CHAPTER TWO
1576
When Master Stanyhurst and I presented ourselves at the gate of the former Priory of the Hospitallers at Kilmainham, where Sir Henry Sidney held court, it was not an easy entrance as I had been used to at Kilkea Castle. The gatekeeper questioned us closely before having us taken to the steward. I thought this portly personage too short with Master Stanyhurst. I had yet to learn that upper servants enjoyed the reflected glory of their masters and that this one felt himself above a mere Irish Recorder's son. He had no time to waste.
"Leave the boy here. Is this his property?" And he began to turn over disdainfully the little pile of books, among them the music of Don Luys Milan.
"Wrap them in their cloth again and lay them in this press. You will have no need of these."
As he caught sight of my lute case, which I was attempting to hide behind my back lest it should meet the same fate, his eyebrows shot up and his mouth gaped.
"How dare you come here with stolen property? This is the Earl of Leicester's own badge. We must look into this. Meanwhile it is in my safe keeping."
Master Stanyhurst hastily whispered in my ear that he would make all right in a letter to Sir Henry Sidney. We had no time for goodbyes before I was hurried off by a lower servant to the clerk of the kitchen and the steward returned to his wine.
The kitchen clerk was no more welcoming. "Why have you been sent to me? I have no time for these interruptions!"
I tried to explain that I had been sent for to play and sing for Sir Henry but he seemed not to hear.
"Why have you been sent to my office? All who come here must make themselves useful to me."
His dull surrounding colour was shot through with red. I thought it best to placate him in some way. What could I do in a kitchen? My mind searched around desperately, rejecting all my recent learning, until, suddenly, inspiration came to me. "Sir, I can gut fish."
"Why didn't you say that at first? Wasting my time!" he grumbled.
~
In the swelter of the kitchens, Rob, I learned my place at last. The hierarchy did not end with the gentleman's son. There was a pecking order below stairs and I was less than the humble scullion detailed to have care of me.
Fish was not eaten every day, so I was given the added duties of wood and water carrier. My good clothes were whisked away and I was handed a much worn and evil smelling livery. All the servants' quarters in the garrets were full and I was shown a rough pallet and told to bed down in a draughty passage. I soon learned not to complain.
"Cocksure little bastard! Who does he think he is, saying he can play the lute?" And I felt the remembered weight of hands as horny as my father's and the boot in the rump which kind treatment had caused me to forget. I began to wish that I had not been raised so high by Master Campion, only to fall so low. With him my mind had been fully exercised. Now it was, "Think? You are not here to think! Get to work! Who do you think you are?"
I who had soared as Ariel was Caliban once more. Without my Orpheus book and my lute, condemned it seemed forever to a life of drudgery, a great dullness of spirit descended on me.
Yet I remembered my teaching well enough to rise earlier than the rest and wash at the pump in the yard and to risk a buffeting when I stole a little of the cook's perquisite, sheep fat or even goose grease, to rub into my chapped hands. I found that a handful of wormwood, pilfered when I was sent to gather herbs, kept my body and bed free of fleas. I had kept my comb when they took my clothes and did my best to keep my thick, dark hair free of lice. I determined not to lose my self respect, even though the stench of my second-hand garb revolted me each time I put it on.
Yes, Rob, although my covering was thin, I slept in a naked bed, unlike the other scullions, who wore their livery at all times like a second, filthy skin.
~
Skin...Skin? I must have nodded for a moment or two. Skin of my teeth? Oh, yes, a small pad of clean cloth or a peeled stick... a singer must keep sweet breath. "I am escaped with the skin of my teeth?" No, it begins, "My bone cleaveth to my skin and to my flesh..." Oh, God, look at my old hands...I'm happier back with that boy again, young Johnny.....
I did escape by the skin of my teeth. Just as I thought I could bear it no longer and was about to run away (but whither?) a message came, passed from a high servant to a lower, that I was to be measured for a fine Sidney livery and come above stairs to wait on Masters Philip and Robert Sidney, who had arrived on a visit to their father. Sir Henry had received Master Stanyhurst's letter at last.
The kitchen clerk bit back his rancour. He had been reprimanded because of me and hated me for it. I had been sent to him for a meal, not for work. Why had I misled him? He hustled me on to the steward, who loftily handed me my lute case and books, almost as though I should thank him for his care of my property.
I still had to sleep in a corridor, outside the young gentlemens' chamber, but I had a sheet and blankets and the use of a cupboard where I could keep my books, safely hidden from view in their cloth.
Master Philip could not keep his hands off my lute. "I don't believe it- it's signed by Laux Maler! How came you by such a treasure?"
He did me the justice to believe my story. He had known Edmund Campion and his generous nature in their Oxford days.
"I will ask my father to write an assurance that the lute belongs to you by right of gift, then none can accuse you of theft. You must fix it securely inside the lid of the case. I think we will change Dolan, though. The Irish have a bad reputation. What think you of Dowland? The final 'd' gives it a more English ring."
I would have changed my name to 'Dolesman' in that moment, so much did I feel myself indebted to Master Philip. The brother, Master Robert, was a different matter. I was ordered to help him with his lute playing and began with my earliest lessons which he refused to accept.
"What nonsense! How can you dare to correct me? You are nothing but an Irish kern and an uneducated savage, even if my brother has changed your name." I bit my lip, with hard learned restraint, and, once more, showed him the correct fingering.
We were of an age and Master Robert was not above playing truant and obliging me to show him all the places where John Forster and I had enjoyed such carefree play. As I had now learned to expect, I had the worst of it when our clothes were torn from climbing the cliffs for sea birds' nests and, when our exploits were thus uncovered, I had the blame and the beating.
"I don't know why you're snivelling. You're my whipping boy, just as my Lord father's friend, McGillapatrick, Baron of Upper Ossory, was King Edward's." And Master Robert stalked away grandly.
I did not believe that a baron could be a whipping boy, but when we visited Ossory, myself a humble member of Sir Henry's train, I found it was true, for the Lord Deputy embraced his friend, calling him Barney Fitzpatrick and reminding him of the old days when they were boys together at the school Queen Catherine Parr set up for Prince Edward. I thought it over and came to the conclusion that if an English boy king had to have someone to bear the punishment for his faults, it would naturally be an Irish boy, had he been an Earl's son.
~
I played and sang at dinner time for Sir Henry and his guests. The meal lasted from eleven until three in the afternoon and I was hard pressed to vary my selection of songs and very tired by the time the great ones rose from table and I could creep away in search of my own food.
Sir Henry and Master Philip often threw me a kind look but some of the guests were oafish and talked loudly all the way through my performance. I had been told in the servants' quarters that we must show respect to all our 'betters', not only those who deserved it. Why then, though they bowed and scraped to the 'great ones' in public, did they tear them to pieces behind their backs? What I most hated below stairs was the miasma of bitterness and gall. Revenge was taken for their condition of servitude in the most spiteful scandalmongering expressed in foul language such as I had not heard since my Dalkey days.....
Where was I, Rob? I am missing the point again. Ah, yes, I found a way to make the dinner guests listen. I played music from my Orpheus book which had not been heard before, I thought, outside the walls of my room at the Stanyhurst's. That reduced them to silence as if by magic and it worked every time.
~
Master Philip came to me with a question. "How in the world did you learn that Spanish music, Johnny? I found it in an old music book my mother, Lady Sidney, was given by a grandee at Queen Mary and King Philip's court before I was born. You perhaps know that King Philip of Spain is my godfather." He was proud of that fact, I could see. I explained that I had taught myself to play and had found it a hard task.
"I am sure of that, " agreed Master Philip, "for I find the music impossible to master. I envy you your skill in playing, Johnny. A lute belonging to my uncle, Leicester and 'El Maestro' from the great Earl of Kildare! I wonder if you realise how fortunate you are?"
I murmured something about that not being my only good fortune and he seemed pleased. Once, I had taken all good things that came my way for granted, but no longer since my kitchen experiences had brought back the memories of my earliest days. Not an hour passed now without thanks rendered in my mind to my benefactor, Master Campion, who had been too modest to accept thanks when we had been together.
~
Trouble flared up in the West and the two sons accompanied their father to get a taste of war. I was left behind and lay very low, lest I should be returned to my menial tasks. Soon a diversion arrived. Kilmainham was suddenly abustle to welcome the Earl of Essex and his retinue, fresh from England. Great dinners were held again in the hall and I was allowed to play and sing, even though the Earl had brought with him his own musician, John Hues. I was afraid at first that Hues might resent me and did all I could to wheedle myself into his good books, as I had learned to do to ease my way below stairs. I need not have troubled. He was far too good a fellow to bear any grudge; in fact, he was unstinting in his praise.
"Does me good to be a listener for a change and to hear some new music. But watch out for that lute. There are those who'll say you came by it dishonestly."
I showed him the letter inside the lid and he told me to take great care of that. "Such a beauty of a lute, " he said dreamily, stroking the wood. "Do you know how best take care of it?"
I said I knew how to restring my instrument and how to tune it, also that I put it carefully in its case as soon as I had used it.
"That is good," approved Hues, "because the chief thing is to keep your lute from getting damp. Better than the case is a warm bed." He could see from my face that I wanted to laugh. "Oh, yes, as soon as you rise in the morning, place your lute between the two top covers, not between the sheets for they are damp with sweat. Your lute is the best lady in your bed, will sing more sweetly for it and cause you less heartache than the kind that trips on two feet."
I did laugh then, and told him his good advice was wasted at the moment as I had to sleep on a pallet outside my masters' chamber and what would happen if some careless servant dropped his burden on my bed and broke my beloved lute?
"Believe me, boy, you are not destined to sleep in corridors all your life. You will be a great lutenist one day and have a servant of your own at your command. Now I will explain to you what you might do to mend your lute should such an accident occur and there is no good lutemaker at hand."
Day after day, I listened carefully to his advice and it was of great help to me on my travels though I have told you, Rob, to spend much time, as I did, watching a skilled lute repairer at work before you take your lute to pieces.
We now noticed that Walter Devereux, Earl of Essex, ate less and less at the dining table, which he left hurriedly from time to time, returning with pallid cheeks and an exhausted mien. I was not surprised when he took to his bed, for his fading colours told me he had not long to live.
My friend, Hues, had no more time for me. He was needed in the sick-room, where all my Lord wished for was hymn singing in which he joined with his failing voice. The doctors bled and purged him, which further reduced his strength. Knocking timidly on the chamber door one day to ask after the Earl's welfare and that of my friend, I was little surprised when John peeped out, his face wet with tears. He came out, closing the door carefully behind him.
"My master's dead," he rasped, "poisoned, I'll be bound by that whoreson Leicester. They say that slut, Lady Essex, for all she was spawned by the Puritan Knollys, has had two bastards by Dudley already and now they're free to marry and get more of their kind. May they all rot in hell and their bloody Doctor Julio, too.!" And he waved away the dish of food I had brought him, continuing his invective in terms I did not then understand.
Indeed, there followed such a scandal that Sir Henry Sidney, who had come hurrying back to Dublin, too late to bid his friend farewell, had to send the Council a report denying all possibility of foul play, which failed to still the wagging tongues as to his brother-in-law's involvement.
The Earl's death caused my life to take yet another turn. Master Philip wished me for his own musician, so, when he and Master Robert accompanied the body to England for the grand funeral, I, with John Hues, followed in their train. Miserably seasick, headed for an unknown land, I longed, yet dreaded to arrive. How many troubled voyages have I known since then, how many weary journeys, how many filthy foreign inns! Crossing the Irish Sea was only the beginning of a long apprenticeship.....
~
Hark, hark! the rattlings!
'Tis hail.
Make fast the tacklings.
Strike sail.
Make quick despatches;
Shut close the hatches;
Hold stern, cast anchor out,
This night we shall at random float.....
.....Well, that's cheerful, to wake up singing and an air of my own making! Maybe there'll be less pain and I shall put down more of my story for you, Rob, while there's still time.
1577
We celebrated Christ's birthday at Penshurst, the first time I had spent Christmas with a mother and her family, though Lady Mary Sidney was still sad at the loss of her daughter, Ambrosia, and of pretty little Mary, swept off to Court by the Queen, for fear of her catching the same illness.
One day, Lady Mary called me to her chamber. With the family, she did not use the mask she always wore in public and I could detect no sign on her worn, yet still beautiful face, of the smallpox she was supposed to have caught when she nursed the Queen.
"Play me some more of the Spanish music the young folk were dancing to the other night," she asked.
I have told you, Rob, I often played with my eyes closed, which helped me hear the music better.
A sound came between me and the pavane I played and, looking up, I saw that Lady Mary was weeping. Wiping her eyes, she asked, "How came you by that music?" And, later, "Oh, I see. I know the Earl of Kildare and his great library and think he must have a copy of every book in Europe. He thought well of you to make you such a fine gift."
Reaching into a drawer, she brought out the fellow to my Orpheus book, only this one bore a strange coat of arms.
"I will tell you the story of my music book. Those are the arms of Portugal. Don Luys Milan dedicated his work to King John III; and his daughter, Maria, who was the same age as my Mary is now, brought it with her to Spain when she married Prince Philip. Poor young lady, she died in childbed within eleven months and the Prince remained a widower for ten years until he came to England to marry our Queen Mary. He kept the book all that time in memory of his little wife and had it beside him always until he did me the great honour of presenting it to me at Master Philip's christening."
"He must have thought very highly of you, my lady, " I ventured. She ignored me and continued, as if thinking aloud, "Sir Henry was of the party that went to Spain to escort the bridegroom and I accompanied him with other ladies who spoke Spanish to welcome the wives of the grandees in the Prince's train, who spoke no English.:
"Oh, my lady, you understand Spanish?" I exclaimed, unable to keep the envy from my voice.
"There were three little girls, whose mothers were ladies in waiting when Catherine of Aragon came to marry Prince Arthur and, later, became Queen to King Henry. One was my mother, Jane Guildford, who became Duchess of Northumberland. They all learned Spanish and spoke it with Princess Mary too. I learned Spanish also, to my joy and sorrow. It was because my poor mother and I knew that language that my brothers were released from the Tower. King Philip was a good lord to us and Queen Mary a good lady, though my father and brothers had tried to keep her from the throne....."
Lady Mary was silent, deep in her own thoughts. Then, "So you have taught yourself this music without being able to read the instructions?"
I nodded and she went on, "Then you have great talent. If you will come to me each morning and play the music of Don Luys Milan, I shall reward you by translating and teaching you how to pronounce Spanish, which is an easy language to master."
I stammered my thanks, which she brushed aside, saying she was a sick and lonely woman and a fresh interest would be of benefit to her. In a week or so, I was able to read Don Luys Milan's wise words and make some necessary corrections to my playing.
When I heard an insolent page boy, who had been reprimanded by Master Philip, mutter behind his back that "Spanish byblows had better mind their words", I had the first fight of my life, and won. My famous stare was not enough to relieve my angry feelings at the insult to my kind mistress.
~
One Saturday evening in January, when we were in London again, Master Philip called me to him.
"Tomorrow, we must be up betimes and break our fast early. After that nothing but water or wine must pass our lips for seven hours. See that you are well washed and that your lute is in good order. You will help me dress tomorrow and, as soon as we leave the house, hold your tongue, for we must refrain from speech as well as food."
With these mystifying words, he dismissed me. It was obvious we were not going to Sunday service and I lay awake half the night, wondering what was afoot. Very early next morning, I put on my new Sidney livery, which had been my New Year's gift, and hurried to Master Philip's chamber. A fine new suit of orange velvet lay ready on a chest. It took me some time to dress my master, as that was usually a task for two servants, and I fumbled over the points in tying on his huge, padded trunks and detachable sleeves. Last of all, my master produced the most beautiful ring I had ever seen.
"My mother gave it to me, " he said proudly. "My godfather, King Philip, meant it for me as a christening gift and it has been kept safely ever since. I must have been a puny babe, indeed a seven months' child, expected to grow up a weakling, as it fits only my little finger. Still, it will serve. Now, these must be my last words to you until we arrive at our destination."
He said one word after that, "Mortlake", thrown as an order to the boatman. It was misty and the trees were shrouded. A chill wind cut right through me and I shivered, less with cold than in anticipation of what might lie ahead. After what seemed an eternity of silence broken only by the swish of the oars through the water and the hoarse coughing of the boatman, we reached a landing stage. Tossing a coin in payment, Master Philip hurried me up a long path to a house whose main door already stood open, framing a tall black-clad figure, whose outline would have been hard to pick out in the early morning gloom were it not for the golden surround which I now realised I alone could discern.
Feeling relieved that we were in the presence of a good man, I took my master's heavy cloak as he stepped inside the house.
"Well met on the Sun's day, Master Philip, " and, holding up his candle, our white-bearded host added, "wearing the Sun's colour also." And as my master stretched forth his hand in greeting, this dignified personage approved in his mellow voice, "The gold and diamond ring, just as it should be. And this is the young lutenist, looking very much in awe of me. Obey me in all things, boy, as do my pupils and no harm will befall." And he chuckled.
He gave us each a candle stick, and, lighting our candles from his own, preceded us down a long, narrow passage. As he flung open the first door we reached, I saw it was a library and schoolroom both and my swift intake of breath caused our guide to say, "Never seen as many books as this, eh? There are four thousand volumes on these shelves."
I ventured to reply that I had seen a great number of books in the Earl of Kildare's library at Kilkea, but that he had only one copy of each work, whereas I noticed here there were several of the same.
"Aha, an observant lad, Philip, who keeps good company. I think he will do very well for us."
My master spoke for the first time. "We must still measure our words, Johnny. Doctor Dee has invited us here to carry out a great work and your music is a part of it."
As we passed into the next room, my feelings of apprehension returned. The heat from the glowing stove was overpowering, as were the many odours unrecognisable to me. Our flickering candles revealed racks of tools hanging on the walls and containers of all shapes and sizes covering the benches and the floor, some filled with mysterious liquids, some, fat-bellied, narrow-necked glass vessels, whose use I could not imagine, seemed ready to discharge their strange contents into deep bowls. Bellows of every size and shape lay scattered among sieves, books, pots, brooms and brushes, I know not what else, as if work carried out here moved at a furious pace and order was out of the question.
Master Philip seemed not a whit disturbed as we picked our way to the door at the end of this outlandish room (or laboratory, as I supposed) above which were ranged skeletal heads of rams and goats, which had a sinister aspect in these unfamiliar surroundings.
I was glad when the next door opened into a more harmonious sanctum. All was order here but still it was strange. A great flaming sun occupied most of one wall and on another was a huge sign that reminded me of nothing so much as the horned figures approaching the Underworld in my Orpheus picture. Underneath, in clear lettering, I read the words, 'Monas Hieroglyphica'. On the third wall a sort of tree was depicted, labelled 'The Tree of Life'. We could put down the candles now - this room was better lit and the walls were partly draped in the same vivid orange as my master's doublet and hose. There was a spicy smell of cinnamon and cloves, I thought, remembering my kitchen days.
Doctor Dee handed us each a bowl of orange-scented water in which to cleanse our hands and gave us each a spotless cloth to dry them with. Then he solemnly anointed our foreheads from a handsome pot, labelled 'Oleum Magicale'. It was like a religious ceremony and yet unlike any I had known. Its strangeness caused my knees to knock, all the more as I now saw, in the centre of the room, a great chalk circle left a little open. Inside, stood an altar, covered with an orange cloth, facing east, where there had been placed on the ground a sprig of mistletoe. To the west, still inside the circle, was a curiously worked cup containing water into which Doctor Dee sprinkled a little salt. My mouth was parched and it seemed an age since drink had passed my lips. To the south, one of the candles had been placed and the north was marked by a clod of earth. I dared not ask the meaning of these dispositions and trembled the more.
The altar bore an incense burner from which emanated the pleasant, spicy smell. A card with a five-pointed star stood next to a small gavel and another candle cast light on a miniature sword and a gold-tipped wand. A stool and a music stand completed the furnishings of the magic circle and on the stand was the fellow of my Orpheus book.
Doctor Dee stepped inside the circle, beckoning us to follow. He then closed the circle, saying, "We need fear no demons, but I counsel you both to remain within this bound until I give you leave to go." He motioned to Master Philip to kneel at the altar and waved me to the stool, where I sat with my lute, facing the book, left open at the most solemn fantasia. I knew it by heart and closed my eyes as was my wont to see the music in colour.
I heard Doctor Dee begin to chant, in Greek, I thought, and I wished I had paid more attention to Master Stanyhurst's teaching. It seemed to be an invocation to Apollo from the few words I managed to recognise. As I played, the colours began to swirl in brilliant swathes of rainbow hue. The celebrant's words faded as the music became more potent, lifting me, as always, out of my mortal frame to realms of bliss.
Sca..sca..sca..sca.. I fell into darkness with an unpleasant feeling, as though my head would burst. In the distance, a little light shone and came nearer.....
I was standing at the top of a flight of wooden stairs, looking down at a sombrely clad man with a kind, tired face. As he put his foot on the first tread, a man came out of a dark archway at the side and fired a gun point-blank into the other's breast. The wounded man fell back into the arms of a follower. I heard no sound, but, as the victim's colours faded, I knew he was on the point of death.....
I came back with a click in my head, to find Doctor Dee supporting me on the stool, holding a cup to my lips, and Master Philip standing over me in wonder and horror, the blood drained from his face.
"My God, Johnny, " he breathed, "I thought we had killed you!" I did indeed feel very sick and my head ached unbearably.
Doctor Dee was impatient. "You saw, boy? Tell us what it was before the vision fades." I told them as best I could. "What did you hear?" Doctor Dee was insistent. I told him nothing after the four taps and those, he said were the four taps of the gavel, which ended the ceremony, which was when I ceased playing. Then I remembered one thing more.
"The wounded man wore round his neck a dark-coloured medal with a device of two hands clasped in a wallet. As he fell, the medal turned over and, on the reverse. were words, in Latin, I think. I only remember the first one, 'Fideles'. I know that is the Latin for 'faithful'."
I felt so sick that I had to lie down on the floor until I felt well enough for the two men to support me to the waiting boat in the bottom of which I straightway fell into a deep sleep.
That, Rob, was the strangest day of my young life, and it was some years before I realised its full significance.
