Margaret Frazer_Joliffe the Player 01 by A Play of Isaac

Author:A Play of Isaac
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: 1399-1485, Murder, England, Historical, Mystery & Detective, General, Drama, Great Britain - History - Lancaster and York, Great Britain, Actors, Historical Fiction, Mystery Fiction, Theatrical Companies, Fiction
ISBN: 9781440623738
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 2004-08-03T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Joliffe was turned from his worry by seeing, a few paces behind Master Penteney, John Thamys in intent, smiling talk with Simon Fairfield. He looked forward to hearing what Thamys would have to say about the play, but meanwhile had to join Basset and Ellis in bowing as Master Penteney presented them, first, to Lord Lovell, then to another man who, like Thamys, wore a scholar’s dark gown. It was the gown of a far wealthier scholar than Thamys was—amply cut and of a worsted so fine it looked almost like silk, with the turned-out collar of deep velvet open at the throat to show a black doublet of worked damask underneath. Add to that the wide, jeweled rings enriching the hand fondling the gold chain spread across the man’s chest and over his shoulder, and Joliffe altered his assessment from wealthy to very wealthy scholar.

“Doctor Thomas Gascoigne,” Master Penteney said. “Chancellor of the University.”

The players all bowed, and Doctor Gascoigne with rather heavy graciousness said, “You gave an interesting display. I have seen worse in my time.”

There was no telling whether he meant that for a back-handed compliment or simply failed to see the insult in it at all; but while Master Penteney’s face went stiff and Lord Lovell frowned, none of the players was so unskilled as to show offense. Basset merely murmured faint thanks for the doctor’s kindness and Ellis and Joliffe said nothing.

It was John Thamys who came to something like the rescue. Close enough that he and Simon must have heard what had passed, he said, just quickly enough that Joliffe knew he was trying to head off worse, “It must be difficult to find plays for so small a company, Master Basset.”

“In truth, sir, it’s nigh to impossible,” Basset agreed. He was now playing the part of the bluff craftsman honored by his betters so graciously noticing him. “We’d be hard put but that we’re fortunate in young Master Southwell here. He’s reshaped a number of plays to our need. As he did the one we played tonight.”

There were appreciative murmurs among the men, and Joliffe bowed his thanks.

“A literate young man,” Doctor Gascoigne said, disdain tingeing his voice. He eyed Joliffe as if he were an interesting example of deformity. “What a pity to put such a skill with words to such illicit use.”

“Sir?” Joliffe said politely, feigning ignorance of what the man could possibly mean but able to guess where he was bound and willing to help him along.

Not that Doctor Gascoigne needed help. Sounding much like a great lord being gracious to peasants, he explained grandly, “One must consider that your words are used by you and your fellows for the sake of dishonestly, shamefully displaying your bodies for the sake of profit. Such display is a thing done only by players, whores, and others of such kind, and …”

“Do you mean ‘shamefully’ or ‘shamelessly’?” Joliffe said.

Doctor Gascoigne drew himself up more straightly and stiffly, eyes widening, mouth tightening, plainly unused to being interrupted.

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