Edward Marston - The Mad Courtesan

‘You rehearsed this morning?’ said the surprised actor.

‘The play is expected.’

‘You would have staged it without me?’

‘Lord Westfield would not be denied,’ said Nicholas. ‘We found another King Gondar to carry the piece.’

‘Another?’

‘Owen Elias.’

‘WHAT!’

Firethorn’s explosion was contained by some scolding words from his wife who had been told enough of what had happened to side with Nicholas in the matter. Quelled into silence, Firethorn heard how Owen Elias had helped to catch the murderer of Sebastian Carrick and to ensnare the devious Clerk of Ordnance. Lord Westfield’s admiration of the Welshman knew no bounds and he was adamant that Owen Elias be welcomed back into his company. When Firethorn learnt that the actor had left Banbury’s Men in turmoil, he was partially mollified but his pride was still affronted.

‘Owen tries to supplant me,’ he complained. ‘He either mocks me at The Curtain or strives to take my place at the Queen’s Head. He wants to rule as King Gondar.’

‘Not if we arrive in time,’ said Nicholas.

Panic assisted performance. The uncertainty which lasted until minutes before the play was due to start keyed up the actors. When Lawrence Firethorn burst into the tiring-house in full stride, they broke into applause and tears. Owen Elias quickly handed over the robes of King Gondar and there was a moment of tension when he handed Firethorn the crown but Love’s Sacrifice outlawed all personal differences. Westfield’s Men went out onto the stage with the arrogant confidence of a conquering army. Firethorn led his troupe magnificently and made this fourth performance of the work the best yet. Nor was he deprived of inspiration from the middle of the lower gallery. Margery Firethorn had elbowed herself into a place there and he acted for her. Unlike the calculating Beatrice Capaldi, his wife would not keep him at arm’s length that night. Their reconciliation would be shot through with high emotion and it was only when he lay there sated that she would ask about a barge on the Thames.

King Gondar was back where he truly belonged.

It was only after Firethorn’s triumph had been cheered to the echo that Nicholas Bracewell dared to tell him what was due to follow. The whole tiring-house shook.

‘I am to be followed by a horse!’ he bellowed. ‘King Gondar is to hand over his throne to Nimbus!’

It was Owen Elias who stepped in to calm him and to suggest a solution. Westfield’s Men were all appalled that the grasping landlord was using their work as a prologue to a dancing animal and they wanted retribution. Nicholas was annoyed that the white wings he had loaned to Cornelius Gant had been painted black without permission so he had further reason to seek recompense. The book holder had discussed the matter with Owen Elias and the latter fashioned a plan.

‘The horse is clever,’ said Elias, ‘but only when he is controlled by his master. I saw these two hold an audience at The Elephant in Shoreditch with their tricks. Gant is like a puppeteer. Every move is dictated by him.’

‘How does this help us?’ growled Firethorn.

‘Nimbus obeys because his eye never leaves Gant.’

‘So?’

‘What would happen if it did?’

Owen Elias whispered to his employer and Firethorn underwent a transformation. An angry face smiled, a broad grin followed and helpless laughter shook the tiring-house.

‘Bring Nimbus forth!’ he called. ‘We’ll have him now.’

The Queen’s Head was besieged and Alexander Marwood could have filled his yard five times over. Playgoers who stayed behind were joined by a huge influx of excited spectators who wanted to view the flying horse once more. Cornelius Gant had reserved some special tricks for the occasion. The stagekeepers cleared away the scenery then scattered straw upon the boards. Lawrence Firethorn and his wife joined Lord Westfield up in the gallery. Most of the company came out to watch. The two exceptions were Owen Elias and Nicholas Bracewell who lurked near a stable in the corner. Elias held a lead-rope while Nicholas fondled a small mirror. The accessories were a vital part of the performance.

Alexander Marwood came onto the stage to announce what he saw as a triumph of management on his part. Nimbus and Cornelius Gant came out to thunderous applause. They began with a dance but it was soon interrupted. Every movement of the horse was controlled by Gant who maintained eye contact with his animal at all times. But that contact was broken when the sun dazzled him with such force that he had to turn away. Try as he may, he was unable to gain his former control because Nicholas Bracewell used his mirror with such skill to direct the rays of the sun. Deprived of commands, Nimbus came to a halt and stood waiting before a soon dissatisfied audience. Shouts and threats replaced the earlier cheers.

Entertainment was at hand. While Gant moved around to dodge the sun’s rays, Owen Elias led a chestnut mare out on stage and its seductive whinny turned the head of Nimbus ruinously away from his master. The mare was called Jenny. She had been procured by the head ostler at the instigation of Elias and she was evidently in season. Nimbus showed dramatic interest. The horse was given many rewards but denied this greatest pleasure of all and the pain of that denial was now extreme.

Jenny rubbed her nose along his flank then swung her hind quarters around to twitch her tail. It was Nimbus’s turn to whinny. Here was better sport than dancing before a crowd. Here was altogether more fitting recreation for a stallion than struggling to the top of St Paul’s Cathedral. Gant yelled and slapped his partner’s rump but he was too late. The love affair proceeded apace. Jenny swayed to entice Nimbus and he needed no more invitation. Urged on by the roaring crowd, he mounted her as if his whole career as a performer had been a rehearsal for this moment then rapid consummation ensued.

Cornelius Gant was destroyed. He could do nothing to stop the progress of true love and earned the derision of the crowd for even trying to interfere. The control he had built up by years of living with Nimbus was fractured in a matter of minutes. After tasting glory on the top of St Paul’s Cathedral, he had literally plunged down to earth. Alexander Marwood was crestfallen. His greed had led him into disaster. A theatrical company caused problems but at least it gave the performance that was advertised. Nimbus had resigned from public performance. Jenny had taught him things which had been cruelly withheld from him.

The show was over, the crowd dispersed, the casualties sneaked away. Lawrence Firethorn came bounding onto the stage to throw his arms around Owen Elias and to cover him with apologies. Nicholas stood by in readiness.

‘I should never have doubted you, Owen!’ said Firethorn.

‘We are friends again.’

‘I even forgive you that treachery at The Curtain.’

Elias was honest. ‘I was but a pale shadow of you, sir.’

‘All has been redeemed this afternoon. Lord Westfield insists that you stay with the company. This trick with Nimbus was as pretty a piece of theatre as I’ve ever seen.’ Enthusiasm sent him into another embrace. ‘Such a man should be a sharer with the company. If I had a contract, I would offer it to you this instant.’

Nicholas produced the document and handed it over.

‘Then do so, Master Firethorn,’ he said.

The actor-manager was taken aback at first then he led the laughter. Owen Elias was finally given a contract. When he went off to celebrate in the taproom, he left Firethorn alone on stage with Nicholas Bracewell. The yard was empty now but it still reverberated with the sounds of the great events it had witnessed that afternoon. Westfield’s Men had vindicated themselves. Cornelius Gant and Giles Randolph had been put firmly in their places. Margery was now home from Cambridge and all was well in the world.