Edward Marston - The Trip to Jerusalem

He struggled hard but his bonds held firm. When he tried to speak, his words came out as faint grunts. There was so much to ask but he had no means of asking it. He looked around for help and saw the old stone walls with their flaking coat of whitewash. An idea formed. Angling himself over so that he could swing his legs up, he used his toes to scrape one big question on the wall.

WHO?

Richard Honeydew responded in kind. Pulling himself up on the bars, he swung his legs across until they just made contact with the whitewash. In the half-dark of their stinking cell, he slowly and laboriously traced a name on the wall. The letters were ragged and indistinct but their impact was Mill potent.

Nicholas Bracewell was' absolutely stunned. It was incredible.

Christopher Millfield remained cheerful in the midst of adversity. Long faces and short tempers surrounded him but his resilence was remarkable. Instead of being dragged down by the general mood of gloom, he was chirpy and positive. Sharing a room with George Dart and the three apprentices gave these qualities ample scope.

'It will all seem better in the morning,' he said.

'It could hardly be worse,' sighed Dart.

'There is a solution to every problem.'

'We have so many, Master Millfield.'

'Let hope into your heart, George.'

'There is no room for it.'

Christopher Millfield leaned over to pat him on the shoulder. Healing snores from the other bed, he lowered his voice so that he did not rouse the sleepers.

'We are players,' he argued softly, 'and nothing must be allowed to smother our art. If one of our apprentices be taken, why, then we fill his role with another voice. If all our costumes be stolen, we beg, borrow or make some more. These are setbacks only and can all be overcome.'

'You forget Master Bracewell.'

'By no means, sir. I have the utmost faith in him.'

'What if he does not come back?'

'Nick Bracewell will return,' said Millfield with confidence. 'I have never met a more capable man in the theatre. This whole company revolves around him and he would never desert it in its hour of need.'

'I thought you did not like him,' said Dart.

'There is nobody in Westfield's Men I respect more and that includes Master Firethorn. I admit that I was hurt when our book holder recommended Gabriel Hawkes in place of me but that is all past now. I have come to accept the truth of it, George.'

'Truth?'

'Gabriel was the better man.' .

'He was always kind to me.'

Millfield sighed. 'It pains me that we were such rivals. In other circumstances, Gabriel and I could have been close friends. He has been a great loss.' The positive note returned. 'That is why I am so grateful for the chance to travel with the company. I have prospered from Gabriel's death and that grieves me, but it also fills me with determination to make the most of my opportunity and to be undaunted by any mishap. We are fortunate men, George. We are employed. Think on that.'

The other did as he was advised and soon drifted off to sleep in a haze of consolation. Millfield was a true son of the theatre. Whatever disasters befell it, the company simply had to press on regardless. George Dart's snores joined the wheezing slumber of the other innocents.

Christopher Millfield waited half an hour before he moved. Then he got up, dressed quietly and left the room. A few minutes later, he was saddling a horse and leading it out into the yard with shreds of sacking around its hooves to muffle their clatter on the cobblestones.

He rode off happily into the darkness.

Nicholas Bracewell was still quite groggy. His head was pounding, his vision was impaired and blood was trickling down the back of his neck. The stench in the outhouse was almost overpowering and his stomach heaved, Trussed up tightly, every muscle in his body was aching away. What hurt him most, however, was the fact that Richard Honeydew should see him in this state. The boy was desperately in need of help and all that his would-be rescuer could do was to get himself into the same parlous condition. Guilt burned inside Nicholas like a raging fire. It served to concentrate his mind on their predicament.

The first priority was to be able to speak to the boy and that meant getting rid of the gag. Unable to brush it down with his knees, he looked around for a source of aid. A wooden rake was standing against the wall on his right. Though he could not reach it with his feet, he could scoop the straw towards him and that brought the implement ever closer. It also brought piles of dung and his shoes were soon covered with it, but he did not give up. Richard watched with interest as his friend got the rake within reach and then lifted both feet before jabbing them down hard on the prongs. The rake flipped up and Nicholas had to move his head aside as the handle smashed into the wall beside him. He trapped the implement with his shoulder then used the end of it to push his gag slowly upwards. It was agonising work that earned him several jabs in the face but he eventually managed to move it enough to be able to speak.

His words tumbled out through deep breaths. 'How are you, lad?'

The boy nodded bravely and his eyes showed spirit.

'Have they hurt you badly?'

Richard Honeydew shook his head and made a noise.

'Let's see if we can get your gag off now, Dick.'

Nicholas used his body and feet to propel the rake towards the apprentice and the latter tried to copy what he had seen. It took him much longer and collected him many more painful pokes with the end of the pole but he did finally force the gag out of his mouth. He filled his lungs gratefully then coughed violently.

'They'll stink us to death in here,' said Nicholas.

'How did you find me, Master Bracewell?'

'Never mind that, Dick. The main thing is to get you out of here safely. How many of them are there?'

'Two. They kidnapped me together.'

'At the behest of Banbury's Men.'

'Is that who stole me away? I had no idea. They keep me locked up and only come when it is time to feed me.'

'You look poorly'

'I am fine,' said the boy unconvincingly.

'They will pay for what they have done to you.'

'It is not them that I fear, Master. They have tied me up but they have not ill-treated me.' He looked around with disgust. 'What makes me afeard is the dark and the damp and the smell and, most of all, the rats.'

'Rats?'

'They come snuffling around sometimes. I am afraid that they will eat me alive!' He relaxed visibly. 'But not now that you are here. I feel safe with you.'

'No rats will harm you, Dick.'

The boy smiled. 'I knew you would come for me.'

'Tell me exactly what has happened to you.'

While he listened to Honeydew's tale, his eyes roved the outhouse in search of a means of escape but none presented itself. Then he noticed some movement under the straw beside a wooden bucket of water. When the boy caught sight of it, he flew into a panic.

'A rat! A rat! Another rat!'

The creature came out of the straw and shuffled towards the terror-stricken boy. Nicholas yelled and lashed out at the animal with his feet, putting it to flight and kicking over the bucket as well. As cold water made his discomfort even greater, he began to fret and complain but he soon checked himself. The accident might yet be turned to account. He almost smiled.

M spy some hope, Dick.'

'Do you, Master?'

'There may yet be a way out.'

'How?'

'You will see. But I need your help.'

'I will do anything I can, sir.'

'Encourage me.'

Richard Honeydew soon understood what he meant. The packed earth beneath the straw had been loosened by the deluge and gave way to urgent feet. Using his shoes as a rudimentary spade, Nicholas began to scoop out a hole close to the wall. The deeper he went, the softer was the earth and he kicked it out into a heap beside him. It was a long and laborious process which brought the sweat streaming out of every pore and made his body ache as if it was ready to split asunder. Whenever he felt like giving up, however, he glanced across at the boy and was given all the exhortation he needed.