Edward Marston - The Vagabond Clown

‘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.’