The Devil's Apprentice (15 page)

There was more to come. With their way ahead blocked and their cart disabled, Westfield’s Men were confronted with another problem. Someone came out of the copse and used a pitch fork to toss sheaves of burning hay at the visitors. Fire seemed to be raining from the sky. Horses reared, men yelled, boys cried and the cartwheel in the hole decided to part company with the axle, sending the remainder of its load on to the ground. The two Puritans rode away in high spirits. They were well pleased with their work. No plays would now pollute their county. Firmly repulsed, Westfield’s Men would slink back to London with their tails between their legs.

Panic reigned for several minutes. With their road blocked, their horses bucking wildly, their cart disabled and its occupants all thrown to the ground, and their retreat cut off by sheaves of blazing hay, Westfield’s Men were utterly confused. The boys cried, Firethorn roared and the animals became even more crazed. Nicholas Bracewell was the first to recover. Tossed from his seat on the wagon when the axle broke, he hit the ground and did a somersault before coming to a halt beside the howling Davy Stratton. He gave the boy a reassuring pat before leaping to his feet to take stock of the situation. Edmund Hoode was having enormous difficulty staying in the saddle as his horse reared madly. Nicholas ran over to grab the reins, holding on until the animal was brought sufficiently under control for Hoode to be able to dismount. The playwright took hold of the reins himself so that Nicholas was free to lend help elsewhere.

Fire was the chief problem. Nobody was actually burnt by the flames but they were causing havoc among the horses. Nicholas ran to the fallen tree, snapped off a branch and used it to beat out the nearest fire. Owen Elias followed his example, jumping down from the saddle, tethering his horse to the cart and snapping off a branch of his own. The hay burnt fiercely but only for a short while. The book holder and the Welshman soon tamed the little circle of fires, stamping out the last of the flames with their feet to leave piles of smoking debris in their wake. The crisis was over. Noise subsided, horses were calmed, apprentices were back on their feet and it was possible to take a proper inventory of the damage.

They had been fortunate. Cuts and bruises had been sustained by all who had been hurled to the ground and George Dart had acquired a spectacular black eye but there were no bad injuries. The company was more shocked than hurt. Several of the properties and some of the scenery had been damaged when flung from the cart but nothing was beyond repair. It was Barnaby Gill’s dignity that had been most seriously wounded.

‘Is this the kind of welcome we receive in Essex?’ he said, surveying the scene with bulging eyes. ‘I’ll no more of it. I say that we should turn back immediately.’

‘Never!’ yelled Firethorn, silencing the few murmurs of assent. ‘A silly jest is not going to stop us fulfilling our obligations.’

‘This is more than a jest, Lawrence,’ retorted Gill. ‘I might have been killed.’

‘No,’ insisted Nicholas. ‘This was meant to frighten us
away rather than to harm us. Swords or stones would have been used if someone really intended to kill some of us. This was simply a warning.’

‘And one that we’ll ignore,’ insisted Firethorn.

‘The best place to ignore it is back in London,’ said Gill.

‘That would be cowardice, Barnaby.’

‘I call it plain common sense.’

‘So do I,’ intervened Nicholas, keen to stifle the argument. ‘Since Master Gill feels threatened by this incident, let him return to the safety of London on his own. We shall miss his genius but there are others in the company who can take over the roles that he vacates. Meanwhile,’ he went on, looking around the others, ‘the rest of us will ride on to Silvermere where a more cordial reception than this is guaranteed.’

Gill was outraged. ‘Someone else will steal my roles?’

‘Only until you are ready to rejoin us.’

‘I forbid anyone to touch Doctor Blackthought in
The Happy Malcontent.’

‘Somebody must if you desert us, Master Gill,’ said Nicholas.

‘Yes,’ said Elias, realising the book holder’s stratagem. ‘It’s a part I’ve always coveted, Barnaby. I’ll keep it warm for you while you sneak back to London.’

‘No!’ shouted Gill, horrified at the notion. ‘I’ll not let you near the role. Besides, how could you play anything at Silvermere when you’ll not even get there? This tree is blocking your way completely.’

‘It can easily be moved,’ explained Nicholas. ‘We’ll unhitch the horses from the cart and let them drag the tree clear.’

‘But our cart is broken. Without that, we have no scenery, costumes or property.’

Nicholas inspected the damage. ‘The axle is sound. It’s only the wheel that needs to be repaired and that is not beyond our ability.’

‘No,’ said Firethorn, dismounting from his horse, ‘that’s a task I’ll take upon myself. I was raised in a blacksmith’s forge and watched my father prove himself an able cartwright on many an occasion.’ He rubbed his hands. ‘Let’s see if my own skills are still in good order.’

‘Are you still here, Barnaby?’ teased Elias. ‘I thought you were fleeing?’

‘We were attacked, Owen,’ replied Gill. ‘Our lives were in danger. How can you pretend that nothing has happened?’

‘Because that’s the only way to get our revenge on whoever laid this ambush.’

‘And who was that?’

‘We’ll find out,’ said Nicholas, guessing who had tried to scare them away but not wishing to discuss the matter in front of the whole company. ‘Meanwhile, there’s work to do here for those of us who mean to go on.’

‘Yes,’ added Firethorn, hands on hips, ‘let those who wish to turn their back on us in our hour of need, depart now with my curse upon them. We’ve suffered worse setbacks than this and always come through. So, my friends, either show loyalty to Westfield’s Men and stay or take your miserable carcasses out of my sight.’

Everyone turned expectantly to Gill. Seeing that he had no support, he began to bluster but quickly gave up.
He eventually got down from his horse to indicate that he would stay. Nicholas took charge at once, organising people to gather up the scattered contents of the cart while he unhitched the two horses and, with the aid of ropes, got them to drag the heavy tree aside. Firethorn, meanwhile, addressed the problem of the broken wheel, using the tools they always took with them when on tour and displaying the skills picked up in his father’s forge. When the apprentices had gathered wood, Nicholas lit a fire to keep up their spirits then suggested that the actor-musicians might take out their instruments to play some cheerful dances. The shock of the ambush was slowly wearing off. Even the irritable Barnaby Gill was soothed. A sense of camaraderie returned.

Nicholas went off with Elias to search the copse in which their attackers had hidden. The ground was too hard to show hoof prints but they suspected that their assailants had been few in number. Wisps of hay beside a tree showed where the men had concealed themselves to light their sheaves. Broken branches suggested the route they had taken for their hasty departure. It was far too late to pursue them.

‘Who the hell were they, Nick?’ asked Elias.

‘I think we can put a name to one of them, Owen.’

‘Can we?’

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘The person Sir Michael warned us about. Reginald Orr.’

‘That malignant Puritan?’

‘I believe so.’

Elias was scornful. ‘A man of God resorting to violence?’

‘I have the feeling that this particular man of God will
go to any extremes,’ said Nicholas. ‘Actors are vermin in his opinion. They must be put down.’

‘Well, he’ll have to try a lot harder to put
me
down.’

‘Orr doesn’t know that yet. He probably thinks he’s sent us running all the way back to London. When he learns that we’ve reached Silvermere and mean to present our plays, he may try to strike at us again.’

‘Unless we cut the villain to ribbons first!’

‘We need proof before we can accost Reginald Orr,’ said Nicholas, ‘and we’ve none at the moment. Until we find some, we must stay our hands.’

‘It
has
to be him, Nick,’ argued Elias. ‘Who else could it be?’

‘I don’t know. It certainly wasn’t a gang of robbers or they’d have closed in when they had us in disarray. No, this ambush was planned, Owen. Somebody knew that we’d be travelling along the road today. Digging that hole and chopping down that tree took time and energy. Nobody would go to such pains unless they were absolutely certain to catch their prey.’

‘So what do we do now?’

‘Go back to the others to help repair the cart.’

‘And then?’

‘You can drive it the rest of the way,’ decided Nicholas. ‘I’ll ride on ahead to make sure that there are no more unpleasant surprises awaiting us. I’ll take young Davy with me. His short cut through the forest will save us valuable time.’

‘As long as he doesn’t run off again.’

‘Davy won’t do that, Owen.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because he’s been too frightened by this ambush. With enemies lurking about, he won’t dare to go off on his own.’

They came out of the trees and strolled back towards the others. Westfield’s Men had recovered their high spirits. Those who were sorting out the cargo were exchanging merry banter, the remainder were warming themselves at the fire and enjoying the sprightly music that was now being played. Ashamed of his earlier response, Barnaby Gill was declaring his commitment to the company by executing one of his jigs for the amusement of the apprentices. Firethorn was swinging a hammer rhythmically as he worked on the cartwheel, Hoode was rehearsing his lines from
The Witch of Colchester.
The troupe looked less like victims of an ambush than contented travellers who had deliberately made camp beside the road.

Elias was heartened and Nicholas was deeply touched by what he saw.

‘They won’t stop Westfield’s Men,’ said the latter, ‘whatever they do.’

Sir Michael Greenleaf seemed impervious to the cold. Even though he had taken the precaution of wrapping a cloak around his shoulders, Romball Taylard gave an occasional shiver but his master was untroubled by the low temperature and the gusting wind. The two men were on the top of the tower at Silvermere. Instead of training his telescope on the sky, however, Sir Michael was scanning the horizon in the falling light for signs of his visitors. He stood back and shook his head in dismay.

‘There’s no sign of them, Romball,’ he said dejectedly.

‘Perhaps they’re not coming today, Sir Michael.’

‘They promised faithfully that they would and I take Nicholas Bracewell to be a man of his word. Heavens, they’re due to stage their first play tomorrow evening. What am I to tell my guests if I have no theatre company to set before them?’

‘Westfield’s Men may still arrive today,’ said Taylard.

‘But they should have been here hours ago.’

‘They may have got lost on their way.’

‘When they have Nicholas Bracewell and Owen Elias to guide them? I doubt that they’ve gone astray, Romball. They have Davy Stratton with them, remember. He knows this part of the county as well as anyone.’

‘We’re assuming that they’ll bring the boy, Sir Michael.’

‘Oh, they must,’ said the old man. ‘His father will be in the audience.’

‘That’s true.’

‘Jerome Stratton would be mortified if he did not at least see a glimpse of his son on the stage as Davy sets out on his new career. He’s an intelligent lad and may turn out to be a splendid actor.’

‘I’m not sure that actors need great intelligence,’ opined the steward with the merest hint of contempt. ‘They seem to come from all walks of life, with little or no education in some cases. Look at that Welshman who came here.’

‘Owen Elias? A brilliant actor, according to my wife.’

‘But clearly no graduate of a university.’

Sir Michael laughed. ‘Neither am I, Romball,’ he said with delight, ‘yet I’ve discovered things that have eluded the most learned men of science at Oxford and Cambridge.
Which of them have my dedication and range of interests? Or, for that matter, my artistic inclinations for, though science is my first love, I don’t neglect the arts. It’s not only Lady Eleanor who wanted the players here.’

‘I appreciate that, Sir Michael.’

‘I, too, am an admirer of histrionic skills. Even if you are not.’

Taylard stiffened. ‘Me?’

‘Come, Romball,’ said the other. ‘You don’t need to dissemble in front of me. For reasons that I can’t quite understand, you resent the arrival of Westfield’s Men.’

‘I deny that charge strongly, Sir Michael.’

‘I sense your opposition.’

‘It’s not for me to approve or disapprove,’ said the other smoothly. ‘As your steward, I merely carry out your wishes without subjecting them to any kind of moral judgement. My pleasure comes from serving you and Lady Eleanor.’

‘Nobody could do it better. What other man would stand on top of a tower in the freezing cold just to keep me company? And there’s probably not another steward in England who would put up with the explosions from my cannon and the stench of chemicals from my laboratory. But you’ve been here too long for me not to get an idea of your own feelings,’ said Sir Michael with a wry smile. ‘Deny it if you will, I still believe that you have reservations about our visitors from London.’

‘I have only one, Sir Michael,’ admitted the other, ‘and it’s nothing whatsoever to do with the actors themselves. It concerns you and Lady Eleanor.’

‘In what way?’

‘That’s already been demonstrated. When you allow plays to be staged at Silvermere, you also invite trouble. The vicar gave you fair warning of it.’

Sir Michael sighed. ‘The notorious Reginald Orr.’

‘I would hate him to cause any more trouble for you, Sir Michael.’

‘Nor shall he, Romball. That turbulent Christian will not be allowed anywhere near the house. Have no fears on our account.’

‘I’ll instruct everyone to remain vigilant.’

‘Yes,’ said Sir Michael with a sparkle in his eye, ‘and if you still think we’re going to be invaded by an army of wild Puritans, you can even mount a man up here to keep watch through my telescope.’

Taylard gave a rare smile. ‘There’s nobody I dislike enough to put him up here in this weather, Sir Michael.’

‘I think it’s quite mild today.’

‘The lake is still frozen.’

‘It won’t be when I find a way to smash the ice with cannon balls.’

‘Why not leave that task to the servants?’ advised the other.

‘When science can save them the trouble? It’s merely a question of getting the right balance of ingredients in my gunpowder. There’s still too much sulphur.’ He peered anxiously through the telescope again. ‘Wherever can they be?’