'The knave deserved it!'

'If he'd not ducked in time, you'd have boxed his other ear and taken his breath away for a fortnight.'

'What was the man's offence?' wondered Nicholas.

'He blew a scurvy trumpet,' explained Will.

Fowler and Ruff shook with mirth at the shared recollection. As further memoirs were revealed by the former, the other seemed to relax and blossom, secure in the knowledge that there had been a time when his talent had been in demand. Samuel Ruff was older and greyer than Fowler but his build was similar. Nicholas noted the faded attire and the neglected air. He also studied the big, open face with its honest eyes and resolute jaw. There was an integrity about Ruff which had not been beaten out of him by his straitened circumstances, and his pride was intact as well. When Fowler offered him money, he was frankly wounded.

'Take it back, Will. I can pay my way.'

'I mean it as a loan and not as charity.'

'Either would be an insult to me.'

Fowler slipped the coins quickly back into his purse and revived some more memories of their time together. The laughter soon started again but it lacked its earlier warmth. Nicholas had taken a liking to Samuel Ruff but he could not see how he could help him in the immediate future. The number of hired men in the company was kept to a minimum by Firethorn in order to hold down costs. There was no call for a new player at the moment.

In any case, Ruff did not appear to be in search of a job. Months without work had taken their toll of his spirit and he was now talking of leaving the profession altogether. Will Fowler gasped with shock as he heard the news.

'What will you do, Sam?'

'Go back home to Norwich.'

'Norwich?'

'My brother has a small farm there. I can work for him.'

'Sam Ruff on a farm!' exclaimed Fowler with healthy disgust. 'Those hands were not made to feed pigs.'