The Fair Maid of Bohemia

by Edward Marston

  After pausing beneath the astronomical clock for the fifth time, he decided to search for a congenial inn and walked back across the square. The Týn Church was directly ahead of him, its sixteen spires silhouetted against the darkening sky to give it a ghostly quality. As he got nearer, someone came out of the street ahead and hurried across his path. Gill recognised him at once.

  ‘Hugo!’ he called. ‘Hold there!’

  Hugo Usselincx stopped in his tracks and smiled when he saw Barnaby Gill bearing down on him. Before the latter could even speak, Usselincx had showered him with more praise for his exquisite performance in Cupid’s Folly. The actor revelled in the flattery.

  ‘But what brings you here, Master Gill?’ he said.

  ‘I was looking at the sights of the city.’

  ‘It will soon be dark.’

  ‘Then I must find other sights to interest me,’ said Gill casually. ‘Can you commend any to me?’

  ‘What sights did you have in mind?’

  ‘Come, sir. You have travelled Europe and worked in many churches. Even celibate clergy have desires at times. Where might a lonely man satisfy those desires in Prague?’

  ‘I do not share that predilection myself,’ said the other with a sheepish grin, ‘so I am no sure guide. But I have heard an acquaintance of mine mention an inn that lies behind the Týn Church. It is called the Three Kings and you will know it by its yellow sign. I fancy you will be made welcome there.’

  ‘I am obliged to you, Hugo.’

  ‘It is small payment for all the pleasure you have given me. Westfield’s Men have made my journey to Prague a delight.’

  ‘That is good to hear. The name again?’

  ‘The Three Kings.’

  ‘I remember. The yellow sign.’

  Usselincx bobbed his head and moved away. Gill strode off in the other direction and turned down the street that led to the Týn Church. Imposing from a distance, it was overwhelming at close quarters and he paused to take in its splendour, staring up at its multiple spires until his neck ached. Since the front door was open, he was tempted to take a peep inside. The interior was dark and gloomy, with pools of light created by a series of altar candles. His eye fell first on the ornate pulpit but a loud noise took his attention elsewhere.

  Scaffolding was set up in the chancel and workmen were scrambling over it. He went down the aisle to make a closer inspection. One man was hammering nails, another was winching up some large pipes. Two more were carrying in lengths of wood. When Gill realised what they were doing, he was quite alarmed. The Three Kings did not enjoy his custom that night.

  ***

  Nicholas and Firethorn spent a long time discussing what they had been told by Doctor Talbot Royden. The latter’s position at the Bohemian Court was a convenient cover for his other activities. Royden was at the centre of a web of Protestant agents who reported back to Sir Robert Cecil in London. Prague was a centre for Catholic exiles and Jesuit extremists. It was Royden’s task to observe who came and went, to recruit and train new agents, and to keep his master informed of any suspicious developments. Nicholas now understood where the money had come from to fund their travels.

  ‘What did you think of him, Nick?’ asked Firethorn.

  ‘I thought he was odious,’ said Nicholas, ‘but that does not mean he failed in his work. Sir Robert Cecil is too astute a man to employ someone who could not discharge his duties properly. Doctor Royden is a peculiar mixture.’

  ‘Forger, fraud and downright liar.’

  ‘He has a high reputation as an astrologer.’

  ‘He did have until the Emperor found him out. And what was all that business with the two white feathers? Why should a paltry gift from this Doctor Mordrake vex him so?’

  ‘It obviously had great significance for him.’

  ‘But what, Nick?’ complained Firethorn. ‘Number codes, ciphers, white feathers, German and Czech. This city is a complete riddle to me. I can understand nothing.’

  ‘It all comes down to translation.’

  ‘Anne served us in that office.’

  ‘And will do again when we find her,’ said Nicholas with confidence. ‘To do that, we may need the help of someone else who can speak both English and German.’

  ‘What of Hugo Usselincx? He can give us Dutch as well.’

  ‘So could Anne.’

  ‘Shall we try to engage him?’

  ‘I think not. There is somebody closer at hand, here in the castle itself. All we have to do is to find him.’

  ‘Who is that?’

  ‘Caspar Hilliard.’

  ‘Royden’s assistant. Is he more than that, I wonder?’

  ‘More?’

  ‘Sorcerer’s apprentice and spy.’

  ‘No,’ said Nicholas firmly. ‘I do not believe he was involved in that aspect of Doctor Royden’s work at all. We would certainly have been told if he had. Caspar will probably have no idea of his master’s secret mission. All he wishes to do is to work with a man he reveres. Keep him ignorant of the truth. And say nothing of our visit to his employer.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘We must let Caspar do all the talking. He was willing enough to do so when he called on us at the Black Eagle. He resides here at the castle—but where?’

  ‘Royden spoke of his laboratory.’

  ‘Let us start there.’

  During the long search, they got completely lost on more than one occasion but they stuck to their task and finally managed to get directions from a servant with a smattering of English. Under his guidance, they came at last to the laboratory where Doctor Talbot Royden had laboured with such distinction until the Emperor’s patience had snapped. The door was locked but a faint light under it suggested that it might be occupied. Firethorn banged on it uncompromisingly with his fist but got no response. A second, louder attack on the timber produced no result.

  The two men made their way back down to the courtyard. Firethorn had a list of names in his head but those people were beyond their reach until they had an interpreter. It made them feel Anne’s loss even more keenly.

  ‘Why are they still keeping her hostage, Nick?’

  ‘To retain a hold over us.’

  ‘We need to widen the search. Bring in more people to help. Owen spoke true. The whole company loves Anne. Let us call on them to help to save her.’

  ‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘This must be done privily or we will imperil Anne. Stealth must be our watchword.’

  ‘They have the documents,’ said Firethorn bitterly. ‘Why did they not release her? What else are they after?’

  ‘Me.’

  As they stepped into the courtyard, they heard a voice from above and looked up to see Caspar Hilliard descending the steps at speed. His manner was as amenable as before.

  ‘Good even, good sirs,’ he said. ‘Did you knock upon the door of the laboratory a few minutes ago?’

  ‘We did,’ said Firethorn. ‘Were you within?’

  ‘Yes, sir. But I dare not answer. I have sworn to my master to protect his laboratory at all costs. It contains his books, his materials, his equipment. Thus far—thank God—it has been left alone. But when I heard that thunderous knocking, I feared it might be soldiers sent from the Emperor.’

  ‘Is he still so angry with Doctor Royden?’

  ‘He shifts between rage and remorse,’ said Caspar with a sigh. ‘Emperor Rudolph is at the mercy of his moods. This morning, he relented enough to let my master have light, books and fresh straw for his cell. This evening, he could just as easily order the laboratory to be ransacked.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘What exactly was Doctor Royden’s crime?’ said Nicholas.

  Caspar pondered. ‘I can give no details,’ he said. ‘The process must remain a secret between
myself and my master. But this you may know. Doctor Royden has realised the alchemist’s dream. He has found the way to turn base metal into gold. The Emperor extracted a promise from him. When the first piece of pure gold came out of the furnace, it was to be fashioned into a wedding gift for Sophia Magdalena. A small casket, surmounted by figures of the bride and groom. The goldsmith has been standing by for weeks.’

  ‘But the gold was not forthcoming,’ guessed Nicholas.

  ‘We were almost there,’ said Caspar in exasperation. ‘Another day and all would have been well. But that was too late for the Emperor. The goldsmith would not have had time before the wedding to make the casket.’

  ‘Had the Emperor set his heart on this gift?’

  ‘Yes, Master Bracewell. He is man of deep obsessions. If his wishes are flouted, he will turn vengeful. That is how my master came to be humiliated thus. For failing to provide a wedding gift for Sophia Magdalena.’

  ‘Is he so besotted with her?’

  ‘I know that I am,’ murmured Firethorn.

  ‘She has always been his favourite,’ explained Caspar, ‘but there is more to it than that. Or so I have gathered from the gossip that I pick up. Rudolph has a vast Empire but it is very restive. Many battles have been waged in the past and more turbulence is feared. If you travelled through Germany, you will have seen something of the problem.’

  ‘We did,’ said Nicholas. ‘Religious differences abound. We saw Catholic cities, Lutheran communities and principalities where Calvinism held sway. There was uneasiness between them all. How does the Emperor hold them all together?’

  ‘He does not,’ said Caspar with some asperity. ‘He turns his back on it all and busies himself with his Court. The Emperor has failed to give a lead. Until now.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘This wedding, sirs. It was all his doing. And it has caused no small upheaval.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Many people are offended by the marriage. I cannot say who they are,’ he added quickly, ‘but I hear there has been disquiet. Sophia Magdalena comes from a Roman Catholic family. Conrad of Brunswick is a Protestant. The Emperor hopes that a marriage of the two will be an act of reconciliation.’ He shrugged sadly. ‘We were set to make our contribution. The gold casket was to have been a symbol of the union.’

  They began to understand the significance of the wedding. Sophia Magdalena was marrying less out of love than out of policy. She was obeying Emperor Rudolph’s command. To show his profound gratitude, he had not only commissioned a unique wedding gift—a beautiful casket, made from gold which had been provided by his own alchemist—but he had acceded to her request to have an English theatre company as part of the wedding celebrations. In their own small way, Westfield’s Men were a factor in the attempted reconciliation. As a result, they had been caught between two hostile factions.

  ‘Does that answer your question?’ asked Caspar.

  ‘One of them,’ said Firethorn, ‘but we have several more.’

  ‘They can wait,’ decided Nicholas.

  ‘But we need an interpreter.’

  ‘At a later date.’

  ‘Call on me at any time,’ offered Caspar. ‘I have only a menial position at the castle, but I have come to know everyone of consequence here. If you need information, I am here.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Nicholas.

  Firethorn was baffled by the change of plan but he had the sense to keep quiet. He took his cue from Nicholas and traded farewells with Caspar. The two men strode towards the exit. Firethorn waited until they were outside the main gate before he spoke in a baffled tone.

  ‘Why did you tear us away like that?’ he asked. ‘He was keen to help. He could have told us something useful about the eleven names on Doctor Royden’s list.’

  ‘Twelve.’

  ‘Eleven, Nick. I memorised them.’

  ‘Twelve.’

  ‘Who is the twelfth?’

  ‘Caspar Hilliard. His master forgot his own assistant.’

  ‘Surely, he is above suspicion.’

  ‘I wonder,’ said Nicholas thoughtfully. ‘As he was talking, I called to mind a remark he made to us at the inn.’

  ‘What was that, Nick?’

  But the answer had to wait. A volcano of sound erupted. Hooves drummed, harness jangled and wagons creaked as a long cavalcade came surging up the hill. Riding at the head of it was a big, broad-shouldered young man with a fair beard. Conrad of Brunswick had arrived with his train. Beside him, attired in a cloak and hat that matched his dignity, was his father, Duke Henry-Julius of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel.

  Flaming torches held by outriders lit up the faces of the newcomers. Sophia Magdalena’s bridegroom sat upright in the saddle and gazed around with a fearless eye. He rode through the castle gates with an almost proprietary air. His entourage was so large that the two friends were forced to step swiftly out of the way. Firethorn protested loudly and Nicholas had to reach out a hand to steady himself. As it made contact with the wall, it dislodged one of the loose stones in the neglected rampart. Nicholas caught it in his palm to stop its falling.

  When the whole cavalcade had thundered past, he looked down at the stone. It was almost dark now and he could barely pick out its colour but he knew instinctively what he was holding.

  Chapter Eleven

  Anne Hendrik was in considerable discomfort. She had been tied to the chair for several hours now and cramp was setting in. Her arms were aching, her wrists were chafed and she had shooting pains in both legs. Yet the physical pain was small compared with her mental anguish. She was terrified that they might never release her. They would certainly have no qualms about killing her. Anne shuddered when she recalled how easily she had been abducted.

  Sewing in her chamber at the inn, she had heard the gentle tap and opened the door out of curiosity without even taking the simple precaution of asking who was there. Two men had rushed in with their faces muffled from view. Anne had been overpowered in a matter of seconds. The gag had stifled her cries and the rope tied her hands immovably behind her. She was shown no courtesy. A dagger robbed her of all resistance.

  The blindfold made her helpless. She could neither see her kidnappers nor move of her own accord. They had come prepared. A cloak was slipped over her shoulders and its hood pulled up to conceal much of her face. One of them hustled her down the back stairs and out into the street. They walked arm in arm, the knife pressed unseen against her ribs. To passers-by, she must have looked like an ungainly wife being helped along by a caring husband.

  Panic deprived her of common sense. Instead of trying to work out how far from the inn they went, and in what direction, she was dizzy with apprehension. Instead of listening for clues as to her whereabouts, she heard only the pounding of her own heart. Had she crossed a bridge? Climbed or descended a hill? Walked over earth or cobbles? Anne could not remember. It was only when she was bound in her chair that she began to ask such vital questions.

  Fear for her own safety was compounded by her concern for Nicholas Bracewell. She knew how shocked he would be by her disappearance and how frantic his efforts would be to trace her. But he was up against clever adversaries, who held all the advantages. The thought that Nicholas was marked out as a murder victim made her break out in perspiration. To avoid the trap they might set for him, she almost wished that he would not come looking for her. Anne was horrified at the idea that she might be used as the bait for Nicholas.

  Her recriminations came to a sudden end as she heard the door of her prison open. The two men came in, turned the key in the lock and stayed at the far end of the room to continue their conversation. Their voices were subdued and she was only able to hear certain words clearly, but they were enough to cause her even more alarm. Not realising that she was proficient in the language, they talked in German as they finalised some sort o
f plan.

  She heard the last exchange all too distinctly.

  ‘What of Nicholas Bracewell?’ asked one.

  ‘I am saving him until afterwards,’ replied the other. ‘I have promised myself the treat of killing him very slowly.’ He strode across to Anne and she felt his hot breath once again. ‘Still here, Mistress Hendrik?’ he teased in English. ‘I thought you might have been rescued by your knight in shining armour. Where is he?’ He removed her gag. ‘Doesn’t he care enough about you?’

  ‘What are you going to do with me?’ she asked.

  ‘I know what I would like to do,’ he said, running his hands freely over her body and making her recoil. ‘But other work preoccupies me tonight. However, I will be back. You will not be alone. My friend will look after you. Guard you. Feed you. Fetch a chamber-pot when it is needed.’ Anne convulsed with shame at the very notion. ‘I am sure that you will both have a happy night together. I am sorry that I shall not be here to share in it.’ He sniggered into her face. ‘Yes, I can see why Nicholas Bracewell is so eager to have you back. He is a man of taste.’

  ‘Why do you hate him so?’

  ‘He got in my way.’

  ‘Nicholas was only a courier.’

  ‘He should take more care which messages he carries.’

  ‘He did not even know what this message was.’

  ‘That is his misfortune.’

  ‘Spare him!’ she pleaded.

  ‘I could never do that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I have a score to settle with him,’ said the man. ‘Nobody obstructs me so and then walks free. Your beloved Nicholas made me change my plans. I will chastise him roundly for it before I make him pay full price.’

  ***

  Barnaby Gill had plenty of time to meditate on his findings. When the two of them returned to the Black Eagle, he was waiting for them with twitching impatience. Westfield’s Men reacted with surprise at the sight of the blood-stained bandage around Nicholas’s head, but in his excitement, Gill did not even notice it. He leaped up from his seat to accost Firethorn and the book-holder.