The Princess of Denmark

Chapter Ten

The murder threw the entire castle into turmoil. Guards were alerted, guests retreated quickly to their rooms, outer gates were locked and every inch of Kronborg was searched for interlopers. Bror Langberg took personal charge of the hunt for the killer. Outraged that the crime should cast such a shadow over the castle when there was a wedding ceremony in the offing, he insisted on a speedy arrest of the culprit. The whole atmosphere of the place suddenly changed dramatically. Instead of friendliness and cordiality, Westfield’s Men were met with coldness and suspicion. There was one important consolation. Langberg was hugely apologetic to their patron over the untimely death of Rolfe Harling. Since the body had been found in the casemates, he had Westfield’s Men moved out of there at once and installed them in a wooden hut hastily vacated by soldiers.

Everyone in the company was shocked by the murder — George Dart was still shaking uncontrollably — but few felt a sense of real bereavement. Harling had not endeared himself to the actors during the voyage. Dry and aloof, he had made no effort to befriend them and had spent most of his time on board apart from them. It was a point that Nicholas Bracewell made when he and Lawrence Firethorn discussed the matter with their patron in his spacious apartment.

‘He seemed to have no interest in us, my lord,’ said Nicholas.

‘No,’ agreed Lord Westfield, sobered by the sudden turn of events. ‘Rolfe was too high-minded to be a playgoer.’

‘Then why did he travel with a theatre troupe?’

‘He came as my adviser, Nicholas. Without him, I would never have met my new wife. Rolfe had many virtues. He could speak Danish and got to know Bror Langberg extremely well. It would have been foolish to leave him behind.’

‘Did he not tell me that he sometimes visited the Continent on government business?’ recalled Firethorn.

‘That is so. He was known in universities throughout Europe.’

‘What sort of work did he do?’

‘Rolfe was a kind of ambassador.’

‘How did you come to meet him, my lord?’ asked Nicholas.

‘He was recommended to me by a trusted friend.’

‘To what end?’

‘It was common knowledge that I wished to marry again,’ said the patron, ‘but I was hindered by financial restraints. My brother’s death — God rest his soul — lifted the burden of debt from me and so it was possible for me to institute a search.’

‘I’d not have thought it necessary,’ said Firethorn. ‘Whenever you attend a play at the Queen’s Head, you are always accompanied by the most charming young ladies. Your circle is very wide. Could you not select from that, my lord?’

‘You, of all people, should not need to ask that, Lawrence.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because,’ said Lord Westfield, lifting an eyebrow, ‘there is all the difference in the world between a wife and a female friend.’

Firethorn grinned. ‘I can vouch for that!’

‘One occupies a permanent place in a man’s life while the other is a temporary, if agreeable, distraction. I would never have considered using Rolfe Harling to search for a passing acquaintance. He would not have known where to look. Where such ladies are concerned, Rolfe had a touching innocence.’

‘Yet you trusted him to find a wife,’ said Nicholas.

‘Only because his travels took him to a number of different countries. And he was supremely discreet.’

‘Why do you think anyone would want to kill him?’

‘I have no idea, Nicholas.’

‘Had he fallen out with someone inside the castle?’

‘Not as far as I know. Besides,’ said Lord Westfield, ‘we have no proof that the villain actually resides within Kronborg.’

‘I think that we do, my lord. Only someone familiar with the castle would have known the ideal place for a dead body. There are all kinds of pungent smells in the casemates. The stink of a corpse might not have been noticed for days. It was only by sheer luck,’ Nicholas pointed out, ‘that George Dart stumbled on the storage bay.’

‘It gave him a dreadful fright, Nick, ‘said Firethorn.

‘Yet we must all be grateful to him.’

‘Why?’

‘For finding Master Harling so soon after the murder. I was able to inspect the corpse before it was carried away. The body was still warm and the blood had not dried. One thing is fairly certain.’

‘What’s that?’

‘His killer is still inside the castle.’

‘Dear God!’ cried Lord Westfield, backing away with a hand to his throat. ‘Does that mean the rest of us are in danger as well?’

‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘Rolfe Harling was singled out for a purpose and we need to find out exactly what that purpose was. That’s why I’d like to learn more about the man. You told me yesterday that he was a chess player, my lord.’

‘True — he was a master of the game.’

‘I never have the patience to play it,’ said Firethorn.

‘Rolfe did,’ said Lord Westfield with admiration. ‘He had the patience of a saint. He never moved a piece until he had considered all of the possible consequences. The fellow had a gift.’

‘Calm down,’ said Hansi Askgaard, putting a comforting arm around her sister. ‘There’s no need to fret like this.’

‘But the man was murdered, Hansi.’

‘So I understand.’

‘Right here in the castle.’

‘Uncle Bror will have the killer caught and executed.’

‘That’s not the point.’

‘Then what is?’

‘It’s an omen,’ said Sigbrit Olsen, eyes widening. ‘Rolfe Harling was the man who arranged the match. His death is a warning sign.’

‘You are being silly.’

‘It is, Hansi. There’s no other way of looking at it. We are only days away from the wedding and this happens. It must be a portent.’

‘It’s an unfortunate coincidence, that’s all.’

Like everyone else in the castle, Sigbrit had been horrified to hear of the murder and she had hurried back to her apartment and locked herself in. When word had reached Hansi, she had come at once to be with her sister but she was finding it very difficult to soothe her. She eased Sigbrit down into a chair.

‘Try to put it out of your mind,’ Hansi advised.

‘How can I?’

‘By thinking of something else.’

‘This has ruined everything.’

‘Only because you are letting it do so. An hour ago, you were in the middle of a happy gathering, meeting your future husband for the first time.’

‘I’d almost forgotten that,’ said Sigbrit, slightly dazed.

‘But it must have been a wonderful experience for you.’

‘Well, yes … I suppose that it was.’

‘You might sound a little more pleased,’ scolded Hansi gently. ‘I know that I would have been in your place. What was Lord Westfield like?’

Sigbrit shrugged. ‘He was … very pleasant.’

‘That tells me nothing. Everyone makes an effort to be pleasant on first acquaintance. What about his appearance? Is he handsome or ugly? Is he fair or dark? How was he attired? Tell me about his manner and his deportment. Describe him.’

‘He was somewhat older than I expected.’

‘But not ridiculously so.’

‘No, no,’ said Sigbrit. ‘Lord Westfield was spirited enough, I grant him that, though he was a little unsteady on his feet at first.’

‘Overwhelmed by the importance of the occasion.’

‘I know that I was, Hansi. I was trembling all over.’

‘That’s only to be expected.’

‘He dresses well and has a distinct nobility about him.’

‘What of his features?’

‘Tolerable.’

‘No more than that?’

‘I did not really have chance to see,’ explained Sigbrit. ‘As soon as we’d been introduced, I was set on by all the ladies there. They were so inquisitive. For most of the evening, Lord Westfield and I were yards apart.’

‘That will soon change when you are married.’

‘I wonder.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Hansi, hearing the doubt in her sister’s voice. ‘You can surely not be having second thoughts.’

Sigbrit looked uncertain. Getting to her feet, she paced the room and as she tried to weigh everything in the balance. Hansi watched her carefully, waiting in silence until her sister had reached a decision. Eventually, Sigbrit came to a halt.

‘I think that the wedding will have to be postponed.’

‘But that’s out of the question,’ said Hansi. ‘Everything has been arranged. King Christian will be arriving in a few days. What will he say when you tell him there’s a delay?’

‘He will understand. The murder has altered everything.’

‘It’s a tragedy, I agree, and it could not have come at a worse moment. But it should not be allowed to affect the wedding, Sigbrit. After all, Master Harling was to play no part in the ceremony.’

‘He helped to bring Lord Westfield and me together. For that reason alone, he had to be there, Hansi. It was his right. That’s why his death is so troubling. It fills me with foreboding.’

‘Then you must wrestle with such feelings.’

‘How can I?’

‘You wish to be the new Lady Westfield, do you not?’

Sigbrit hesitated. ‘I think so.’

‘It’s too late to change your mind now,’ said Hansi, taking her hand. ‘This business has upset you — it’s upset us all — but it has no bearing on the wedding.’

‘I fear that it has. Someone is trying to stop this marriage.’

‘Then they must not be allowed to do so.’

‘What if they should strike again?’

Hansi was firm. ‘There is no risk whatsoever of that.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I have faith in Uncle Bror,’ said Hansi. ‘He will know exactly what to do. He’ll track down the killer immediately and have the villain hanged. Do as I do in a crisis, Sigbrit.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘Rely on Uncle Bror.’

Bror Langberg shook him warmly by the hand and waved him to a chair before sitting on the other side of the table. Nicholas Bracewell was glad of the friendly reception. Langberg was the person in the castle who could help him most. They met in his apartment.

‘Rolfe told me a lot about you,’ said Langberg approvingly.

‘Really? We hardly ever spoke.’

‘He talked of you to Lord Westfield. In fact, they discussed several members of the company. Rolfe was cautious. He liked to know as much as he could about people with whom he was dealing.’

‘While giving away very little about himself.’

‘Quite so,’ said Langberg. ‘We think of reserve as an English failing but he turned it to advantage. He hid behind it so that he could study his fellow men and he was a perceptive judge. That’s why he spoke so well of you, Master Bracewell.’

Nicholas was sceptical. ‘I find it hard to believe.’

‘Oh, he did not do so out of affection. Rolfe could never bring himself to like you. But that’s irrelevant. What he observed was your value to the company. When your ship was attacked, it was you who held the others together.’

‘Only because I had more experience than they.’

‘Considerably more experience. Your pedigree is enviable. You sailed around the world with Drake, I gather.’

‘That was a long time ago.’

‘The voyage was an inspiration to sailors everywhere.’

‘Were you one yourself, Master Langberg?’

‘I’m Danish,’ said the other with a grin. ‘In a country like ours, made up of small islands, we are all sailors. However,’ he went on, becoming serious. ‘We are not here to talk about that.’

‘No,’ said Nicholas, ‘we both want the same thing and that’s the early arrest of the man who stabbed Master Harling to death. I’m hoping that we may be able to help each other.’

‘So am I. Feel free to ask anything you wish.’

‘When was he last seen alive?’

‘Earlier this evening,’ replied Langberg. ‘I saw him through my window, strolling around the courtyard.’

‘Alone?’

‘Completely. He was not given to idle chatter with strangers.’

‘Or with anyone else,’ said Nicholas.

‘He was a scholar. He liked his own company.’

‘For that reason,’ suggested Nicholas, ‘it’s difficult to see why anyone should wish to kill him. He made extremely few friends but, by the same token, he made few enemies. I wonder if he found two of them in this very castle.’

‘Two?’

‘If my guess is correct.’

‘Go on, please.’

‘Master Harling would never have gone willingly into the casemates. Why should he? It’s cold and dark down there. I believe that he was killed elsewhere then carried down to that storage bay. It would have taken two men to get him there.’

Langberg was impressed. ‘I never thought of that,’ he said. ‘I assumed that he had been enticed down there before being attacked. On reflection, I admit, it’s difficult to see what possible enticement could have been used.’

‘I’d make another guess, sir.’

‘Well?’

‘The killer and his confederate are employed here in the castle. They not only knew where to hide the body, they were aware of the exact places in the casements where Westfield’s Men and where some of your soldiers were housed.’

‘That’s true. Rolfe was discovered well away from both. Nobody would have cause to go to anywhere near the bay where the body was left. Lord Westfield was right about you, my friend,’ said Langberg with a smile. ‘He told me that you had a keen brain. You’ve dealt with murder before, I hear.’

‘Far too often.’

‘Well, you’ll not be involved in the search for the killer this time. He and his accomplice must still be inside the castle. I’ll turn the place inside out before I find them.’

‘What about tomorrow, Master Langberg?’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘We are due to perform in the town,’ said Nicholas.

‘Then let the performance go ahead.’

‘You have no objection?’

‘None at all,’ said Langberg. ‘I’ll not let this crime interfere with your work. In fact, I’ll do my best to keep the whole business within the walls of Kronborg. Entertain the town and you’ll be helping us. You’ll be giving the impression that everything is as it should be here.’

‘Lawrence Firethorn will be delighted to hear that.’

‘Nothing must be affected by this, Master Bracewell. If someone is trying to disrupt the wedding or hamper your troupe, they will fail. We must be defiant.’

‘I agree, sir.’

Nicholas was reassured. He was also grateful for the readiness shown by the other to discuss the murder with him. Bror Langberg was a statesman who had the ear of the young king. Nicholas, on the other hand, was only a hired man with a foreign theatre company yet his opinions were treated with respect. Langberg leant forward.

‘Why do you think that anyone would want Rolfe Harling dead?’

‘I have no idea,’ said Nicholas, concealing the vague suspicions at the back of his mind. ‘Do you, sir?’

‘Yes. I believe he was killed for his money.’

‘Money?’

‘He must have had a substantial amount,’ Langberg went on, ‘and, being Rolfe, he would always carry it about his person. I know that your patron had rewarded him handsomely for his services and that he intended to travel extensively in Germany after the wedding, so he would need funds to do that. He would have been very much richer than the average scholar,’ he commented. ‘No wonder his purse was missing when we searched the body.’

‘What of his room?’

‘I had that locked as soon as word of the murder reached me.’

‘Might he not have concealed his money in there?’

‘It’s unlikely,’ said Langberg, rising to his feet, ‘but we can easily find out. Let’s search the room this instant.’

Nicholas was pleased to go with him. Desperate to learn more about Harling, he was glad of the opportunity to go through the man’s effects. Striding along with his gown brushing the floor, Langberg led him along a series of corridors before turning a corner. After a dozen paces or more, he stopped outside a room and unlocked it with a key on the ring that dangled from his belt. A single candle burnt on the table. Snatching it up, Langberg used it to light all the other candles. Small and compact, the room was also clean and comfortable. They began a methodical search.

Rolfe Harling had travelled with relatively little luggage. Since he was less interested in clothing than in scholarship, he had far more books than anything else. Nicholas leafed through them and noted their titles. Langberg, meanwhile, scoured the room for hiding places but found none. Nor did he discover any cache of money. Nicholas was not looking for a purse. What he was after were documents that told him more about the murder victim, letters that might explain the reason for his visit to Germany or revealing papers of another kind. He searched everywhere without success. What he did uncover, hidden away beneath a shirt, was a chess set with large, beautifully carved ivory pieces. They were the most expensive items in his baggage.

It was Harling who eventually gave up the hunt.

‘His purse is not here,’ he decided. ‘Did you find anything?’

‘No,’ said Nicholas, shaking his head. ‘Nothing at all.’

Occupying the room of a servant had a severe disadvantage and Anne Hendrik was made rudely aware of it. In their search for the killer, the castle guards did not stand on ceremony when they reached the servants’ quarters. They simply barged into the rooms unannounced and looked in every nook and cranny. Even though she was a guest, Anne was told to stand in the corridor while her room was thoroughly searched and while — to her annoyance — one of the guards went through her wardrobe. Without explanation, they then moved on. It was only by speaking to one of the servants that Anne learnt about the murder.

She was stunned. Like the others, she had not found Rolfe Harling in any way likeable or forthcoming but she was still upset to hear of his death. Her compassion also went out to George Dart, who had had the misfortune to find the body. Knowing how sensitive and vulnerable he was, she could imagine the shock he had suffered. But her immediate sympathy was reserved for Nicholas Bracewell. If a killer was on the loose in the casemates, the book holder might be in danger. She had to reach him.

When the initial commotion had died down in the castle, therefore, she left her room and went downstairs to the courtyard. It was pitch dark but a series of torches in iron holders threw dazzling patterns across the stone. Shivering in the cold, she walked swiftly towards the steps that led to the casemates. Before she could descend them, however, a guard came out of the shadows to block her way. Though she could not translate the curt Danish command, she understood it perfectly when it was reinforced with a drawn sword and a hostile gesture.

Forbidden to enter the casemates, Anne withdrew at once. If Nicholas and the others were still down there, they were at least being protected. She began to retrace her steps. But this time, instead of climbing the main staircase, she elected to use the back stairs that she had been shown. It was a fortuitous decision. Though she had to grope her way up in the dark, she got to the top without difficulty. As she reached out for it, the door opened in front of her and a young woman in a hooded cloak came through it, holding a lighted candle. When she saw Anne, she gave her only a cursory look, clearly thinking her no more than a servant. Brushing past, she went down the steps.

Anne was bewildered. In that startling moment of recognition, she had beheld the beautiful face of Sigbrit Olsen. Eyes, nose, cheeks, chin, even the gloriously pale complexion were identical to those in the cherished portrait carried by Lord Westfield. The only difference was that, in real life, the woman was slightly older. Evidently, she had lost none of her charms. It was perplexing. Since Lord Westfield had called his new bride a princess of Denmark, and since she was palpably from aristocratic stock, Anne was bound to wonder why such a noble lady was furtively using the back stairs reserved for the servants.

Westfield’s Men set out from the castle the next morning with a mixture of relief and jubilation. They were at long last able to stage a play. With their carts loaded to capacity, they rumbled through the Dark Gate and into the sunshine beyond. They had not forgotten the fate of Rolfe Harling, and they spared him the tribute of a passing sigh, but their minds then turned to what lay ahead. Having been on tour many times, they were accustomed to performing in town squares though, usually, when it was rather warmer. But there was no carping. The actors had an opportunity to entertain a large audience and they were determined to create a memorable experience for them.

Nicholas Bracewell always supervised the erection of a stage, the hanging of curtains and the setting of scenery for the beginning of any play. As a rule, he and Thomas Skillen had a bevy of assistant stagekeepers to help them but George Dart was the only survivor and he could not cope alone. Most of the company therefore rolled up their sleeves and offered their services. The only exceptions were Lawrence Firethorn, too busy meeting the mayor, and Barnaby Gill, who spurned manual labour because it might damage his hands. When the makeshift stage had been set up, a tiring house was constructed behind it where the actors could change into their costumes and wait for their entrances. Predictably, it was Gill who had a criticism.

‘I refuse to change while a lady is present,’ he declared.

‘Anne is our tireman,’ said Nicholas. ‘We need someone to make repairs to our costumes and she has nimble fingers.’

‘That’s what Barnaby is afraid of,’ taunted Owen Elias. ‘There’s nothing he fears more when he takes his breeches down than a lady’s nimble fingers.’

‘Theatre is the sole preserve of men!’ maintained Gill.

‘Then find me one to look after the costumes,’ said Nicholas.

‘George Dart.’

‘He already has a dozen other tasks allotted to him.’

‘Oswald Megson.’

‘And so does he. Necessity compels us to break with tradition, Barnaby. We play Cupid’s Folly this afternoon. In the rough and tumble of the village scenes, costumes always get torn and buttons always get lost. Anne will be waiting in the tiring house to stitch and mend.’ He raised his voice. ‘Does anyone object to that?’

‘No!’ came the collective response.

‘It’s wrong,’ said Gill peevishly. ‘It’s against all custom.’

Elias cackled. ‘Seeing you half-naked in the presence of a woman is against all decency,’ he jested merrily, ‘but we’ll bear it for the sake of the company. Remember who we are, Barnaby — Westfield Men’s. We do not follow tradition — we create it.’

When Gill tried to argue on, several voices shouted him down.

Benches were set out in front of the stage and wooden screens were placed in rectangular shape to mark out the auditorium and keep out those who did not pay. The sea breeze was as stiff as ever but the buildings around the square deflected its bite and the sun provided a stark brightness that could easily be mistaken for warmth. Absorbed in their work, the actors did not even notice the weather. Cupid’s Folly was a staple comedy in their repertoire and, as such, it needed little rehearsal. Nevertheless, Firethorn insisted on taking his company through some of the longer scenes, giving them chance to lose themselves in their parts while, at the same time, arousing the curiosity of everyone who heard the raised voices behind the screens. The murder on the previous evening was soon a distant memory.

During a break in rehearsal, Firethorn spoke to the book holder.

‘I hope that we’ve chosen the right play for them, Nick.’

‘Cupid’s Folly is ideal,’ said Nicholas. ‘It’s bursting with life and laughter. But its main virtue is that it’s easy for a foreign audience to understand. It has plenty of dances and comic brawls that need no words to explain them.’

‘It’s also about a folly common to every nation.’

‘Yes, Lawrence. Love can make a fool of any man The Danes know well that Cupid’s arrows can sometimes go astray.’

‘They have an example of it right before their eyes.’

‘Do they?’

‘Of course,’ said Firethorn. ‘They merely have to look at what is happening at the castle. Lord Westfield is yet another victim of Cupid. Whenever he talks about his bride, he becomes a babbling imbecile.’

‘I excuse the lady of that. She is hardly marrying for love.’

‘Could any woman be enchanted by our patron?’

‘You are unkind.’

‘Any respectable woman, that is.’

‘I think that Lord Westfield has a battered charm.’

‘His charm lies largely in his title and — now that he has finally shaken off his creditors — in his purse. Why else would this princess of his even deign to look at him?’

‘Stranger marriages have been arranged.’

‘Most of them founder in the bedchamber.’

‘We must pray that that does not happen in this case.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it affects our survival,’ said Nicholas. ‘Our patron has no heir. With a young wife, he must surely hope to produce children so that one of them can inherit. Should he fail in that ambition, his greater age and constant resort to pleasure mean that he’ll certainly die before his wife. Our future would then rest with Lady Westfield.’

Firethorn pondered. ‘That’s a worrying thought, Nick,’ he said at length, ‘and one that had not even entered my head. Our patron will not live forever. Unless his widow takes his place, we’ll vanish into thin air like so much smoke from a fire.’

‘Barnaby would rebel against a female patron.’

‘He rebels against everything we do.’

‘But chiefly against our use of a woman in the company. If he baulks at Anne acting as our tireman for a few days, what will he say if we became, in time, Lady Westfield’s company?’

‘I hope we never find out,’ said Firethorn anxiously. ‘Thank you for raising the matter, Nick. There’s a moral here, I fancy. We need to carry favour with the new Lady Westfield.’

‘The best way to do that is to woo her with our art.’

‘The Princess of Denmark will achieve that end. Edmund has tailored it carefully to her particular taste and I will pluck at her heartstrings with my performance. The play is an act of seduction in itself. But I cannot say the same of this afternoon’s offering,’ he said, looking across at the stage. ‘Cupid’s Folly is fit only for rougher palates.’

‘I disagree. Some of its wit can be savoured by anyone.’

‘It’s not a dish dainty enough to set before a lady.’

‘Have no fear on that account, Lawrence. She will not be here.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Master Langberg told me as much,’ Nicholas confided. ‘It seems that Sigbrit Olsen was so disturbed by the murder at the castle, that she will not even stir from her room.’

‘But she cannot stay there forever,’ pleaded Lord Westfield, wringing his hands. ‘I need to see her.’

‘You saw her last night, my lord.’

‘Yes, Master Langberg, but that’s about all I did do. Sigbrit and I were kept apart in that crowd. I want some private conference.’

‘And so you shall,’ said Bror Langberg. ‘In time.’

‘Where is she now?’

‘Locked in her apartment, afraid to come out until the killer has been caught. Sigbrit sees what happened as an evil portent.’

‘It was simple misfortune, nothing more.’

‘But it occurred so close to the wedding.’

‘I’ll not let that steer us off course,’ said Lord Westfield, jaw thrust out with determination. ‘I grieve for poor Rolfe, of course, and I look for the early capture of the villain who stabbed him. But he would not want his demise to throw our wedding into jeopardy.’

‘That will not happen,’ vowed Langberg. ‘I give you my word.’

It was late morning and they were sitting in his apartment. Lord Westfield had come with a smile of anticipatory delight, certain that he would be now allowed to spend time alone with Sigbrit. Instead he was, like before, politely rebuffed. Murder in the casemates had put her tantalisingly out of his reach. He was more exasperated than ever. Langberg tried to appease him.

‘I’m glad that you came, my lord,’ he said, getting up from his chair. ‘As it happens, I have a gift for you.’

‘A gift?’

‘Strictly speaking, it is a form of bequest.’

‘From whom?’

‘Our mutual friend, Rolfe Harling, of course.’ He indicated the large oak chest in the corner. Set out on it was a board with the ivory chessmen in their rightful positions. ‘He told me how often you and he played during the voyage here.’

‘Only when the sea was calm enough. Most of the time, it was so rough that it tossed the pieces from the table.’ He crossed over to the chest. ‘This brings back so many memories. Chess defined the man. It’s a game of subtlety, intellect and quiet ruthlessness. Rolfe had all those qualities.’

‘He left other things as well — and you are welcome to have any of them — but I thought that this would be the most appropriate memento of him.’

‘It is, Master Langberg.’

‘As for his many books-’

‘No, no,’ said Lord Westfield, interrupting him. ‘I’m not inclined to reading. Keep those learned tomes of his or, better still, donate them to a university. Rolfe would have endorsed that.’

‘An excellent suggestion, my lord.’

‘What about his killer? Has any arrest been made?’

‘Not yet,’ replied Langberg. ‘We have had to widen the search outside the castle. One of your fellows, Nicholas Bracewell, made an astute observation.’

‘He’s the shrewdest man in the company.’

‘I can well believe it. He argued that Rolfe was killed elsewhere then carried down to the casemates to be hidden. It would have taken two men to get him there — the killer and his accomplice.’

‘So?’

‘Not long before the discovery was made, two individuals were seen leaving the castle yesterday evening. We know their names.’

‘Who were they?’

‘Two cooks recently employed here,’ said Langberg. ‘At least, that’s what the steward thought they were when he engaged the two men. It now appears as if they sought work in the castle so that they could lay in wait for Rolfe Harling.’

‘How did they know that he was coming?’

‘That’s what I long to find out, my lord, and I mean to do so. We’ve a dungeon in the casemates with some instruments of torture that can loosen any tongues.’ Langberg’s eyes blazed and his voice became a growl. ‘I’ll squeeze the truth out of them, whatever it takes. They robbed me of a good friend.’

‘And me.’

‘They also threw the castle into confusion only days before a wedding is due to take place. I’ll never forgive them for that. My niece should have been allowed to look forward to the event in peace and tranquillity. Instead of which,’ he went on angrily, ‘Sigbrit is cowering in her room like a frightened animal.’

‘Where are the villains now?’

‘Somewhere in the town, I suspect. A search has begun for them.’ He forced a smile. ‘I deeply regret all this, my lord. Pardon my rage. If you knew how much time I have spent on the arrangements here, you would understand it.’

‘I share it, Master Langberg.’

‘Let us think of cheerier things.’

His visitor grimaced. ‘I do not know of any.’

‘Then your memory is wondrously short. Westfield’s Men are to perform in the town this afternoon and I intend to be there. So will you, I daresay.’

‘No,’ said the other. ‘Cupid’s Folly is a diverting piece but I’m in no mood for pastoral comedy. Had I been able to take Sigbrit, it would have been a different matter. If she remains here, then so do I.’

‘As you wish, my lord.’ He turned to the chess set. ‘Shall I have this carried to your apartment?’

‘Please. It will help me to remember Rolfe. He loved the game so much that he sometimes played against himself. Imagine that.’

‘I can imagine it very easily.’

‘I never stood the slightest chance of defeating him. His mind was always several moves ahead.’

‘When you played together,’ said Langberg, picking up a white pawn to examine it, ‘which colour did Rolfe prefer?’

‘Oh, black,’ replied Lord Westfield. ‘He always chose black.’

Cupid’s Folly was an unqualified success. Its simplicity made it easily accessible to an audience that was largely ignorant of the English language and its broad comedy had an instant appeal. In the central role, Barnaby Gill was superb and it was to Lawrence Firethorn’s credit that he allowed his rival to reap such a harvest of applause. Pierced by Cupid’s arrow, Rigormortis, a doddering old man, fell in love with every woman he saw and yet, paradoxically, he spurned the one female who adored him. Three of the apprentices transformed themselves into pretty country wenches, pursued in turn by the love-struck Rigormortis. The fourth, John Tallis, relegated to the ranks of older women since his voice had broken, played the part of Ursula, the ugly, slothful termagant who conceived a fierce passion for the old man and, literally, chased him around the stage.

Gill’s comic gifts enlivened the whole afternoon and his jigs were greeted with a riot of laughter. The rest of the company also shone. Firethorn was Lord Hayfever, a frolicsome lord of the manor, forever sneezing when in the presence of women. Owen Elias was a lecherous priest whose attempted pounces on the wenches always ended in disaster, James Ingram and Frank Quilter were honest yokels who rescued the womenfolk from all the attacks on their virtue, and Edmund Hoode, a beacon of decency throughout, was the generous farmer who invited everyone to a feast at his home. It had fallen to Hoode to speak the Prologue that set the tone of the comedy.

Come, friends, and let us leave the city’s noise

To seek the quieter paths of country joys.

For verdant pastures more delight the eye

With cows and sheep and fallow deer hereby,

With horse and hound, pursuing to their lair,

The cunning fox or nimble-footed hare,

With merry maids and lusty lads most jolly

Who find their foolish fun in Cupid’s folly.

At the end of the play, the whole company took part in a dance around a maypole, an example of English rural tradition that the spectators found both hilarious yet endearing. Two hours of magic had taken place in the square at Elsinore. When it was over, there was an ovation that lasted for several minutes. Everyone on the benches rose to acclaim the troupe, nobody smacking their palms together with more zest than Bror Langberg and his wife, Johanna, captivated by the brilliance of the actors and delighted with an event that took attention away from the brutal murder at the castle.

Firethorn may have led out his actors to take their bows but it was Gill who deserved most of the praise and who lapped it up with unashamed selfishness. When the cheers began to fade and they withdrew reluctantly to the tiring house, the clown was at his most self-absorbed, still basking in the wonderful reception he had been given by the townspeople.

‘Well done, Barnaby!’ said Nicholas Bracewell. ‘I’ve never seen you play the part better. You were magnificent.’

‘I am always magnificent,’ returned Gill haughtily.

‘Yes,’ said Firethorn. ‘Magnificently good or magnificently bad. That’s your weakness, Barnaby. You have no middle way. You are either conquering hero or catastrophe.’

‘Whereas you occupy a lowly station between the two,’ came the immediate riposte. ‘You are rooted in mediocrity, Lawrence. Having no greatness yourself, you despise it in others. Well,’ said Gill with a lordly wave of the hand, ‘I can be magnanimous. Since you earned no compliments on stage this afternoon, I’ll spare you some of mine for I had far more than I need.’

‘Then perhaps you can spare a compliment for Anne as well,’ suggested Nicholas, ‘and couple it with an apology. Your gown was torn apart in that tavern brawl in the Second Act. Had it not been hastily sewn together again by Anne, you would have been dressed like a scarecrow.’

‘My performance did not depend on a well-sewn costume.’

‘But it was helped by Anne’s skill as a tireman.’

Gill was dismissive. ‘I know nothing of that.’

‘Then you should,’ said Elias, irritated by his disdain. ‘You are ready to accept gratitude from an audience but Rigormortis is seized with rigor mortis when you are asked to offer some yourself.’ There was a loud murmur of approval from the others. ‘Today, we witnessed an historic event. It’s the first time that a woman — a delightful one, at that — has helped Westfield’s Men to stage a play.’

‘I hope that it will be the last,’ said Gill.

‘Shame on you!’

‘Women have no rightful place in drama.’

‘Then why do you insist on behaving like one?’ said Firethorn spikily. ‘Everyone knows that this company consists of actors, apprentices, hired men — and an old woman named Barnaby Gill.’

Gill’s snarled protest was drowned out by mocking laughter.

Though the play had been a triumph, they now had to turn to the more mundane task of dismantling their stage and putting their scenery, properties and costumes back on the carts. Only then could they drift off to the White Hart to celebrate. During the bustle of activity, Gill was conspicuously absent and Firethorn was taken aside by the mayor and by Bror Langberg to receive thanks on behalf of his company. Everyone else worked with commitment. When the others had departed for the inn, Nicholas was left behind with Anne Hendrik. Embracing her warmly, he gave her a kiss of gratitude.

‘We could not have managed without you, Anne,’ he said.

‘You’ll have to do so when I leave on Sunday.’

‘No, no. We’ll keep you with us forever.’

‘Not if I cause such discontent,’ she said.

‘Barnaby is the only person who complained.’

‘One or two of the others felt uncomfortable about having me there. I could sense it. On the other hand,’ she went on happily, ‘I’d not have missed a chance like this. It was an education for me. I’ve seen dozens of plays on stage at the Queen’s Head but I had no idea that so much went on behind the scenes.’

‘That’s where the real work is done, Anne.’

‘Most of it by you, Nick. The actors would not know when to make their entrances had you not drawn up that guide for them and pinned it to the wall.’

‘I have to know each play scene by scene,’ he told her, ‘so that master list is for my benefit as much as theirs. And you were not the only student here. Both of us were educated today. You saw something of my work and I, yours.’

‘Oh, I do little enough with a needle these days.’

‘You did enough to save us this afternoon. Cupid’s Folly was all the better for having you here. The pity of it is that we did not have our patron in the audience with Sigbrit Olsen. But, according to Master Langberg, the lady is so distressed by what happened in the casemates yesterday that she is too frightened to leave her room.’

‘Is that what he said?’

‘Yes, Anne. I spoke with him before earlier.’

‘Then we have another oddity.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Yesterday evening,’ she replied, ‘well after the body had been found, I saw her descending the back stairs to the courtyard.’

Nicholas was taken aback. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Nobody could mistake a face like that, Nick.’

‘I know — I had a brief glimpse of it myself.’

‘If the lady were so alarmed by the murder, she’d have stayed behind a locked door. What was she doing on the stairs?’

‘I wish I knew, Anne. It’s more than odd — it’s very peculiar.’

‘Did her uncle know about it, I wonder?’

‘I doubt it,’ said Nicholas, ‘but it’s not our place to tell him about the incident. Elsinore castle is certainly full of mysteries and this is only the latest one. I hope we have no more to vex us.’ He looked around. ‘Our work is finished here, Anne. Would our tireman like to join the others?’

‘If you think I’ll be made welcome.’

‘You’ll be feted.’ They walked off in the direction of the White Hart. ‘They needed today,’ he said. ‘They needed something to take their minds off the murder of Rolfe Harling and remind them that they belong to a theatre company of rare distinction. Think of our setbacks. The Queen’s Head was burnt down, pirates attacked us in the North Sea, we were consigned to those gloomy casemates, and the man who arranged this marriage at our patron’s behest was murdered.’

‘Ill fortune from start to finish,’ she remarked.

‘At least, it has finished, Anne. The horror is finally over.’

‘Are you certain?’

‘I feel it in my bones,’ he said, slipping an arm around her, ‘and they are never wrong. Westfield’s Men have come through a time of trial. We are safe at last.’

An hour later, the Speedwell came in sight of her destination. Two of the passengers viewed the distant town with special interest. Josias Greet spat into the sea and gave a lopsided grin.

‘That’s Elsinore ahead of us, Ben.’

‘Yes,’ said Ryden, ‘and not before time.’

‘What do we do when we land?’

‘Kill him as soon as possible and get away from here.’