‘That is unkind! Unjust!’
‘And untrue!’ added Barnaby Gill, entering the fray. ‘Vincentio’s Revenge has been a loyal servant to the company. It fires my imagination each time we play it and raises the pitch of my performance.’
‘Then is it time for you to retire,’ said Applegarth with scorn. ‘You were a walking abomination up on that stage. I have seen sheep with more talent and less confusion. Show some benevolence to mankind, Barnaby, and quit the theatre for good.’
‘I was sublime!’ howled Gill.
‘Scurvy!’
‘Unparallelled.’
‘In absurdity!’
‘Barnaby was at his best,’ defended Ingram stoutly.
‘Then I would hate to see his worst,’ retorted Applegarth, ‘for it would beggar belief. Why wave his hands so, and pull his face thus?’ His grotesque mime turned Gill purple with rage. ‘It was a barbarous performance, almost as bad as that of Vincentio himself.’
Lawrence Firetorn came sailing into the taproom.
‘What’s that you say, sir?’ he growled.
‘The play was ill-chosen.’
‘Not as ill-chosen as your words, Jonas,’ warned the other. ‘Have a care, sir. We like Vincentio’s Revenge.’
‘Can any sane man admire such a botch of nature?’
‘Yes!’ challenged Firethorn. ‘He stands before you.’
‘Then I will list my complaints against the piece in order,’ said Applegarth, quite unabashed. ‘Firstly…’
‘Save your strictures for another time,’ insisted Nicholas, diving in quickly to take the heat out of the argument. ‘Master Firethorn is entertaining his wife and does not wish to be led astray by idle comment that smells too strongly of ale. Our play found favour this afternoon and there’s an end to it.’
With the aid of Owen Elias, he shepherded Applegarth to a table in the corner and sat him down on a bench. Barnaby Gill was still pulsating with anger and James Ingram with disgust, but the quarrel was effectively over. Lawrence Firethorn mastered his fury. Reminded that Margery was still waiting for him in the adjoining chamber, he ordered wine and withdrew to the urgent solace of her embrace. An uneasy peace descended on the taproom.
Jonas Applegarth was still in a bellicose mood.
‘I am entitled to my opinion,’ he asserted.
‘Not when it offends your fellows so,’ said Nicholas.
‘Can they not cope with honesty?’
‘Honesty, yes, but this was random cruelty.’
‘I will not praise where praise is not due, Nick.’
‘Then hold your tongue,’ counselled Elias, ‘or you’ll lose every friend you have made in Westfield’s Men. Insult Master Firethorn again and your career with us is ended.’
‘This play was lame stuff.’
‘Why, then, did you force yourself to watch it?’ said Nicholas. ‘If Vincentio’s Revenge is not to your taste, avoid it. That way, you will not have to suffer its shortcomings and your fellows will not have to bear your gibes. How can you expect actors to give of their best in your play when you mock their performances in every other piece?’
‘Stop biting the hand that feeds you,’ said Elias. ‘You have spat out enough fingers already. Respect our work and we might grow to respect yours.’
‘My art demands reverence!’ said Applegarth, slapping the table with a peremptory hand. ‘The Misfortunes of Marriage is an absolute masterpiece.’
‘Only when it is played,’ reminded Nicholas.
‘Why, so it will be. At The Rose next week.’
‘Not if you talk it off the stage.’
‘Westfield’s Men are contracted to perform it.’
‘We were contracted to perform The Faithful Shepherd by Edmund Hoode until you came along. If one play can be ousted thus easily from The Rose, so can another.’ Nicholas did not mince his words. ‘And if Westfield’s Men do not perform your work, it will remain as no more than words on a page. I gave you fair warning at the start, Jonas. You will be out of the company and we will cheer your departure.’
Applegarth was momentarily checked. ‘But you saw my play, Nick. It blazed across the stage like a meteor. Owen will vouch for its quality. He tasted its true worth from the inside. Would any company be so prodigal as to cast aside a work of art?’
‘Our doubts are not about The Misfortunes of Marriage,’ said Nicholas. ‘It is a rare phenomenon. We all agree on that. But the playwright obstructs our view of the play. In plain terms, you are making us regret the misfortunes of marriage between Westfield’s Men and Jonas Applegarth. Divorce grows daily nearer.’
‘Then let it come!’ shouted the other.
‘Listen to Nick,’ said Elias. ‘You need us.’
‘Not if I must be bound and gagged. Fie on thee!’
‘Sleep on what I have said,’ suggested Nicholas. ‘We would be friends. Why rush to make us mortal enemies?’
‘God’s blood!’ exclaimed Applegarth. ‘I’ll not stand it!’
He rose to his feet and swayed over them. The smell of strong ale was on his breath. Applegarth had been drinking heavily before, during and after the performance. It made him even more pugnacious and fearless of consequence.
‘A turd in your teeth!’ he bawled. ‘Oust me? I spurn you all like the knaves you are! There is a world elsewhere!’
Kicking the bench aside, he lurched towards the door. Owen Elias was outraged by his behaviour but his affection for the playwright won through.
‘Wild words spoken in haste,’ he said.
‘That tongue of his will talk him out of employment.’
‘I’ll after him and see the rogue safe home.’
‘Counsel moderation, Owen.’
‘What I counsel is a bucket of cold water over his foolish head before I deign to speak to him. If Jonas will not see sense, he loses my esteem. I’ll not sew another patch on the torn sleeve of our fellowship.’
As soon as the Welshman left, Nicholas was joined by James Ingram, still in a state of agitation.
‘Applegarth is a menace to us all, Nick!’
‘But chiefly to himself.’
‘Do not ask me to show him sympathy.’
‘Jonas has supped too much ale.’
‘Sober, he is merely obnoxious; drunk, he is beyond excuse. He poured contempt on the whole company.’
‘I heard him, James.’
‘He is one big barrel of arrogance.’
‘His time with us may be very short indeed.’
‘It will be,’ said Ingram with feeling. ‘If he takes the cudgel to us, we will fight back. I tell you, Nick, I’d willingly strike the first blow.’
Nicholas was surprised. James Ingram was not given to fits of anger. With the exception of Edmund Hoode, he was the most mild-mannered person in the company. Yet he was now curling his lip in a sneer of animosity. It was several minutes before Nicholas could calm him down. When he finally did so, he slipped his hand inside his buff jerkin to take out the sketch which Caleb Hay had drawn for him.
‘I have something to show you, James.’
‘What is it?’
‘Blackfriars. Given to me by a friend.’
Ingram examined the sketch with great interest and traced the outline of the theatre with his finger. There was a hint of nostalgia in his voice.
‘It is very accurate.’
‘The artist is a keen historian of the city.’
‘Then here, in this small drawing, is history writ large. Castle and tower are turned into a monastery. Monastery becomes a theatre. And this very week, theatre becomes a place of execution. Master Fulbeck’s death is one more violent change in Blackfriars. God rest his soul!’
‘Amen.’
‘When will you go back there, Nick?’
‘This evening.’
‘Take me with you.’
‘Gladly.’
‘I am ready,’ said Ingram, handing the sketch back to him. ‘Why do we tarry here?’
‘Because I have to pay my respects first.’
‘To whom?’
Nicholas glanced towards a door on the far side of the room and Ingram gave a smile of understanding. The book holder needed to exchange a greeting with Margery Firethorn.