The Fair Maid of Bohemia nb-9

by Edward Marston

  Nicholas escorted Anne to the bulwark to take her first look at the little seaport of Flushing, situated at the mouth of the River Schelde and welcoming them to a harbour where many smaller vessels already bobbed and swayed. The welcome was illusory. When the Peppercorn tried to put in, its captain found the waves too strong and the wind too guileful, so he elected instead to sail on to Rammekins for surer anchorage.

  Lawrence Firethorn was outraged by the change of destination. He took his protest across to his book-holder.

  ‘Our passage was booked to Flushing!’ he roared.

  ‘We will not be too far away,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘Order the captain to deliver us to the town that is named on our passport. I will not endure such a hellish voyage and be put down on the wrong part of the Dutch coast.’

  ‘The captain has no choice. He shows good seamanship. Would you rather stay aboard until the sea decides to calm? That might take a whole day.’

  ‘Another day on this floating death-trap! Get me off!’

  ‘Be patient,’ counselled Nicholas, ‘and you will soon have dry land beneath your feet again.’

  ‘Thank heavens!’

  Firethorn’s relief was short-lived. When the company at last disembarked from the Peppercorn, the dry land had been turned to mud by a fortnight’s steady rain. Disenchantment gnawed at the actor-manager. Having envisioned a triumphal arrival at Flushing, he was now limping ashore at Rammekins. Instead of being welcomed like a victorious admiral after a naval battle, he was a complete nonentity forced to lead a bedraggled company on foot across a squelching quagmire.

  Supporting Anne by the arm, Nicholas again took the full force of his employer’s ire. Firethorn was incandescent with righteous indignation.

  ‘Could they not supply us with horses?’ he demanded.

  ‘We were not expected to land here.’

  ‘This country is barbaric!’

  ‘Other passengers must walk as well as us.’

  ‘This mud almost reaches to my knees.’

  ‘Flushing is only four miles away.’

  ‘Four miles of this misery?’

  ‘Anne fares worse than us,’ noted Nicholas, breaking in on the other’s self-absorption. ‘If we had to struggle through this mire in a dress-as she does-we might have just reason to complain. Yet Anne bears it all with a brave smile. We should learn from her example.’

  Firethorn accepted the rebuke with good grace and showered Anne with profuse apologies for the next mile. The rest of the company trudged along behind them in a mood of dejection. Not even the resilient Smallwood could manage a song now. The only person missing was George Dart. Nicholas had no qualms about leaving Dart behind to guard the wicker baskets containing their costumes and properties until a cart could be sent for him from Flushing. It was inconceivable that the diminutive assistant stagekeeper could be the intended victim of the death threat. The murderer-if he existed-would be stalking another member of the company.

  ***

  Flushing was an English possession, a cherished bridgehead on the Continent which to some extent compensated for the disastrous loss of Calais on the eve of Queen Elizabeth’s reign. Ceded by the Dutch in recognition of military support against the Spanish invaders, Flushing showed the influence of English occupation. It had an English church, English settlers, and a permanent garrison of English troops. When the weary, mud-covered travellers reached the town, they saw English faces and fashions at every turn.

  But it was by no means a home from home. Dutch inhabitants were cold and hostile, feeling that the English had not merely taken their town away from them. They had changed its name as well. The busy little port of Vlissingen was now the military base of Flushing, full of soldiers on their way to battle or wounded men and corpses returning from it. Overcrowded and insanitary, the place was haunted by profiteers, adventurers, and others who could exploit the wartime situation. The town was inhospitable and there was a pervading sense of unease.

  It was Gill’s turn to have a fit of disillusionment. He gazed around with utter disgust and stamped a sodden foot.

  ‘This whole escapade is a catastrophe!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘Give it time to unfold, Barnaby,’ said Hoode.

  ‘It has unfolded far enough, Edmund. I am imprisoned in the hold of a ship, subjected to a voyage of sheer terror, forced to ruin by best shoes and hose by wading through the mud, then confronted with this cesspit!’ He folded his arms and turned away. ‘I expect better, I deserve better, I am owed better!’

  ‘We all share your disappointment.’

  ‘It was cruel to inveigle me into this calamity.’

  ‘You are a calamity in yourself!’ sneered Firethorn.

  ‘To come here, I turned down some highly tempting offers.’

  ‘Why?’ mocked the other. ‘What did Clement Islip promise to do to you? Hold you between his thighs and play you like his viol? Be your own fair maid?’

  ‘There is no point in bickering,’ said Hoode, stepping between the two men. ‘Our first task is to find somewhere to stay in this unfriendly town.’

  ‘It is already arranged,’ said Firethorn. ‘That is what Lord Westfield gave me to understand. Nick?’

  ‘Yes?’ asked Nicholas, stepping forward.

  ‘Be our pathfinder here. Where do we go?’

  ‘We stay right here.’

  ‘In the town square?’ said Gill with disdain. ‘We are renowned actors, not street beggars. We demand respect.’

  ‘I believe that we are about to receive it, Master Gill.’

  Nicholas had seen the horseman approaching them at a steady trot. He was a tall, slender young man in neat apparel and he was already composing his features into a polite smile of welcome. The horse came to a halt in front of them. The rider touched his hat deferentially.

  ‘I am seeking Master Lawrence Firethorn,’ he said.

  ‘He stands before you,’ announced the actor with a hand on his chest. ‘Who may you be, sir?’

  ‘Balthasar Davey, at your service. Secretary to Sir Robert Sidney, Lord Governor of Flushing. I am sent to welcome you to the town and to apologise for the gross inconvenience you have clearly suffered.’ He dismounted from the saddle. ‘Sir Robert sends his compliments and bids me conduct you to the inn where you and your company will lodge for the night.’

  ‘Thank you, Master Davey,’ said Firethorn, pleased by this new development. ‘We drop from fatigue and need refreshment.’

  ‘I will take you to it directly.’ He turned to Anne and spoke with courtesy. ‘But I see that you have a lady with you. We have only a short distance to walk but I will happily offer her the use of my horse for that journey.’ He glanced at the soiled hem of her dress. ‘You have already marched too far on foot, I think. Travel the rest of the way in some comfort.’

  Anne acknowledged the kind offer with a smile and was about to refuse it but Nicholas took the decision for her.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said, taking her by the waist and hoisting her up into the saddle in one fluent move. ‘This is Mistress Hendrik, who has been our companion thus far from London. Her business takes her to Amsterdam and we seek advice as to how she can reach it in the safest and swiftest way.’

  ‘Put the matter in my hands,’ said Davey obligingly. ‘If Mistress Hendrik will spend a night at the inn, I will ensure that she may set off for Amsterdam in the morning. Will that satisfy you?’

  ‘It will,’ said Anne with gratitude.

  Balthasar Davey tugged on the reins and led his horse along the road. Restored by the promise of hospitality, the company followed eagerly. Nicholas fell in beside their guide and introduced himself.

  ‘One thing more,’ he said. ‘Our baggage was too heavy to drag from Rammekins. A member of the company stayed behind to guard it. I would retrieve it and him as soon as possible.’

  ‘Your wagons await you at the inn.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘I will find someone to do this errand for you.’
/>   ‘No,’ said Nicholas firmly. ‘It is my responsibility. I will drive the wagon myself without delay.’

  ‘So be it.’

  The inn was a long, rambling, ramshackle building with a steep roof whose thatch was in need of repair, but its defects were willingly overlooked by guests in need of rest and sustenance. English ale and wholesome food awaited them. With four walls around them at last, they were mollified. After an inauspicious beginning, their visit to the Continent might yet be redeemed. They were expected, after all.

  Nicholas did not share in the repast. When he had shown Anne to the privacy of her bedchamber, he went out to the stables where an ostler was harnessing two of the horses between the shafts of a wagon. Nicholas was soon rumbling off in the direction of Rammekins to collect the abandoned George Dart. Curled up on a basket like a stray dog, Dart shivered in the grudging sunshine and scanned the road to Flushing with large and fearful eyes. When he saw Nicholas approaching with the wagon, he burst into tears of joy and fell on to the ground from his perch. He soon rallied when Nicholas praised him for discharging his duty so well and promised him a nourishing meal once they returned to the inn. After loading the baskets into the wagon, they set off on a creaking journey along the muddy track.

  They had gone well over a mile before Nicholas realised that they were being followed. A sixth sense made him turn sharply and he caught a glimpse of a stocky man on a roan some fifty yards or more behind them. The lone horseman quickly dropped back and sought the cover of some trees. Nicholas said nothing to his companion. Flicking the reins, he coaxed a brisk trot out of the animals and they made light work of pulling the wagon along. When he next looked over his shoulder, Nicholas saw no evidence of any pursuit.

  It was late afternoon when they trundled up to the inn. The sun had belatedly decided to grace the day with its full force and this drew some members of a Dutch militia company out onto the tufted lawn at the rear of the building for a game of skittles. Inside the hostelry, Westfield’s Men had already made themselves at home and were carousing happily. George Dart was given such a rousing reception that he forgot all about the privations of the voyage and the agonies of being left alone in a foreign country to guard the company’s baggage.

  Nicholas saw immediately that Firethorn, Gill, and Hoode were missing. He raised a quizzical eyebrow. Owen Elias spoke over the top of a tankard of ale.

  ‘They are at the Governor’s house,’ he explained. ‘Sir Robert Sidney invited them to his table and that smooth-faced secretary of his escorted them thither. We have plainer fare here but it goes down well with this ale. Come and join us, Nick. You must be starving.’

  ‘I will speak with Anne first.’

  ‘She is resting in her chamber and left word that she will come down to you anon.’ He nudged his friend and chuckled. ‘Forget your office for once. Stop worrying about the needs of others and put Nick Bracewell first.’

  ‘I will admit to being thirsty, Owen.’

  ‘Hungry, too, I wager.’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘Then let us address the problem.’

  With a loud yell, Elias banged the table until one of the servingmen came to see what he wanted. Food and drink were ordered for Nicholas and he set about both with relish. James Ingram and Adrian Smallwood were at the same table. All four men were soon chatting amiably but Nicholas remained alert. He remembered Anne’s warning very clearly and wondered if it might have a connection with the horseman who had trailed him.

  They were in a long bare room with a scattering of tables, benches and stools. Apart from the actors, there were groups of English soldiers taking their ease during a break from fighting, watched resentfully by a few Dutch militiamen. Taunting remarks were occasionally tossed between the nominal allies. The tensions of war were clearly taking their toll.

  Elias was buoyant again. ‘This tour of ours will be a triumphal march!’ he affirmed. ‘I feel it in my bones.’

  ‘That may just be the ague,’ joked Smallwood.

  ‘Do not rush to judgement,’ cautioned Ingram. ‘We have a long way to go yet, Owen. And we will spend far more time travelling than strutting upon a stage.’

  ‘We are pioneers!’ insisted Elias. ‘Other companies have brought their plays to the Continent, but none of our standing. I may well turn out to be the first Welshman to have acted before the Emperor Rudolph. Perhaps I should insert some lines in my native language for him.’

  ‘He would not understand them, if you did,’ said Nicholas as he put his dish aside. ‘The Emperor may not speak English, Welsh or any other tongue that you may know. He was brought up in the Spanish Court.’

  ‘Spanish!’ echoed Elias with distaste. ‘I’ll not speak that foul language for the Archangel Gabriel, let alone for a mere Emperor.’

  ‘You spoke it readily enough for Banbury’s Men,’ reminded Nicholas. ‘When you played in The Spanish Jew for them, you even sang a ballad in Spanish.’

  ‘Only in mockery of King Philip!’ he protested. Contrition came at once. ‘You are right to jog my memory, Nick. I rue the day when I was foolish enough to join our rivals. I paid dearly for that act of madness. My heart and hand belong to Westfield’s Men now.’ His chuckle resurfaced. ‘What is the point of travel if we cannot pick up every language that may lie in our way? I am turned schoolboy again.’

  ‘This venture will educate us all,’ said Ingram.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Smallwood. ‘Including our apprentices. Dick Honeydew has already begun his lessons on the lute. He is an apt pupil. We take only one lutanist to Bohemia, but there will be two of us on the return journey.’

  ‘Is the lad that quick to learn, Adrian?’ asked Elias.

  ‘He will be a finer musician than his teacher one day.’

  Before Nicholas could comment, he saw Anne descending the oak staircase and rose quickly to beckon her across. She exchanged greetings with them all and joined them at their table. The three actors talked respectfully with her before breaking away, one by one, to join their noisier fellows and to give Nicholas time alone for her on the eve of her departure for Amsterdam. Anne let him order a glass of wine for her but would only eat a light refreshment.

  ‘I will not sleep after a heavy meal,’ she said, ‘and I need all the rest I can get before I set off tomorrow.’

  ‘What time do you leave?’

  ‘At dawn.’

  He was shaken. ‘So early?’

  ‘It is a long journey, Nick. Soldiers and supplies are moving to and fro every day. Master Davey tells me I may join some men who are heading north. It means that I will have a military escort.’

  ‘That puts my mind at rest a little.’

  ‘The anxiety will be all on my side.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I heard what that man said aboard the Peppercorn.’

  ‘Some idle boast, that is all.’

  ‘He was in earnest, Nick. I am bound to fear.’

  ‘The danger is over,’ he assured her.

  Nicholas made no mention of the man who had followed him on horseback from Rammekins. There was no point in sending Anne off in a state of apprehension to the bedside of a dying man. She had worries enough of her own. He simply luxuriated in her company for a couple of hours while he still could, then escorted her upstairs when she chose to retire. Promising that he would see her off at dawn, he took a lingering farewell.

  When he rejoined his fellows, Nicholas was in time to see Lawrence Firethorn burst into the room, with Barnaby Gill and Edmund Hoode at his heels. All three were palpably flushed with wine. Firethorn closed on his book-holder, but his news was addressed to the entire company.

  ‘Nick, dear heart!’ he said effusively. ‘We have broken bread with Sir Robert Sidney himself. Our reputation has come before us. His brother, the late and much-lamented Sir Philip Sidney, was his predecessor here as Lord Governor of Flushing. He praised us to the skies. Sir Philip saw me play Hector at the Bel Savage Inn and witnessed some of our finest hours at the Queen’s He
ad.’

  ‘He also commended my genius to his brother,’ said Gill.

  ‘And one of my plays,’ added Hoode modestly.

  ‘In short,’ continued Firethorn, ‘Sir Robert is not content merely to lodge us here before sending us on our way. He has called for a play from Westfield’s Men.’ There was a flurry of interest from the company. ‘Our first engagement is to be before the Governor, his staff and our gallant English soldiers.’

  There was a derisive snigger from one of the soldiers at the far end of the room, a big, scowling man with a sash across his chest and a rapier at his hip. The actor-manager sailed over the interruption without even hearing it.

  ‘Our play chooses itself,’ he announced.

  ‘Does it?’

  ‘Hector of Troy!’

  ‘Over my dead body!’ howled an irate Gill.

  ‘Yes, Barnaby,’ he said. ‘I cut you down with my sword at the end of Act Five. A most deserved end for you.’

  ‘It is a hideous choice.’

  ‘I am bound to agree,’ said Hoode. ‘Anything but that.’

  ‘Support me here, Nick,’ said Firethorn, turning to the book-holder. ‘Hector is the only man fit for this occasion.’

  The whole room was now listening to the argument and it showed nobody in a good light. Nicholas turned a public dispute into a private conference by leading Firethorn to a settle in the corner. Seated beside him, he used quiet persuasion in place of hot words. The others in the room gradually picked up their own conversations and left the two men alone.

  ‘Hector is one of your greatest roles,’ began Nicholas. ‘it is justly acclaimed. But this may not be the time and place for him.’

  ‘What better time than during a war? What more appropriate place than in front of English soldiers?’ He grabbed the other’s arm. ‘Hector is a military hero. My performance will inspire our army to similar feats of heroism in the field.’

  ‘I fear that it will lower their spirits.’