The Fair Maid of Bohemia

by Edward Marston

  Memory gradually returned. He recalled looking up at the astronomical clock, waiting for half an hour, responding to the signal from the man across the square, following him down a lane, seeing Anne in the man’s grasp. Beyond that, there was nothing, though the seriousness of the wound and his position on the ground told him what must have happened. He did not need to feel for the pouch or for the dagger. Both had obviously gone. Along with the woman he had foolishly taken for Anne Hendrik.

  He had been duped. A stage manager had himself been tricked by some adroit stage management. Nicholas had lost the documents and gained nothing in return apart from scuffed apparel and a throbbing headache. The sense of failure was excruciating. Anne was still captive. The only consolation he could take was the fact that he had simply been knocked unconscious when he might just as easily have been killed. Adrian Smallwood had been bludgeoned, then daggered. There had to be a reason why Nicholas had been spared.

  The man who had been bathing his wound sent his wife back into the house for more water and some fresh linen. The circle of onlookers showed great concern for the stranger and offered their solace in Czech or German. Most lived in the alley-way or the adjacent lane. The others were passers-by. When fresh water arrived, the man cleaned the wound more carefully, then put a pad against it to stem any further bleeding. His wife tore the linen for him to bind around Nicholas’s head. When the bandage was tied, the injured man struggled to his feet with the aid of several hands. He rocked unsteadily.

  A man handed him his cap. A woman seemed to be asking if they could take him anywhere. The amateur surgeon was gesturing an invitation for the patient to go into the tiny house to rest. Nicholas thanked them all with a weary smile, then dipped his hand into his purse to take out money. But his self-appointed physician waved it away. He had been only too glad to tend the wound. Nicholas looked around and tried to take his bearings. He was about to stagger off when two figures came running down the alley-way towards him.

  ‘Nick!’ yelled Lawrence Firethorn.

  ‘We searched for you everywhere,’ said Owen Elias.

  ‘What happened to you, man?’

  ‘Look at the state you are in!’

  ‘I am fine now,’ said Nicholas. ‘Thanks to these kind people. They must have found me lying there.’

  ‘Who hit you?’ asked Elias, eyeing the bandage and the sodden cap. ‘He all but took your head off.’

  Nicholas did not want to talk to them in front of the curious audience. He waved a general farewell to them and went off down the alley-way with his two friends. Only when they had entered the square did he feel ready to explain what he felt had happened. They listened with a mixture of concern and irritation. Firethorn put his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  ‘I told you to let me guard your back,’ he reminded.

  ‘You would have been seen.’

  ‘I was the man for this task, Nick,’ said Elias. ‘I know how to hug the shadows and melt into walls. That is how I come to be here. I trailed Lawrence from the inn because I knew that he must be looking for you. He had no idea that I was on his heels. I only revealed myself when I saw him searching the square.’

  ‘True, Nick,’ confirmed Firethorn. ‘I did not seek Owen’s help. He sensed that you were in trouble.’

  ‘Why did you not use my skills to protect you?’ said Owen.

  ‘This was something I had to do on my own,’ replied Nick.

  ‘With what dire result?’ said the Welshman with a surge of emotion. ‘It grieves me that you did not confide in me, Nick. We are friends. We have been through so much together. I have always been ready to share my troubles with you—and there have been plenty of those to share. Why do you lock me out when you need help? What is going on here?’

  Nicholas traded a glance with Firethorn, then sighed.

  ‘We sought to keep the matter between us, Owen,’ he said. ‘We did not want the company to become unduly alarmed.’

  Elias was incredulous. ‘Anne disappears and you think that nobody will notice? She is one of us, man. If she is in danger, we are entitled to know how and why. We have grown to love Anne. Trust your fellows.’ He was hurt. ‘At least trust me.’

  ‘You have earned the right to know what is happening.’

  ‘Then tell me.’

  ‘I will.’

  Nicholas gave him a brief account of all that had taken place since the discovery of Anne’s disappearance. Firethorn added his comments. As the pain from his wound eased, Nicholas was able to think more clearly. Action was needed. He first retraced his steps to the alley-way and searched with his companions for any clues as to the direction in which his attacker and his accomplice had fled. They found none. The alley-way led to a street off which there were several other streets and lanes, each one of them a possible escape route.

  The search was not entirely fruitless. Close to the spot where he fell, Nicholas found the stone which had been smashed against his skull. When he picked it up, his fingers only covered half of it. His attacker must have had a broad hand. But it was the shape and colour of the stone which interested Nicholas. He had seen something very similar before.

  ‘Where do we go from here, Nick?’ asked Firethorn.

  ‘I am not sure.’

  ‘I am,’ said Elias. ‘We press the whole company into service and let them join the hunt for Anne.’

  ‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘A hundred people could search and we would still find nothing in this rabbit warren of a city. We are strangers here, Owen. The men who hold Anne are not. They know where to hide.’

  ‘Close to the inn,’ argued Firethorn. ‘They could not have taken her far. She would have put up a struggle and attracted too much attention. You saw how she must have fought back in her chamber.’

  Nicholas shook his head. ‘We saw what they wished us to see. A stark warning, left to frighten us. I do not believe there was any struggle, or it would certainly have been heard by someone. That bedchamber was arranged as carefully as any setting in a play,’ he said. ‘My guess is that Anne had already been taken away.’

  ‘She is a woman of spirit,’ said Elias. ‘She would fight.’

  ‘With a knife at her throat?’

  ‘Nicholas is right,’ agreed Firethorn, mulling it over. ‘She went quietly. That must be how it happened.’ He gave a hopeless shrug. ‘Where does that leave us? We have nothing.’

  ‘We do,’ reminded Nicholas. ‘We have the most important clue of all. A copy of those documents. They at least will tell us what lies behind all this. Stakes must be high if murder and kidnap are used. The documents will be our guide.’

  ‘Then are we completely lost,’ cried Firethorn. ‘Those documents are nothing but inane scribble. How can we be guided by something we do not understand?’

  ‘The code must be used to unlock the meaning.’

  ‘But we do not know what that code might be.’

  ‘Then we must turn to the one man who can help us.’

  ‘Who is that?’

  ‘Doctor Talbot Royden.’

  ***

  Royden smiled for the first time since the nightmare of imprisonment had begun. Caspar Hilliard had not been idle. By writing a letter of supplication to the Emperor, and by speaking persuasively to the Chamberlain, he had won some important concessions for his master. Fresh straw was put in the cell and several candles were supplied. By their light, Royden was able to study the books he was now allowed to have. Reunited with some of his beloved tomes, he could continue his scientific research. He was still incarcerated, but the loss of freedom was now more tolerable.

  ‘I cannot thank you enough, Caspar,’ he said.

  ‘Would that I could have done more!’

  ‘These are wonderful improvements.’

  ‘Your release is the improvement I work for,’ said his assi
stant earnestly. ‘Then we may resume our work in the laboratory. I keep it in good order.’

  ‘Simply to have a book in my hands again is a joy,’ said Royden, holding a volume on alchemy. ‘How on earth did you wrest these mercies out of our mad Emperor?’

  ‘My letter explained how close we had been to success and how unjustly I felt you had been treated. The argument that swayed him was this, Master. That news of your imprisonment would make other scholars and scientists think twice about coming to Prague. If they know they may be locked away in the dark of a stinking dungeon, they may offer their services elsewhere.’

  ‘If only I had, Caspar.’

  ‘That point, too, was made,’ said the other. ‘The Emperor is proud of his reputation as a generous patron. It brings in the finest minds in Europe. But that reputation will be badly sullied if he is known to deal so callously with his guests.’

  ‘You are a cunning advocate.’

  ‘All I am I have learned from you.’

  ‘Your loyalty has kept me sane down here.’

  ‘That contents me.’

  Royden opened the book to flick through the pages. When he closed it, he hugged it to him with a cry of pleasure. Caspar smiled fondly. His master’s spirits had been revived.

  ‘What is happening up there?’ asked Royden.

  ‘Wedding preparations continue. Guests are pouring in at the castle every day. The bridegroom himself is due to arrive later today. The wedding will be a magnificent occasion.’

  ‘I was to have been there to share in it.’

  ‘That is no longer possible, alas.’

  ‘What of the players from England?’

  ‘They are closely involved,’ said the other. ‘Westfield’s Men are to perform a play at the wedding banquet itself. I am told that they are actors of high quality.’

  ‘And this book-holder you mentioned?’

  ‘Nicholas Bracewell?’

  ‘He was asking after me, you said.’

  ‘That is so. To what end, I do not know. But I believe he has a message from Doctor Mordrake.’

  ‘Mordrake!’ echoed the other with a shudder. ‘I wish I had never met that sorcerer. He was the one who brought me to this Bohemian bedlam, and look how it has ended. But for John Mordrake, I would be free to do my work. Not caged down here like some wild beast in the Emperor’s menagerie.’ He put his book aside. ‘What business can Mordrake have with me?’

  ‘We may never find out,’ said Caspar sadly. ‘No visitors are permitted down here. Even I could not worm that concession out of the Emperor. There is no means by which this Nicholas Bracewell can reach you. Whatever message he carried to Prague will have to return to England with him.’

  ***

  ‘Importune me no further,’ said the Chamberlain. ‘What you ask of me is not in my power to grant.’

  ‘You have the ear of the Emperor,’ urged Firethorn.

  ‘It is deaf to my entreaties.’

  ‘This is very important to us.’

  ‘I am not able to help you.’

  ‘But you are the Chamberlain.’

  ‘Yes,’ replied the other, rising to his feet with dignity. ‘I am responsible for the government of Bohemia. I help to raise taxes, draft new laws and keep the peace in this kingdom. I summon the Bohemian Diet, I hold a respected place at any Diet of the Empire and have a strong voice in its affairs. Yes, Master Firethorn,’ he said with a touch of exasperation. ‘I am the Chamberlain and I enjoy all the powers of that high office. But I can still not authorise you to visit a prisoner in the castle dungeon.’

  He slowly resumed his seat behind the desk. Nicholas and Firethorn were in his apartment again, trying to gain access to Talbot Royden without disclosing their reasons for wishing to do so. They had sent Owen Elias back to the Black Eagle with orders to say nothing of the attack on Nicholas. The latter’s wound was attracting an offhand interest from their host. The Chamberlain was no more helpful than on their previous visit. Nicholas tried to appease him.

  ‘We are sorry to disturb you again on this matter.’

  ‘It is out of my hands, Master Bracewell.’

  ‘Now that you have explained it to us, we understand that. Why should a man in your exalted position bother with a mere prisoner? You have far more weighty matters to consider. I know little of Prague but I could not fail to notice so many churches.’ He watched the other carefully. ‘And so many different denominations.’

  ‘It creates many problems,’ admitted the Chamberlain.

  ‘It must,’ continued Nicholas. ‘We know full well how bitter religious dissension can be. England is a Protestant nation now but only after much bloodshed. The troubles have not ceased. Unrest still simmers.’

  ‘Your difficulties are small compared with ours.’

  ‘I disagree,’ said Firethorn. ‘London is beset by crawling Puritans. They are trying to close the theatres. What would become of us then? Puritans are a menace!’

  ‘We have our share of menaces here.’

  ‘Yet Bohemia is more tolerant,’ observed Nicholas.

  ‘That is the Emperor’s wish,’ sighed the other.

  ‘You have Roman Catholic churches, Lutheran, Calvinist and others whose names I do not recognise. Prague also has a Jewish Quarter. The Josefov.’

  ‘The Emperor has granted Jews many privileges.’

  ‘Freedom of belief is a fine ideal.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the Chamberlain. ‘But, like most fine ideals, it does not work in practice. We have too many faiths here, too much latitude. Everything from Jesuits at one extreme to Hussites at the other.’

  ‘Hussites?’ repeated Firethorn.

  ‘Yet another of our problems.’ He stared at the bandage around Nicholas’s head, then became brisk. ‘But you did not come here to discuss the religious policy which we pursue. You have a request. I must turn it down.’

  ‘Is there nothing you can do for us?’

  ‘On this matter, alas—no.’

  ‘All we ask is that you speak to the Emperor.’

  ‘He would not even listen to me.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘That is irrelevant.’ The Chamberlain lifted the bell. ‘I will ring for someone to show you out.’

  ‘Is there nobody who can help us?’ implored Firethorn.

  ‘Nobody at all.’

  ‘You are wrong, sir,’ said Nicholas, as a face popped into his mind. ‘I believe that there is.’

  ***

  Sophia Magdalena walked into the gallery on the arm of her great-uncle. Emperor Rudolph had always been fond of her and he would be sad to lose her when marriage took her north to Brunswick. While she was still at the palace, he wanted her to be present at the little ceremony which was about to take place. The Milanese painter was waiting for them beside his easel. An embroidered cloth hid the completed portrait. He was presented to Sophia Magdalena and studied her beautiful face with the concentrated admiration of an artist. He turned to the Emperor and spoke in Italian.

  ‘Such loveliness belongs upon a canvas,’ he said.

  ‘One day I will let you paint her portrait.’

  ‘Thank you!’

  ‘If Sophia Magdalena agrees.’

  ‘That goes without saying.’

  ‘But she has come to see the portrait of me unveiled.’ He lapsed into German. ‘Are you ready, my dear?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, hands held tight. ‘I am very excited.’

  ‘I hope that you like it.’

  ‘I’m sure that I shall.’

  ‘Then let us bring the portrait into the light of day.’

  The Emperor inclined his head and the artist lifted the cloth from the gilt frame, standing back to give both of them an uninterrupted view of his work. Rudolph giggled
with delight and clapped his hands, but Sophia Magdalena took more time to appreciate the painting. Expecting to see her great-uncle staring back at her with an imperious gaze, she was disconcerted to find herself looking at a face that was composed entirely of pieces of fruit.

  The nose was a banana, the eyes were grapes, the cheeks were apples, the chin was an orange. Eight other fruits were cleverly incorporated into the portrait. Shocked at first, she came to see that there was a definite resemblance to Rudolph. The symbolic significance of the painting also began to emerge. A ruler of a vast empire was an emblem of nature, a source of health and sustenance to his peoples. Some of the fruits used were imported from other countries, a visual reference to the cosmopolitan nature of the Bohemian Court. And there were many other values in a portrait which had the most striking colours and definition.

  The two men waited patiently until her smile of approval came. While the Emperor embraced her, the artist sighed with relief. Her ratification was vital to him and to his employer. Sophia Magdalena began to enthuse about the work and the artist begged the Emperor to translate for him. The praise was soon cut short. A liveried servant came into the room and bowed before delivering his message.

  ‘Someone is asking to speak with Sophia Magdalena on a matter of great urgency,’ he said. ‘He waits without.’

  ‘Who is the man?’ asked Rudolph.

  ‘Lawrence Firethorn.’

  ‘The actor? No, tell him that she is indisposed.’

  ‘But I wish to see him,’ she said. ‘He and his company have given me so much pleasure. I will not turn him away.’

  ‘What about my portrait?’

  ‘I will come back to view it again very soon.’

  Rudolph flicked a finger and the artist replaced the cloth over the painting. The servant led the way along a corridor until they came to the hall where Westfield’s Men had performed The Three Sisters of Mantua. With the stage still erected, Firethorn could not resist strutting around it and declaiming some verse. Nicholas rested against the edge of the platform. As soon as Sophia Magdalena appeared, both men moved across to meet her and the Emperor. She was taken aback by the sight of the bandage around Nicholas’s head. The exchange of greetings was complicated by her ignorance of their language. Rudolph was pressed into service as an impromptu interpreter.