‘Have you been to Prague?’
‘Indeed, I have. Some years ago, with Sir Robert. We both have fond memories of Bohemia. You will be well-received there. All the more reason why you should not linger here. It will be a very long journey.’
‘We are braced against that,’ said Nicholas. ‘And this is by no means our first tour. We are used to travelling along endless roads in England.’
‘You will find this expedition far more taxing,’ warned Davey. ‘And you will stop to give performances on the way. Even with sturdy horses pulling the wagons, it will take you weeks to reach Bohemia.’
‘We are very grateful to you for providing such good transport. Why have you done so?’
‘It was requested.’
‘By Lord Westfield?’
‘Who else?’ said the other without a trace of irony.
Nicholas glanced towards the taproom. ‘I talked with some of the English soldiers in there last night. They were very bitter about this war.’
‘Not without cause, alas.’
‘Their main complaint was a shortage of food and money. They also railed against a lack of munitions. They were hired to join the garrison here but arrived to find no quarters. My question is this, Master Davey. If the situation here is so desperate, how can you find the money to furnish us with a comfortable lodging before sending us on our way with wagons and horses that could be more profitably engaged in moving supplies?’
The secretary weighed his words carefully before replying.
‘You are a perceptive man, Nicholas Bracewell.’
‘We are not entirely ignorant of what has been going on here. Word trickles back to England. London hears all the rumours.’
‘That’s all most of them are. Rumours. False reports.’
‘You have not answered my question.’
‘Westfield’s Men answered it for you this afternoon.’
‘Did they?’
‘You heard those same soldiers,’ recalled Davey. ‘They had real pleasure for the first time in months. Your play was a feast of entertainment which helped them to forget the war completely for a couple of hours.’
‘That was our intention when we chose Mirth and Madness.’
‘You are not the first to offer such distraction.’
‘The first?’
‘I served in the household of the Earl of Leicester for a time,’ said Davey wistfully. ‘It was an honour that I will always treasure. That is how I first came to Flushing. When the Earl arrived here to lead the army, I was part of a train which included lawyers, secretaries, chaplains, musicians, and acrobats. Yes, and players, too. Will Kempe among them.’
‘Kempe?’ said Nicholas in surprise.
‘You know his pedigree.’
‘All of London is aware of it.’
‘Kempe is the equal of your own Barnaby Gill. A born jester who could raise laughter on a battlefield, if need be, with one of his jigs. He played his part in this war.’
‘So did we, Master Davey, and we were proud to do so. But we were only briefly your guests. No host has ever spent so much money and care on us as you have done. I ask again. Why?’
‘I was obeying a request.’
‘Still from Lord Westfield?’
‘Who else?’
Nicholas gave up. The secretary was too elusive for him. Balthasar Davey could play games with words all day long and he would always best Nicholas. The visitor rose to leave.
‘I will return early tomorrow to bid you farewell.’
‘How do you know that we will go?’ asked Nicholas.
‘Because you know the folly of staying. I will bring a map with me. It will be very crude because I am no artist, but it will show you the route you must take.’
‘Thank you.’
Davey offered his hand and Nicholas stood up to shake it. There was a hint of genuine regret in the former’s eye.
‘I am sorry this had to happen,’ he said.
‘We held Adrian Smallwood in high regard.’
‘Mourn him accordingly.’
‘We will.’
Davey regarded the other shrewdly. ‘It is a pity that you have to depart from the town, Nicholas Bracewell,’ he said. ‘I should like to have known you better.’ He moved away but a sudden thought detained him at the door. ‘Your chambers here were searched during the performance.’
‘That is so.’
‘Was anything taken?’
‘Nothing.’
‘So the thief searched for something he could not find.’
‘Apparently.’
‘It is still in your possession, therefore?’
‘What are you talking about, Master Davey?’
‘You are the ablest man in the company. It must be you. One more reason for you to ride out of Flushing tomorrow.’
‘One more reason?’
‘To save your life,’ said Davey softly. ‘I believe that the villain made a mistake. He did not intend to kill Adrian Smallwood at all. Your friend died because of his unfortunate resemblance to someone else. The murderer was really stalking Nicholas Bracewell.’
***
Westfield’s Men sat around a table strewn with pitchers of ale and traded maudlin reminiscences of their dead colleague. Adrian Smallwood had been snatched away from them just as they were coming to appreciate his qualities as a member of the company. Notwithstanding his egoism, Lawrence Firethorn did notice the performances around him on stage and he was ready to pay generous tribute where he felt it was deserved.
‘Adrian was a fine actor,’ he said fondly. ‘You could not fault his voice, his movement or his gestures. Even in minor roles, he had a real presence. Had he stayed with us, Adrian might have looked to become a sharer one day.’
‘I will miss his companionship,’ said Owen Elias. ‘It is rare for a man to fall in so easily with his fellows. Adrian seemed to have been with Westfield’s Men for years.’
‘Would that he had!’ sighed Edmund Hoode. ‘It would have made my task as a playwright a trifle easier.’
‘How so?’ asked Firethorn.
‘When I pick up my quill, I have to tailor the parts to suit the talents of the company. It would not have been so with Adrian. He could play anything-a lovesick shepherd, a scheming cardinal, a noble duke, a miserable beggar, a young gallant, an old greybeard, an Italian prince or a Flemish pieman; they were all grist to his mill.’
‘I could play all those parts with equal skill,’ boasted Barnaby Gill. ‘And many more besides.’
‘True, Barnaby. But even you could not have portrayed the sturdy woodcutter in Double Deceit. Adrian made that role his own. You do not have the height or build for the part.’
‘I can act height. I can dissemble build.’
‘We are not talking about you,’ said Elias impatiently. ‘Adrian was the more complete actor and that is that.’
‘He was a mere hired man,’ said Gill with a sniff.
‘You are unjust to his memory,’ chided James Ingram. ‘Have you so soon forgot how he cheered us on the voyage by making us sing? He showed true leadership that day.’
‘Which is more than you have ever shown, Barnaby,’ added Firethorn. ‘The poor fellow is dead. Brutally slain. Does not that mean anything to you?’
‘Yes,’ retorted Gill. ‘It means that I will not sleep soundly in my bed as long as we are in this dreadful country. One of us has already been killed. Who is next? Supposing that the villain murdered me?’
‘I would happily join in the applause.’
‘That is a most callous remark, Lawrence.’
‘Callous but honest. Show some respect to Adrian.’
‘It was not my decision to bring him with us.’
‘No, you were trying to force Clement Islip upon us.’
‘Had Clement been here,’ said Gill defensively, ‘this would not have happened. He was more wary. Clement would never have turned his back to an armed assailant.’
‘He would be too busy turning his back to you,’ growled Firethorn. ‘That is why you wanted to take that lisping milksop along with us. To face the same way as Clement in the bedchamber and satisfy your unnatural desires.’
‘That is obscene!’
Gill leaped to his feet in a state of uncontrollable agitation and jabbered wildly, waving his arms, stamping his feet and rolling his eyes as if trying to dislodge them from their sockets. Firethorn goaded him on, Elias chuckled, Hoode tried to intervene, Ingram reminded everyone that they were there to mourn a friend and the other members of the company looked on with a mixture of amusement and sadness.