The Fair Maid of Bohemia

by Edward Marston

  ‘Nothing about religious dissension, I hope?’

  ‘Nothing whatsoever.’

  ‘Good. Let us meet these three sisters forthwith.’

  The Chamberlain gave a slight bow and followed the Emperor towards the door. The artist, meanwhile, stayed at his easel and painted on. Rudolph swept out into the corridor.

  ‘One question,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, Your Imperial Highness?’

  ‘Have my wolves been fed today?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘Make certain,’ he ordered.

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Raw meat keeps all three contented.’

  ***

  The delay added to the already high tension in the tiring-house. From their position in the adjoining room, Westfield’s Men could hear the hall fill up with spectators. Their last private performance had been in the palace at Cologne before a conservative and rather sombre audience. Prague had a more lively Court. The actors could hear the hubbub and sense the animation. It sharpened their desire to begin the play. But it could not start until Emperor Rudolph was present.

  ‘Where is the fellow?’ complained Lawrence Firethorn.

  ‘I have never been kept waiting this long before,’ said Barnaby Gill in jester’s costume. ‘It is unforgivable.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Owen Elias, ‘in the time that we have been kept dawdling here, he could have ridden to Mantua and back to visit the three sisters in person.’

  ‘Why is he holding us up?’ wondered Edmund Hoode.

  ‘Because it is his privilege,’ said Nicholas Bracewell, trying to calm the tetchy atmosphere. ‘This is no random gathering of spectators in the yard of a London inn. We are playing at the Imperial Court and must abide by its rules. What does it matter if we wait another hour? Our audience waits with us. They will not go away.’

  The book-holder’s philosophical attitude soothed many frayed nerves but Firethorn remained on edge. He prowled the tiring-house until he noticed Stephen Judd, an apprentice, attired as one of the sisters in the play.

  ‘No, no, you imbecile!’ he admonished. ‘Look to your bosom, boy. A woman’s paps come in pairs. And side by side.’ He grabbed the padding which had slipped down inside the lad’s dress and yanked it back into position. ‘Our play is about three sisters of Mantua. Not the one-titted witch of Whitechapel.’

  The laughter helped to ease the tension. Blushing a deep crimson, Stephen Judd used both palms to adjust his bosom to a more seemly and convincing position. A scrape of chairs and a shuffling of feet told them that the spectators had risen out of respect as Emperor Rudolph had finally made his entrance. Accompanied by Sophia Magdalena and the Chamberlain, he strode to the centre of the front row and lowered himself into a high-backed chair with gilded arms. His companions took the padded chairs on either side of him and the spectators were able to resume their seats. The hubbub became an expectant murmur.

  ‘At last!’ said Firethorn. ‘Are we all ready?’

  ‘We have been for hours!’ groaned Gill.

  ‘Take us in hand, Nick. Guide us with care.’

  The book-holder took charge. At his command, four musicians played behind the curtain at the rear of the stage and their courante silenced the audience and set the mood for the play. Elias came out in a black cloak and delivered the Prologue in a bold voice with the exaggerated gestures he had learned to use in Germany. The rippling applause which he gathered was an indication of what was to come. They loved the play.

  The Three Sisters of Mantua was by no means one of the best dramas in their repertoire. Its verse was often banal, its characters lacking in depth and its story too moralistic, but these defects became advantages on this occasion. The verse was largely incomprehensible, the unsubtle characterisation made identification of the dramatis personae much easier and the undertones of a morality play gave it a neatness of shape and meaning. As in Frankfurt, music was used between each of the acts to facilitate changes of costume and scenery.

  It was the visual comedy and the poignant moments of thwarted love which delighted the audience most. When they were not laughing uproariously, they were sighing with one of the three sisters as each in turn was rejected by the Duke of Mantua. Firethorn was at his most commanding, Gill at his most hilarious and they set the standard for the rest of the cast. Richard Honeydew, playing the lute in public for the first time, accompanied the plaintive song with which the three sisters took their farewell of the Duke. Many a sleeve among the spectators was used to dab at moist eyes.

  Emperor Rudolph was transfixed. Nothing as smooth and apparently effortless had ever been played at Court before. Every detail of the performance intrigued him and he scrutinised it with the open-mouthed intensity of a child watching an ingenious clockwork toy. While they took note of his grandeur and his reaction, the company were once again caught up in their admiration for Sophia Magdalena, closer and even more beautiful to them this time, and drawing the best out of them simply by being there.

  Firethorn wooed her shamelessly as the noble Duke and directed the Epilogue to her with moving conviction. When he bowed low to his fair maid of Bohemia, she was so thrilled that she stood up to lead the applause. The whole Court rose to its feet in approbation and the actors luxuriated in the ovation for several minutes. Rudolph remained seated but one palm beat against the arm of his chair in dignified salutation. The Emperor was pleased. Westfield’s Men had been accepted.

  Steps were brought so that Rudolph could be escorted up onto the stage to be introduced to the leading sharers. Gill fawned monstrously and Hoode became tongue-tied in the face of majesty. Neither of them enjoyed the treasured moment which fell to Firethorn. Luminescent with excitement, Sophia Magdalena followed her great-uncle up the steps and offered her hand to the actor-manager. The kiss which he placed upon it was both an act of homage and a promise. His lips tingled for minutes. It was the Emperor who had the last word. When he congratulated Firethorn on his performance as the Duke of Mantua, the latter beamed obsequiously and gave a bow.

  ‘I am your obedient servant!’ he said with humility.

  ‘No, Master Firethorn,’ countered a smirking Rudolph. ‘It is I who was your obedient servant.’

  He went off into such a peal of infectious laughter that everyone joined in and the whole room echoed with wild mirth, even though most of them had no idea what the source of amusement was. Only the Chamberlain and Sophia Magdalena were immune. They were too accustomed to Rudolph’s eccentricities to find them quite so diverting anymore. Wolfgang von Rumpf remained aloof. Sophia Magdalena took quiet enjoyment from watching Firethorn’s huge and uninhibited delight. Like everything else about him, his capacity for exultation was magnificently theatrical.

  ***

  Nicholas Bracewell and George Dart were the last to leave. Everything had been cleared off the stage and stored in a room which had been put at their disposal. Nicholas surveyed the empty hall with quiet satisfaction.

  ‘We acquitted ourselves well, George,’ he remarked.

  ‘I never dreamed that I would visit such a palace,’ said Dart, looking around with veneration. ‘It is the most wonderful theatre in which we could ever play.’

  ‘That is not quite true.’

  ‘What could possibly outshine this?’

  ‘The Vladislav Hall,’ said Nicholas, pointing in the direction of the door. ‘Master Firethorn and I were shown it during our visit here yesterday. It is even bigger and more impressive than this hall.’

  Dart gaped. ‘Bigger?’

  ‘Much bigger, George. It is used for coronation feasts and for assembles of Bohemian noblemen. Great matters of state are settled there. In bad weather, they have even held indoor jousting tournaments there, with the knights entering by means of the Riders’ Staircase.’ He smiled at Dart’s expression of utter amazement. ‘But you will s
ee the Vladislav Hall for yourself when we play there.’

  ‘I thought that all our work was to be staged here.’

  ‘All but one of our plays. The Fair Maid of Bohemia.’

  ‘We perform that in this bigger hall?’

  ‘We do, George. That is where the wedding banquet will be served. Westfield’s Men will be one part of an entertainment which will go on throughout the day in celebration of the happy event. We will play before a vast and distinguished audience.’

  ‘My knees are trembling already.’

  ‘They will be steady enough on the day.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Dart, consumed by feelings of inadequacy. ‘Have you finished with me now?’

  ‘One last service.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Some of our costumes were left at the Black Eagle for repair and alteration. There is a doublet that Adrian was to have worn in Double Deceit, for instance. It had to be tailored to fit the more slender frame of James Ingram.’

  ‘I miss Adrian horribly,’ confided the other.

  ‘So do we all, George.’

  ‘And will his murderer go scot-free?’

  ‘Not if I have anything to do with it,’ said Nicholas seriously. ‘But let us concern ourselves with those costumes. Mistress Hendrik will have finished sewing them by now.’

  ‘It is kind of her to take on that task.’

  ‘She is anxious to contribute in some way to our success here, though she has already done that in no small measure.’

  ‘I know that she has helped me and I could not be more thankful. She has been a second mother to me.’

  ‘Go to her now and ask for the costumes.’

  ‘What must I do with them?’

  ‘Bring them back here and put them with the rest of the wardrobe, for we will use most of them tomorrow.’ Dart nodded dutifully. ‘About it straight. Do this last errand and the rest of the day is your own.’

  Given such an incentive, Dart went scampering off down the hall with a mixture of haste and reverence. Nicholas went after him at a more leisurely pace, savouring the beauty of the frescoes and the subtle artistry of the statuary. Wherever he walked, there were new wonders to capture the attention. The royal palace was a continuous marvel. It seemed to him like a fairy-tale creation. Then he remembered the man who was locked up in one of its dungeons. The plight of Doctor Talbot Royden gave him a more critical view of the opulence all around him. He quickened his pace towards the exit.

  As Nicholas left the palace, he saw two figures standing on the steps of the cathedral and recognised one of them immediately. Hugo Usselincx was deep in conversation with a priest. The Dutchman was gesticulating with both hands. The priest was nodding solemnly. When he caught sight of the book-holder, Usselincx excused himself from his companion and trotted across to Nicholas. The diffident smile appeared.

  ‘How was your play received?’ he asked eagerly.

  ‘It was much admired, Hugo.’

  ‘And so it should be. Westfield’s Men are superb.’

  ‘We strive to give pleasure.’

  ‘My dearest wish is to watch you again somehow. Is Love and Fortune to be staged, by any chance?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘Then I will do all I can to be here.’

  ‘You will be most welcome.’

  ‘What of Cupid’s Folly?’

  ‘A decision has not yet been made about that.’

  ‘Please let me know when it has been. I would not wish to miss the joy of seeing Master Gill at his finest.’

  Usselincx fell in beside him and they walked into the second courtyard together. Chatting pleasantly, they left the castle and made their way down the hill. Nicholas noted how quickly the Dutchman seemed to have settled into the city. It was clearly not his first visit there. Half-way down the hill, Usselincx came to a halt and took in the view with a gesture.

  ‘What do you think of Prague?’ he asked.

  ‘I like it.’

  ‘How much have you been able to see so far?’

  ‘Enough to fill me with admiration.’

  ‘Has it been worth the effort of getting here?’

  ‘We think so.’

  ‘The city is blessed by your presence.’

  ‘It has saints enough to give a proper blessing,’ said Nicholas, smiling as he looked at the profusion of church spires. ‘What has surprised us is the number of foreigners here. Italians, Poles, Hungarians, French and Spanish.’

  ‘Do not forget the Dutch and the English.’

  ‘Prague is truly a meeting-place of nations.’

  ‘That is one of the things which drew me here.’

  ‘What are the others?’ asked Nicholas with interest.

  Usselincx gathered his thoughts before replying. As soon as he began to speak, however, he was interrupted by the sound of running feet. Panting stertorously and white with fear, George Dart was struggling up the incline towards them. There was no sign of the costumes he had been sent to fetch.

  When he reached them, he fell into Nicholas’s arms.

  ‘Slow down, George,’ said the latter, supporting him. ‘What means this haste?’

  ‘I have just been to the Black Eagle,’ he gasped.

  ‘That was your commission.’

  ‘I went up to Mistress Hendrik’s chamber.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She was not there.’

  ‘Haply, she has stepped out for some reason.’

  ‘She would never leave the costumes in that state.’

  ‘What state?’

  ‘You told me they were being repaired,’ said Dart, trembling under the weight of the news that he bore. ‘Yet those costumes have been torn to shreds and scattered over the floor. And that is not all,’ he added, as he gulped in more air. ‘The whole room is in disarray. There has been a violent struggle.’

  ***

  The Black Eagle was in turmoil. Nicholas sprinted all the way there and burst in through the door to find the rest of the company engaged in a frantic search of the premises.

  ‘Has George Dart told you?’ asked Firethorn, rushing across to him. ‘Anne has disappeared. We have looked everywhere for her, Nick, but she is not here.’

  ‘Let me see the chamber,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘Prepare yourself for a shock.’

  Firethorn followed him up the stairs and into the little room where Anne Hendrik had slept alone. Nicholas looked around in consternation. The stool and table had been overturned, the jug of water smashed, a tapestry torn from the wall and Anne’s belongings scattered everywhere. The costumes on which she had been working were in tatters on the floor, but it was another garment which made him shudder. Lying on the bed, slit open from top to bottom, was Anne’s white night-dress. Nicholas snatched it up involuntarily and clutched it to him.

  It was Firethorn who first saw the letter. It had been hidden beneath the night-dress. He picked it up and read the name scrawled across it in a spidery hand.

  ‘It is addressed to you, Nick,’ he said.

  ‘Let me see it.’

  ‘Do you wish to read it alone?’

  ‘No. This concerns us both.’

  Putting the night-dress aside, Nicholas took the letter and opened it. The message was short and unequivocal.

  Bring the documents to the Town Square this evening. Stand beneath the clock when it strikes seven. Come alone or she will sleep tonight with Adrian Smallwood.

  Nicholas blenched as he took in the full import of the demand. Anne had been abducted. Because of the pouch that he carried in his jerkin, her life was now in immediate danger. His mind was an inferno of guilt and apprehension. He blamed himself for what had happened to her. The man who had murdered Adrian Smallwood had not g
iven up the hunt. He had simply been biding his time until he could strike at the most vulnerable point. Nicholas had no doubt that he would carry out the threat in his letter. His temples pounded.

  ‘What does it say, Nick?’ asked Firethorn.

  ‘See for yourself.’

  Nicholas held it out so that his friend could read its blunt demand. Firethorn was so enraged that he immediately snatched out his dagger.

  ‘Meet with him there and I will follow you.’

  ‘No,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘I’ll cut out his black heart!’

  ‘That is not the way. I am to go alone.’

  ‘You will only put yourself in danger, Nick.’

  ‘If it will save Anne, I will happily do that.’

  ‘It is unjust,’ said Firethorn. ‘I was asked to carry those documents and not you. It was wrong of me to shirk my duty thus. Let me make amends now. I will meet him at the appointed place instead of you. He will get much more than the documents, I warrant you.’

  ‘We must comply with his orders or Anne will die.’

  ‘You must let me do something.’

  ‘Keep the contents of this letter to yourself,’ said Nicholas as he thrust it inside his jerkin. ‘Our fellows need know nothing of this. It is private business of mine.’

  ‘And mine, Nick!’

  ‘Only I may go.’

  ‘But you are dealing with a ruthless killer here,’ argued Firethorn. ‘We both saw what he did to Adrian Smallwood. He may be planning to murder you in the same way. What trust can you place in his word? Anne may already be dead.’

  ‘She is more use to him alive.’

  ‘You may be his next victim.’

  ‘That is a chance I am ready to take.’

  ‘Why?’ said Firethorn, searching for a way to protect him. ‘We are guests of the Emperor. Let us take this to him. He will send a whole army to comb the streets of Prague until they find Anne.’

  ‘Then would she certainly be killed.’

  ‘Use all the strength at our disposal.’

  ‘No,’ asserted Nicholas. ‘He has set the terms. I must abide by them. Let us call off the search and calm our fellows down. We are being watched.’