Vladislav Hall echoed with cheers when the actors came out to take their bows. Firethorn and his company were exultant. All their setbacks and sufferings melted away in the heat of the acclamation. They had entertained an Emperor and his Court. Westfield’s Men had reached a new peak of achievement in their erratic history. During two magical hours on stage, their love for Sophia Magdalena, the fair maid of Bohemia, had been gloriously consummated.
***
The remainder of their stay in Prague was an uninterrupted idyll. They rehearsed every morning, performed at Court every afternoon and caroused every evening. Their work was revered and their purses were filled. They knew that it could not last and, in their hearts, they did not wish it to do so. The more admired they were in Prague, the more homesick they became for London. The more they played at their lavish indoor theatre, the more they yearned for the shortcomings of the Queen’s Head. They even began to miss Alexander Marwood.
Handsome offers flooded in from distinguished guests. They were invited to perform at the respective courts of the Elector Palatine, the Elector of Saxony, the Elector of Brandenburg, the Duke of Stettin, the Duke of Wolgast, the Landgrave of Hesse-Kassel, the Landgrave of Hesse-Darmstadt and even that of the King of Poland. All were reluctantly turned down, though the company promised to return at some future date to take up the invitations.
On their journey home, the only place at which they consented to play was at the court of the Duke of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel in the presence of the newlyweds. At the request of Sophia Magdalena, they agreed to give a second performance of The Fair Maid of Bohemia in the city which would become her home. The company would then make their way to London, pausing at Flushing on the way to pay their last respects to Adrian Smallwood.
‘We have one consolation,’ noted Elias. ‘Adrian’s killer also lies in his grave now. Thanks to you, Nick.’
‘You played your part as a monk, Owen.’
‘What about my Archbishop?’ reminded Firethorn. ‘I gave off the authentic odour of sanctity in that cathedral.’
‘That was the incense, Lawrence,’ teased Hoode.
They were outside the Black Eagle, loading up the wagons for departure. Doctor Talbot Royden was to ride part of the way with them. His pack-mule was laden with his books and equipment. Nicholas strolled across to him for a private word.
‘Are you leaving Prague with any regrets?’ he asked.
‘Several,’ said the other. ‘But my work is done here and it is time to move on. I need to get well away from memories of Caspar Hilliard and his Popish conspiracy.’
‘Why will you not travel all the way to London with us?’
‘Because of John Mordrake.’
‘Do you fear him so?’
‘I do not fear him at all, Master Bracewell. But I am in terror of his wife.’
‘His wife?’
‘Yes,’ confessed Royden. ‘After all the services you have rendered me, you deserve to know the hideous truth. Do you recall those two white feathers?’
‘Very well. What did they signify?’
‘Unwanted fatherhood.’
‘I do not follow.’
‘Almost a year ago, I returned to London and stayed with John Mordrake and his wife in Knightrider Street. Mordrake is old, his wife is young. My flesh was weak. I told them I had received an injunction from the spirit world to lie with the wife if I wished to divine the secret of the philosophers’ stone. The wife resisted, but Mordrake was so eager to learn the secret which all alchemists search for that he compelled her to share their bed with me. A featherbed.’
‘I begin to see the consequence,’ said Nicholas.
‘I possessed her,’ admitted the other, ‘then fled before Mordrake realised that the command from the spirit world had really arisen inside my breeches. That night of madness between the thighs of Sarah Mordrake has returned to haunt me.’
‘She is with child?’
‘Worse, sir. Those two feathers were taken from the bed on which I gave my lust full rein. It was Mordrake’s way of telling me that his wife had given birth.’ He grimaced in pain. ‘Doctor Talbot Royden is the father of twins.’
Nicholas smiled. He could not condone what Royden had done and his sympathy went out to the wife, but he could understand why his companion felt unable to return to London. Exiled from England and driven out of Bohemia, the homeless Royden was doomed to roll around the Continent for the rest of his days.
By contrast, Nicholas had somewhere to go and someone with whom to go there. He clambered up onto the first wagon and took his seat beside Anne Hendrik. She was slowly recovering from her ordeal at the hands of the kidnappers and had more pleasant memories to take away from Bohemia. As the rest of the company climbed aboard the two wagons, she took a last look around the city.
‘I am sorry to leave,’ she sighed, ‘but I will be glad to get home to London.’
‘It will seem a rather quiet place after Prague.’
‘That will suit me, Nick. I am ready for quietness.’
‘I still feel guilty that I brought you here.’
‘But you did not,’ she pointed out. ‘I made the decision to come. So I must bear some of the blame for what happened. I should not have inflicted myself on Westfield’s Men.’
‘You were our inspiration, Anne.’
‘No, that role fell to Sophia Magdalena. She brought you here, not me. Tell me, Nick,’ she said with a teasing smile. ‘What did you really think of her? Everyone else in the company fell madly in love with her. What of you? What is your true opinion of the fair maid of Bohemia?’
Nicholas grinned and gave her an affectionate squeeze.
‘I am taking you home with me,’ he said.
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