The Fair Maid of Bohemia nb-9

by Edward Marston

  ‘Not after seeing this, Nick,’ she affirmed. ‘It beggars all description. I would have come twice as far and endured much worse privations in order to view this Elysium.’

  ‘It is beautiful.’

  ‘Beyond compare.’

  ‘Let us hope it lives up to its appearance.’

  Paradise was not without its problems. They caught the first whiff of one of them when they were still a few hundred yards away. The pervading stench of Prague was carried on the wind. It was caused by the piles of filth and excrement in the narrow streets. Flies buzzed everywhere. Dogs scavenged and fought. As they plunged into the city, its stink and squalor reminded them hideously of London.

  Prague was an optical illusion. Seen from afar, it was indeed a golden city. Closer inspection revealed it to have rows of decrepit timber-framed cottages alongside stone hovels that were scarcely bigger than huts. Emperor Rudolph might live in a sumptuous abode up on the hill, but many of his subjects eked out a wretched existence in houses that were little more than kennels. The juxtaposition of magnificence and misery was every bit as grotesque as in London.

  The two wagons first made their way to the river to take stock of its angry power as it surged along like a gigantic serpent in pursuit of a distant prey. Craft of all kinds were riding on the water in the afternoon sun. Wharves were busy along both banks. The smell of fish gave an added pungency to the city’s abiding reek. People were hurrying to and fro across the Charles Bridge. Prague was a city with a lot of work to do. They saw no sign of laziness or leisure.

  Nicholas led the way to the nearest inn so that the thirsty company could refresh themselves and sit on something more comfortable than the heaving boards of a wagon. The Czech landlord gave them a grinning welcome. Anne’s command of German once more came into its own. Leaving them ensconced at the inn, Nicholas made his way up to the castle with Firethorn. The latter was anxious to make direct contact with the Emperor at the earliest opportunity.

  ‘He will see us at once,’ he predicted.

  ‘Do not rely on that.’

  ‘We are honoured guests, Nick. The Emperor has promised us free board and lodging, and all the delights of his Court.’

  ‘He also promised to send letters to Cologne and Frankfurt on our behalf,’ noted Nicholas, ‘but they never arrived. It might not be wise to expect too much.’

  ‘I expect everything,’ boomed Firethorn.

  As they climbed the hill, Nicholas took stock of the fortifications. Impressive from a distance, they were full of deficiencies at close hand. Ramparts were in need of repair and additional defences were required at the western end of the bridge. The guards who patrolled the castle were few in number and slack in their duties. The two visitors presented themselves at the castle gate and were waved through without any real discussion of their purpose in coming there. When Nicholas produced the letter bearing the Imperial seal, it was enough to gain them admittance.

  ‘We should have brought Anne with us,’ said Firethorn.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘As our interpreter.’

  ‘She has her hands full back at the inn,’ said Nicholas. ‘Besides, this invitation was written in English, so they must have a translator here. We will find artists and scientists from all over Europe at the Court. Many different languages will be spoken, English among them.’

  ‘We cannot be certain of that, Nick.’

  ‘We can. Doctor Talbot Royden resides here.’

  ‘I was forgetting him.’

  ‘I have not been allowed to forget him.’

  Nicholas was glad that they had arrived unscathed at their destination. When the ambush took place, his first thought had been that it was set up by the man who stalked him. It was something of a relief to learn that they were simply the target of a band of robbers. Now that he was inside the castle where Royden lived, he felt that his mission was accomplished. The secret documents and the wooden box from Doctor Mordrake could be handed over. Nicholas would never part with anything quite so readily.

  They went through the first courtyard and into a much larger one. Guards stood about chatting but showed little interest in the visitors. It was only when they stepped through into the third courtyard that someone finally paid any real attention to them.

  ‘Well met, gentlemen! Welcome to Prague!’

  Hugo Usselincx was standing outside the door of Saint Vitus Cathedral when he saw them. Shoulders hunched, he shuffled across to them and waved his hands nervously in the air.

  ‘I am delighted to see you both again.’

  ‘It is good to see you, Hugo,’ responded Firethorn.

  ‘How long have you been here?’ asked Nicholas.

  ‘A few days.’

  ‘You must have ridden hard.’

  ‘I had to make up for lost time.’

  ‘We had the most devilish journey,’ moaned Firethorn.

  ‘But we arrived safely,’ said Nicholas, cutting off his memoirs about the ambush. ‘And we are much taken with this lovely city.’

  ‘Where are you staying?’

  ‘That is what we have come to find out.’

  ‘And what will you perform while you are here?’

  ‘The very best plays,’ boasted Firethorn.

  ‘I will climb over the castle walls to see them.’

  ‘That may not be too difficult a thing to do,’ observed Nicholas, glancing around. ‘Is Prague not concerned about its defences?’

  ‘The Emperor has other interests,’ confided Usselincx. ‘But the city may not be as open to attack as it might look. The jest they make here is that Prague is protected from invasion by its smell.’

  ‘We had noticed it, Hugo,’ said Firethorn with a grimace. ‘We also noticed how many churches there are here. Some are built of wood, most of stone, with roofs of slate and spires that shine like silver. The only church I could not pick out was the one that is made of tin.’

  ‘Tin?’

  ‘That is where you are organist, is it not? The Tin Church. Or so I remember you telling us.’

  ‘I did, I did,’ said Usselincx, suppressing a giggle. ‘But the Týn Church is not made of tin.’

  ‘What else is it made of?’

  ‘Solid stone, Master Firethorn. When I said “Týn,” I should have spelled the word for you. T-ý-n. It means a courtyard or an enclosed area, much like the one we are standing in. The Týn Church is in a courtyard behind the main square. Its full name is the Church of Our Lady Before Týn. It is old and beautiful, like so much here. Does that help you to understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘No,’ contradicted Firethorn.

  ‘I keep you from more important things,’ said Usselincx as he backed away. ‘Enjoy your welcome from the Emperor. I look to see you again before long.’

  They exchanged farewells, then headed for the palace which was opposite the south door of the cathedral. Firethorn liked their Dutch friend immensely but Nicholas had reservations about the man. He found his manner a shade too unctuous.

  When they entered the palace, Hugo Usselincx went right out of their minds. Armed guards confronted them and demanded to know who they were. Nicholas produced the letter with the Imperial seal but neither man could understand the language in which it was written. One of the guards disappeared down a corridor with the missive and the visitors were forced to wait for several minutes.

  The man eventually returned with a servant in tow. It was the latter who now held the invitation and he used it to beckon them after him. Nicholas and Firethorn were led down a long corridor and into a gallery that was festooned with the work of the various Court artists. The servant paused to run a fond eye over the extraordinary collection of paintings. He was a middle-aged man with a striking face and a mischievous smile. Ushering them out of the gallery, he took them to an apartment on the west side of the palace and halted outside the door. He studied both men for a moment, then offered the letter to the actor-manager.

  ‘Lawrence Firethorn?’ h
e said in passable English.

  ‘Yes,’ replied the other, taking the invitation.

  ‘And you?’ The servant turned to Nicholas. ‘Name, please.’

  ‘Nicholas Bracewell.’

  ‘Masters Firethorn and Master Bracewell. Excuse me.’

  After tapping on the door, the servant went into the room for a brief moment. When he reappeared, he conducted the two men into a large and well-appointed apartment with an ornate desk at its centre. The servant bowed out and closed the door silently behind him.

  The Chamberlain rose from his chair behind the desk and regarded his visitors with solemn curiosity. He knew enough English to negotiate his way through a conversation.

  ‘You are welcome,’ he said, manufacturing a smile. ‘My name is Wolfgang von Rumpf and I am the Chamberlain. You are,’ he said, pointing to each in turn, ‘Lawrence Firethorn and Nicholas Bracewell. Correct?’

  ‘That is so, sir,’ confirmed Firethorn.

  ‘Pray be seated.’

  The Chamberlain indicated the chairs in front of the desk and all three men sat down. Anticipating a more gracious reception, Firethorn was somewhat put out by the man’s aloofness. Whoever else had issued the invitation, it had certainly not been Wolfgang von Rumpf. The Chamberlain glanced down at a document in front of him.

  ‘We expected you a few days ago,’ he chided.

  ‘Unforeseen delays on the road,’ explained Nicholas. ‘One of our wagons broke down and we were ambushed by robbers.’

  ‘Was anyone hurt?’

  ‘Not on our side,’ said Firethorn, ‘but we swinged them soundly. Nicholas fought off three of them himself.’

  ‘I see,’ said the Chamberlain. ‘I am sorry to hear about this. The Emperor had intended to arrange an armed escort for you, but…’ He paused to choose his words with care. ‘He was led astray by other matters. You reached Prague. That is the main thing. We are deeply grateful to Westfield’s Men.’

  ‘It is an honour to be here, sir.’

  ‘Where and when do we perform?’ asked Nicholas politely.

  ‘We will come to that in a moment,’ said the Chamberlain. ‘First, we must accommodate our guests. The palace itself is full at the moment, alas, so we have lodged you at an inn. I am told that the Black Eagle will meet your needs.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No cost will be incurred by you. We will settle any bills. Westfield’s Men will want for nothing.’

  ‘That is very heartening,’ said Firethorn with a grin.

  ‘In due course, I will get someone to show you the hall where you will perform. When you choose a play, I would like to know its subject before I give my approval. We are in a sensitive situation here. I cannot allow any drama that is critical of our government or discourteous to our religion.’

  ‘We understand,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘Good.’ He sat back and looked from one to the other. ‘Now, gentlemen. Is there anything you wish to ask me?’

  Nicholas had several questions but the main one was dictated by the bulge beneath his jerkin. Ever since the secret documents he carried had led to the murder of Adrian Smallwood, he had been anxious to deliver them to the man to whom they were sent. He put a hand to his cargo.

  ‘I believe that a Doctor Talbot Royden is at Court.’

  ‘He was,’ said the Chamberlain levelly.

  ‘He is not here any longer?’

  ‘Oh, he is still at the castle, Master Bracewell. But he is no longer in the hallowed position he once held.’

  ‘I do not follow.’

  ‘Doctor Royden is an astrologer and an alchemist. He was retained to provide personal services to Emperor Rudolph.’

  ‘Personal services?’

  ‘It matters not what they were,’ said the other coldly, ‘because he is no longer free to offer them. Doctor Royden has been arrested and thrown into the castle dungeon.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘That is of no concern to you.’

  ‘But it is,’ said Nicholas earnestly. ‘I must speak with him in order to pass on a message from England.’

  ‘Out of the question.’

  ‘Is he not allowed visitors?’

  ‘No,’ came the crisp reply. ‘He is in disgrace.’

  ‘Can we at least know why?’

  The Chamberlain was peremptory. ‘That is the end of the matter. Doctor Royden is being held on the Emperor’s orders.’ He glanced at Firethorn. ‘Did you have a question?’

  ‘A number, sir,’ replied the actor. ‘The first concerns the lady whose interest in Westfield’s Men brought us here. The Emperor sent the invitation but we know that she must have encouraged him to do so.’

  ‘That is so, Master Firethorn. Sophia Magdalena watched your company in London and was overwhelmed. She insisted that you were brought here.’

  ‘She has been our guiding star.’

  ‘Lawrence Firethorn was mentioned many times.’

  ‘She wanted me!’

  ‘Sophia Magdalena says you are a wonderful actor.’

  ‘Ecstasy!’

  ‘She will be pleased that you got here in time.’

  ‘Not as pleased as I am,’ said Firethorn, leaning forward with a chuckle. ‘When may I see the fair maid herself?’

  ‘At the wedding. Naturally.’

  Firethorn gulped. ‘The wedding?’

  ‘That is why you are here,’ said the Chamberlain. ‘In a few days’ time, Sophia Magdalena of Jankau is to marry the son of the Duke of Brunswick. The marriage will take place in the cathedral. Banquets will be held for a week thereafter. Your plays will be part of the wedding celebrations. Did you not realise that?’

  Nicholas adjusted to the news with ease but Firethorn was staggered. Libidinous desires which had sustained him through fatigue and adversity now crumbled into dust. Imagining that Sophia Magdalena had-like so many gorgeous young women before her-fallen hopelessly in love with him during one of his monumental performances, the actor had never paused to wonder if there might be another man in her life. He was at once incensed at the magnitude of his own folly and shaken by what he saw as her betrayal of him.

  ‘Sophia Magdalena?’ he said under his breath. ‘Rather would I call her Mary Magdalena. The sinful creature!’

  The Chamberlain gave a pale smile. ‘We look to you to select plays which are suitable for such an occasion.’

  ‘We will be happy to do so,’ said Nicholas, covering his companion’s evident exasperation. ‘By way of a wedding gift, we have brought a new play for the bride.’

  ‘Excellent! What is it called?’

  ‘The Whore of Prague!’ mumbled Firethorn.

  ‘The Fair Maid of Bohemia,’ said Nicholas quickly. ‘Our playwright, Edmund Hoode, has fashioned it with care for this joyful event. He will also take part in the play.’

  ‘We look forward to seeing its first performance.’

  ‘It will also be its last!’ said Firethorn.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘What Master Firethorn means,’ intervened Nicholas, ‘is that the play is new-minted for Sophia Magdalena. It belongs solely to her and will not be offered elsewhere. Beyond the confines of Bohemia, it would not have the same value or inner meaning.’ He shot the actor a reproving glance. ‘Was not that the decision you reached?’

  ‘Indeed, it was,’ said Firethorn, regaining his composure and smothering his frustration beneath a fawning smile. ‘Westfield’s Men offer the bride a wedding gift which will sing sweetly in her memory forever.’

  ‘Sophia Magdalena will be duly grateful,’ said the Chamberlain brusquely. ‘But you will no doubt wish to view the hall where this piece will be staged.’ He reached for a bell. ‘I will have someone conduct you there directly.’

  ‘One moment,’ said Firethorn, intent on propping up his sagging pride in some way. ‘There is something else we wish to do before that. We are the guests of Emperor Rudolph. His letter of invitation expressly requested us to seek him out as soon as we reached Prague.’ He sat up s
traight in the chair. ‘Let him know that Lawrence Firethorn has arrived and is desirous of meeting the Emperor.’

  Wolfgang von Rumpf spoke quietly through gritted teeth.

  ‘You have already done so,’ he said.

  ‘I fear that you are mistaken, sir.’

  ‘Believe me, I am not.’

  ‘The only people we have met since we arrived have been a Dutch acquaintance of ours, Hugo Usselincx, and your good self. When are we supposed to have met Emperor Rudolph?’

  ‘On your way to this apartment.’

  Firethorn exchanged a look of amazement with Nicholas.

  ‘The servant?’

  ‘That was the Holy Roman Emperor and King of Bohemia.’

  ‘An underling in his own palace?’

  The Chamberlain winced. He spoke with the distaste of a parent who is forced to acknowledge an obstreperous child as his own. He nodded wearily.

  ‘The Emperor is somewhat eccentric,’ he said.

  ***

  Dressed in the garb of a keeper and carrying a large hunk of fresh meat, Rudolph strolled past the cages in his menagerie and waved familiarly at their snarling denizens. He paused to watch two white doves, perched side by side in their little domed prison, nestling up to each other with cooing affection. Touched by the sight of love in a place of such roaring anger, he moved on until he came to one of the largest cages. Three wolves were padding restlessly around, checking the perimeter of their limited territory in an endless search for escape. They paid no heed to the curious onlooker.

  The animals were a gift from Russia and had white-tufted fur. Their feline grace concealed a deep and vengeful rage. When Rudolph tossed the meat through the bars, they pounced on it as if it were the man who had stolen their freedom. As they fought noisily and viciously over the meat, a profound sadness descended on their keeper. He was no longer feeding his beloved animals. He was watching his empire being torn apart by wanton brutality. His hands rested forlornly on the bars.

  ‘Catholic, Protestant, Hussite,’ he sighed, nodding at each animal in turn. ‘Which wolf will devour the biggest portion?’

  The sight soon appalled him. Turning sharply away, he went off quickly to seek the solace of his botanical gardens.