‘Bring Nimbus forth!’ he called. ‘We’ll have him now.’
The Queen’s Head was besieged and Alexander Marwood could have filled his yard five times over. Playgoers who stayed behind were joined by a huge influx of excited spectators who wanted to view the flying horse once more. Cornelius Gant had reserved some special tricks for the occasion. The stagekeepers cleared away the scenery then scattered straw upon the boards. Lawrence Firethorn and his wife joined Lord Westfield up in the gallery. Most of the company came out to watch. The two exceptions were Owen Elias and Nicholas Bracewell who lurked near a stable in the corner. Elias held a lead-rope while Nicholas fondled a small mirror. The accessories were a vital part of the performance.
Alexander Marwood came onto the stage to announce what he saw as a triumph of management on his part. Nimbus and Cornelius Gant came out to thunderous applause. They began with a dance but it was soon interrupted. Every movement of the horse was controlled by Gant who maintained eye contact with his animal at all times. But that contact was broken when the sun dazzled him with such force that he had to turn away. Try as he may, he was unable to gain his former control because Nicholas Bracewell used his mirror with such skill to direct the rays of the sun. Deprived of commands, Nimbus came to a halt and stood waiting before a soon dissatisfied audience. Shouts and threats replaced the earlier cheers.
Entertainment was at hand. While Gant moved around to dodge the sun’s rays, Owen Elias led a chestnut mare out on stage and its seductive whinny turned the head of Nimbus ruinously away from his master. The mare was called Jenny. She had been procured by the head ostler at the instigation of Elias and she was evidently in season. Nimbus showed dramatic interest. The horse was given many rewards but denied this greatest pleasure of all and the pain of that denial was now extreme.
Jenny rubbed her nose along his flank then swung her hind quarters around to twitch her tail. It was Nimbus’s turn to whinny. Here was better sport than dancing before a crowd. Here was altogether more fitting recreation for a stallion than struggling to the top of St Paul’s Cathedral. Gant yelled and slapped his partner’s rump but he was too late. The love affair proceeded apace. Jenny swayed to entice Nimbus and he needed no more invitation. Urged on by the roaring crowd, he mounted her as if his whole career as a performer had been a rehearsal for this moment then rapid consummation ensued.
Cornelius Gant was destroyed. He could do nothing to stop the progress of true love and earned the derision of the crowd for even trying to interfere. The control he had built up by years of living with Nimbus was fractured in a matter of minutes. After tasting glory on the top of St Paul’s Cathedral, he had literally plunged down to earth. Alexander Marwood was crestfallen. His greed had led him into disaster. A theatrical company caused problems but at least it gave the performance that was advertised. Nimbus had resigned from public performance. Jenny had taught him things which had been cruelly withheld from him.
The show was over, the crowd dispersed, the casualties sneaked away. Lawrence Firethorn came bounding onto the stage to throw his arms around Owen Elias and to cover him with apologies. Nicholas stood by in readiness.
‘I should never have doubted you, Owen!’ said Firethorn.
‘We are friends again.’
‘I even forgive you that treachery at The Curtain.’
Elias was honest. ‘I was but a pale shadow of you, sir.’
‘All has been redeemed this afternoon. Lord Westfield insists that you stay with the company. This trick with Nimbus was as pretty a piece of theatre as I’ve ever seen.’ Enthusiasm sent him into another embrace. ‘Such a man should be a sharer with the company. If I had a contract, I would offer it to you this instant.’
Nicholas produced the document and handed it over.
‘Then do so, Master Firethorn,’ he said.
The actor-manager was taken aback at first then he led the laughter. Owen Elias was finally given a contract. When he went off to celebrate in the taproom, he left Firethorn alone on stage with Nicholas Bracewell. The yard was empty now but it still reverberated with the sounds of the great events it had witnessed that afternoon. Westfield’s Men had vindicated themselves. Cornelius Gant and Giles Randolph had been put firmly in their places. Margery was now home from Cambridge and all was well in the world.
Lawrence Firethorn was aware that he owed a profound debt to Nicholas Bracewell and he was generous with his thanks. He was also able to rely on the discretion of his book holder. Margery would be told only a fraction of the truth in the privacy of the marriage bed but Firethorn hid nothing from his friend.
‘I was a blind fool, Nick,’ he confided. ‘I laughed with the rest of them at Nimbus but I was only watching myself. I was a stallion led astray by a mare. You stopped me from making an exhibition of myself before the whole company.’
Nicholas was tactful. ‘We are glad to have you back.’
‘Sebastian and I were yoked together in lunacy.’
‘Were you?’
‘Both of us succumbed to mad courtesans.’
‘Sebastian paid the higher price.’
‘I’ll not forget that.’ Firethorn sighed. ‘His father and his sister have much to thank you for, Nick, and my own gratitude will be never-ending.’ He put an affectionate arm around the other’s shoulders. ‘Look at this place. We have known such joys, such victories, such acclamation in this inn yard. Hector of Troy has fought here. And Vincentio, and King Richard, and Pompey the Great, and Black Antonio, and Julius Caesar, and Troilus, and the mighty King Gondar.’
‘Do not forget Jenny, sir.’
‘Jenny?’
‘The chestnut mare.’
‘Ah, yes! It was Jenny who conquered Nimbus.’
‘She was the maddest courtesan of them all.’