Edward Marston - The Devil's Apprentice

‘I am more than content,’ she answered. ‘Comedies, tragedies and a stirring history. This is wondrous fare to set before our guests. What we do need to know, however, is the name of the new play for that will have a special place.’

‘Why is that, Lady Eleanor?’ asked Elias.

‘Because it will be the last of the six to be presented and will coincide with a highly important event.’ She turned to Sir Michael. ‘You explained that in your invitation, surely?’

‘It slipped my mind, Eleanor.’

‘Heavens!’ she cried. ‘Who else but you would forget his own birthday?’ She squeezed his arm affectionately. ‘You’re going to be sixty on that very day.’

‘Congratulations, Sir Michael!’ said Nicholas.

‘Yes,’ added Elias. ‘Ice or no, the cannon will have to be fired in salute that night. As to the new play, I hear that it’s a riotous comedy with some darker moments in it. Nick will confirm that. He’s read it from start to finish.’

‘That’s true,’ said the book holder. ‘The play will bring our visit to Silvermere to a rousing conclusion. It’s not only a brilliant piece of work by a new author, it has a fortuitous link with the county of Essex.’

‘What’s the title?’ wondered Lady Eleanor.

‘ The Witch of Colchester. ’

‘I love it already.’

‘So do I,’ said her husband, chortling happily. ‘You could not have chosen anything more appropriate, gentlemen. Do you know my nickname in these parts?’

‘No, Sir Michael,’ said Elias. ‘What is it?’

‘The Wizard of Silvermere.’

‘It suits you well.’

‘I like to think so,’ said Sir Michael, laughing gaily. ‘What a fateful meeting it will be. The Witch of Colchester and the Wizard of Silvermere. We were obviously made for each other. Everything is working to our satisfaction, Eleanor,’ he went on, taking her hand. ‘We have our new play and Westfield’s Men have a new theatre in which to perform — the Great Hall at Silvermere.’

‘They also have a new apprentice,’ she reminded him. ‘Davy Stratton.’

‘Ah, yes. Jerome’s boy. How is the lad settling in?’

Nicholas shifted his feet. ‘Not very well, to be honest, Sir Michael.’

‘Oh?’

‘We brought him with us because he knew the way to Silvermere.’

‘Then where is he now?’

‘We don’t know,’ confessed Nicholas. ‘Davy ran off.’

Light was fading badly now. As he rode his pony through the woods, Davy Stratton shivered in the cold wind and grew apprehensive. He was lost. It was dark among the trees and impossible for him to recognise the paths that should have dictated his way. He thought of turning back to start again but that would only lose valuable time and render the woodland even less hospitable. Strange noises began to assault his ear. His pony, too, was frightened, jerking its head in alarm at each new sound. Davy was having difficulty controlling his mount. It was imperative to get out of the wood as soon as possible and back on a track that he knew. He dug in his heels to call for more speed but his pony simply bucked in protest. A long, loud, anguished cry then came from the throat of a nearby animal, cutting through the undergrowth like a phantom scythe and making the boy shudder. The pony reared up in terror before bolting wildly. Davy clung on to the pommel with both hands.

It was all to no avail. As the pony galloped headlong through the bushes, the overhanging branch of a tree swept the boy from the saddle like a giant hand. Davy hit the ground with a thump then rolled over. Winded by the fall and hurt by the sudden impact of the frozen earth, he needed a moment to recover. When he picked himself up with deliberate slowness, his body ached in a dozen places. The wood seemed darker and more threatening than ever now. There was no pony to take him out of it.

‘Hotspur!’ he bleated. ‘Come back here, Hotspur!’

But the pony was fifty yards away now. Davy could not even be sure in which direction it had gone. Walking gingerly, he set off down the path in front of him.

‘Hotspur!’ he called with more force. ‘Where are you, boy?’

The only reply came from the nameless animal whose first cry had made his pony bolt. Davy hobbled along as fast as he could, pausing only to pick up a long stick for protection. He was lost, alone and at the mercy of wild animals. Safety was a long way off now. He began to regret leaving Nicholas Bracewell and Owen Elias in the middle of the forest. With them beside him, he feared nothing. They were friends. They had even helped him to avoid an ambush. It hurt him to remember that he had let them down badly. This was his punishment for deserting them. It was no more than he deserved.

Davy steeled himself to be brave and pressed on, using the stick to push aside bushes or to support him across a ditch. He kept calling for his horse but with decreasing hope. When he stumbled into a clearing, he had the uncomfortable feeling that he had been there before and had simply travelled through the wood in a wide circle. It was galling. He rested against the trunk of an ash tree to catch his breath and consider his next move. The animal let out a third cry but it was far more distant now. As the noise died away, it was replaced by a more welcome sound. Davy heard a faint neigh off to his left. Was it Hotspur? Had the pony come to a halt at last? His spirits revived. Pushing himself away from the tree, he set off in the direction of the neigh, ears pricked to catch any repetition of the sound. When it finally came, his hopes were confirmed. It was the distinctive neigh of his pony, waiting for him not far away. Davy broke into a run, blundering through the undergrowth as quickly as his aching legs would carry him.

He had not been deceived. Hotspur was under a tree, searching the ground for a morsel of grass. Davy burst into tears when he saw him and ran towards the pony but he never reached the animal. Two men leapt out of the bushes to grab him. One of them clapped a hand over the boy’s mouth to stifle his yell.

‘Come on, lad,’ he said grimly. ‘You’re going with us.’

Margery Firethorn gave her husband a warm embrace and stood back to appraise him.

‘I’ll miss you, Lawrence,’ she sighed.

‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder, my love.’

‘You always say that on the eve of departure.’

‘That’s because it’s always true, Margery,’ he said, tickling her under the chin with an index finger. ‘The longer I’m away from you, the more I appreciate you. It’s agony for me. Being apart from my dear wife for any length of time is like losing a limb.’

‘Is it?’ she said sceptically. ‘I know you better than that, Lawrence.’

He gave a roguish smile. ‘So I should hope.’

‘Marry an actor and you must suffer the consequences.’

‘Travel is forced upon us. We have to go where the work beckons.’

‘As long as your affections don’t wander while you’re away.’

‘Perish the thought!’

‘It would not be the first time you went astray.’

‘Why ever should I do that, my love?’ he said with an expression of injured innocence. ‘It’s madness. Why should I pick an occasional wild cherry when I have a basket of ripe strawberries waiting for me in my bed?’

‘Is that all I am?’ she teased. ‘Something sweet to pop into your mouth?’

‘No, Margery. You’re much, much more. Wife, mother, lover, partner and soul mate. I tell you this,’ he said impulsively, ‘if you didn’t have to look after the house and the children, I’d throw you over my shoulder and take you with us to Essex. Perhaps not,’ he added after a pause. ‘You’d only provoke the envy of the rest of the company and distract them from their work.’