The Devil's Apprentice by Edward Marston

Author:Edward Marston [Marston, Edward]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery & Detective, MARKED, Historical, Fiction
ISBN: 9780749015169
Google: gq7SAgAAQBAJ
Amazon: B00GQDQHKW
Publisher: Allison & Busby
Published: 2014-02-13T05:00:00+00:00

They were over half a mile away when Isaac Upchard saw them. Swinging his horse round, he galloped back to the place where Reginald Orr was waiting for him. Both men had divested themselves of their Puritan attire to wear nondescript doublet and hose. Orr was breathing hard and resting on an axe.

‘They’re coming,’ warned Upchard.

‘How fast?’

‘At a walking pace. We’ve time to finish here.’

‘Take over, Isaac,’ panted Orr. ‘It’s almost done.’

Upchard dismounted and took the axe from him. While Orr tethered both horses in the safety of a nearby copse, the young man swung the implement with precision, cutting into the trunk of a tree all but ready to fall. As the last few chips of wood went spinning in the air, there was a loud creak. Upchard pushed hard against the trunk with the flat of his hand then leapt back quickly as the tree was toppled, crashing down across the track and making it impossible for anyone to pass. The two men withdrew to the safety of the copse to watch unseen. Sheaves of dry hay lay at their feet.

It took some time before the little cavalcade came round the bend and started to descend the slight gradient. Driven by Nicholas Bracewell, the cart was leading the way with Lawrence Firethorn and the others riding in pairs behind it. Unaware of what lay ahead of them, they were all chatting happily. It was only when they came right around the bend that they saw the obstacle ahead of them. Nicholas pulled hard on the reins to stop the horses but he was too late. They had already walked past the trap. The hole that Orr and Upchard had dug with such difficulty in the bone hard earth had been covered with branches to conceal it. One of the cartwheels rolled on to the scattered branches and they gave way at once, dropping the wheel so deep into the hole that the cart lurched over at an angle and shed half its cargo and most of its occupants. Bruised apprentices cried in pain as Nicholas struggled to control the neighing horses.

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.

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