Edward Marston - The Princess of Denmark

‘Now we know what is like to be strangers in a country,’ said Nicholas Bracewell. ‘Your husband must have felt this animosity when he came to England.’

‘Dutch immigrants still arouse great bitterness there,’ said Anne, ‘as we know only too well. But I do not understand why there has been such a change of mood here.’

‘Put yourself in their position. Everything was in order until Westfield’s Men arrived. Then a murder is committed, the castle is in a state of chaos and some of the garrison are forced out of their hut so that we can move into it.’

‘They surely cannot blame you for the murder, Nick.’

‘One of our number was the victim. That’s all they see. As a result, every soldier is on duty for long hours and those who occupied our hut have been made to sleep in the casemates. We are highly unpopular with them,’ said Nicholas, ‘and we are not exempt from suspicion. Until the killer is caught, everyone in the castle is now under scrutiny.’

‘Even me?’

‘Yes, Anne. And you have another bad mark against you.’

‘Do I?’

‘You are our tireman,’ he said with a smile, ‘and therefore tarred with the same brush.’

They reached their hut. Nicholas made sure that everything was unloaded from the carts and stowed under cover for the night. He then went off to find their patron so that he could report what had happened. Seated beside a flagon of wine, Lord Westfield was in his apartment, seething with frustration at being unable to talk to his future wife. The redness of his cheek and the occasional slurring in his speech indicated that it was not the first flagon of wine. He gave Nicholas an offhand welcome.

‘Why have you come?’ he asked dully.

‘Lawrence thought that you might like to hear about our success in the town this afternoon, my lord.’

‘Well, there has been no success here, I can tell you. My day has been a story of constant failure. I pine, I mope, I fret. They will not let me near her. My princess is here in the castle and she refuses to see anyone, not even the man who has pledged to marry her. It’s too much,’ he insisted. ‘She needs me, Nicholas. I could comfort her.’

‘You will have time enough to do that after the wedding.’

‘I want to see Sigbrit now .’

‘Master Langberg says that she is too distressed by the murder to venture from her chamber.’

‘We are all distressed,’ contended the other, ‘none more so than me. Heavens above, I was Rolfe’s friend. I liked him, I engaged him, I had complete faith in him to find me a suitable wife.’

‘And that’s exactly what he did, my lord.’

‘Then where is she?’

‘Trying to overcome the shock of what happened.’

‘I should be with Sigbrit to help her. Instead of that, I am left alone and made to feel more like a prisoner here than a guest.’

Nicholas waited while he took a long sip from his glass. He saw no point in telling Lord Westfield what he had learnt from Anne. It would only create another wave of self-pity if his patron knew that Sigbrit Olsen had been seen out of her apartment not long after the body had been discovered. Nicholas was baffled by her behaviour. Lord Westfield would be horrified. The book holder tried to cheer him up.

‘Westfield’s Men were supreme today,’ he said. ‘ Cupid’s Folly was received with great acclaim in the town and your name was spoken of with thanks and admiration.’

‘Not by Sigbrit, alas.’

‘You would have been proud of your company, my lord. They were peerless — and not simply because they lacked their patron.’ The pun went unnoticed by Lord Westfield. ‘We missed you.’

‘I was too steeped in sadness to watch a comedy, especially one that ends with a maypole dance and a wedding. It would have rankled. Tragedy alone would match my disposition.’

‘We play again tomorrow, my lord.’

‘Then do not count on my presence.’

‘Master Langberg was there today with his wife. They both seemed to enjoy the performance. And the mayor thought it the funniest thing he had ever seen. Barnaby was unsurpassed.’

‘I need more than a prancing clown to lift my spirits,’ said Lord Westfield. ‘The only thing that would make me attend tomorrow would be the joy of having my princess of Denmark on my arm.’

‘By tomorrow, the lady may have recovered.’

‘So may I.’ He drained his glass and hauled himself to his feet. ‘I am sorry to be so liverish with you, Nicholas,’ he said. ‘It’s not only Sigbrit who has brought this misery on. I mourn Rolfe Harling. The truth is that I feel, to some degree, culpable for his death.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I was responsible for bringing him here.’

‘You were not to know that someone was plotting to kill him. Shed any pangs of guilt you may have, my lord. This crime should not weigh on your conscience.’

‘Nevertheless, it does.’

‘I still believe the explanation for his death lies somewhere in Master Harling’s private life. The truth will only be revealed when we know who killed him.’

‘But we already do know.’

Nicholas was surprised. ‘That’s news to me, my lord.’

‘According to Bror Langberg, two men were seen sneaking away from here not long before the body was found. They had worked in the castle kitchens, it seems.’

‘Is there any proof that they committed the murder?’

‘No,’ said the other, ‘but it’s reasonable to assume that they were the villains. They’ve not been seen since. The search has been widened to include the town itself.’

‘Ah,’ said Nicholas, recalling the many soldiers he had seen patrolling Elsinore that day. ‘That accounts for something that came to my notice. Yet it still does not solve the crime.’

‘The names of the killers are at least known.’

‘Possibly, my lord, and I hope that is the case. But there are other reasons that could prompt two men to flee the castle. They should not be condemned outright. Perhaps they were badly treated here or paid too poorly for work they disliked doing. Perhaps they had business that called them back home.’

‘Bror Langberg was convinced that they were the culprits.’

‘Then I would like to talk to them if they are caught.’

‘He intends to extract confessions under torture.’

‘All that interests me is their motive,’ said Nicholas. ‘Why did they kill Rolfe Harling? Why was he singled out and why was such violence used against him?’

‘I wish I knew, Nicholas. None of it makes sense. A more innocuous creature never walked the earth, that’s for certain.’

Though he endorsed the statement with a nod, Nicholas had some reservations. He did not wish to unsettle Lord Westfield by voicing them, however, so he held his tongue. His gaze fell on the chess set that stood on a small table in the corner.

‘You’ve been playing chess, I see,’ he remarked.

‘I’ve been trying to,’ said the other, crossing to the table. ‘I was so bored with my own company that I sought solace in a game. I played against myself the way that I’d seen Rolfe do often but I lack both his patience and his cunning.’

‘The pieces are carved from the finest ivory.’

‘It seems that they are bequeathed to me.’

‘Did Master Harling have no family?’

‘None that I know of,’ said Lord Westfield, running a hand through his hair. ‘Rolfe loved his work. He was a perpetual student, lonely and contemplative.’ He looked up. ‘Do you play chess?’

‘Not well, my lord,’ admitted Nicholas. ‘I learnt aboard the Golden Hind — or the Pelican , as she was when we first set sail. The ship’s carpenter had made a chess set out of wood. That’s why I was curious when I first saw this one.’