The Fair Maid of Bohemia

Chapter Ten

Nicholas Bracewell slowly regained consciousness to find that he was surrounded by a clutch of sympathetic faces. Someone had propped him up in a sitting position and was dabbing at the wound on the back of his head with a damp cloth. A blood-stained cap lay on the ground beside him and it took him a moment to realise that it was his. The pain then hit him with the force of a blow and he reeled. His kind surgeon steadied him with both hands.

Memory gradually returned. He recalled looking up at the astronomical clock, waiting for half an hour, responding to the signal from the man across the square, following him down a lane, seeing Anne in the man’s grasp. Beyond that, there was nothing, though the seriousness of the wound and his position on the ground told him what must have happened. He did not need to feel for the pouch or for the dagger. Both had obviously gone. Along with the woman he had foolishly taken for Anne Hendrik.

He had been duped. A stage manager had himself been tricked by some adroit stage management. Nicholas had lost the documents and gained nothing in return apart from scuffed apparel and a throbbing headache. The sense of failure was excruciating. Anne was still captive. The only consolation he could take was the fact that he had simply been knocked unconscious when he might just as easily have been killed. Adrian Smallwood had been bludgeoned, then daggered. There had to be a reason why Nicholas had been spared.

The man who had been bathing his wound sent his wife back into the house for more water and some fresh linen. The circle of onlookers showed great concern for the stranger and offered their solace in Czech or German. Most lived in the alley-way or the adjacent lane. The others were passers-by. When fresh water arrived, the man cleaned the wound more carefully, then put a pad against it to stem any further bleeding. His wife tore the linen for him to bind around Nicholas’s head. When the bandage was tied, the injured man struggled to his feet with the aid of several hands. He rocked unsteadily.

A man handed him his cap. A woman seemed to be asking if they could take him anywhere. The amateur surgeon was gesturing an invitation for the patient to go into the tiny house to rest. Nicholas thanked them all with a weary smile, then dipped his hand into his purse to take out money. But his self-appointed physician waved it away. He had been only too glad to tend the wound. Nicholas looked around and tried to take his bearings. He was about to stagger off when two figures came running down the alley-way towards him.

‘Nick!’ yelled Lawrence Firethorn.

‘We searched for you everywhere,’ said Owen Elias.

‘What happened to you, man?’

‘Look at the state you are in!’

‘I am fine now,’ said Nicholas. ‘Thanks to these kind people. They must have found me lying there.’

‘Who hit you?’ asked Elias, eyeing the bandage and the sodden cap. ‘He all but took your head off.’

Nicholas did not want to talk to them in front of the curious audience. He waved a general farewell to them and went off down the alley-way with his two friends. Only when they had entered the square did he feel ready to explain what he felt had happened. They listened with a mixture of concern and irritation. Firethorn put his hand on the hilt of his sword.

‘I told you to let me guard your back,’ he reminded.

‘You would have been seen.’

‘I was the man for this task, Nick,’ said Elias. ‘I know how to hug the shadows and melt into walls. That is how I come to be here. I trailed Lawrence from the inn because I knew that he must be looking for you. He had no idea that I was on his heels. I only revealed myself when I saw him searching the square.’

‘True, Nick,’ confirmed Firethorn. ‘I did not seek Owen’s help. He sensed that you were in trouble.’

‘Why did you not use my skills to protect you?’ said Owen.

‘This was something I had to do on my own,’ replied Nick.

‘With what dire result?’ said the Welshman with a surge of emotion. ‘It grieves me that you did not confide in me, Nick. We are friends. We have been through so much together. I have always been ready to share my troubles with you-and there have been plenty of those to share. Why do you lock me out when you need help? What is going on here?’

Nicholas traded a glance with Firethorn, then sighed.

‘We sought to keep the matter between us, Owen,’ he said. ‘We did not want the company to become unduly alarmed.’

Elias was incredulous. ‘Anne disappears and you think that nobody will notice? She is one of us, man. If she is in danger, we are entitled to know how and why. We have grown to love Anne. Trust your fellows.’ He was hurt. ‘At least trust me.’

‘You have earned the right to know what is happening.’

‘Then tell me.’

‘I will.’

Nicholas gave him a brief account of all that had taken place since the discovery of Anne’s disappearance. Firethorn added his comments. As the pain from his wound eased, Nicholas was able to think more clearly. Action was needed. He first retraced his steps to the alley-way and searched with his companions for any clues as to the direction in which his attacker and his accomplice had fled. They found none. The alley-way led to a street off which there were several other streets and lanes, each one of them a possible escape route.

The search was not entirely fruitless. Close to the spot where he fell, Nicholas found the stone which had been smashed against his skull. When he picked it up, his fingers only covered half of it. His attacker must have had a broad hand. But it was the shape and colour of the stone which interested Nicholas. He had seen something very similar before.

‘Where do we go from here, Nick?’ asked Firethorn.

‘I am not sure.’

‘I am,’ said Elias. ‘We press the whole company into service and let them join the hunt for Anne.’

‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘A hundred people could search and we would still find nothing in this rabbit warren of a city. We are strangers here, Owen. The men who hold Anne are not. They know where to hide.’

‘Close to the inn,’ argued Firethorn. ‘They could not have taken her far. She would have put up a struggle and attracted too much attention. You saw how she must have fought back in her chamber.’

Nicholas shook his head. ‘We saw what they wished us to see. A stark warning, left to frighten us. I do not believe there was any struggle, or it would certainly have been heard by someone. That bedchamber was arranged as carefully as any setting in a play,’ he said. ‘My guess is that Anne had already been taken away.’

‘She is a woman of spirit,’ said Elias. ‘She would fight.’

‘With a knife at her throat?’

‘Nicholas is right,’ agreed Firethorn, mulling it over. ‘She went quietly. That must be how it happened.’ He gave a hopeless shrug. ‘Where does that leave us? We have nothing.’

‘We do,’ reminded Nicholas. ‘We have the most important clue of all. A copy of those documents. They at least will tell us what lies behind all this. Stakes must be high if murder and kidnap are used. The documents will be our guide.’

‘Then are we completely lost,’ cried Firethorn. ‘Those documents are nothing but inane scribble. How can we be guided by something we do not understand?’

‘The code must be used to unlock the meaning.’

‘But we do not know what that code might be.’

‘Then we must turn to the one man who can help us.’

‘Who is that?’

‘Doctor Talbot Royden.’

***

Royden smiled for the first time since the nightmare of imprisonment had begun. Caspar Hilliard had not been idle. By writing a letter of supplication to the Emperor, and by speaking persuasively to the Chamberlain, he had won some important concessions for his master. Fresh straw was put in the cell and several candles were supplied. By their light, Royden was able to study the books he was now allowed to have. Reunited with some of his beloved tomes, he could continue his scientific research. He was still incarcerated, but the loss of freedom was now more tolerable.

‘I cannot thank you enough, Caspar,’ he said.

‘Would that I could have done more!’

‘These are wonderful improvements.’

‘Your release is the improvement I work for,’ said his assistant earnestly. ‘Then we may resume our work in the laboratory. I keep it in good order.’

‘Simply to have a book in my hands again is a joy,’ said Royden, holding a volume on alchemy. ‘How on earth did you wrest these mercies out of our mad Emperor?’

‘My letter explained how close we had been to success and how unjustly I felt you had been treated. The argument that swayed him was this, Master. That news of your imprisonment would make other scholars and scientists think twice about coming to Prague. If they know they may be locked away in the dark of a stinking dungeon, they may offer their services elsewhere.’

‘If only I had, Caspar.’

‘That point, too, was made,’ said the other. ‘The Emperor is proud of his reputation as a generous patron. It brings in the finest minds in Europe. But that reputation will be badly sullied if he is known to deal so callously with his guests.’

‘You are a cunning advocate.’

‘All I am I have learned from you.’

‘Your loyalty has kept me sane down here.’

‘That contents me.’

Royden opened the book to flick through the pages. When he closed it, he hugged it to him with a cry of pleasure. Caspar smiled fondly. His master’s spirits had been revived.

‘What is happening up there?’ asked Royden.

‘Wedding preparations continue. Guests are pouring in at the castle every day. The bridegroom himself is due to arrive later today. The wedding will be a magnificent occasion.’

‘I was to have been there to share in it.’

‘That is no longer possible, alas.’

‘What of the players from England?’

‘They are closely involved,’ said the other. ‘Westfield’s Men are to perform a play at the wedding banquet itself. I am told that they are actors of high quality.’

‘And this book-holder you mentioned?’

‘Nicholas Bracewell?’

‘He was asking after me, you said.’

‘That is so. To what end, I do not know. But I believe he has a message from Doctor Mordrake.’

‘Mordrake!’ echoed the other with a shudder. ‘I wish I had never met that sorcerer. He was the one who brought me to this Bohemian bedlam, and look how it has ended. But for John Mordrake, I would be free to do my work. Not caged down here like some wild beast in the Emperor’s menagerie.’ He put his book aside. ‘What business can Mordrake have with me?’

‘We may never find out,’ said Caspar sadly. ‘No visitors are permitted down here. Even I could not worm that concession out of the Emperor. There is no means by which this Nicholas Bracewell can reach you. Whatever message he carried to Prague will have to return to England with him.’

***

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

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

‘It is deaf to my entreaties.’

‘This is very important to us.’

‘I am not able to help you.’

‘But you are the Chamberlain.’

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

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

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

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

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

‘It creates many problems,’ admitted the Chamberlain.

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

‘Your difficulties are small compared with ours.’

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

‘We have our share of menaces here.’

‘Yet Bohemia is more tolerant,’ observed Nicholas.

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

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

‘The Emperor has granted Jews many privileges.’

‘Freedom of belief is a fine ideal.’

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

‘Hussites?’ repeated Firethorn.

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

‘Is there nothing you can do for us?’

‘On this matter, alas-no.’

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

‘He would not even listen to me.’

‘Why not?’

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

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

‘Nobody at all.’

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

***

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

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

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

‘Thank you!’

‘If Sophia Magdalena agrees.’

‘That goes without saying.’

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

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

‘I hope that you like it.’

‘I’m sure that I shall.’

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

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

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

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

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

‘Who is the man?’ asked Rudolph.

‘Lawrence Firethorn.’

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

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

‘What about my portrait?’

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

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

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

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

‘Out of the question!’

‘Why is that, your Highness?’

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

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

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

‘They will not,’ vowed Rudolph.

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

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

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

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

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

‘I implore you to think again.’

‘No!’

‘It is such a simple request.’

‘I will not grant it, Sophia.’

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

The Emperor scowled and grew pensive.

***

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

‘Eat it,’ he ordered.

‘What is it?’

‘You will find out.’

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

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

‘We need a hostage.’

‘For what reason?’

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

He stroked her hair and she pulled away in disgust.

‘How do you know my name?’ she said.

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

‘Who are you?’

‘That does not matter.’

‘What do you want?’

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

‘How long must I stay here?’

‘As long as I deem it necessary.’

‘Will you release me then?’

‘If you behave yourself.’

‘Nicholas will find you,’ she said boldly.

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

‘He will track you down somehow.’

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

‘Why?’

‘Because I have to kill him.’

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

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

***

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

‘Who are you?’ asked Royden.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘We need your help,’ said Nicholas.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Have you brought the documents with you?’

‘They were taken from me here in Prague.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘This will take time.’

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

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

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

‘I have just done so.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘What is in that letter?’

‘And who sent it?’ hissed Firethorn.

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

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

‘Flushing,’ admitted Royden.

‘What of six?’

‘Bohemia.’

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

‘They represent people.’

‘Which people?’ pressed Nicholas.

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

‘What sort of agents?’

‘They gathered intelligence for me.’

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

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

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

‘I’ll call for the guard.’

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

‘From what we hear,’ said Firethorn, reinforcing the threat, ‘we would be doing the Emperor a favour. He would probably knight us for services to Bohemia.’

‘What was the name?’

More hesitation. Nicholas pulled his head forward as if to crack it hard against the wall. Royden’s nerve broke. Unable to speak, his eyes rolled and he nodded vigorously. The book-holder let go of him but stood very close.

‘One hundred and eighty-three,’ he said. ‘Who is he?’

‘Separate the numbers and you may work it out for yourself,’ bleated the other. ‘Eighteen and three. What is the eighteenth letter of the alphabet? What is the third?’

It took them a moment to count through the alphabet.

‘R.C.,’ said Nicholas at length.

‘Roman Catholicism!’ announced Firethorn. ‘That must be it. R.C. Roman Catholicism.’

‘The Popish religion is involved here,’ decided Nicholas, ‘but these letters stand for a name. R.C. Who is high enough to maintain a network of agents on the Continent? Only one man answers to that description. R.C. Robert Cecil.’ He saw the prisoner wince. ‘We know the sender at last. Sir Robert Cecil. Spymaster to the Queen. At least, we have learned that you are working for the right side, Doctor Royden.’

‘But what is the message?’ asked Firethorn.

‘A grim one, sirs,’ said Royden, electing to confide fully in them. ‘My role here is discovered, my reports intercepted. My agents listed here have all been killed. Someone in Prague has betrayed me and sent good men to their death.’

‘Add the name of Adrian Smallwood to that list,’ said Nicholas. ‘He was an innocent victim of all this. But what of the documents we brought?’

‘Details of a new and more complex code,’ explained the other. ‘Sir Robert Cecil has devised it. He instructs me to memorise it and destroy the pages. See here, on this page,’ he said, holding it out to them. ‘That T stands for Tuesday. Sir Robert himself. W is for Wednesday. Balthasar Davey. An agent in Flushing. And so on. I am to gather up all the intelligence I can and send it back to London in the new cipher code.’

‘Who will carry it?’

‘Westfield’s Men.’

‘Not us!’ said Firethorn. ‘We’ve had enough of your cloak-and-dagger work. Deliver it yourself.’

‘That was the intention.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Master Bracewell was very observant,’ he confessed. ‘I was trying to read the message in invisible ink. There is no need now. I think that I know what it will say.’

‘Well?’

‘Now that I am revealed here, my work is done. Sir Robert is ordering me to quit Prague and return to London with you. Westfield’s Men would be my passport home.’

‘Do not trade on that hope,’ warned Firethorn.

‘How can I? When you leave, I will still be here. Locked up at the discretion of the Emperor. I may never reach London.’ He sagged against the wall. ‘Tell Sir Robert Cecil why.’

‘That lies ahead,’ said Nicholas. ‘Let us look at the immediate situation. Someone has betrayed you. Your agents have been identified and killed. Who was responsible?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘You must have. Name those you suspect.’

‘It could be anyone.’

‘Take us through your day.’

Coaxed by the visitors, Doctor Talbot Royden talked about his work in Prague and the people with whom it had brought him into contact. Several names were mentioned and Firethorn made a mental note of them all. An actor who could learn a twenty-line speech at one reading had no difficulty remembering eleven names in sequence.

Nicholas was satisfied. Much was still obscure but a great deal had been learned. Adrian Smallwood’s death and Anne Hendrik’s abduction had now been put in context. The names in Firethorn’s memory were a starting point. It was time to go.

‘One fear has gone,’ said Royden with a nervous laugh. ‘I was afraid that you had brought word from John Mordrake.’

‘I did,’ said Nicholas, remembering his errand. ‘It is not so much of a message as a gift.’

‘He has no cause to send me a gift. What is it?’

Nicholas took the wooden box from his purse and handed it over. Turning it over in his hands, the prisoner examined it quizzically. He seemed as baffled by it as Nicholas.

‘It lacks a key,’ noted the latter, ‘but Doctor Mordrake said that you would know how to open it.’

Royden held it nearer the flame to study it. There were some Arabic symbols on it in miniature and he had difficulty reading them. The riddle was at last solved. By placing his thumb-nail at one end and pressing hard, he activated a spring. The lid of the box popped open and Royden took something out. Firethorn looked at what he was holding.

‘Two small white feathers? Is that all it contained?’

‘They are enough,’ groaned Royden.

‘What do they betoken?’ asked Nicholas.

‘Worse news than I can bear to tell you, sirs. Have no fear about my travelling with Westfield’s Men.’ He put the feathers on his palm and blew them into the air, watching them float slowly to the ground. ‘I am done for. After this, I can never go near London again.’

***

Barnaby Gill strolled around the Town Square in the fading light of a balmy summer evening. Back at the Black Eagle, the rest of the company were in a sombre mood. They worried about the disappearance of Anne Hendrik, ordered beer to subdue their anxieties, felt guilty that they were not out searching for her and drank even more heavily to sedate that guilt. But it was not only the prevailing sadness which drove Gill to parade around the city on his own. Westfield’s Men, working actors with simple needs, clung together because they had so much in common. A long tour only intensified their togetherness.

Gill soon wearied of their habits and their rituals. With them during performances, he preferred to shun them in private. He sought companionship of another kind. In a city as big and as cosmopolitan as Prague, he felt, he would be certain to find what he was looking for, but an hour of preening himself in the square brought no reward. The fashion and bright colours of his doublet and hose attracted immense curiosity from those who passed, and several women pointed with interest at his purple hat with its long ostrich feather. But nobody spoke, nobody signalled. It was a barren pilgrimage.

After pausing beneath the astronomical clock for the fifth time, he decided to search for a congenial inn and walked back across the square. The Týn Church was directly ahead of him, its sixteen spires silhouetted against the darkening sky to give it a ghostly quality. As he got nearer, someone came out of the street ahead and hurried across his path. Gill recognised him at once.

‘Hugo!’ he called. ‘Hold there!’

Hugo Usselincx stopped in his tracks and smiled when he saw Barnaby Gill bearing down on him. Before the latter could even speak, Usselincx had showered him with more praise for his exquisite performance in Cupid’s Folly. The actor revelled in the flattery.

‘But what brings you here, Master Gill?’ he said.

‘I was looking at the sights of the city.’

‘It will soon be dark.’

‘Then I must find other sights to interest me,’ said Gill casually. ‘Can you commend any to me?’

‘What sights did you have in mind?’

‘Come, sir. You have travelled Europe and worked in many churches. Even celibate clergy have desires at times. Where might a lonely man satisfy those desires in Prague?’

‘I do not share that predilection myself,’ said the other with a sheepish grin, ‘so I am no sure guide. But I have heard an acquaintance of mine mention an inn that lies behind the Týn Church. It is called the Three Kings and you will know it by its yellow sign. I fancy you will be made welcome there.’

‘I am obliged to you, Hugo.’

‘It is small payment for all the pleasure you have given me. Westfield’s Men have made my journey to Prague a delight.’

‘That is good to hear. The name again?’

‘The Three Kings.’

‘I remember. The yellow sign.’

Usselincx bobbed his head and moved away. Gill strode off in the other direction and turned down the street that led to the Týn Church. Imposing from a distance, it was overwhelming at close quarters and he paused to take in its splendour, staring up at its multiple spires until his neck ached. Since the front door was open, he was tempted to take a peep inside. The interior was dark and gloomy, with pools of light created by a series of altar candles. His eye fell first on the ornate pulpit but a loud noise took his attention elsewhere.

Scaffolding was set up in the chancel and workmen were scrambling over it. He went down the aisle to make a closer inspection. One man was hammering nails, another was winching up some large pipes. Two more were carrying in lengths of wood. When Gill realised what they were doing, he was quite alarmed. The Three Kings did not enjoy his custom that night.

***

Nicholas and Firethorn spent a long time discussing what they had been told by Doctor Talbot Royden. The latter’s position at the Bohemian Court was a convenient cover for his other activities. Royden was at the centre of a web of Protestant agents who reported back to Sir Robert Cecil in London. Prague was a centre for Catholic exiles and Jesuit extremists. It was Royden’s task to observe who came and went, to recruit and train new agents, and to keep his master informed of any suspicious developments. Nicholas now understood where the money had come from to fund their travels.

‘What did you think of him, Nick?’ asked Firethorn.

‘I thought he was odious,’ said Nicholas, ‘but that does not mean he failed in his work. Sir Robert Cecil is too astute a man to employ someone who could not discharge his duties properly. Doctor Royden is a peculiar mixture.’

‘Forger, fraud and downright liar.’

‘He has a high reputation as an astrologer.’

‘He did have until the Emperor found him out. And what was all that business with the two white feathers? Why should a paltry gift from this Doctor Mordrake vex him so?’

‘It obviously had great significance for him.’

‘But what, Nick?’ complained Firethorn. ‘Number codes, ciphers, white feathers, German and Czech. This city is a complete riddle to me. I can understand nothing.’

‘It all comes down to translation.’

‘Anne served us in that office.’

‘And will do again when we find her,’ said Nicholas with confidence. ‘To do that, we may need the help of someone else who can speak both English and German.’

‘What of Hugo Usselincx? He can give us Dutch as well.’

‘So could Anne.’

‘Shall we try to engage him?’

‘I think not. There is somebody closer at hand, here in the castle itself. All we have to do is to find him.’

‘Who is that?’

‘Caspar Hilliard.’

‘Royden’s assistant. Is he more than that, I wonder?’

‘More?’

‘Sorcerer’s apprentice and spy.’

‘No,’ said Nicholas firmly. ‘I do not believe he was involved in that aspect of Doctor Royden’s work at all. We would certainly have been told if he had. Caspar will probably have no idea of his master’s secret mission. All he wishes to do is to work with a man he reveres. Keep him ignorant of the truth. And say nothing of our visit to his employer.’

‘Why not?’

‘We must let Caspar do all the talking. He was willing enough to do so when he called on us at the Black Eagle. He resides here at the castle-but where?’

‘Royden spoke of his laboratory.’

‘Let us start there.’

During the long search, they got completely lost on more than one occasion but they stuck to their task and finally managed to get directions from a servant with a smattering of English. Under his guidance, they came at last to the laboratory where Doctor Talbot Royden had laboured with such distinction until the Emperor’s patience had snapped. The door was locked but a faint light under it suggested that it might be occupied. Firethorn banged on it uncompromisingly with his fist but got no response. A second, louder attack on the timber produced no result.

The two men made their way back down to the courtyard. Firethorn had a list of names in his head but those people were beyond their reach until they had an interpreter. It made them feel Anne’s loss even more keenly.

‘Why are they still keeping her hostage, Nick?’

‘To retain a hold over us.’

‘We need to widen the search. Bring in more people to help. Owen spoke true. The whole company loves Anne. Let us call on them to help to save her.’

‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘This must be done privily or we will imperil Anne. Stealth must be our watchword.’

‘They have the documents,’ said Firethorn bitterly. ‘Why did they not release her? What else are they after?’

‘Me.’

As they stepped into the courtyard, they heard a voice from above and looked up to see Caspar Hilliard descending the steps at speed. His manner was as amenable as before.

‘Good even, good sirs,’ he said. ‘Did you knock upon the door of the laboratory a few minutes ago?’

‘We did,’ said Firethorn. ‘Were you within?’

‘Yes, sir. But I dare not answer. I have sworn to my master to protect his laboratory at all costs. It contains his books, his materials, his equipment. Thus far-thank God-it has been left alone. But when I heard that thunderous knocking, I feared it might be soldiers sent from the Emperor.’

‘Is he still so angry with Doctor Royden?’

‘He shifts between rage and remorse,’ said Caspar with a sigh. ‘Emperor Rudolph is at the mercy of his moods. This morning, he relented enough to let my master have light, books and fresh straw for his cell. This evening, he could just as easily order the laboratory to be ransacked.’

‘Why?’

‘What exactly was Doctor Royden’s crime?’ said Nicholas.

Caspar pondered. ‘I can give no details,’ he said. ‘The process must remain a secret between myself and my master. But this you may know. Doctor Royden has realised the alchemist’s dream. He has found the way to turn base metal into gold. The Emperor extracted a promise from him. When the first piece of pure gold came out of the furnace, it was to be fashioned into a wedding gift for Sophia Magdalena. A small casket, surmounted by figures of the bride and groom. The goldsmith has been standing by for weeks.’

‘But the gold was not forthcoming,’ guessed Nicholas.

‘We were almost there,’ said Caspar in exasperation. ‘Another day and all would have been well. But that was too late for the Emperor. The goldsmith would not have had time before the wedding to make the casket.’

‘Had the Emperor set his heart on this gift?’

‘Yes, Master Bracewell. He is man of deep obsessions. If his wishes are flouted, he will turn vengeful. That is how my master came to be humiliated thus. For failing to provide a wedding gift for Sophia Magdalena.’

‘Is he so besotted with her?’

‘I know that I am,’ murmured Firethorn.

‘She has always been his favourite,’ explained Caspar, ‘but there is more to it than that. Or so I have gathered from the gossip that I pick up. Rudolph has a vast Empire but it is very restive. Many battles have been waged in the past and more turbulence is feared. If you travelled through Germany, you will have seen something of the problem.’

‘We did,’ said Nicholas. ‘Religious differences abound. We saw Catholic cities, Lutheran communities and principalities where Calvinism held sway. There was uneasiness between them all. How does the Emperor hold them all together?’

‘He does not,’ said Caspar with some asperity. ‘He turns his back on it all and busies himself with his Court. The Emperor has failed to give a lead. Until now.’

‘Now?’

‘This wedding, sirs. It was all his doing. And it has caused no small upheaval.’

‘In what way?’

‘Many people are offended by the marriage. I cannot say who they are,’ he added quickly, ‘but I hear there has been disquiet. Sophia Magdalena comes from a Roman Catholic family. Conrad of Brunswick is a Protestant. The Emperor hopes that a marriage of the two will be an act of reconciliation.’ He shrugged sadly. ‘We were set to make our contribution. The gold casket was to have been a symbol of the union.’

They began to understand the significance of the wedding. Sophia Magdalena was marrying less out of love than out of policy. She was obeying Emperor Rudolph’s command. To show his profound gratitude, he had not only commissioned a unique wedding gift-a beautiful casket, made from gold which had been provided by his own alchemist-but he had acceded to her request to have an English theatre company as part of the wedding celebrations. In their own small way, Westfield’s Men were a factor in the attempted reconciliation. As a result, they had been caught between two hostile factions.

‘Does that answer your question?’ asked Caspar.

‘One of them,’ said Firethorn, ‘but we have several more.’

‘They can wait,’ decided Nicholas.

‘But we need an interpreter.’

‘At a later date.’

‘Call on me at any time,’ offered Caspar. ‘I have only a menial position at the castle, but I have come to know everyone of consequence here. If you need information, I am here.’

‘Thank you,’ said Nicholas.

Firethorn was baffled by the change of plan but he had the sense to keep quiet. He took his cue from Nicholas and traded farewells with Caspar. The two men strode towards the exit. Firethorn waited until they were outside the main gate before he spoke in a baffled tone.

‘Why did you tear us away like that?’ he asked. ‘He was keen to help. He could have told us something useful about the eleven names on Doctor Royden’s list.’

‘Twelve.’

‘Eleven, Nick. I memorised them.’

‘Twelve.’

‘Who is the twelfth?’

‘Caspar Hilliard. His master forgot his own assistant.’

‘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.