The Fair Maid of Bohemia nb-9

by Edward Marston

  ***

  ‘Importune me no further,’ said the Chamberlain. ‘What you ask of me is not in my power to grant.’

  ‘You have the ear of the Emperor,’ urged Firethorn.

  ‘It is deaf to my entreaties.’

  ‘This is very important to us.’

  ‘I am not able to help you.’

  ‘But you are the Chamberlain.’

  ‘Yes,’ replied the other, rising to his feet with dignity. ‘I am responsible for the government of Bohemia. I help to raise taxes, draft new laws and keep the peace in this kingdom. I summon the Bohemian Diet, I hold a respected place at any Diet of the Empire and have a strong voice in its affairs. Yes, Master Firethorn,’ he said with a touch of exasperation. ‘I am the Chamberlain and I enjoy all the powers of that high office. But I can still not authorise you to visit a prisoner in the castle dungeon.’

  He slowly resumed his seat behind the desk. Nicholas and Firethorn were in his apartment again, trying to gain access to Talbot Royden without disclosing their reasons for wishing to do so. They had sent Owen Elias back to the Black Eagle with orders to say nothing of the attack on Nicholas. The latter’s wound was attracting an offhand interest from their host. The Chamberlain was no more helpful than on their previous visit. Nicholas tried to appease him.

  ‘We are sorry to disturb you again on this matter.’

  ‘It is out of my hands, Master Bracewell.’

  ‘Now that you have explained it to us, we understand that. Why should a man in your exalted position bother with a mere prisoner? You have far more weighty matters to consider. I know little of Prague but I could not fail to notice so many churches.’ He watched the other carefully. ‘And so many different denominations.’

  ‘It creates many problems,’ admitted the Chamberlain.

  ‘It must,’ continued Nicholas. ‘We know full well how bitter religious dissension can be. England is a Protestant nation now but only after much bloodshed. The troubles have not ceased. Unrest still simmers.’

  ‘Your difficulties are small compared with ours.’

  ‘I disagree,’ said Firethorn. ‘London is beset by crawling Puritans. They are trying to close the theatres. What would become of us then? Puritans are a menace!’

  ‘We have our share of menaces here.’

  ‘Yet Bohemia is more tolerant,’ observed Nicholas.

  ‘That is the Emperor’s wish,’ sighed the other.

  ‘You have Roman Catholic churches, Lutheran, Calvinist and others whose names I do not recognise. Prague also has a Jewish Quarter. The Josefov.’

  ‘The Emperor has granted Jews many privileges.’

  ‘Freedom of belief is a fine ideal.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the Chamberlain. ‘But, like most fine ideals, it does not work in practice. We have too many faiths here, too much latitude. Everything from Jesuits at one extreme to Hussites at the other.’

  ‘Hussites?’ repeated Firethorn.

  ‘Yet another of our problems.’ He stared at the bandage around Nicholas’s head, then became brisk. ‘But you did not come here to discuss the religious policy which we pursue. You have a request. I must turn it down.’

  ‘Is there nothing you can do for us?’

  ‘On this matter, alas-no.’

  ‘All we ask is that you speak to the Emperor.’

  ‘He would not even listen to me.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘That is irrelevant.’ The Chamberlain lifted the bell. ‘I will ring for someone to show you out.’

  ‘Is there nobody who can help us?’ implored Firethorn.

  ‘Nobody at all.’

  ‘You are wrong, sir,’ said Nicholas, as a face popped into his mind. ‘I believe that there is.’

  ***

  Sophia Magdalena walked into the gallery on the arm of her great-uncle. Emperor Rudolph had always been fond of her and he would be sad to lose her when marriage took her north to Brunswick. While she was still at the palace, he wanted her to be present at the little ceremony which was about to take place. The Milanese painter was waiting for them beside his easel. An embroidered cloth hid the completed portrait. He was presented to Sophia Magdalena and studied her beautiful face with the concentrated admiration of an artist. He turned to the Emperor and spoke in Italian.

  ‘Such loveliness belongs upon a canvas,’ he said.

  ‘One day I will let you paint her portrait.’

  ‘Thank you!’

  ‘If Sophia Magdalena agrees.’

  ‘That goes without saying.’

  ‘But she has come to see the portrait of me unveiled.’ He lapsed into German. ‘Are you ready, my dear?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, hands held tight. ‘I am very excited.’

  ‘I hope that you like it.’

  ‘I’m sure that I shall.’

  ‘Then let us bring the portrait into the light of day.’

  The Emperor inclined his head and the artist lifted the cloth from the gilt frame, standing back to give both of them an uninterrupted view of his work. Rudolph giggled with delight and clapped his hands, but Sophia Magdalena took more time to appreciate the painting. Expecting to see her great-uncle staring back at her with an imperious gaze, she was disconcerted to find herself looking at a face that was composed entirely of pieces of fruit.

  The nose was a banana, the eyes were grapes, the cheeks were apples, the chin was an orange. Eight other fruits were cleverly incorporated into the portrait. Shocked at first, she came to see that there was a definite resemblance to Rudolph. The symbolic significance of the painting also began to emerge. A ruler of a vast empire was an emblem of nature, a source of health and sustenance to his peoples. Some of the fruits used were imported from other countries, a visual reference to the cosmopolitan nature of the Bohemian Court. And there were many other values in a portrait which had the most striking colours and definition.

  The two men waited patiently until her smile of approval came. While the Emperor embraced her, the artist sighed with relief. Her ratification was vital to him and to his employer. Sophia Magdalena began to enthuse about the work and the artist begged the Emperor to translate for him. The praise was soon cut short. A liveried servant came into the room and bowed before delivering his message.

  ‘Someone is asking to speak with Sophia Magdalena on a matter of great urgency,’ he said. ‘He waits without.’

  ‘Who is the man?’ asked Rudolph.

  ‘Lawrence Firethorn.’

  ‘The actor? No, tell him that she is indisposed.’

  ‘But I wish to see him,’ she said. ‘He and his company have given me so much pleasure. I will not turn him away.’

  ‘What about my portrait?’

  ‘I will come back to view it again very soon.’

  Rudolph flicked a finger and the artist replaced the cloth over the painting. The servant led the way along a corridor until they came to the hall where Westfield’s Men had performed The Three Sisters of Mantua. With the stage still erected, Firethorn could not resist strutting around it and declaiming some verse. Nicholas rested against the edge of the platform. As soon as Sophia Magdalena appeared, both men moved across to meet her and the Emperor. She was taken aback by the sight of the bandage around Nicholas’s head. The exchange of greetings was complicated by her ignorance of their language. Rudolph was pressed into service as an impromptu interpreter.

  ‘What is this matter of such urgency?’ he asked.

  ‘We need to see Doctor Talbot Royden,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘Out of the question!’

  ‘Why is that, your Highness?’

  ‘He is permitted to see nobody but his assistant.’

  ‘Your Highness,’ pleaded Nicholas. ‘We beg you to make an exception in our case.’

  ‘What is he saying?’ asked Sophia Magdalena, frowning when the request was translated to her. ‘Why must they see him?’

  ‘They will not,’ vowed Rudolph.

  ‘Our petition was to your great-niece,’ said Nich
olas with a polite bow to her. ‘We have come a very long way at her behest and withstood many trials to be here. Please explain that to her, your Highness. We hoped that she might be willing to help us.’

  Under pressure from her, Rudolph translated reluctantly. Sophia Magdalena nodded vigorously at the two Englishmen then rounded on the Emperor. She argued with him in voluble German and waved her arms expressively. Having seen her before as a poised and silent madonna, the two visitors were surprised at how animated she had become. Sophia clearly had a mind of her own and a forceful way of expressing it.

  Rudolph resisted her appeal but she did not give up. Throwing a glance of sympathy at the two men, she spoke so powerfully and persuasively on their behalf that the Emperor’s intransigence began to weaken slightly.

  ‘What harm can it do?’ she urged. ‘Doctor Royden was a good and loyal servant to you. Can you not allow him this one small concession?’

  ‘He let me down, Sophia. That is unforgivable.’

  ‘I implore you to think again.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘It is such a simple request.’

  ‘I will not grant it, Sophia.’

  ‘Not even to me.’ She saw his resolve flicker. ‘Can I not wrest this one small favour from you? Think what I have done at your bidding. Surely that deserves some recompense.’ She threw another glance at the visitors. ‘These are my personal guests. They have made a huge effort to be here for my wedding. I wish to reward them. They would not make such a request unless it was very important to them.’ She took the Emperor’s arm. ‘Help me to thank them for coming to Prague. Please. Let them see Doctor Royden. For my sake. Grant them permission. It is not much to ask.’

  The Emperor scowled and grew pensive.

  ***

  The food was welcome but the manner in which it was served was very distasteful. After warning her what would happen if she tried to cry out, the man with the hot breath removed the gag. He spoke in English but his accent was German. She was grateful to be able to move her mouth freely again and took several deep breaths. Something was held against her lips.

  ‘Eat it,’ he ordered.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘You will find out.’

  She bit into the dried fish and found it dry but edible. When the food was swallowed, he held a cup of water to her mouth and she drank it. Anne was still deeply frightened but she took the meal as a hopeful sign. If they intended to kill her, it was unlikely that they would bother to feed her first.

  ‘Why are you keeping me here?’ she asked.

  ‘We need a hostage.’

  ‘For what reason?’

  ‘To keep your friend, Nicholas Bracewell, at bay,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘As long as we have you, he will not bother us. He cares too much for Anne Hendrik.’

  He stroked her hair and she pulled away in disgust.

  ‘How do you know my name?’ she said.

  ‘I made it my business to find it out.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘That does not matter.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I already have that,’ he said complacently. ‘Nicholas was kind enough to hand it over to me. He thought he would be getting you in exchange.’

  ‘How long must I stay here?’

  ‘As long as I deem it necessary.’

  ‘Will you release me then?’

  ‘If you behave yourself.’

  ‘Nicholas will find you,’ she said boldly.

  ‘He does not even know that this place exists.’

  ‘He will track you down somehow.’

  ‘No,’ said the other. ‘He will not need to, Anne. When I am ready, I will go after Nicholas Bracewell.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I have to kill him.’

  Her scream of fear was muffled by the gag as he tied it back in position. She struggled hard but her bonds were too tight. He caressed the side of her face with his finger.

  ‘Forget Nicholas,’ he advised. ‘You will never see him alive again.’

  ***

  As his cell door was unlocked, Talbot Royden peered at his two visitors in astonishment. The gaoler stepped well back from the trio but stayed within earshot.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked Royden.

  ‘My name is Lawrence Firethorn,’ said the actor, ‘and this is Nicholas Bracewell.’

  ‘We are pleased to meet you at last, Doctor Royden,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘I am not sure that I can say the same about you, sir.’

  The prisoner eyed them both suspiciously and wondered how the taller of them had come by his head wound. They had a chance to appraise him. His gown was soiled, his face blotched and his hands filthy. He had removed his hat to reveal short spiky brown hair. Both his ears had been cropped. Royden saw the two of them reaching the same conclusion.

  ‘Yes, gentlemen,’ he confessed, ‘I was arrested in England for coining and had my ears clipped in punishment. It was a false charge, like so many brought against me, but I bore my adversity. I was also accused of digging up dead bodies for use in my experiments but I was never brought to trial for that. I fled from England and came to Bohemia instead.’

  ‘We expected a more flattering pedigree,’ said Firethorn.

  ‘Had you come last week, you would have got it from the Emperor himself. He doted on my work. Then.’

  ‘We need your help,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘I am hardly in a position to offer that.’

  ‘We think you are. Before we left England, we were given documents to bring to you in secret.’

  ‘From whom? That old charlatan, John Mordrake?’

  ‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘From an unknown source. I hazard a guess that it may be someone in the Privy Council.’

  Royden stiffened. ‘Why did you act as couriers?’

  ‘That is what we hope you can tell us.’

  ‘Have you brought the documents with you?’

  ‘They were taken from me here in Prague.’

  ‘Nick was attacked and they were stolen,’ explained Firethorn. ‘Someone was extremely anxious to lay hold of those documents. They have already claimed the life of one of our fellows. He was mistaken for Nick and murdered.’

  Royden’s face was composed but his eyes darted about.

  ‘Without the documents, I cannot help you,’ he said.

  ‘I made a fair copy of them,’ said Nicholas, taking them from Firethorn. ‘We have risked a great deal to get these to you and we insist on knowing what they contain.’

  Royden searched both their faces before he took the sheets of parchment from Nicholas. He unfolded the first one.

  ‘A short letter,’ said Firethorn. ‘In gibberish.’

  ‘This will take time.’

  The visitors stood shoulder to shoulder to block Royden from the view of the gaoler. The prisoner held the missive close to the candle and scrutinised it with care. They saw his lips moving as he attempted to translate the code in which it was written. When he had finished, he passed it over the top of the flame, then realised what he was doing and checked himself.

  ‘This is of no great moment, sirs,’ he said airily. ‘It is a greeting from a friend at Court. He begs me for news of life here in Prague. I thank you for delivering this to me.’

  ‘Then divulge its contents to us,’ ordered Nicholas.

  ‘I have just done so.’

  ‘A letter from a friend does not need to be written in code. Nor does it require secret delivery.’

  ‘There are some private enquiries in it, which my friend sought to keep between the two of us.’

  Nicholas bristled. ‘You forget, Doctor Royden,’ he said, ‘we belong to a theatre company. We stage plays on this theme. The spies in our dramas also write in cipher code and wave their missives over a flame. You thought, for a moment, that the letter was the original, did you not?’

  ‘No, sir,’ denied the other vehemently. ‘If you wish to know the truth, I was about to burn it. What have I to
say about life in Bohemia when I am locked away down here?’

  ‘Enough of this!’ said Nicholas, grabbing him so tightly by his throat that he could not move. ‘Invisible ink can be made with a preparation of milk and lemon juice. Warm the paper and the secret message appears. That is what you were looking for, but it was not there on the copy.’

  ‘You are imagining all this,’ said Royden evasively.

  ‘And am I imagining this,’ demanded Nicholas, pointing to the blood-stained bandage with his other hand. ‘Was it for a letter from your friend that I was attacked and that another man was brutally murdered?’ He pulled him close. ‘Because of these documents, a lady whom I hold dear has been taken as a hostage. You are the only person who can help to rescue her. I will ask you once more, Doctor Royden. Lie to us again and I swear that I will dash your brains out against the wall!’

  ‘No,’ pleaded the other, recoiling in horror.

  ‘What is in that letter?’

  ‘And who sent it?’ hissed Firethorn.

  Royden was cornered. There was no means of escape. He had to trust them. He read the letter again, then flicked through the four sheets of parchment with it. He licked his lips.

  ‘Well?’ said Nicholas. ‘The code used in the first few lines is number substitution. Thirteen occurs three times. What does that number stand for? London? Prague?’

  ‘Flushing,’ admitted Royden.

  ‘What of six?’

  ‘Bohemia.’

  ‘What about those signs of the zodiac?’ asked Firethorn.

  ‘They represent people.’

  ‘Which people?’ pressed Nicholas.

  ‘You will not know them. They were agents of mine.’

  ‘What sort of agents?’

  ‘They gathered intelligence for me.’

  ‘And where did that intelligence go?’ As Royden hesitated, Nicholas shook him hard. ‘There is a number at the bottom of the page. One hundred and eighty-three. The sender. Who is he, Doctor Royden? Who used us as his unwitting couriers?’

  ‘It is more than my life is worth to tell you.’

  ‘Deny us this and you will have no life.’

  ‘I’ll call for the guard.’

  ‘You would be dead before he reached you,’ vowed Nicholas, clapping his hand over the prisoner’s mouth. ‘Which is it to be? Do we get the name or do you want your skull cracked open?’