Inferno

Chapter 62

Frederiksborg Castle, Copenhagen

With no sign of their carriage Renzi looked about in great concern. Cecilia clung to his arm, pale-faced at the pandemonium around them – wild-eyed servants and functionaries, red-faced courtiers bellowing orders.

Fear for Cecilia tore at him. At any moment a cry could go up that would turn this frightened rabble into an angry and vengeful mob, bent on taking out their fears on the English in their midst. Memories of Constantinople slammed in – common folk turned in minutes to murderous butchery.

‘Inside – get out of sight!’ he rapped.

Hurriedly they pressed to one side of the entrance hall by the marble columns and diamond-patterned windows. Renzi put his arms protectively around his wife and tried to think. God knew what was happening out there now. Gambier must have acted instantly, sending troops ashore in a martial flood, no doubt with guns and cavalry. If the Danes were resisting it was war, and for themselves the worst possible situation, caught in the front line between two armies.

However, there was safety inside the city walls and ramparts of Copenhagen. Surely the whole thing would be resolved one way or another in days. Then they and their entourage at the Amalienborg could be diplomatically extracted by sea. That was, if they could make it the few miles from here to there, through a panicking mob that-

‘Frue Rosen!’ shrieked Cecilia, across the bedlam.

The nurse hurried over, horror-stricken. ‘M’ lord, lady!’ she blurted. ‘I thought you’d gone! It’s not safe, sir, you must leave!’

‘Our coach went without us,’ Cecilia told her. ‘We have to get to Copenhagen. What can we do?’

Frue Rosen hesitated, then whispered, ‘Come with me – do be quick, I beg!’

They followed her outside and hastened along a garden path to a small cottage set among others in a light grove of trees.

‘My lord, this is my home. If you and the countess would …’ She left them inside and hurried away.

They sat together in the little front room, charmingly set about with roses and a mix of quaint English ornaments of another age and others with a Scandinavian touch. On one wall was a prettily framed picture of a Dane with stern features.

The muffled sounds of disturbance and confusion were increasing. If they could not get away …

Frue Rosen came back, kneading her hands. ‘I’ve found a coach as will take us to Copenhagen but …’

‘Did you say “us”?’ Cecilia asked softly.

‘I will go with you, m’ lady. Your English tongue will betray you.’

‘We cannot ask this of you, dear Frue Rosen. If-’

‘The coach belongs to Second Chamberlain Pedersen. He flees to Copenhagen too and I asked him to take me. He agrees, and I tell him I have two friends who must come with me.’

‘That is well done, Frue Rosen,’ Renzi said gratefully. ‘You are-’

‘M’ lord, I must ask you to … to …’

‘What do you wish me to do?’

She flushed. ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but it would never do to be seen like that. If you were to wear more as your Danish gentleman is …’

Cecilia managed a smile. ‘She wishes you to go in the character of a Dane, my dear.’

‘And you, m’ lady, if you’d be so good as to …’

In a short time Renzi had on a plain dusky red cloak and a well-worn beaver, while Cecilia had put on one of Frue Rosen’s nurse’s capes.

A small coach and pair drew up outside with an impatient shout from the passenger leaning out of the window. An older man with fierce eyes, he beckoned urgently.

Renzi pulled the hat down as far as he could and walked out, Cecilia and Hetty behind him.

Pederson glared at him, then started in surprise. He gestured angrily and berated Frue Rosen, his meaning all too clear.

‘He says he knows you for an Englishman and will not have you in the same carriage,’ she said, then shouted back in a venomous stream of Danish.

Pedersen recoiled, sulkily spitting out a reply, but retreated inside.

‘I told him that if he didn’t take us, the Crown Prince will be informed that he has cravenly abandoned his post to leave the palace to be ransacked by the British,’ she said tightly. ‘Do please go on board.’

Renzi and Cecilia sat together opposite the glowering Pedersen who pointedly looked away. Thumps sounded above as baggage was loaded, then the others hastily scrambled in and the coach lurched off.

The road to Copenhagen was thick with vehicles of every description, all headed in the same direction, as well as increasing numbers on foot with bundles and crying children, some shouting and shaking their fists at them, others doggedly tramping in an endless stream of ragged humanity.

At last, across a wide fosse waterway the massive earthen ramparts and bastioned city walls loomed. Frue Rosen leaned out of the window, then withdrew. ‘They’re checking everyone at the gate,’ she said nervously, then turned to Pedersen and spoke sharply to him. He snarled a reply but responded by fumbling in his coat and bringing out an official pass.

‘My lady, your gentleman is sick, do comfort him.’

Cecilia pulled at the cloak until it nearly hid Renzi’s face as he hunched forward as though in pain.

‘Pedersen understands that if you are discovered he will be implicated. We’ll have no trouble from him.’

Outside there was bedlam as the crowd converged on the gate. The coach driver cursed and shouted as he tried to make his way through.

The coach jerked to a stop. A soldier’s face appeared at the window, suspicious and impatient. He snapped something at Pedersen, who irritably flourished his pass, and when he demanded the same of the others Pedersen gave out an impassioned harangue. The soldier sullenly gestured them on.

Within the city the maze of medieval streets was less crowded as the fleeing citizens dispersed and they made good progress until they spotted trouble ahead.

Pedersen leaned from the window and growled at the driver to stop. At a street corner a knot of figures was arguing with a troop of militia. After listening for a space he drew back in, clearly frightened.

‘They are searching for the English,’ Frue Rosen said fearfully. ‘There is an order that all are to be arrested and thrown in prison, their property confiscated.’

Pedersen growled.

‘He says it’s too dangerous. You must get out now.’ She bit her lip, then spoke again to him. He nodded, troubled, but gave an order to the driver. It swung around and the horses trotted off down a side-street to join a more fashionable avenue.

‘We go to the Svane Reden, a residence of Princess Caroline, who is absent. We will be safe there. I can let you in.’

It was a townhouse, discreet and with a single entrance. Nearby there was an imposing church with a spire.

‘Wait, please.’

She ran to the door and swung the knocker sharply. There was no response. She fumbled with a bundle of keys and tried the door – it opened and she went inside, quickly emerging again and beckoning.

Renzi and Cecilia scurried after her, Hetty following.

‘There’s no one here – they’ve gone to their families,’ Frue Rosen told them. ‘We’re alone!’

The dark interior was musty and full of shapes under dust-sheets. Their voices echoed in the stillness.

There was a flurry of movement. Renzi peered out of the door and saw the coach disappearing around the corner. ‘He’s gone off with our luggage!’ he swore.

Cecilia pulled him back in. ‘Darling – we’re safe!’ she cried. ‘Nothing else matters!’

‘For now, my love,’ he answered, with feeling.

‘You are out of harm’s way in this place, my lord. No one will trouble us here,’ Frue Rosen said, firmly shutting and bolting the door. ‘Shall we see what we can find?’