The Fair Maid of Bohemia nb-9

by Edward Marston

  Anne Hendrik waited patiently until he had done his rounds. She was never short of companionship. Years of watching Westfield’s Men at the Queen’s Head had helped to forge a number of friendships with its members. She was especially fond of Edmund Hoode and Owen Elias, but it was with the personable young James Ingram that she was talking when Nicholas finally rejoined her. After exchanging a few token niceties, Ingram slipped away to leave them on their own.

  ‘There is a lot of sorrow aboard this vessel,’ she said.

  ‘It will lift in time, Anne.’

  ‘Who was that man with whom you spoke at the quayside?’

  ‘I spoke to several.’

  ‘This one drew you apart. An old man in a black cloak.’

  ‘That was Doctor John Mordrake.’

  ‘You speak his name with a sense of wonder.’

  ‘So I should,’ said Nicholas. ‘He has wondrous gifts.’

  ‘What did he say to you?’

  ‘He told me how to cure the plague.’

  ‘How?’ she asked. ‘We all wish to know that.’

  ‘The good doctor advised me to sail out of London in the company of a beautiful woman,’ he said with a fond smile. ‘So here am I-and there she stands before me.’

  Anne smiled. ‘Is that all that he said to you?’

  ‘It is all that is of consequence.’

  He slipped an arm around her and stared out over the bulwark. London was receding into the gloom. He wondered how long it would be before he returned to the City and how many of the discarded hired men would still be there. Theatre could be a cruel master at times.

  When they reached Deptford, they disembarked to the sound of hammering in the shipyards and to the plaintive cries of sea-gulls. Nicholas took a moment to look nostalgically across at the Golden Hind, the ship on which he had once sailed around the world with Francis Drake. Moored in perpetuity, it was now an object of veneration and he was hurt to see how much of its timbers had been chipped away by those eager for souvenirs. It now seemed far too small for the interminable voyage it had survived and the large crew it had carried. As unhappy memories flooded his mind, Nicholas turned his attention to getting the company aboard the other vessel.

  The Peppercorn was a three-masted craft with a reputation for safety, but this was a relative term at sea. When they left the protection of the Thames estuary, Nicholas knew that they would encounter high winds and surging waves. Many of his fellows would feel both queasy and frightened when they lost all sight of land. Moving amongst them again, he warned them of what was to come and suggested precautions they might take. As Anne watched him striding confidently around the deck, she was struck by the consideration he was showing to the others and she was forcibly reminded that she would not be able to call upon that consideration herself for much longer.

  ‘Is all well, Mistress Hendrik?’ asked a voice.

  ‘Yes, Adrian,’ she said with a weary smile.

  ‘Nicholas asked me to keep an eye on you.’

  ‘That is very kind.’

  ‘He is trying to instil some courage into us,’ said Adrian Smallwood. ‘We are poor sailors and need all the help we can get. My stomach is already telling me that I should have stayed behind in London.’

  ‘Where do you hail from?’

  ‘York.’

  ‘That is not so far from the sea.’

  ‘It never tempted me,’ he confessed. ‘I prefer to have dry land beneath my feet and not this tilting deck.’

  Anne chatted happily with him. Though Smallwood had only been with the company a short time, he was a gregarious man who got to know everyone very quickly. She liked him. On the few occasions they had met, he had always been polite but effusive. Adrian Smallwood had the same bubbling vitality which she admired in Owen Elias, and even more in Lawrence Firethorn.

  As Anne was talking, two men brushed past her and stood a yard or so away. Her brief glance told her that they looked like foreign merchants but she paid them no further attention. It was only when Smallwood excused himself to go below that she was able to take a closer interest in the men. There was a sinister air to them. They were studying the members of the theatre company with great curiosity, as if trying to identify someone.

  A throaty chuckle from one man somehow alerted her. Anne moved an involuntary step closer so that she could overhear what they were saying. They were talking in German and she needed a moment to translate the snatches that she picked up. When she edged closer still, only one more sentence was spoken but she was able to understand it at once. The smaller of them, a short, stocky individual with a gruff voice, indicated Westfield’s Men with a hand.

  ‘Which one must I kill?’ he asked.

  The relish in his tone made her blood run cold.

  Chapter Four

  The first betrayal came from the sea itself. It offered one thing to their faces while plotting another behind their backs. When the estuary broadened out, the Peppercorn came round the headland and sailed out into open water. The wind freshened to beat noisily at the canvas and the waves made the vessel twist and undulate, but most of the passengers felt no real discomfort. To the bolder souls who remained on deck, the spray was invigorating and the creaking rhythm of the ship was oddly reassuring.

  Standing fearlessly in the prow, Lawrence Firethorn scanned the empty horizon ahead like a Viking warrior in search of new lands to plunder. So exhilarated was he by the dipping motion of the vessel that he began to quote speeches extempore from his favourite plays, hurling iambic pentameters into the white foam with joyous prodigality. Owen Elias was also excited by his first sea voyage and talked volubly to James Ingram about the delights that lay ahead for them on the Continent.

  While some were thrilled by the experience, others were simply relieved that it was not the ordeal they had feared. Edmund Hoode found a quiet corner in which he could meditate on the problem how The Chaste Maid of Wapping could arrive in Prague in Bohemian disguise. Barnaby Gill tucked himself against the bulwark and used his pomander to keep out the salty tang of the sea, inhaling dramatically through flared nostrils to attract what attention he could. Adrian Smallwood grew accustomed to the swell so quickly that he was even able to instruct Richard Honeydew, the youngest of the apprentices, in how to accompany himself on the lute.

  Nicholas Bracewell was unable to enjoy the ambiguous pleasures of being at sea again. Anne Hendrik’s report had been highly unsettling.

  ‘Are you sure that is what you heard?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, Nick.’

  ‘There could be no mistake in the translation?’

  ‘Jacob taught me well. My German is not perfect but it was more than adequate for this.’

  ‘And the two men were looking at us?’

  ‘They were studying you,’ she said. ‘They were keeping the whole company under surveillance.’

  ‘I wish that you had kept them under surveillance a little longer, Anne, instead of running straight to me. You might have seen their faces and marked their apparel so that I was able to identify them. As it was, you only viewed them from behind, and that leaves me short of necessary detail.’

  ‘I was frightened, Nick!’

  ‘I know, I know,’ he soothed.

  ‘That man talked of murder,’ she recalled with a shudder, ‘with such evil pleasure in his voice. I could not bear to stand beside him a moment longer. That is why I rushed directly to you.’

  He put a comforting arm around her. ‘You did right and I am very grateful to you. What you chanced to overhear may save a life. Forewarned is forearmed. I will spread the word.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘But we take precautions against an invisible foe. You and I have been twice around the ship together to search high and low, but you did not recognise those men.’

  ‘I thought I saw one of them, Nick. But I cannot be sure.’

  ‘Remain vigilant.’

  ‘I will, I will.’

  ‘And stay close to me at all times.’

  ‘You do not have to
give me that advice,’ she said with a smile. ‘I will not let you out of my sight. That man terrified me. Why could anyone wish to harm a member of the company?’

  ‘I do not know, Anne.’

  ‘He was ready to kill someone.’

  ‘He will have to get past me first.’

  ‘What if you yourself are the victim?’

  She buried her head in his chest and he held her tight. It was minutes before she was able to speak again. Controlling her fear, Anne looked up at him.

  ‘I am ready to search the vessel again with you, if that would help,’ she offered. ‘They are aboard somewhere.’

  ‘So are many other passengers, and those two men are concealed in the press.’

  ‘We know that they are German. That gives us a start.’

  ‘Perhaps, and perhaps not, Anne. You heard them speak in German, but that may not be their native tongue. It might simply have been used as a common language between men of different nationalities. We have Dutch, Danish, and Polish merchants aboard. I have also heard French spoken here.’

  ‘There must be some way to find them.’

  ‘There is, Anne. We wait until they come to us.’

  ‘If only I had seen their faces!’

  ‘You saw and heard enough.’ Nicholas glanced around. ‘But it is time to go below deck before the storm breaks.’

  ‘What storm? I see no signs of it.’

  ‘It is coming, believe me. Let us gather up the others.’

  His prediction was remarkably accurate. The blue sky ahead was only a distraction from the dark clouds that crept up behind them. Westfield’s Men were heedless victims of the sea’s swift treachery. The wind stiffened, the waves became hostile, and the first drops of rain were carried on the air. A yell from the boatswain brought the crew running to get their orders. The Peppercorn was in for a buffeting.

  Firethorn soon discovered that he did not have Viking blood in his veins and he abandoned his station in the prow as the first torrent of water washed over it. Elias and Ingram had their conversation terminated and Hoode’s authorial musings were also interrupted. Gill’s pomander was knocked out of his hand and the music lesson became impossible as the ship began to heave with more purpose. Nicholas tried to gather his fellows together to assist them below.

  George Dart suffered the full impact of the sudden change in the weather. Scurrying to join the others, he tripped over a rope and fell headlong onto the deck. As he dragged himself painfully up, he was knocked off his feet again by a stray wooden bucket that slid across the wet timbers. When he finally got upright, the ship listed so sharply that he was flung against the bulwark and drenched by the biggest wave yet. With a mind full of terror and a mouth full of sea water, he crawled after his colleagues on all fours.

  Nicholas assembled the company below deck so that he could both protect them and offer some assurance. Three years at sea with Drake on the circumnavigation of the globe had taken him through all kinds of tempests and he still had nightmares about the remorseless battering which the Golden Hind received on its way through the Straits of Magellan. To anyone who had endured such extremities of weather, the squall was no more than a trifling inconvenience, but Nicholas could see that it seemed like a typhoon to the others.

  ‘We will all drown!’ wailed Gill, green as his doublet.

  ‘There is no chance of that,’ said Nicholas calmly. ‘The vessel is sound and the crew able.’

  ‘No ship can stay afloat for long in a storm like this.’

  ‘It can, Master Gill. Put your trust in the Peppercorn.’

  ‘We are trying, Nick,’ said a pallid Firethorn, ‘but it is difficult to trust any craft which tosses us about so. We are like so many dice shaken in the pot before being thrown out on the table. Must we submit to this torture?’

  ‘Try to forget the storm,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘Forget it! Can a man who is being hanged forget the rope? You are our sailor. Help us. Tell us what to do.’

  ‘First, you must hold fast to known facts.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The Peppercorn has sailed to and from the Netherlands many times. Take comfort from that. It has survived far worse squalls than this without loss of life or damage to the hull. I have spoken with some of the crew. We could not be in a more secure craft.’

  ‘Secure!’ gasped Firethorn.

  ‘We are like corks in a waterfall,’ said Elias, as he lurched a few feet to starboard. ‘This storm hurls us where it wishes. Is there nothing we can do, Nick?’

  ‘Stay below and sit it out.’

  ‘Teach us how to escape from this ordeal.’

  ‘Fill your mind with other thoughts, Owen.’

  ‘I am more worried about emptying my belly,’ groaned the Welshman, both hands on his stomach. ‘I feel as if I am about to spew up a barrel of ale that I never had the pleasure of drinking. If this be voyaging, I’d as lief stay in London and take my chances against the plague.’

  ‘What did you do in bad weather, Nick?’ asked Anne.

  ‘Do you really wish to know?’

  ‘Yes!’ chorused five sufferers.

  ‘It may not work for you but it saved me.’

  ‘Tell us your secret,’ she said.

  ‘I sang.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘I opened my lungs and I sang,’ he admitted. ‘Most men cursed at a hurricane, as if foul words could keep it at bay. But I sang to keep my mind occupied.’

  ‘They must have thought you were mad!’ observed Gill.

  ‘Nobody hears you in a howling gale.’

  Firethorn was incredulous. ‘You sang? In a condition such as we poor wretches are in, you had breath enough to sing?’

  ‘I found that it helped.’

  ‘I can barely speak,’ croaked Hoode. ‘This storm has robbed us of our voices. Which of us could even sing one line of a song?’

  ‘I could,’ said Adrian Smallwood bravely.

  The whole company turned towards him. Feeling as queasy as any of them, Smallwood made a determined effort to overcome his seasickness and sang in a ringing baritone voice.

  ‘Now is the month of Maying,

  When merry lads are playing.

  Fa la la.’

  He looked around his fellows and tried to shake them out of their self-pity. Even though the vessel began to rock more violently, Smallwood persevered as a choirmaster.

  ‘Come on!’ he exhorted. ‘Sing away this storm. We would never have beaten the Armada with sailors such as you. Show your spirit. Sing in defiance. Who’ll join me?’

  ‘I, for one,’ volunteered Nicholas.

  ‘And me,’ said Elias. ‘You will never find a Welshman shirking a chance to sing. Lead on, Adrian. We follow.’

  Smallwood sang out with even more gusto this time.

  ‘Now is the month of Maying,

  When merry lads are playing.

  Fa la la.

  Fa la la.

  Each with his bonny lass,

  Upon the greeny grass,

  Fa la la.

  Fa la la.’

  Nicholas lent his support and the rich deep voice of Elias blended with those of his companions. Firethorn was the next to take up the song, then Ingram, then Richard Honeydew. Anne soon joined them, and others were caught up in the melody. Even the bilious Gill joined in while Hoode-unwilling to open his mouth again lest more than words gush out-tapped his foot in time to the rhythm of the piece.

  Huddled below deck, the other passengers watched with blank amazement at the incongruous recital. Foreigners amongst them decided it was yet further evidence of the madness of the English and they responded with scorn, sympathy, or amusement. Led by Adrian Smallwood, the choir surged on regardless.

  ‘The Spring, clad all in gladness,

  Doth laugh at Winter’s sadness.

  Fa la la.

  Fa la la.

  And to the Bagpipes’ sound,

  The Nymphs tread out their ground.

  Fa
la la.

  Fa la la.

  Fie then, why sit we musing,

  Youth’s sweet delight refusing?’

  And so it went on. A ragged band of players, frightened by the storm, shaken until they were about to vomit, wondering if they would ever see dry land again, slowly blended together in harmony to work their way through song after song. Adversity united them, and the man who had revived their spirits was Adrian Smallwood. It was very gratifying to Nicholas because he had recommended the actor for inclusion in the touring company.

  The repertoire of songs did nothing to still the troubled waters of the North Sea, and the vessel continued to roll alarmingly as it sailed on. Several of the actors peeled off at intervals to vomit into one of the wooden buckets provided for the purpose and their contribution towards the recital was thereafter muted. But the singing carried on until the company began to fall asleep, one by one, from sheer exhaustion. Adrian Smallwood ended as he began, with a solo performance.

  ***

  It was a rough crossing. Inclement weather throughout the night blew the Peppercorn off course and added hours to their voyage. There was one small advantage for Westfield’s Men. Gathered together in a corner below deck, they were easier to protect from the feared attack, and Nicholas shared the watch under the swinging lanterns with Firethorn, Elias and Smallwood. No threat came. Nicholas surmised that the assassin had either been disabled by the heaving motion of the ship or that Anne Hendrik had misheard him. She herself slept fitfully against the shoulder of her lodger and dear friend.

  Dawn revealed billowing waves through a blanket of rain and few passengers ventured up on deck. The members of the company woke sporadically and were surprised to find themselves still alive and unharmed. When they had relieved themselves in one of the fetid privies, some were even able to rediscover their appetite. The worst was definitely over.

  Time glided past and the bucking rhythm of the vessel seemed to ease. The yell from the look-out filtered down to them. Land had been sighted. When the weary travellers started to drift up on deck, they learned that the rain had ceased and that the sky was slowly clearing. The swirling wind still played havoc with the rigging and the choppy waves still climbed high enough to scour the deck occasionally, but the sight of their destination helped the passengers to accommodate these discomforts without any sense of panic.