The Merry Devils

'Mon Dieu!'

'I was locked in the Counter,' said Nicholas, 'but there is no time for explanation now, sir. The spectators have paid their money and they want their play.'

He took charge at once and the effect was incredible. With their book holder back at the helm, it might yet be possible to salvage the play. The only disturbing factor was the presence of Margery.

'You cannot stay here, my love,' said Firethorn.

'Why not, Lawrence?'

'Because it is not seemly.'

'Do you think I have not seen men undressed before? It will not fright me, I warrant you.' She pointed at the half-naked John Tallis who was being helped into a skirt. 'I will look on the pizzle of the Duchess of Venice and not be moved.'

'I share your disappointment!' said Gill wickedly.

'Stand by!' called Nicholas.

They were actually straining to get on stage now.

*

The axe bit hungrily into the wood before it was thrown aside. Jack Harsnett took the piece of ash and used his knife to hack it into shape. He then reached for the other piece of wood and bound the two together with a stout twine that would withstand bad weather. Having tested the result by banging it on the ground, he got his knife out again and gouged a name on the timber. It took him a long time but he kept at it with surly patience, sustained by the memory of an occasion when he had carved the same name alongside his own.

His work done, he walked over to the pile of stones that marked the grave and looked down with a wave of grief washing over him. Then he lifted the cross high and brought its sharpened end down hard into the hole that lie had dug for it, kicking the earth into place around it and stiffening its hold with some small boulders. His spade patted everything firmly down.

Burial in an anonymous field was the best that he could manage for his wife and only his crude handiwork indicated the place. After one last glance at the grave, he walked quickly back to the cart. There was no point in driving any further now.

Harsnett headed back towards Parkbrook.

*

Lawrence Firethorn displayed his flowering genius yet again. His portrayal of Vincentio sent shivers down the spines of all who saw it. He was exactly the kind of villain that they liked--dark, handsome, ruthless, confiding, duplicitous and steeped in a black humour that could raise a macabre laugh during a murder. He stalked the stage like a prowling tiger, he sank his speeches like a spear into the topmost gallery and he used a range of gestures so expressive and so finely judged that he would have been understood had he been dumb.

Seeing him as an unscrupulous Italian nobleman, it was hard to believe that he was only the son of a village blacksmith. His voice, his face, his bearing and his movement were those of a true aristocrat but his origins were not entirely expunged. With exquisite refinement, he laid each part that he played on the anvil of his talent and struck a magnificent shower of sparks from it with the hammer of the actor. The theatre was his forge. His art was the wondrous clang of metal.

Absorbed in his role on stage, he could shed it in an instant when he entered the tiring-house. When he got his first real break from the action, he sidled across to Nicholas for elucidation.

'Well?'

'I was falsely imprisoned for assault and battery.'

'How?'

'Two men attacked me. A third brought constables and swore that I was the malefactor. My word did not hold against theirs.'

'Rakehells! Who were they?'

'I mean to find out.'

'But how did you obtain release?'

'I bribed an officer to take a message to Mistress Firethorn.'

'Why to my wife and not to me?' said the other peevishly.

'You had enough to do here, sir,' said Nicholas tactfully. 'Besides, I knew that your good lady would move with purpose.'

'Oh yes!' groaned Firethorn. 'Margery does that, sir!'

'Did I hear my name, Lawrence?' she asked, coming over.

'I was singing your praises, sweeting.'

'And so you should, sir,' she said bluntly. 'The message reached me in Shoreditch well after noon. That left me little time and much to do within it. My first thought was to repair to the Counter in Wood Street and demand that Nicholas be handed over to me, but I reasoned that not even my writ would run there.'

Firethorn made a mental note of a possible future refuge.

'The message urged me to contact your patron,' she continued, 'so I flew hither and was told he was too busy to see me. That was no obstacle to me, sir. My business was imperative and so I forced my way into Lord Westfield's presence. When he recognised who I was, he praised my appearance and asked why I did not visit the theatre more often.'

'Keep to the point, woman!' said her husband.

Nicholas interrupted to wave four soldiers on to the stage and then to cue in a canon that had to be rolled out from the tiring-house.

Margery returned to her tale with undiminished zest.

'I had caught him just in time for Lord Westfield was about to depart for the country. Hearing of our problem and rightly judging its serious effect on the company, he wrote a letter in his own hand there and then. With a man of his for company, I was driven to the Counter in his coach and that could not but impress the prison sergeant. When he read the letter, he did not hesitate to obey its command. Nicholas was delivered within a matter of minutes. We hastened here and you know the rest.' She broke off to watch some actors stripping off their costumes. 'I had not thought that Master Smythe had such comical haunches.'

She drifted off to view the spectacle from a better angle.

'We have been fortunate, Nick,' said Firethorn.

'I know it well.'

'But why were you imprisoned in the first place?'

'To keep me from holding the book here, master.'

'A vile conspiracy!'

'Which landed me in a vile lodging.'

'It has the stink of Banbury's Men about it.'

'No, master, I'm convinced of that.'

'But someone wants to damage the company.'

'Not the company,' said Nicholas. 'Lord Westfield himself.'

Before Firethorn could react to the news, the book holder cued him and the actor tore on to the stage to challenge one of his intended victims to a duel. After he had dispatched the man with the poisoned tip of his sword, he shared his thoughts with the audience before he withdrew again. Nicholas sent on actors for the next scene and resumed his conversation.

'I see it plain now, master.'

'Our patron is the target?'

'Without question.'

'But it was we who suffered the attacks, Nick.'

'Only when Lord Westfield was present,' said the other. 'He was here when we first performed The Merry Devils. He was at The Curtain for Cupid's Folly and he joined us at The Rose. On each occasion, someone tried to discredit us in order to hurt him.'

'I begin to see your point, sir.'

'There was no trouble during The Knights of Malta or Love and Fortune. Our patron was not here in person to be embarrassed. That is why his enemies stayed their hand.'