The Princess of Denmark

Chapter Eight

Margery Firethorn was not a woman to grieve over the absence of her husband and to sit brooding alone until his return. Because he was such a commanding presence, she missed him dreadfully and she missed the whole company as well. But she still had children to bring up, a house to run and a life to lead, and she did all three with the bustling energy that defined her. Margery also had another important function. She had been appointed as an emissary on behalf of Westfield’s Men. Knowing that they were in serious danger of losing their inn yard playhouse, Lawrence Firethorn had asked his wife to pay an occasional visit to the Queen’s Head to use her powers of persuasion on its egregious landlord.

It was a role that Margery had taken on once before and she had learnt a valuable lesson in the process. There was one sure way to influence Alexander Marwood and that was to win over the person who really made all the decisions. When she next visited Gracechurch Street market, therefore, Margery went out of her way to call in on Sybil Marwood.

‘Good day to you,’ she said cheerily.

‘What is good about it?’ asked Sybil, looking around a taproom that was virtually empty. ‘Our custom is pestilence dead.’

‘I am sorry to hear that.’

‘Your husband must take some of the blame.’

‘Lawrence did not start the fire.’

‘Someone involved with Westfield’s Men did.’

Margery remained cool. There was no point in arguing with Sybil Marwood, a fierce, resolute, dogmatic woman with a forbidding countenance and a hostile glare that could turn weaker vessels to stone. Plump and unlovely, she had devoted her middle years to a period of sustained regret over the follies of her younger days, chief among which was the disastrous marriage into which she believed she had been inveigled. Seeds of bitterness had been planted in her soul and they had produced a flourishing crop that grew inside her like a field of large ulcers. Closing one hooded eye, she peered at her visitor through the other.

‘Marriage is truly a veil of tears for women,’ she declared.

‘I have never found it so, Sybil,’ said Margery, hoping, by the familiar use of her Christian name, to move the conversation onto a more friendly level. ‘Never a day goes by where I realise how blessed I am in Lawrence. Being the wife of a famous actor brings with it certain disadvantages — I’m very much aware of them at this time — but they pale beside the many benefits of marital life.’

‘Benefits — ha!’

‘I see that our experience differs.’

‘Being married has turned me against all men.’

‘But it’s only through a man that we achieve full womanhood.’

‘Then I wish I’d remained a spinster.’

‘But think what you would have missed, Sybil.’

‘Nothing that I would not gladly spare.’

‘It was love that brought you and your husband together in the first place.’ Sybil curled a contemptuous lip. ‘Never forget that. And together, you produced a beautiful daughter. Do you not look at Rose and recall those first magical years of conjugal bliss?’

‘No, Mistress Firethorn,’ retorted the other woman. ‘I simply hope that Rose does not have to endure the misery, boredom and toil that comes with the title of wife. Men are little better than beasts.’

‘Some men, perhaps.’

‘All of the breed. A cruelty in nature shaped them for pleasure and us for pain. We are born to slavery.’

It was a strange comment from someone who dominated her husband so completely that she kept him in a state of gibbering servility, but Margery did not point this out. She found it easier to let Sybil rant on at length about the evils of the male sex, tossing in a nod of agreement now and again by way of encouragement. When the vehement tirade finally ended, Margery was able to return to the topic that had brought her to the Queen’s Head.

‘I was shocked to learn about the damage to your property.’

‘It has wrecked all our ambition.’

‘Not so,’ said Margery. ‘The thing that Lawrence most admires about you is your strength of character. You have had setbacks before and risen above them.’

‘Those setbacks were always caused by Westfield’s Men.’

‘Come, come — that’s too harsh.’

‘Harsh but true,’ said Sybil. ‘This is not the first fire they have inflicted upon us. And I’ve lost count of the number of times a play of theirs has provoked an affray in our yard.’

‘You must also have lost count of the money they bring in.’

‘No, they’ve swelled our profits, I grant them that.’

‘And they can do so again,’ said Margery with a disarming smile. ‘When they come home in triumph from Denmark, they’ll fill the Queen’s Head once more.’

‘They’ll not get the chance, Mistress Firethorn.’

‘But they must.’

‘Not while I’m landlord here,’ said a ghostly voice behind her. Margery turned to see Alexander Marwood standing there. ‘I give you my solemn word. Westfield’s Men are exiled.’ He glanced deferentially at his wife. ‘Am I right, Sybil?’

‘We are at one on this,’ she agreed.

‘But you are cutting your own throats,’ said Margery. ‘Keep the company out and you bid farewell to any hope of recovery. How can you rebuild the inn without the money that only Westfield’s Men will garner for you?’

Sybil was complacent. ‘There are other sources of money.’

‘A loan? Interest rates will be very high.’

‘I’m not talking about a loan.’

‘Then what — you have saved enough to pay for it all?’

‘No, no,’ said Marwood, aghast at the very thought, ‘we’ll not plunder our savings. What Sybil is talking about is a gift.’

‘A gift of money?’

‘Subject to certain conditions.’

‘One of which,’ said Sybil, reserving the right to administer the fatal thrust, ‘is that Westfield’s Men will never again perform here.’

Margery was shaken. ‘Can this be true?’

‘We’ve signed a contract to that effect.’

‘So the decision has legal force,’ said Marwood with a kind of morose gleefulness. ‘The company is banned forthwith by the terms of the contract. I rejoice in our good fortune.’

‘Rebuilding work begins on Monday.’

‘These are black tidings,’ said Margery, deeply upset. ‘I wish to see the Queen’s Head rise from the ashes, of course, but not at the expense of Westfield’s Men. I urge you both to think again. Tear up this contract before it commits you to a hideous mistake.’

Sybil folded her arms. ‘It’s too late for that.’

‘We’ve given our word to the gentleman,’ said her husband.

‘What gentleman?’ asked Margery, torn between anger and despair. ‘I see nothing gentlemanly in this. Westfield’s Men are the pride of London. They’ve entertained the whole city for many years with comedies, tragedies and histories. And is all this to end?’

‘It already has.’

‘Then it’s nothing short of treachery.’

‘It’s Westfield’s Men who are the traitors. They’ve betrayed us time and again. Their heads are now on the block.’

‘So do not look for sympathy from us,’ warned Sybil.

Margery was still dazed. ‘And a gentleman did this to us?’

‘A rich merchant from York — one Master Dunmow.’

‘Dunmow? That name strikes a chord for some reason.’

‘So it should,’ said Marwood, ‘for it’s engraved on our hearts. Will Dunmow was the young man burnt to death in the fire that began in his bedchamber. His father, Isaac, is our benefactor.’

‘Does he hate the company enough to destroy them?’

‘They killed his son.’

‘Your husband has seen the last of the Queen’s Head,’ said Sybil, keen to reinforce the point. ‘Westfield’s Men may be the toast of Denmark but, when they come back to London, they face destitution. They will have no home.’

The Cormorant battled its way through the North Sea. Days were long and arduous but they were not wasted. The actors did not merely help with the extensive repairs to the ship. They rehearsed The Princess of Denmark every morning and, under the direction of Nicholas Bracewell, they spent hours on the fight scenes that featured in the other plays they intended to perform. There was a double purpose behind this. Not only were the lively brawls and clever swordplay made to look more convincing on stage, Nicholas was also training the actors to defend themselves better in case they were attacked by another pirate vessel.

Everyone was delighted that they would first call at Elsinore, thereby shortening the voyage and sparing them visits to other ports. There was one exception and he argued with the captain on a regular basis. Rolfe Harling was distressed that they would not sail directly to Flushing. When he saw Nicholas talking to the captain that morning, he decided to raise the issue yet again.

‘I must protest most strongly, Captain Skrine,’ he said.

‘You have done so repeatedly, sir, but to no avail.’

‘Can nothing alter your mind?’

‘No,’ said Skrine bluntly. ‘We sail for Denmark.’

‘But your orders were to call at Flushing.’

‘Storm and pirates intervened, Master Harling.’

‘And the Spanish navy has to be considered,’ said Nicholas reasonably. ‘The Dutch are at war with Spain. Because we are their allies, the Dutch granted us Flushing — or Vlissingen — as a base for our soldiers.’

Harling was tetchy. ‘I know all this.’

‘What you seem to forget is that Spanish galleons — not filled with pirates this time — guard the eastern approach in order to stop our soldiers reaching land. Captain Skrine will be able to get to Flushing with greater ease if he sails south from Amsterdam with the protection of ships from the Dutch navy.’

‘Very true,’ said Skrine.

‘It’s too late to turn back now, Master Harling.’

‘This argument does not concern you.’

‘It concerns me very much,’ said Nicholas firmly. ‘We lost one of our actors in the skirmish with the pirates, and most of the others were injured. I’d sooner not expose them to more danger by tangling with the Spanish navy. Nor,’ he added with a nod in the direction of Lord Westfield, ‘would our patron. We’ll not be able to perform a play at his wedding if more of the company are killed or wounded.’

‘Why are you so eager to reach Flushing?’ asked the captain.

‘I have business there,’ said Harling.

‘It will have to wait.’

‘But it has a bearing on our visit to Elsinore.’

Nicholas was interested. ‘Go on, sir.’

‘I sent letters to Denmark, telling them of our plans. Not wishing any replies to go astray at sea, I asked for them to be sent overland to Flushing. They’ll be delivered to the Governor and held there until we arrive.’

‘Then you will have to delay reading them.’

‘But they may contain intelligence about our visit.’

‘We are expected, are we not?’

‘Of course,’ said Harling, ‘but we have no details. They would have been in the correspondence sent in my name. Without that, we do not know where we will stay and what is expected of us.’

‘That will soon become clear,’ said Skrine.

‘Forewarned is forearmed, captain.’

‘Nobody could have forewarned us about the pirates and there is no ship afloat that is completely forearmed against the North Sea. These are perilous waters, Master Harling. Be grateful that we will reach our destination in one piece.’

‘But you sail to the wrong port.’

Skrine bristled. ‘I’ll make that decision, sir.’

‘And I believe it to be a wise one,’ said Nicholas.

Rolfe Harling seethed with exasperation. Wanting to impose his authority, he was quite powerless to do so. Until that moment, he and Nicholas had always been on friendly terms but the situation had changed. In supporting the captain, Nicholas had incurred Harling’s dislike. It was he who was treated to a look of muted aggression before the other man flounced off across the deck.

‘What difference will a couple of letters make?’ said the captain.

‘They are clearly of significance to him,’ concluded Nicholas.

Skrine grinned. ‘Could they be written by a lady, then?’

‘I think not. Master Harling is more adept at finding a bride for someone else than seeking one out for himself. He has other reasons to rue the missing correspondence.’ Nicholas stroked his beard. ‘I wonder what they could be.’

Sigbrit Olsen was so surprised by the news that she let out an involuntary cry of alarm. Her delicate hands came up to her face.

‘They are here already?’ she exclaimed in disbelief. ‘You told me not to expect them for days.’

‘I was wrong,’ said Bror Langberg, ‘and delighted to be so. I’ve sent men down to the harbour to greet them.’

‘How did they get here so early?’

‘I’ll make a point of asking them.’

‘And are they coming to the castle?’

‘Where else, Sigbrit? You cannot invite Lord Westfield to sail all this way in order to be lodged at an inn. He will receive the honour that is due to him.’

They were in her apartment, a room on the second floor that overlooked the sound. Crossing to the window, Sigbrit surveyed the harbour below and saw that a merchant ship had dropped anchor. Passengers were being rowed towards the quay in a boat. They were too far away to be anything more than a series of tiny figures but she knew that somewhere among them was her future husband.

‘I am not ready, Uncle Bror,’ she said anxiously.

‘I will help you.’

‘Where is Hansi? I need her with me.’

‘Your sister is on her way here, Sigbrit.’

‘I cannot do this without Hansi,’ wailed the other.

‘She will arrive this evening at the latest. Now come away from that window,’ he went on, guiding her back into the room. ‘If the sight distresses you, do not look at it.’

‘I will not have to meet Lord Westfield, will I?’

‘Not today, Sigbrit.’

‘But he will ask where I am.’

‘Leave me to deal with him. All that you must do is to calm down and compose yourself. An important event is about to take place in your life and you must revel in it.’

‘How can I when I have so many worries?’

‘About what, child?’

‘About him — about myself — about everything.’

‘Away with these silly thoughts,’ he said, enfolding her in his arms. ‘I am only doing what your parents would have done — seeking your happiness. Since you will not find it here in Denmark, you must look elsewhere. That’s why I sought an English husband for you.’

‘I realise that, Uncle.’

‘And I took the utmost care when I chose one.’

‘You are meticulous in everything you do.’

‘Then no more of this foolish anxiety,’ he said, standing back to appraise her. ‘In a month’s time, you will be thanking me for what I did on your behalf. Lord Westfield will make a fine husband.’

‘Hansi thinks that he is too old.’

‘Your sister is not marrying him.’

‘She believes I should have someone nearer my own age.’

‘A mature man and a young woman make an ideal match,’ he argued. ‘Look at us, for instance. Has your Aunt Johanna ever complained that I am too old?’

‘No, Uncle.’

‘Yet we are separated by twenty years — almost as much as you and your future husband. Marriages are built on love and trust. Those are the only qualities that matter.’

Sigbrit nodded then drifted back to the window. The boat had reached the quay now and the passengers were scrambling out. A coach was arriving to pick up Lord Westfield. Large carts had also been sent down from the castle to collect the actors and their baggage. It was only a question of time before she sailed away from her native land with these foreigners. Her concern was balanced by her curiosity.

‘What sort of man is he, Uncle?’ she said.

‘Lord Westfield? He’s a handsome, vigorous, intelligent person. He’s close to the Queen and has influence at court. In every way, he’s a man of substance.’

‘But you have never actually met him.’

‘No,’ he conceded, ‘but I had detailed reports from Rolfe Harling, the man empowered to make the match on his behalf. Master Harling is even more scrupulous about details than I am.’

‘Did he tell you why Lord Westfield wishes to marry?’

‘He has now recovered from the death of his second wife and feels ready to start a new life with someone else.’

‘How did she die?’

‘In childbirth. Mother and baby were lost.’

‘How terrible! Has it made him embittered?’

‘No, Sigbrit, he accepts the vicissitudes of fate without complaint. You must do the same.’

‘Yes,’ she said to herself.

‘Lord Westfield has been greatly helped, of course.’

‘By whom?’

‘His theatre company,’ said Langberg. ‘They have carried him through many sad events in his private life. The fact that he lent his name to them should tell you much about the man. He is fond of all the arts and is, according to Master Harling, of mirthful disposition.’

‘Then he will be disappointed in me.’

‘Not so.’

‘I am not inclined to mirth, Uncle.’

‘You have a serious mind — he will appreciate that.’

‘Will he?’

‘He’ll admire all your virtues, Sigbrit.’

She turned to face him again and conjured up a brave smile. But it did not mask the swirling fears and uncertainties that lay beneath. He kissed her tenderly on the forehead.

‘Have faith in your uncle,’ he whispered. ‘All will be well.’

Kronborg was at once impressive and daunting. Occupying a strategic position on a spit of land that jutted out into the sea, it guarded the straits at their narrowest point. As they stood on the quay, Westfield’s Men marvelled at its size, its prominence and its cold magnificence. Tall earth ramparts surrounded the castle, strengthening its defences and able to withstand the heaviest cannon fire. The fortress itself consisted of a high curtain-wall, square-built on a foundation of granite fieldstone. Strong bastions had been raised at the four corners so that enemies could be shot at from a variety of angles. To the actors who viewed it from below, Kronborg looked impregnable.

‘It will be a big change from the Queen’s Head,’ said Edmund Hoode with a shiver, ‘but I hope that we perform indoors. It’s so cold here.’

‘You’ll feel better when you’re out of this wind,’ said Nicholas. ‘They’ll provide something to warm us up at the castle.’

Owen Elias grinned hopefully. ‘Women?’

‘Food and fires, Owen.’

‘But they have Danish beauties here as well, surely?’

‘Take a vow of celibacy,’ advised Hoode. ‘After the beating you took in London, I would have thought you’d mend your ways.’

‘Never, Edmund. The only thing I wish to mend is this body of mine. It may be needed before long.’

‘It will be,’ said Nicholas. ‘On stage in a play.’

A second boat pulled into the quay and Nicholas broke off to supervise the unloading of the remainder of their baggage. Scenery, costumes and properties were heaved onto one of the waiting carts. Everyone lent a willing hand. The coach had already set off for the castle, leaving a frothing Barnaby Gill in its wake. He stalked angrily across to Nicholas.

‘This is shameful!’ he protested.

‘What is?’

‘There was no room in the coach for me.’

‘Then you’ll have to travel with us in the cart,’ said Nicholas. ‘It is so with the other sharers — Edmund and Owen among them.’

‘You know what I am talking about.’

Nicholas was jabbed in the chest by a stubby finger. As well as their patron, the coach had contained Lawrence Firethorn, Rolfe Harling and Anne Hendrik. The fact that he had been omitted in favour of a woman was seen by Gill as a stinging insult.

‘She had no right to be there,’ he said.

‘Anne was invited into the coach by Lord Westfield.’

‘In place of me — it’s unpardonable.’

‘I disagree,’ said Nicholas.

‘She is not even part of the company.’

‘Anne proved her worth on the Cormorant. She saved lives by her prompt treatment of the wounded, and she nursed several of the actors through their injuries. You were not aware of this, Barnaby,’ he went on, ‘but it was Anne who rescued you when you were knocked unconscious. A little gratitude is in order.’

‘Well, it will not come from me,’ said Gill sourly. ‘I do not deny the commendable work that she did on board the ship but she has no place among us now that we have landed.’

Nicholas sounded a warning note. ‘Anne Hendrik is here as my friend,’ he said, ‘so I’ll hear no disparagement of her. Besides, she is eager to help us. We lost Harold Stoddard,’ he reminded Gill, ‘and had to bury him in a watery grave. Since he was once apprenticed to a tailor, Harold would have been both actor and tireman. While she is with us, Anne will look after our costumes instead, well-fitted for the task by her trade as a hat-maker.’

‘She’s a woman, Nicholas — she does not belong.’

‘Nobody else has complained.’

‘Nobody else was ousted unfairly from that coach.’

‘Lord Westfield made that decision so you must take up the matter with him. Do not blame Anne. And before you claim that she does not belong with us,’ said Nicholas, ‘consider this. Anne Hendrik speaks Dutch and German, two languages that have more affinity with Danish than the one we use. She is our interpreter.’

‘That is not how I would describe her.’

‘Then correct me, if you dare.’

Nicholas was issuing a direct challenge. Towering over Gill, he fixed his gaze onto the actor and waited for a response. None came. After looking at the book holder’s muscular frame, Gill backed away. Muttering under his breath, he went across to the first of the carts and clambered aboard. Edmund Hoode had witnessed the heated exchange from a distance. He came over.

‘Is Barnaby being argumentative?’ he asked.

‘He knows no other way, Edmund.’

‘Who does he rail against this time?’

‘Anne,’ said Nicholas. ‘He feels that she took his place in the coach and that offended his self-importance.’

‘After the way she helped us at sea,’ said Hoode, holding up a bandaged arm, ‘she deserves a coach of her own. Anne was surgeon and mother to us all on board the Cormorant.’

‘Lord Westfield recognises that.’

‘Then she wrought a small miracle.’

‘Miracle?’

‘Yes, Nick. When he stepped aboard the ship, our beloved patron could think of only one woman and that was his future wife. His princess of Denmark holds him in thrall. For Anne to capture his attention for even a moment speaks volumes in her favour. Hold on to her,’ he said with a confiding smile. ‘Anne Hendrik is a princess in her own right.’

‘When may I meet the lovely Sigbrit?’ said Lord Westfield impatiently.

‘In due course,’ replied Bror Langberg.

‘This afternoon — this evening?’

‘Tomorrow, perhaps.’

‘Why the delay?’ asked the other. ‘I’ve sailed hundreds of miles to claim her as my wife yet she keeps me waiting.’

‘Not my design, my lord. The truth is that Sigbrit is indisposed. It is nothing serious,’ Langberg went on. ‘She has been troubled by a slight chill, that is all. She merely wishes to be at her best for you.’

‘I yearn for the moment when I see her.’

Lord Westfield and Rolfe Harling had been conducted to the apartment used by the other man. With its high ceiling and generous proportions, it gave an impression of space and comfort. The fire that crackled in the grate illumined the intricate tapestries that hung on the walls. After spending so long at sea, the visitors were delighted to be in such restful surroundings again. Bror Langberg had given them a cordial welcome and displayed his excellent command of English. He turned an enquiring eye on Harling.

‘You came earlier than we thought,’ he said.

‘That was the captain’s doing,’ explained Harling with a frown. ‘We were driven off course by a storm and harried by pirates. Against my express wishes, Captain Skrine decided that Elsinore would be our first port of call.’

‘Oh,’ said Langberg, discomfited by the news. ‘So you did not stop at Vlissingen on the way?’

‘Alas, no.’

‘Then you did not receive the letters I sent for you.’

‘Rolfe can pick them up on the way back,’ said Lord Westfield.

‘It will be too late then, my lord.’

‘Why — what does the correspondence contain?’

‘Details of the arrangements we made for your visit,’ said Langberg easily. ‘Your early arrival means that we have been caught unawares but no matter for that. We are delighted that you got here.’

‘So are we, Bror,’ said Harling.

‘And so, I trust, is your niece,’ added Lord Westfield.

Langberg beamed at him. ‘Sigbrit is thrilled.’

‘Convey my warmest regards to her, Master Langberg.’

‘I will, my lord.’

‘Where will we stay?’

‘Apartments have been reserved for you and for a few of the leading actors,’ said the Dane hospitably, ‘and we will, of course, find room for the lady who arrived with you. However, Kronborg is rather full at the moment so the rest of your company will have to endure meaner accommodation.’

‘They are used to that,’ said Lord Westfield. ‘When they go on tour, they’ve been known to sleep under a hedge or in a barn. They’ve strong bodies and stout hearts, as Rolfe here will confirm.’

‘Yes,’ said Harling, ‘they acquitted themselves well when we were under attack. Three of them even manned a cannon.’

Langberg chuckled. ‘They’ll not need to do that here.’

‘Do you keep a large garrison at the castle?’

‘Large enough, Rolfe. But you must both be tired after your long voyage,’ he continued, crossing to open the door. ‘I’ll have someone show you to your apartments.’

‘Thank you,’ said Lord Westfield.

‘We will see you later, my lord.’

‘Do not forget to pass on my best wishes to Sigbrit.’

‘It will be done immediately.’

Langberg shepherded him gently out of the room and exchanged farewells with him. A servant led the prospective bridegroom away. Rolfe Harling did not move. He wanted a private conversation with their host. Closing the door, Langberg swung round with a dark scowl.

‘You did not reach Vlissingen?’ he said. ‘That is unfortunate.’

‘I did all that I could to make the captain change his mind.’

‘My letters were sent over a week ago.’

‘It pains me that I never got to read them.’

‘What pains me, Rolfe, is that someone else might do so.’

‘The Governor will not open private correspondence.’

‘He might if it is left there indefinitely.’

‘Calm down, Bror,’ said Harling. ‘I’ll collect it as soon as I can.’

‘The issues I discuss will have gone cool by then. This is very annoying — and worrying.’ He made an effort to collect himself. ‘But let us turn our minds to the wedding. Lord Westfield is content?’

‘He could not be happier.’

‘And he has no qualms about the marriage service? We are Lutherans here. Sigbrit will not forego her religion.’

‘Nor will she be asked to, Bror. Lord Westfield is a tolerant man. He’ll indulge his wife in this matter as in any other.’ Harling smiled. ‘He is so spellbound by her that he would agree to marry her almost anywhere, whatever her religion happened to be.’

‘That is music to my ear.’

‘What of the lady herself? Is she ready?’

There was a pause. ‘As ready as she’ll ever be.’

‘You sound a trifle uncertain.’

‘Not at all. Sigbrit is overjoyed with the situation.’

‘I am sorry to hear that she is unwell.’

‘A temporary problem,’ said Langberg, flapping both hands. ‘Her doctor assures me that she will be fit and well by tomorrow. Do not have any qualms on her account. Her young life is about to undergo some big changes. Sigbrit is fitting her mind to the future.’

Seated in the window, Sigbrit Olsen was lost in thought. She knew that she should be grateful to her Uncle Bror for the care he took of her, but she still could not bring herself to look with any enthusiasm on the marriage that he had arranged for her. She had lost her first husband in a hunting accident and had wept for a month afterwards. Sigbrit felt that it was impossible to recapture the love and respect that she had shared with him. The notion of going to England was an enticing one but not if she were to be kept there in perpetuity. She did not wish to cut herself off from her friends and fellow countrymen forever. Nothing could compensate for that.

She was too preoccupied to hear the door open and shut behind her. It was only when she felt a soft hand on her shoulder that she realised she had a visitor. Looking up with a start, she saw that it was her Aunt Johanna.

‘Did I give you a fright?’ said the older woman solicitously.

‘My mind was miles away.’

‘I think that it should return to the present now. Lord Westfield has arrived and brought his actors with him.’

Sigbrit leapt up. ‘You’ve seen him, Aunt Johanna?’

‘I had a brief glimpse.’

‘What is he like?’

‘He’s a little shorter than I imagined he would be,’ replied the other, ‘and rather more solid in the body. But that’s to be expected in a man of his age. He looks very personable, that I can tell you.’

‘How did he bear himself?’

‘Very well, considering the trials they have been through.’

‘Trials?’

‘A voyage across the North Sea is always hazardous.’

‘And it’s one that I am doomed to make,’ said Sigbrit gloomily.

Johanna Langberg held her in an affectionate embrace for a few seconds and gave her a reassuring kiss. Sigbrit’s aunt was a shapely woman in her thirties with a beauty that had been enhanced with the passage of years. Wife, mother and devoted friend, she had a serenity about her that her niece had always envied. In times of stress, Sigbrit had drawn great strength from her Aunt Johanna.

‘Has he asked to see me?’ she asked.

‘I’m sure that he has,’ replied Johanna. ‘What bridegroom would not wish to see his future wife at the earliest opportunity? But your Uncle Bror had told Lord Westfield that he must wait.’

‘On what grounds?’

‘He gave out that you were indisposed.’

‘That is not so far from the truth.’

‘Come now, Sigbrit. It’s time to cast off this sombre mood. A member of the English nobility has gone to immense trouble so that you may be married in the place where you were born. Anybody else in your position would be touched by the sacrifices he has made.’

‘I am, Aunt Johanna — touched and pleased.’

‘Then why this sorrowful face?’

‘That is what hurts me most — I do not know.’

‘Let me tell you something,’ said the aunt. ‘I was only eighteen when I married your uncle and I had these feelings of unease as well. As soon as I became his wife, however, they disappeared as if they had never been there. They were all fantasies.’

‘My case is different, I think.’

‘Is it?’

‘I was married before and I did not have the suspicion of a doubt when I went to the altar with Ingmar. I could not wait to share my life with him. Now, I feel myself holding back.’

‘You must conquer that impulse, Sigbrit.’

‘I have tried.’

‘Lord Westfield will expect readiness. It’s his entitlement.’

‘I know.’ She wrung her hands. ‘You and Uncle Bror have been so kind and patient with me, Aunt Johanna. I do not want to let you down. But the person I most want to see right now is my sister.’

‘That’s the other news I bring you.’

‘Hansi is here?’

‘The ship has just been sighted.’

‘At last,’ cried Sigbrit. ‘Hansi will make all the difference.’

‘That’s why we sent to Copenhagen for her. Bid your fears adieu,’ said Johanna confidently. ‘Your sister is coming to help you. Hansi will know exactly what to do.’

Westfield’s Men were disappointed. Having admired the castle from afar, they had watched it grow ever bigger and more splendid as they were driven towards it in their carts. When they entered the Dark Gate, the stone portal that fronted Kronborg Slot, they went through into a forecourt to be confronted by four smaller gates, each surrounded by elaborate stonework. They then made their way through one of the gates into the main courtyard and blinked in astonishment. Rows of tall windows surrounded them on four sides, each façade topped by gables and pinnacles, and decorated by master stonemasons. Towers increased the feeling of tremendous height. Facing them at the eastern end of the south wing was the chapel, complete with Gothic windows and a striking portal around which statues of Moses, Solomon and King David had been set. In the centre of the courtyard was a superb fountain with an intricate design.

It was a majestic fortress and they felt privileged to be invited into it. When they saw where they would be sleeping, however, they changed their minds at once. Lawrence Firethorn, Barnaby Gill and Edmund Hoode had been given apartments but everyone else was taken down a flight of stone steps into the cellars. The smell of beer and the stink of salted fish told them that they were not the only inhabitants. Stretching under the castle, the casements were dark, dank and unwelcoming. With the only light coming from blazing torches, Westfield’s Men were expected to sleep on straw mattresses in a smoke-filled cavern.

Owen Elias was the first to moan to Nicholas Bracewell.

‘It’s like a labyrinth down here, Nick,’ he said. ‘We’ll get lost.’

‘Not if we stay together, Owen. This is not a place to wander off in,’ remarked Nicholas, looking down a long black tunnel. ‘There’ll be dungeons down here somewhere.’

‘We are staying in one now.’

‘It’s the same for the soldiers. They sleep down here as well.’

‘But we are guests. We deserve more.’

‘I’m sure that our patron will speak up for us. Meanwhile,’ said Nicholas cheerfully, ‘we must make the most of our situation. Think of the consolations.’

Elias was cynical. ‘What consolations?’

‘We are safe on land, we are all together and we will soon perform before royalty. Those thoughts will make me sleep soundly.’

‘They’ll do nothing for me.’

‘Would you rather be back in London?’

‘Yes, Nick. I would.’

‘Even though someone tried to kill you?’

‘Those pirates tried to kill us all in the Cormorant.’

‘I’m talking about that beating you took,’ said Nicholas. ‘When you joined the ship, you could hardly walk. And you have still not fully recovered from your injuries.’

‘Nor will I if I have to lay my head in this place!’

‘You are among friends — what more do you want?’

‘A soft bed in a warm room.’

His friend laughed. ‘We would all like that. On the other hand, we’ve had far worse lodgings than this when we toured. At least we are dry and out of that fierce wind. More to the point, we are a long way from London.’

‘That brings me no comfort at all,’ grumbled Elias.

‘It should,’ said Nicholas. ‘You are out of danger.’

The Speedwell held its course as it sailed across the North Sea. Among its passengers were Josias Greet and Ben Ryden. They had their orders. They were determined to earn their reward.