When they set off again, Nicholas relinquished the lead to the wagon that bore Barnaby Gill and some of the other actors. He was content to bring up the rear, letting someone else control the pace and direction for a change. Mussett kept trying to ingratiate himself with the apprentices but they were on their guard against him. Even Dart, who had giggled ridiculously before at all of the clown’s jests, was wary of him. Nicholas drove the wagon and chatted to Hoode, who rode alongside him on his donkey. They were no more than a dozen yards behind the wagon in front of them.
The road to Faversham was full of undulations. The ascent of a hill might slow them down but they quickened on the long descent. When they crested yet another rise, they saw a stream at the bottom of the slope. Fringed with trees and bushes, the fast-flowing water rippled over a stone bed and glistened in the sunshine. The only way to cross the stream was by means of a ford. It was no more than twenty feet wide but it was surprisingly deep, as Firethorn discovered when he spurred his horse across. Water reached above the animal’s knees. To get the wagons across, the load had to be lightened. All but Barnaby Gill and the driver jumped out and waded behind the first wagon, putting their shoulders to it to help it over the uneven surface. Rocked and bounced across the stream, Gill complained bitterly about the pain in his broken leg.
Two wagons got safely across and continued on their way. Since he was much heavier than the clown, Nicholas asked Mussett to take over the reins so that he could lend his strength to that of the others as they shoved from behind. Hoode rode alongside and exhorted them to greater efforts. They were in the middle of the stream when the ambush occurred. Without warning, three hooded figures suddenly came out of the bushes on horseback. Splashing through the water, they headed straight for the wagon. Two of them brandished swords but the third had a rope that he was twirling in the air. The donkey was so alarmed by their approach that it bucked wildly and dislodged its rider. Hoode was still flailing around in the water as the attackers closed in.
Nicholas drew his sword and stood protectively in front of the apprentices. As one of the men thrust his weapon at him, the book holder parried it skilfully before jabbing hard to open a small wound in his arm. Furious at the resistance, the rider brought the flank of his horse around to buffet Nicholas then lashed at him with renewed vigour. As he fought one man off, Nicholas kept an eye the other two. They had ridden straight for Mussett, one trying to dislodge him from his seat by throwing the rope around him while the other hacked at him with his sword. Mussett shed all of his stiffness. Faced with a battle for his life, he proved as lithe and cunning as ever. He dodged the rope and leapt into the rear of the wagon, grabbing a stool from among the stage properties to fend off the flashing sword, and somehow keeping his balance as the wagon continued to bump its way through the water.
One of the attackers was soon put to flight. When Nicholas parried a second thrust, he responded so swiftly with his own that he slit his adversary’s wrist and forced him to drop his sword. Abandoning the field, the man wheeled his horse round so that he could splash his way out of the water and gallop off along the road to Maidstone. His confederates were not far behind him. The noise of the ambush had roused Firethorn and Elias into action. Pulling out their swords, they kicked their horses into a canter to come to the aid of their friends. The attackers saw that their cause was hopeless. In a last vain attempt to strike at Mussett, the man with the rope took out a dagger and hurled it at him but the clown was ready, lifting the stool as a shield and letting the point of the weapon sink into it. As his assailant tried to escape, Mussett hurled the stool at him and caught him a glancing blow on the side of the head.
The ambush was over. Before Firethorn and Elias reached them, the two hooded figures fled in the direction of their accomplice. The apprentices were shivering, Dart was whimpering and Hoode, who had finally regained his feet, was spitting out water and wondering what had happened to his donkey. By the time that Firethorn and Elias had established that nobody was hurt, it was too late to go in pursuit. Mussett was grinning with exhilaration, feeling that his prompt action would earn him some admiration. Nicholas was puzzled by the fact the attackers had made for the clown.
‘Who were they?’ asked Elias.
‘The three rogues who beat me at the Black Eagle,’ said Mussett, retrieving the stool from the water. ‘They came to finish what they started last night.’
‘Is that what happened, Nick?’
‘I am not sure,’ replied Nicholas. ‘But one thing is certain.’
‘What is that?’ said Firethorn.
‘Someone does not wish us to play in Faversham.’
After travelling by a different route and at a faster pace, Sebastian Frant and his daughter arrived in Faversham well before the actors. They first called at the cottage where Frant’s brother and his wife lived, and where they were given a cordial welcome. David Frant, a frail old man with a tonsure of snowy hair, now retired from a lifetime’s involvement in the manufacture of gunpowder, was in poor health. He was surprised and delighted to see his younger brother and his niece. Not having met for over six months, they all had much gossip to trade but Frant eventually excused himself. Leaving Thomasina with her uncle and aunt, he went off into the town to make some enquiries on behalf of Westfield’s Men. By the time that the three wagons finally rolled into the town, he had the information that Nicholas wanted. He met the company in the square.
‘Welcome to Faversham!’ he said.
‘Thank you, Sebastian,’ replied Firethorn, dismounting from his horse. ‘We are fortunate to get here unscathed. Highwaymen attacked us not five miles away.’
Frant’s face puckered with concern. ‘Highwaymen?’
‘Three of the villains.’
‘What did they take?’
‘They seemed to be after blood rather than money. They went away with neither.’
‘Thank heaven for that!’
‘Nick Bracewell and Giddy Mussett were the heroes. They fought them off.’
‘I rejoice to hear it,’ said Frant. ‘Kent is a lovely county but it has its share of highwaymen, alas. No road is entirely safe. Thomasina and I travelled with a larger party to get here. We would never dare to ride such a distance alone.’
Firethorn beamed. ‘How is that pretty daughter of yours, Sebastian?’
‘Very well. She stays with my brother and his wife.’
‘I trust that we’ll have the pleasure of seeing her again.’
‘Yes, Lawrence. She was much taken with the play last evening. Thomasina will want to see anything that you present here.’
‘I long to know her better.’
Other members of the company had now dismounted or climbed out of their respective wagons. Those who knew him came to exchange greetings with Frant. He recommended an inn where they could stay and where he had already established that sufficient accommodation was available. Before they set off, Nicholas contrived a word alone with their former scrivener.
‘Do you hear any word of Conway’s Men?’ he asked.
‘Yes, Nick.’
‘Were they in Faversham?’
‘Barely a week ago,’ said Frant. ‘They are now settled in Canterbury and mean to stay there for a few days more.’
‘This is excellent news, Sebastian. I had not hoped they’d be so close.’
‘A good horse will get there in an hour or so.’
‘We’ll need two for Giddy Mussett will come with me.’
‘Giddy?’
‘He played with Conway’s Men and still has friends in the company.’
As Nicholas was speaking, Mussett came round the angle of a wagon. Frant saw the bruises on the clown’s face and the bandage that poked out from beneath his cap. He also noted the wet attire.