Bartholomew Fair (18 page)

‘Heed me, you scum!’ The Puritan shouted, and swung his staff so that it clouted one of the men on the neck. It was a nasty blow. The man was not one of the dancers in blue, but must have been one of the musicians. He staggered slightly, but regained his balance and turned to faced the ranter.

‘Go your ways,’ he said, loudly but calmly. ‘We do no one any harm, man woman or child. Not like you with your talk of hell fire, frightening the very wits out of weak women and children. All of your kind, you are no more than bullies, though you think yourselves so godly.’

There was a gasp from the crowd. Few would dare defy the Puritans so boldly. They were widely disliked, but most people simply tried to avoid them.

‘No harm, fellow? No harm!’ The Puritan was incandescent with fury now, spittle flying from his mouth as he leaned toward the musician. ‘You shall not go unpunished!’

At that he brought down his heavy staff on the pile of instruments in the donkey cart. There was a terrible splintering noise and the twang of snapped strings. Several of the musicians cried out and began to lift their broken instruments from the cart. One of the fiddles was smashed into fragments, most of the strings of the psaltery were broken, and the portable organ – surely their most valuable possession – looked damaged beyond repair.

‘Constable!’ The shout was taken up by several in the crowd, as the musician grabbed the Puritan’s staff and snapped it over his knee. The cry echoed along the lane and I saw a Fair official and two constables nearly running toward the fracas. I took Arthur by the elbow and drew him to the back of the crowd.

‘It will be a case for the Court of Pie Poudres,’ I said.

‘We should bear witness,’ Arthur said. ‘It was the Puritan started it all.’

‘Aye, it was, but Phelippes would not want us to become involved. It will make us conspicuous and it will be impossible for us to do what he asks. It is near time for the puppet show.’

‘You are right,’ he said reluctantly, ‘but I do not like to see that vile ranter go unpunished.’

‘I do not think he will. There are plenty in the crowd who saw what happened. Such men are not loved. There will be enough there ready to see him punished.’

‘Very well.’ He was still doubtful.

‘Look,’ I said, ‘that is the puppeteers’ tent just across there, and they are getting ready to admit the audience. The toy man’s stall is three pitches along and on the other side of the lane, do you see? And it is closed up. So I suppose that means he is playing their music again.’

There was no sign of Robert Poley.

We each bought a twopenny ticket and took our places amongst those standing behind the three rows of stools, near enough to see everything, but better placed to leave at the end than we had been yesterday, when we were trapped at the front of the audience. I was not sure whether the performance would be the same – I should look a fool if it was some harmless comedy today.

I was soon justified in having gone to Phelippes and brought Arthur with me today. I think he was not quite convinced of all I had told them, for it had been difficult to convey the menace I had felt. I knew that Arthur had a little Italian. His Latin was good, and that is a great help in understanding Italian, which is, after all, just a modern dialect of Latin, even if the pronunciation has changed a good deal over the centuries. Arthur would be able to follow much of the dialogue, more than most of the audience, I suspected.

By the time Il Dottore and Pulcinella had made their entrance and begun to speak, he glanced at me and gave a slight nod. He believed me now.

I cannot swear that every word of the performance was the same, for I suspect that the puppeteers were speaking without a book, what my player friends would have called ‘speaking at liberty’ or ‘ad lib’, but the sense of the whole was the same – the folly of the country’s leaders, the disaster of the recent expedition, and above all, the asserted love of England for popery and the corrupt scheming of Drake and the Queen.

I spent less time watching the stage this time, but covertly eyed the audience, trying to make out what sort of people were here. Some were clearly ordinary fairgoers – families with children, pairs of young lovers who welcomed the private darkness of the tent for reasons of their own – but there was a large group of men whose demeanour suggested that they were not here for entertainment. Some, I was almost certain, had come from amongst the makeshift army. As Phelippes had said, they were not likely to spend all their time in Finsbury Fields. For one thing, they must eat. If indeed they had between them no money at all, then they must steal to eat, and what better place than here, amongst the crowds and stalls?

When the performance was over, there was even warmer applause than there had been on the previous day, and as Arthur and I made our way out of the tent, I saw that some (though not all) of those I took to be soldiers had remained behind.

‘Well?’ I said, once we were out of earshot of the rest of the audience.

‘You are right.’ He looked worried. ‘It is subversive and dangerous. I wonder what they really have in mind.’

‘Did you take note of the faces?’

‘Aye. A mixed lot. Many ordinary folk, but I think some were soldiers.’

‘So do I. And there was one swarthy fellow who stood just inside the entrance. I do not think he was English.’

‘I did not see him.’

‘He was in the shadows. Difficult to see if you were watching the puppets. He was not. He was watching the audience, as I was.’

‘What do you want to do now?’

‘I think we must quarter the whole of Smithfield, searching for Poley, if we can do it without drawing attention to ourselves. I would also like you to take note of the toy man, Nicholas Borecroft. He may be quite innocent, and he may be telling the truth, that the Italians asked him at the last minute to play for them. Still, I would like to be sure. I have just seen him return to his stall, behind you. Don’t turn round. I’ll work my way along this lane and then into the next one. Perhaps you could buy something from his stall. Get a better look at him.’

Arthur looked blank. ‘What can I buy?’

‘He has everything in that stall. Why not a rattle for the new baby when it’s born?’

His face cleared. ‘A good plan. My wife will be pleased. She was
not
pleased that I was coming here with you and not with her.’

‘It is much too hot and crowded for a woman near her time!’

‘That is what I told her.’ He grinned. ‘That did not make her any less annoyed! By the way, did you see on their billboard, there is another performance at eight o’ the clock tonight?’

‘I saw,’ I said gloomily. ‘I hoped we need not stay. Well, I shall start looking for Poley. We might as well work the Fair separately. Shall we meet at the inn when St Bartholomew’s strikes six? That gives us plenty of time to look for Poley, and time enough to eat before the second performance.’

He nodded his agreement and we separated.

For the best part of two and a half hours I worked my way back and forth across the fair ground, finishing at the Master Chawtry’s inn just as the church clock sounded out six o’ the clock.

But I saw no sign of Robert Poley.

Chapter Ten

O
nce again, we made a good meal at Master Chawtry’s inn, though both Arthur and I were downcast at having made so little progress in our hunt for Poley. The inn felt different as night drew in. Flaming torches had been set up in stands all round the periphery, and every table held a branched candlestick. Their light made the surrounding darkness seem all the darker. A small wind had arisen, casting fluttering shadows from the leafy boughs, so that from the corner of my eye I thought I saw furtive movement. The underlit faces of the diners, the occasional burst of raucous laughter, gave the whole place the air of another stage, another playhouse, in which I was not sure what role I was supposed to fill.

‘A fruitless search, eh, Kit?’ Arthur dipped his fingers in the bowl of water in which a few sprigs of lavender floated, then dried them on the napkin over his shoulder.

‘It seems so.’ I was very tired, for I had slept badly the night before, worrying about the motives of the puppeteers, and now I seemed to have been wandering around the Fair for days, to no purpose.

‘I could see nothing wrong with that toy man,’ he said. ‘He was courteous enough and seemed harmless. A gaggle of mothers with children came up behind me, so his attention was called away from me.’

I nodded. ‘Probably he is telling the simple truth, that he was asked at the last minute to provide music. All the same.’ I paused, rolling bits of bread into pellets and eating them, one by one. ‘Just for that brief moment when I saw him with Poley, I got the impression they knew one another. Perhaps I was mistaken.’

‘I do not think you were mistaken about the puppet masters,’ he said, ‘whether or not Poley and Borecroft have anything to do with it. There is certainly something afoot there. And I think you are also right, that some of the soldiers are also involved.’

It was reassuring that Arthur had gained the same impression as I, and I was glad he had accompanied me, for he could back up my report to Phelippes.

‘Quite what is afoot, though,’ I said, ‘is the problem. No constable or pursuivant could arrest the Italians merely on such weak evidence as our impression of what their performance seemed to signify.’

‘Oh, I think they might. The performance was scurrilous and the puppets themselves, especially the one of the Queen, must be near treasonable.’

‘But what would be the point of arresting them, if we do not know what they intend?’

‘No doubt some would say that Topcliffe would soon get it out of them, in the dungeons of the Tower.’ He shuddered.

‘No doubt. But how does it relate to the soldiers? Are they meaning to start an uprising, the two groups working together? If so, why did the soldiers stand quietly under discipline at the entrance to Smithfield and send four of their leaders to negotiate with the Lord Mayor and Common Council?’

‘You said it yourself to Phelippes. Most of the men are peaceable by nature. All they are pursuing is compensation for their suffering and lost incomes. But some, either in the army group or outside it, are pursuing other aims.’

‘I wish I could make sense of it,’ I said, thumping my fist against my forehead in annoyance at myself. ‘Come, it is nearly time for the next performance, and we have to walk almost the whole way across Smithfield.’

‘It will soon be over, Kit,’ he said, ‘then we can take a wherry home to our beds.’

Or rather, back to Seething Lane, I thought, before ever we see our beds.

As we came out of the circle of light which marked the inn, the darkness seemed to hit our faces like a bag over the head. We paused at the top of the first alley of stalls, waiting for our eyes to adjust. The whole Fair seemed to have changed in character. The families had all gone home and the forms looming out of the dark and disappearing again were mostly groups of rowdy young men. Many of the stalls were still doing business and had a candle or two burning in order to light up the goods for sale. These intermittent pools of light left great stretches of blackness between them, which could easily conceal an attacker. The increasing wind stirred the canvas sides of tents and the awnings over stalls, so that there was a constant sense of stealthy sound and movement – movement which might hide the sudden thrust of a sword or dagger coming out of the dark.

Arthur and I hurried along, both conscious of this change in the atmosphere of the Fair. As we neared the puppet tent, I noticed that several of the nearby stalls were being closed up, though faint slivers of light showed around the doors and shutters, where the owners were preparing to spend the night watching over their goods. I shivered. I was glad I did not have to spend the night alone in a flimsy stall in Smithfield. The very air seemed filled with the remembrance of the dying cries of beasts slaughtered in the nearby Shambles, while the place itself, so gaudy and merry by day, was now haunted by the ghosts of those who had gone to the fire on this very soil for their faith, both Catholics and reformers.

We reached the platform, which was empty, except for a drunkard snoring under the edge of it. At the nearest corner of the lane leading down to the Fair entrance at Pie Corner, the gingerbread stall was closed and dark. If someone was spending the night there, they were already abed, but it had an air of emptiness about it. The women would have little there which was worth stealing, just their gold leaf and their moulds, and those could easily be carried home for the night. Unsurprisingly, the toy stall was also closed and dark. Few of the present fairgoers, a looming mass of young men, would be buying toys. Besides, Nicholas Borecroft would probably be playing again for the puppets.

A crowd of half a dozen roisterers, much the worse for drink, lurched toward us out of the lane of shops. My hand went to my sword hilt, but Arthur caught me by the arm and pulled me firmly back into the shadow of the platform.

‘Best just keep out of sight,’ he murmured in my ear, so softly I could barely hear the words.

I nodded, though he could hardly hope to see me in the dark.

Across the wrestling ground from the platform, a group was gathering outside the puppet tent, where candle lanterns had been mounted on tall posts on either side of the entrance. They lit up a crowd of different composition from the earlier ones. As I had expected, there were no families. There was a high proportion of rough-looking men, and – curiously – several finely dressed gentlemen, of a higher rank than anyone I had seen here before.

The flap of canvas over the entrance was pulled aside and tied back, the flamboyantly dressed woman appeared again, with her handful of cheap playbills. She seemed to be looking all about and studying the crowd waiting outside. Then she gave a nod. If she said anything, we were just too far away to hear. Then the men began to file inside, without paying.

Arthur and I looked at each other.

‘I think,’ he said carefully, ‘that we were better not to go in there again.’

‘I agree.’ I could not keep the relief out of my voice. ‘Though it is strange they should advertise a performance if it was meant only for their friends.’

‘Perhaps it was a signal to their friends, when to meet.’

‘Aye. And if anyone else turned up – like us – they would have been told that all the tickets were sold, or some other deceit. Listen, there is no music.’

We both strained our ears. All we could hear was a murmur of voices, too faint to make out distinctly. I wondered whether Nicholas Borecroft was there, or asleep in his stall. And what of Poley? He seemed to have vanished.

‘Shall we catch a wherry back to the city?’ Arthur asked hopefully.

I wanted very much to agree, but reluctantly shook my head.

‘I think we should wait and see whether anything further happens,’ I said. ‘I don’t suppose it will take as long as the performance would have done. If we stay here by the edge of the platform, we won’t be noticed.’

We made ourselves as easy as we could, sitting on the lumpy ground beside the platform. It was dry but very stony, and did not make for comfortable sitting. The remaining shopmen at this end of the Fair soon closed up their stalls and no one was left roaming the lanes. Further over to the west, several of the pig roasts were still doing good business, serving roast pork and ale, and bursts of laughter and drunken shouting reached us over the dark and empty spaces between. There were lanterns on poles at the junctions of the lanes, and a dim glow from the area of the pig roasts, but otherwise it had grown very dark. I realised that clouds had built up, masking any light from the moon.

Beside me, Arthur shifted uncomfortably.

‘My bum is as numb as a drunken sailor,’ he muttered.

I grinned in the dark. I could not imagine Arthur saying such a thing in the formal atmosphere of Seething Lane.

‘Is that rain?’ I whispered.

‘Aye.’

It was indeed. Just the beginnings of one of those fine mizzling rains that look like nothing but nevertheless relentlessly soak you to the very skin. We both huddled closer to the edge of the platform for shelter, and I heard the drunk on the far side groan and turn over, but he stayed where he was. I was on the very point of suggesting that we give up and catch that wherry home before we were truly sodden, when the tent flap opened opposite, and men began to slip out into the darkness. The very furtiveness of their movements was enough to reawaken my suspicions. We both sat up and leaned forward.

The men did not all leave in a crowd, but in twos and small groups, dispersing in different directions and mostly in silence.

One group of four men walked past us so close I could have put out my foot and tripped up the nearest one. They were whispering together and I heard only a few words, but one of them was ‘Dowgate’.

At last it seemed that all those who had been in the tent had gone and the swarthy man I had noticed during the earlier performance came out to carry the two lanterns inside and lace up the tent door. Soon after, the lights in the tent went out. I stood up and jerked my head in the direction of the river, hoping Arthur could see me against the distance loom of light from the pig roasts. He got to his feet with a faint groan, dusted himself down, and we set off along the dark lane of stalls leading toward Pie Corner. The ground was uneven and once or twice we stumbled, but we reached the street at last. It was easier going here, and we hurried down to the river and Whitefriars Stairs, for the rain was getting heavier.

Fortunately, a few wherrymen were lingering here, sheltered in their hut, hoping for a fare from some of the roisterers still eating and drinking at the Fair. We found a boat with a canvas shelter and bade the wherryman take us down to the Bridge. He seemed glad of the fare. It was a strange, dreamlike journey. I had never before been on the river at night. The clouds covered moon and stars, so that we moved within the small circle of light cast by the wherryman’s lantern, reflected back from the ripples made by his oars. All around us the waters of the Thames were black under the midnight sky. On the south shore of the river there were no lights to be seen, for it was long past the time when the bear pits closed. Even the brothels would have put up their shutters. On the City shore, a lighted window showed here and there amongst the wealthy houses along the Strand, but there was no movement on the river. It seemed as though we travelled alone through a deserted world.

When we reached Old Swan Stairs on the upriver side of the Bridge and I had paid the man from Phelippes’s purse, with an extra twopence for his trouble so late at night, I urged Arthur to go home.

‘There is no need for us both to see Phelippes,’ I said. ‘Go home to your wife. Here, I almost forgot.’ I reached into my satchel. ‘The gilded baby. Mind, she is not to eat it until after the babe arrives.’

He laughed. ‘I thank you, Kit, and I will tell her so.’

‘And I thank you for your company,’ I said. ‘I would not have liked to spend that last vigil alone.’

I saw that he shivered in the light of the torch mounted on the landing place.

‘Nor would I.’

We parted then. He assured me he lived not far away, and I hurried off to Seething Lane. This was a better part of the city than Queenhithe, with lanterns hung before many of the substantial houses, but it was not far from the Legal Quays near the Tower, and the sailors there were a rough lot.

The watchman in the stableyard of Walsingham’s house gave me a nod – he must have been warned I was coming – and unlocked the door for me. I ran up the backstairs, glad to be out of the rain. Phelippes was sitting at his table, working as usual at his papers, looking no different from that morning. I was glad to see there was a fire on the hearth and took my stand in front of it, where I steamed gently like a goodwife’s cookpot.

‘Well?’ he said. ‘What news?’

‘A little news, but no Poley.’

I recounted everything we had seen and done, of which the most important was the gathering of men at both performances in the puppet tent, but especially the latter, and our complete failure to find any sign of Robert Poley.

‘One last thing,’ I said. ‘When the men were leaving the puppeteers’ tent, one group passed near us. I heard only one word of any importance. Dowgate.’

‘Dowgate?’ He looked at me thoughtfully. ‘And what do we have in Dowgate?’

I searched my mind. ‘London Stone?’ I said.

‘Aye.’

I pictured the street, one of the main thoroughfares in the centre of the city.