Edward Marston - The Mad Courtesan

‘Give me the money, you viper!’

‘Would that I could, dear friend!’ sighed Carrick.

‘Friend, am I not: dear was I never!’

‘I count you among my closest fellows.’

‘Count out some coins instead, Sebastian.’

‘You will be paid in good time.’

‘I urge the reckoning now.’

‘You do so in vain, Owen,’ said the other with a shrug. ‘Truly, I have no money, sir. I have borrowed afresh to buy myself food and drink.’

‘To borrow and not repay is to steal.’

‘Be patient but a little longer.’

‘Give me my money, Sebastian.’

‘As soon as I may.’

‘Now!’ yelled the fiery Welshman, grabbing him with both hands. ‘Pay me forthwith or — by St David! — I’ll tear you limb from limb and feed you to the inn-yard dogs.’

Sebastian Carrick tried to defuse the situation with an amiable laugh but it only enraged his attacker even more. Rising to his feet, Owen Elias hauled him up from his bench and flung him across the room with sudden power. Fury and envy surged up and conjoined in the Welshman’s breast to send him hurtling after his honey-tongued colleague in order to belabour him unmercifully. Before he could even land the first punch, however, he was drenched from head to toe by a few gallons of cold, brackish water from one of the wooden fire buckets. Nicholas Bracewell had arrived in time to see the quarrel and to dampen it down before it got out of hand. Sebastian Carrick grinned with relief but Owen Elias only glowered as the whole taproom filled with derisive laughter. Chafed but chastened, he did not resist when the book holder hurried both him and his fellow out into the yard. Nicholas did not mince his words and his soft West Country vowels were hardened into a curt threat.

‘Do you seek dismissal from the company, sirs?’

‘Indeed not,’ said Elias.

‘Nothing would grieve us more,’ said Carrick.

‘Brawling will not be tolerated,’ emphasised Nicholas with a warning finger. ‘We are only here at the Queen’s Head on sufferance and we must give our nagging landlord no more excuse to send us hence. Save your argument for some private place or, better still, resolve it here and part as friends. Would you have Westfield’s Men evicted over some petty difference between you?’

‘It is not petty,’ said Elias, still dripping wet. ‘It is a very serious matter and I will be answered.’

Carrick smirked. ‘That bucket was an eloquent reply.’

‘You owe me six shillings, sir!’

‘First, do but loan me a further five.’

‘Scurvy rogue!’

‘Peace, peace!’ ordered Nicholas. ‘Raised voices solve nothing. Let’s hear this out calmly.’ He turned to Carrick. ‘Tell your tale first, Sebastian.’

‘But I am the injured party!’ wailed Elias.

‘Your turn will come,’ said Nicholas, quelling him with a glance. ‘Your temper needs more time to cool.’

The Welshman knew better than to argue with the book holder. A big, broad-shouldered man with a muscular strength beneath his affable manner, Nicholas could assert himself if the need arose. His fair hair and full beard danced gently in the wind but his stern eyes kept Owen Elias subdued as the facts of the case were laid out. Sebastian Carrick made light of the whole business, promising that the debt would soon be paid and apologising for any harm he had unwittingly inflicted on his fellow. Elias took several deep breaths before he trusted himself to words again but they came out in a remarkably measured and reasonable way. When both pleas had been voiced, the actors waited on Nicholas Bracewell to pronounce judgement.

‘You are both in the wrong,’ he said. ‘Sebastian, you should have repaid this money long since. Owen, you should not have provoked a brawl to gain your purpose. Is that much agreed between us?’ The actors nodded. ‘Then let us find a way out of this dilemma. A creditor wants something that a debtor does not possess.’

‘You have hit on the problem, Nick,’ said Carrick with a nonchalant shrug. ‘My purse is quite empty.’

‘It is always empty!’ challenged Elias.

‘A man must live, sweet sir.’

‘Live, yes, but not prey upon his fellows!’

‘Pleasure comes at a price.’

‘Then have it at your own expense and not mine.’

Nicholas interceded. ‘Hear my device. It may suit the both of you in equal part. Sebastian has no money until I pay his wage at the end of the week. Master your pain and indignation until then, Owen, and I will save one shilling of that wage for you.’

‘It is not enough,’ said Elias.

‘It is far too much!’ exclaimed Carrick.

But Nicholas stuck by his decision and — though neither man was pleased — both came to accept the compromise. Owen Elias realised that payment by instalments was better than nothing at all and he took comfort from the fact that it was Sebastian Carrick who had protested most. Evasion of his creditors was an article of faith with the latter. The only thing he ever willingly repaid was a debt of honour incurred at the gaming table. Money that was charmed from the purses of colleagues was his to keep. Friends were fair game.

He sighed. ‘It is a grisly resolution, Nick, but I will abide by it. Here is my hand on it.’ Owen Elias shook the proffered hand. ‘Well, now that matter is done, I must away to borrow afresh or I will dwindle into complete poverty!’

Sebastian Carrick gave a mock bow then sauntered back into the taproom with an amused resignation. His attitude produced more sparks from Owen Elias.

‘Look at him, Nick! Do but look at the saucy knave!’

‘The dispute is settled, Owen. Be content.’

‘He is a vile robber!’

‘Your money will be restored.’

‘It is my reputation that he is stealing,’ protested the other. ‘ I am the finer actor yet he filches the finer parts. I have laboured to establish myself with Westfield’s Men yet this upstart displaces me within a few months. It is not just, it is not kind, it is not bearable.’ He extended his arms wide in supplication. ‘What am I to do, Nick?’

‘Endure these slights with dignity.’

‘Never!’

‘Make friends with Sebastian. It is the only way.’

‘I would sooner consort with a leper.’

‘Do not come to blows with him again,’ warned Nicholas.

‘I dare not,’ said Elias with lilting menace. ‘For next time, nobody would be able to stop me. I would kill him.’

Cornelius Gant pointed the musket at the horse’s head and callously pulled the trigger. There was a loud report and a cloud of smoke went up from the weapon. The animal staggered bravely for a few seconds then sank to the ground in a sorry heap and began to twitch violently as the last ounces of life poured out of its noble carcass. It was a grotesque and sickening sight. When its death throes were finally over and its frenzy mercifully abated, it lay cold and silent on the cobblestones, its black coat gilded by the sun and its body twisted into such an unnatural shape that it drew groans of horror from all who had witnessed the summary slaughter. A happy crowd became hostile in a flash. They cursed the cruel owner and formed a ring of gathering fury around him. Cornelius Gant was defiant. As they closed in, baying for retribution, he held the musket like a club and threatened to strike. The tension was heightened until it was on the verge of an explosion.

Then the horse neighed. As if waking from an afternoon sleep in a verdant meadow, it sat up, whinnied mischievously and gazed around its dumbstruck audience. Gant’s ugly old face was split by a toothless grin as he saw the incredulity on every side. After entertaining the throng with all manner of clever tricks, horse and man had reached the climax of their act in the most dramatic way. Cornelius Gant had shot Nimbus dead and the animal had expired to such convincing effect that all present were completely taken in. Many were so relieved to see the horse alive again that they burst into tears. Relief gave way to joy and expressed itself in a riot of applause. Gant chose his moment well. He clicked his fingers and Nimbus got up from the ground to shake itself all over before knocking its owner playfully sideways with its rump. As fresh mirth greeted this latest trick, the horse rounded on Gant, took the brim of his hat in its teeth then lifted it off with another whinny. The hat was dropped into the middle of the yard and the crowd responded generously. A waterfall of coins gushed into the receptacle. Horse and owner took a bow in unison.