Edward Marston - The Devil's Apprentice

‘ The Witch of Colchester is a lively comedy. It will serve us well.’

‘Lawrence must have faith in it if he is saving it until the end of our stay. Will it prove a fitting climax to the work of Westfield’s Men?’

‘I believe so.’

‘When can I read my part?’

‘When Edmund and the author have finished polishing the piece,’ said Nicholas. ‘You’re set down to take on the role of Sir Roderick Lawless.’

‘I like the sound of that name.’

‘So does the playwright. He’s a lawyer with an inclination to lawlessness.’

‘An outlaw, then?’

‘Only in the bonfire of the mind.’

‘Sir Roderick Lawless, eh? Do I get to rant and rave?’

‘Constantly.’

‘What traffic do I have with women?’

‘You’ve a wife, the Lady Adeliza, and you consort with Black Joan herself.’

‘Black Joan?’

‘The witch.’

‘There are no such things,’ said Davy, coming out of his reverie.

‘How do you know?’ asked Nicholas.

‘My father told me.’

‘But I thought that Essex was crawling with witches,’ said Elias.

‘Not according to my father, sir,’ returned the boy. ‘He says that witchcraft is only a cunning deception.’

‘Then he won’t enjoy one of the plays we’re due to present. I take it that your father will be in the audience at Silvermere.’

Davy’s face clouded. ‘I expect so.’

‘He’s bound to be there, surely?’ said Nicholas. ‘Master Stratton gave us the impression that he and Sir Michael Greenleaf were much more than neighbours. Your father’s name was mentioned in the invitation we received. The one person I think we can count on seeing at Silvermere is your father.’

‘Yes,’ added Elias, ‘he’ll be there to watch his son taking his first steps on a stage. In his place, I certainly would be. What about you, Nick?’

‘I wouldn’t miss it either.’ Seeing the boy’s obvious discomfort, Nicholas did not press the point. ‘What’s the name of your own house, Davy?’

‘Holly Lodge.’

‘A pretty name. Is it a pretty place?’

‘Silvermere is much larger and more interesting.’

‘That’s not what I asked.’

‘Holly Lodge is a nice enough house,’ conceded Davy. ‘But I’ve left there now.’

‘You have indeed,’ said Elias. ‘You live in Old Street, Shoreditch, at the tender mercy of Lawrence Firethorn.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘That house might well be called Holly Lodge as well for you’ll prick yourself if you step out of place. Margery Firethorn is the soul of kindness but she has a tongue as sharp as any holly bush.’

‘Only for those who misbehave,’ said Nicholas.

Elias laughed again. ‘Such as her husband.’

‘That’s between the two of them,’ rebuked Nicholas. ‘It’s no business of ours. Davy will be well looked after in Shoreditch. It will be a true home for him.’

The apprentice said nothing but Nicholas sensed his approval. They were in open country now and maintaining a comfortable speed. Hedges and trees were still rimed with frost. Early morning sun made the fields glisten. The breeze was stiff but it was largely at their backs. Apart from the occasional cart going into market, they saw nobody. A bleak and empty horizon stretched out in front of them. It was like riding into a wilderness.

‘Have you ever met Sir Michael Greenleaf?’ asked Nicholas, turning to Davy.

‘A number of times.’

‘What sort of man is he?’

‘A good one,’ said the boy. ‘I like Sir Michael though many think him peculiar.’

‘Peculiar?’

‘Yes, Master Bracewell.’

‘In what way?’

The boy searched in vain for the right words and despaired of finding them.

‘You’ll have to judge for yourself,’ he said.

Though hampered by the rutted track with its random pools of ice, they made steady progress. After hours in the saddle, they stopped at a wayside inn to rest the horses and to take refreshment. Davy Stratton had grown more talkative, seeing the chance to reap the benefit of their experience in the theatre and plying them both with questions. The apprentice had one query that obviously worried him.

‘Will I only be asked to take the role of a woman?’ he said with distaste.

‘Yes,’ replied Elias, supping his ale. ‘Maids, maidservants, whores, nuns, queens and empresses. All aspects of the fairer sex, Davy, even down to scolds and seductresses. But there’s ample recompense for you.’

‘Is there, Master Elias?’

‘You may come to play my wife and enjoy my sweetest kiss on stage.’ He chuckled as the boy’s face registered disgust. ‘It could be worse, lad. You might have to suffer an embrace from Barnaby Gill. You’d soon come back to your husband after that.’

‘Don’t mislead him, Owen,’ chided Nicholas. ‘You’ll not take any roles of significance for a long while, Davy. They fall to Dick Honeydew and the others, trained, as they all are, in presenting themselves in female guise. During our stay at Silvermere, you may not even get on stage at all or, if you do, the likelihood is that you’ll be no more than a page or a humble servant.’

‘Man or woman?’

‘Neither. You’d play what you are — a young boy.’

Davy looked relieved. Nicholas decided that he felt embarrassed at the idea of donning female attire at Silvermere in front of his father. The book holder also believed that the reason he was peppering them with questions was to ensure that he did not have to yield up any answers on his own account. It was a curious paradox. The nearer they got to Davy Stratton’s home, the less willing he was to talk about it.

On the next stage of the journey, the boy showed his value, guiding them along a track that twisted its way aimlessly through oak woodland. When they came out into open country again, the road did not improve. Churned up by the passage of many hooves then frozen hard, it meandered through fields that shimmered in the sun as the last of the frost melted away. Barley, wheat and corn were extensively cultivated throughout the area but they were hidden beneath the thick blanket of winter. Sheep were the only animals they passed, foraging in groups and scattering in mild panic whenever the travellers got close to them. Nicholas was enjoying the ride, glad to be free of the fetid air of London and taking an interest in the unfolding landscape. Davy, too, was in good spirits, handling his pony with the ease of a practiced horseman. Elias was less comfortable, troubled by the cold, bored by the surroundings and starting to suffer twinges in his buttock and thigh.

They rounded a bend at a steady trot then rode up a hill. It was surmounted by a stand of elms whose branches moved creakily in the wind. Nicholas was the first to spot movement among the trees and he drew Elias’s attention to it with a nudge. Both men eased their cloaks back to free their swords.

‘When I tell you,’ said Nicholas, turning to Davy, ‘kick your horse into a canter.’

‘Why?’ asked the boy.

‘Just do as I say, Davy.’

‘Are we in danger?’

‘I’m not sure.’

Keeping up the same pace, they moved slowly up the hill. Nicholas and Elias betrayed no outward signs of caution but their eyes were scanning the summit with care. A head poked briefly out from behind a thick trunk then withdrew. The ambush was set. There were too few trees to offer cover for more than a handful of men and, since the elms stood only on one side of the road, the attack would have to come from that side. It simplified matters considerably. Nicholas waited until they were only twenty yards from the summit before reaching across to slap the pony hard on the rump.

‘Now, Davy!’ he ordered. ‘Ride on!’