Edward Marston - The Devil's Apprentice

‘Sir Michael wants the guard maintained,’ he said, indicating the men. ‘Word has reached us that Isaac Upchard has escaped from custody and we don’t wish to take any chances.’

‘Post as many sentries out here as you wish, Master Taylard,’ said Firethorn. ‘I’m in favour of anything that will help the company slumber in safety.’

‘You’ll have no problems tonight, sir.’

The steward bade them farewell and strode towards the house. The approach of a rider made him halt. Nicholas paused to watch the lone horseman coming up the drive, wondering who could be calling so late. It was difficult to identify the newcomer until he dismounted from his horse to talk with Taylard. His profile and gait were distinctive and Nicholas recognised him at once. It was Jerome Stratton.

The reputation of Westfield’s Men had spread quickly and people came from some distance to watch the first of three performances on consecutive days. Sunday would bring them The Happy Malcontent whose wild antics would be offset by the sad grandeur of Vincentio’s Revenge on Monday. For those who flocked to Silvermere on Saturday evening, however, Henry the Fifth was in store. History, comedy and tragedy were set to form a memorable experience over three days. Dozens of guests converged on the front entrance at the same time and the household servants were deployed in large numbers to welcome them and to offer them light refreshment. Diverted by the activity in one part of the building, nobody noticed the arrival of two uninvited guests at the rear of the property. Clad in black and taking advantage of the failing light, they slipped in through a back door and searched for a hiding place.

Lawrence Firethorn was in a buoyant mood. Rehearsals had been uninterrupted, the new stage effects had worked superbly and the company had recovered much of its spirit. A fine stage and a full audience beckoned. Since he no longer had to fear being attacked by a mystery illness, Firethorn was able to concentrate on his kingly duties. When he was costumed in his robes of office, he put the crown on his head and called the company around him in the tiring-house. His voice was low but moving.

‘Friends,’ he said, letting his gaze roam around their faces, ‘we’ve had our setbacks. I’ll be the first to admit that. But they are behind us now and you must banish their memory from your minds. Everything is now in our favour. We may have a few enemies in Essex but we have many admirers and the hall is full of them.’ He raised a finger. ‘Listen!’ he told them. ‘Can you hear that expectant buzz? Can you sense that anticipation? They are won over before we even step out on that stage. And there’s other news I have to tell you that will gladden your hearts. We have the best friend of all in the audience this evening.’

‘What’s her name?’ asked a grinning Elias.

‘I talk of our patron, Lord Westfield.’

‘Then I resign my claim to Barnaby.’

‘Did you hear what I said, Owen?’ continued Firethorn, quelling the sniggers from the apprentices. ‘Sir Michael and Lady Eleanor deserve sterling performances from us. Lord Westfield demands something more. Are we going to make him proud to lend his name to the company?’ Affirmative calls came from all sides. ‘Then let’s buckle on our armour and carry our weapons with bold hearts. We’re not just going to win the Battle of Agincourt out there, we’re going to conquer that audience as never before.’ He drew his own sword to hold it aloft. ‘Onward!’

Nicholas Bracewell could see the effect that the words had on them. Though they had heard Firethorn many times, he still had the power to inspire. With the solitary exception of George Dart, a diffident actor, everyone was straining to get on stage to attest their worth. Even the mild-mannered Edmund Hoode was roused.

‘I feel that I could win a battle single-handed, Nick,’ he said.

‘Well, I don’t advise it,’ replied Nicholas. ‘In the role of the Dauphin, you have to be on the losing side. Win the battle and you fly in the face of history.’

‘Did you know that Lord Westfield was out there?’

‘Not until just now.’

‘Lawrence is a sly old fox. Trust him to keep those tidings until they’d be of most value. The whole company has been cheered.’

‘They need to be lifted. It’s a full-blooded play that calls for lots of energy.’

‘We’ll make Silvermere shake to its foundations.’

Nicholas smiled then made a swift tour of the room to check that all was well. Musicians were dispatched to the gallery and actors took up their positions. As well as playing five different characters, Dart was responsible for the various properties used and he stood nervously beside the table where they were laid out in order. The heavy murmur in the hall faded away as the musicians came into view. Given their signal, they struck up some introductory chords then Owen Elias stepped out to deliver the Prologue. Henry the Fifth was by no means the best of Hoode’s plays but it told a familiar story with vivid clarity and offered its eponymous hero a magnificent role. Firethorn seemed to grow in size when he made his first appearance as the king and gasps of wonder came from the ladies in the audience. Dashing, peremptory and undeniably regal, he dominated the stage even when Barnaby Gill, providing ripe comedy as a reluctant soldier, shared it with him. Long before the end of Act One, the company had achieved its desired effect. The audience was utterly enthralled.

It was during the next scene that Nicholas had the first hint of trouble.

‘There’s someone lurking behind the gallery, Nick,’ whispered James Ingram.

‘Are you sure?’ said Nicholas.

‘I could hear them moving around when I delivered the Herald’s speech.’

‘But nobody is supposed to be up there until the siege.’

‘That’s why I thought you should know.’

Ingram went off to change into the costume of the Governor of Harfleur and left Nicholas in a quandary. Controlling the play from behind the scenes, he could not simply slip away to see if there were intruders behind the gallery. On the other hand, he could not run the risk of disruption, especially as the play was approaching one of its most dramatic points. The siege required a number of effects that had been carefully rehearsed. Nicholas was needed to coordinate them. Yet nobody else was free to investigate the warning from Ingram. The book holder acted on impulse.

‘George!’ he called.

‘Yes?’ said Dart, scurrying across to him.

‘Did you see the way that I lit that gunpowder this afternoon?’

‘With a spark. It made such a wondrous bang.’

‘You’ve got your own chance to make a wondrous bang now,’ said Nicholas, pointing to the crucibles of powder. ‘I have to go for a minute or two. If I’m not back in time, light the touch-powder in the first crucible.’

‘But I don’t know how!’ cried Dart, unequal to such a demand.

Nicholas did not hear him. He was already making for the stairs that led to the gallery. When he reached the top, he saw the glow of candelabra that illumined the stage. The play continued with unabated fury below him. Attired in armour, Henry was trying to rouse his men for another attack on Harfleur, stirring up such a spirit of patriotism in the hall that some voices were urging them on. Nicholas was involved in another battle. It was against an enemy he barely glimpsed in the room on the other side of the gallery. He was trapped. Since he could only get to them by passing in full view of the audience, he had to stay where he was, wondering who the shadowy figures were and what they intended to do. He soon found out.

Having made their way into the little room that led off the gallery, Reginald Orr and Isaac Upchard were biding their time until they could interrupt the play to maximum effect. They chose the siege of Harfleur but the real hero of the hour on this occasion was not Henry the Fifth but the unarmed George Dart. At the very moment when the two Puritans dashed out on to the gallery, the assistant stagekeeper did as he was told. Unsure which of the three crucibles of gunpowder to ignite, he struck sparks madly and contrived to set off all three simultaneously to produce an explosion that took actors as well as audience by surprise. The report was deafening. When Orr and Upchard emerged from their hiding place, therefore, they were completely obscured by billowing smoke. The huge banner that Orr unfurled, proclaiming the sinfulness of all plays, was hidden from view and the musket that Upchard fired to gain attention was unheard in the general pandemonium.