat, I thought my end was nigh.’

  ‘He could not bring himself to do it.’

  ‘I think that I understand why. It was one thing to have a vagabond clown like Giddy Mussett stabbed to death but I posed a different challenge. When it came to it,’ said Firethorn, giving his vanity free rein, ‘Sebastian was restrained by the memory of all those wonderful performances I gave at the Queen’s Head. He could not bear the notion of robbing London of its finest actor. Without me, Westfield’s Men would wither away.’