‘Surely, he is above suspicion.’
‘I wonder,’ said Nicholas thoughtfully. ‘As he was talking, I called to mind a remark he made to us at the inn.’
‘What was that, Nick?’
But the answer had to wait. A volcano of sound erupted. Hooves drummed, harness jangled and wagons creaked as a long cavalcade came surging up the hill. Riding at the head of it was a big, broad-shouldered young man with a fair beard. Conrad of Brunswick had arrived with his train. Beside him, attired in a cloak and hat that matched his dignity, was his father, Duke Henry-Julius of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel.
Flaming torches held by outriders lit up the faces of the newcomers. Sophia Magdalena’s bridegroom sat upright in the saddle and gazed around with a fearless eye. He rode through the castle gates with an almost proprietary air. His entourage was so large that the two friends were forced to step swiftly out of the way. Firethorn protested loudly and Nicholas had to reach out a hand to steady himself. As it made contact with the wall, it dislodged one of the loose stones in the neglected rampart. Nicholas caught it in his palm to stop its falling.
When the whole cavalcade had thundered past, he looked down at the stone. It was almost dark now and he could barely pick out its colour but he knew instinctively what he was holding.
Chapter Eleven
Anne Hendrik was in considerable discomfort. She had been tied to the chair for several hours now and cramp was setting in. Her arms were aching, her wrists were chafed and she had shooting pains in both legs. Yet the physical pain was small compared with her mental anguish. She was terrified that they might never release her. They would certainly have no qualms about killing her. Anne shuddered when she recalled how easily she had been abducted.
Sewing in her chamber at the inn, she had heard the gentle tap and opened the door out of curiosity without even taking the simple precaution of asking who was there. Two men had rushed in with their faces muffled from view. Anne had been overpowered in a matter of seconds. The gag had stifled her cries and the rope tied her hands immovably behind her. She was shown no courtesy. A dagger robbed her of all resistance.
The blindfold made her helpless. She could neither see her kidnappers nor move of her own accord. They had come prepared. A cloak was slipped over her shoulders and its hood pulled up to conceal much of her face. One of them hustled her down the back stairs and out into the street. They walked arm in arm, the knife pressed unseen against her ribs. To passers-by, she must have looked like an ungainly wife being helped along by a caring husband.
Panic deprived her of common sense. Instead of trying to work out how far from the inn they went, and in what direction, she was dizzy with apprehension. Instead of listening for clues as to her whereabouts, she heard only the pounding of her own heart. Had she crossed a bridge? Climbed or descended a hill? Walked over earth or cobbles? Anne could not remember. It was only when she was bound in her chair that she began to ask such vital questions.
Fear for her own safety was compounded by her concern for Nicholas Bracewell. She knew how shocked he would be by her disappearance and how frantic his efforts would be to trace her. But he was up against clever adversaries, who held all the advantages. The thought that Nicholas was marked out as a murder victim made her break out in perspiration. To avoid the trap they might set for him, she almost wished that he would not come looking for her. Anne was horrified at the idea that she might be used as the bait for Nicholas.
Her recriminations came to a sudden end as she heard the door of her prison open. The two men came in, turned the key in the lock and stayed at the far end of the room to continue their conversation. Their voices were subdued and she was only able to hear certain words clearly, but they were enough to cause her even more alarm. Not realising that she was proficient in the language, they talked in German as they finalised some sort of plan.
She heard the last exchange all too distinctly.
‘What of Nicholas Bracewell?’ asked one.
‘I am saving him until afterwards,’ replied the other. ‘I have promised myself the treat of killing him very slowly.’ He strode across to Anne and she felt his hot breath once again. ‘Still here, Mistress Hendrik?’ he teased in English. ‘I thought you might have been rescued by your knight in shining armour. Where is he?’ He removed her gag. ‘Doesn’t he care enough about you?’
‘What are you going to do with me?’ she asked.
‘I know what I would like to do,’ he said, running his hands freely over her body and making her recoil. ‘But other work preoccupies me tonight. However, I will be back. You will not be alone. My friend will look after you. Guard you. Feed you. Fetch a chamber-pot when it is needed.’ Anne convulsed with shame at the very notion. ‘I am sure that you will both have a happy night together. I am sorry that I shall not be here to share in it.’ He sniggered into her face. ‘Yes, I can see why Nicholas Bracewell is so eager to have you back. He is a man of taste.’
‘Why do you hate him so?’
‘He got in my way.’
‘Nicholas was only a courier.’
‘He should take more care which messages he carries.’
‘He did not even know what this message was.’
‘That is his misfortune.’
‘Spare him!’ she pleaded.
‘I could never do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I have a score to settle with him,’ said the man. ‘Nobody obstructs me so and then walks free. Your beloved Nicholas made me change my plans. I will chastise him roundly for it before I make him pay full price.’
***
Barnaby Gill had plenty of time to meditate on his findings. When the two of them returned to the Black Eagle, he was waiting for them with twitching impatience. Westfield’s Men reacted with surprise at the sight of the blood-stained bandage around Nicholas’s head, but in his excitement, Gill did not even notice it. He leaped up from his seat to accost Firethorn and the book-holder.
‘I must speak with you both,’ he insisted.
‘Another time, Barnaby,’ said Firethorn dismissively. ‘We have other things on our mind.’
‘This will brook no delay.’
‘I have already told you. We are not going to indulge you again. I refuse to play Cupid’s Folly just to satisfy your vanity. Enough is enough.’
‘It is nothing to do with that, Lawrence.’
‘Then why do you ambush me like this?’
‘To tell you about my visit to the Týn Church.’
‘Why should we have the slight interest in that?’
‘Because of what I learned about Hugo Usselincx.’
Firethorn was about to wave him away but Nicholas sensed that Gill had something of consequence to say. It was so unlike the latter to consort with his fellows in the same inn that there had to be a sound reason why he was even still at the Black Eagle. Nicholas motioned both men to an empty table and they settled down on the benches.
‘Well?’ he prompted.
‘Earlier this evening,’ said Gill in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘finding the atmosphere in here too stuffy, and the companionship too dull, I decided to view some of the sights on the other side of the river.’
‘Spare us the excuses, Barnaby,’ said Firethorn cynically. ‘We know why you went and what you hoped to find.’
‘I was in the Town Square when I met Hugo Usselincx. He was still full of admiration for my performance as Rigormortis in Cupid’s Folly.’
‘That accursed play again! I knew it.’
‘Meeting him was no surprise,’ commented Nicholas. ‘Hugo Usselincx is the organist at the Týn Church, which is nearby.’
‘But that is the point, Nicholas,’ said Gill. ‘He is not.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because I went to the church and ventured in. There is scaffolding up and a deal of rebuilding is taking place. One of the things they are putting in is a new organ.’
‘But Master Usselincx told us in Frankfurt that he
had to hasten here in order to take up his duties. Perchance he was expecting to play this new organ.’
‘It will not be ready for a week or more. I took the trouble to ask. Besides, the church already has a resident organist. He has been in the office for a number of years.’
‘What of Hugo Usselincx?’ wondered Firethorn.
‘They had never heard of him.’
There was a pause as the two men absorbed the impact of the news. Nicholas was first to see how valuable a piece of intelligence it was.
‘You have done well, Master Gill,’ he said, as his mind raced ahead. ‘This explains much. He was always too ready to befriend us and to find out the innermost workings of the company. I begin to suspect why.’
‘One moment,’ said Firethorn. ‘If Hugo had nothing to do with the Týn Church, why was he in its vicinity?’
‘My guess is that he may have a lodging nearby. That might explain why he was there earlier.’ He indicated the bandage. ‘When he or his accomplice was responsible for this.’
Gill blanched. ‘What happened, Nicholas?’ he said, seeing the wound for the first time. ‘Were you assaulted?’
‘Close by the Týn Church.’
‘Why?’
‘I am only now beginning to understand that.’
‘That two-faced Dutchman!’ exclaimed Firethorn.
‘We have no proof that he is Dutch. That is merely what he wanted us to believe. Supposing,’ said Nicholas, remembering the voyage on the Peppercorn, ‘that he is a German who can speak Dutch. We could tell no difference between the accents. Hugo Usselincx-I doubt that is his real name-gulled us all. There is only one reason he could wish to do that.’
‘The rogue! Let’s go hunt the villain down.’
‘Where?’
‘We begin at the Týn Church.’
‘No, Lawrence,’ said Gill, ‘that is the one place he will not be. Besides, night has fallen. We cannot search for anyone in the dark. It will have to wait until morning.’
‘I will not leave Anne in peril a moment longer than I have to,’ vowed Nicholas. ‘We may not be able to find Hugo Usselincx-whoever he is-but his accomplice could be a different proposition.’
‘You have found the man?’
‘Not yet, Barnaby,’ said Firethorn. ‘But we will.’
Nicholas rose to leave. ‘Pray excuse me.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Back to the castle.’
‘But we have only just come from there, Nick.’
‘No matter,’ said Nicholas. ‘We twice met Hugo in the courtyard of the castle. The stone which struck me down was from the castle fortifications. The man who has shed most light on this business is in the castle dungeon. That is where the answer lies,’ he concluded. ‘And that is where Anne may be held.’
***
Rudolph knelt alone at the altar rail in the Cathedral of Saint Vitus. In the soaring majesty of the vast edifice, he was a tiny and insubstantial figure. It was symbolic, he felt, of his relation to his Empire. He was dwarfed by religion. Unlike the cathedral, the colossal structure that was his Empire was in danger of crashing down about his ears. Too many rivals’ hands had helped to build it. The Pope had laid the foundation stone, but Huss, Luther, Calvin, the Ultraquists, the Bohemian Brethren and others had been involved. Its pillars were unsteady, its massive roof too heavy and its services too controversial.
The Empire was a travesty of its original design. Its constituent materials clashed, its proportions were distorted and it rested on shifting sands. It was architecture without artistic merit or common purpose.
Rudolph quailed in its shadow. Having received absolution, he did not feel absolved. Having bared his soul, he had no sense of being cleansed. Prayers circled endlessly inside his febrile mind but they could find no way up to God. After an hour on his knees, an hour of pain, humility and penance, he was still unable to connect with his Maker.
The priest eventually walked over to him. Fearing the Emperor had either gone to sleep or been taken ill, he put a gentle hand on his shoulder. Words finally forced their way out of his tormented mind.
‘I know that I am dead and damned,’ confessed the Holy Roman Emperor. ‘I am a man possessed by the devil.’
***
‘No, no!’ he protested vehemently. ‘I refuse to believe it.’
‘At least, consider the possibility,’ said Nicholas.
‘There is no need. Caspar has been like a son to me.’
‘Sons have been known to rebel against their fathers.’
‘Not him. He is the epitome of loyalty.’
Doctor Talbot Royden was studying one of his books when the visitor descended on him and the heavy tome still lay open across his knees. Surprised to see Nicholas Bracewell for a second time, he was even more astonished by the proposition that had been put to him.
‘I would stake my life on Caspar Hilliard,’ he affirmed.
‘That is exactly what you have done.’
‘How do you mean, sir?’
‘Look where you have ended up,’ said Nicholas, gesturing at the cell. ‘Entombed down here. Is this not a kind of death?’
‘Worse than that.’
‘And who was responsible for your imprisonment?’
‘Emperor Rudolph.’
‘The blame is not entirely his. He could not have had you arrested without cause. And you told us what that cause was.’
‘We failed.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we ran short of time.’
‘Could there not be another reason, Doctor Royden?’
‘Another?’
‘Base metal into gold,’ said Nicholas. ‘You would not have promised the Emperor such a wonder unless you knew that it was within your compass. You had been conducting experiments for years.’
‘We had,’ admitted the other, ‘and we finally achieved success. There are twelve stages in the alchemical process. The first six are devoted to the making of the white stone. That involves calcination, dissolution, conjunction, putrefaction and forms of distillation I may not disclose.’
‘What of the other six stages?’
‘That is where science and magic go hand in hand.’
‘In what way?’
‘They are designed to turn the white into the red stone. The true philosophers’ stone, Master Bracewell. And we did it.’ He referred to his book. ‘It is all here. The two final stages of the process are the crucial ones. The augmentation of the elixir and the projection or transmutation of the base metal by casting the powder of the philosophers’ stone.’ His eyes glinted. ‘And we did it. Caspar and I actually did it.’
‘When?’
‘A month ago,’ said Royden, aflame with the memory. ‘We created the philosophers’ stone. It transformed heated mercury into gold. Only a minute amount, it is true. But it was a triumph. Caspar deserves his share of the credit for it.’
‘Should he then not also take his share of the blame?’
‘For what?’
‘Your failure.’
‘It would simply not come right somehow.’
‘Who devised the process?’
‘I did.’
‘Who was in charge of the work?’
‘I was!’ said Royden defensively.
‘Who heated the furnace?’
‘Caspar did.’
‘Who provided the materials?’
‘Caspar did.’
‘Who made notes of each of the twelve stages?’
There was a long pause. ‘Caspar did.’
Nicholas waited while the alchemist finally came to accept that his assistant might not have been as blindly loyal as he appeared. Instrumental in the successful experiment, Caspar had also occupied a key role in the failed one. Royden was so profoundly shaken that he could not even speak for a moment.
‘You have been betrayed, Doctor Royden,’ said Nicholas softly. ‘By the one person whom you would never suspect. The only one in a position to discredit his ma
ster.’
‘But why? Why? Caspar loved me.’
‘He loves something else more and that made him act with such calculation. He knew that the Emperor would turn on you if you failed and he made sure that you did. With what result? Caspar still has his liberty. You do not.’
Royden was perturbed. ‘He wanted me imprisoned?’
‘He contrived it.’
‘But I was his master!’
‘His true allegiance is to the Pope,’ insisted Nicholas. ‘Caspar Hilliard was set on you deliberately. Under the guise of being your assistant, he was able to divine your other activities. He is the one who intercepted your letters and identified your agents. It is at his feet that the deaths of your spies must be laid.’
‘So young and yet so callous?’
‘His task was to destroy you. That argues how effective you must have been here in Prague. Intelligence sent back to London by you led to the arrest of Catholic spies and no doubt saved Her Majesty from falling victim to a conspiracy. Doctor Talbot Royden, the alchemist, was ruined in order to render him useless as an intelligencer.’
Royden slumped back against the wall and the book slipped off his lap. The betrayal left him paralysed.
‘How did you guess?’ he croaked.
‘A number of things came together,’ explained Nicholas. ‘He offered to deliver any message I had for you. At first I thought him helpful, but he was only trying to relieve me of the documents I had brought. How did he know that I had them? Only Master Firethorn and I knew of their existence.’ He gritted his teeth. ‘We two and Mistress Hendrik.’
‘What else drew you to suspect Caspar?’
‘A remark he made about you. When I pressed him on the subject of your relationship with Doctor Mordrake, he grew evasive. He told me that he was your assistant and not your father-confessor. The phrase slipped out,’ said Nicholas. ‘I think we know why.’
‘Caspar is a covert Jesuit.’
‘Working on behalf of Rome. That was another clue. He told me that he had studied medicine at Padua.’
‘One of the finest universities for the subject.’
‘What else was he taught there?’
‘How to cheat a credulous fool like me,’ groaned Royden.
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