Edward Marston - The Princess of Denmark

‘And yet he rarely went to a play,’ she recalled.

‘There was little opportunity to see actors in York and, in any case, his father thought that playhouses were dens of sin and corruption. If a company came to town, he stopped his son from going to see them. That’s why we caught Will’s imagination, I think,’ said Nicholas sadly. ‘Our pre-eminence was due to the flatness of the surrounding countryside. Because he had nobody with whom to compare us, he conceived a higher opinion of Westfield’s Men than he might otherwise have had.’

‘It’s impossible to have too high an opinion of you,’ she said. ‘You are head and shoulders above any other company and one of the main reasons for that is sitting opposite me.’

‘Waiting for a drink. Will you join me?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘We deserve to celebrate.’

‘Must the celebrations be confined to the White Hart?’

Nicholas grinned. ‘No, Anne,’ he said. ‘I’m sure that we can have more privacy back at the castle.’

Ben Ryden and Josias Greet bided their time. During the play, they had laughed as readily as anyone and had reserved their loudest guffaws for the smitten goat. But that did not deflect them from their purpose. In killing Owen Elias, they stood to earn a large amount of money and would avenge the injuries they sustained at the Welshman’s hands. When the notion of sailing across the North Sea to commit murder had first been put to Greet, he had thought it ridiculous. Now that they were actually there, he saw the advantages.

They were anonymous faces in a foreign country. Nobody would be able to identify them. Once the deed was done, they would board a ship that was sailing for Amsterdam on the morning tide. From there, they would reach London on another vessel. It was all planned. They would be clear of Denmark before the hullabaloo caused by the crime had even died down. The likelihood of arrest was negligible. It would be a perfect murder. Greet was pleased about something else as well. His appetite had returned. He could eat and drink once again.

‘How much longer will he be, Ben?’ he asked.

‘Give him time. He’ll have to go soon.’

‘That’s the fourth tankard of beer he’s quaffed. He must have a bladder the size of a small barrel. Look at him.’

‘I’ve not taken my eyes off him,’ said Ryden. ‘Drink on, Owen,’ he murmured, ‘for it’s the last time you’ll be able to do it.’

‘What about his friends?’

‘They’ll be too busy carousing in here, Josias.’

‘Supposing one of them goes out with him?’

‘Then he’ll wish that he didn’t.’

‘We kill him as well?’

‘No,’ said Ryden, ‘we just give him the biggest headache he’s ever had in his life. This is our chance. Nobody will rob us of it.’

The two men were standing near the door, drinking beer and pretending to join in the fun. Over the heads of the other actors, they could see Owen Elias, revelling in the company of his friends and oblivious to the fact that he was in such danger. The more beer he consumed, the more relaxed and jovial he became. There was a dagger hanging from his belt but they did not intend to let him use it. Surprise was their main weapon. It would never even cross Elias’s befuddled mind that two hired killers would come hundreds of miles in search of them. On stage, he had been a rampant goat. To the watching Greet and Ryden, he was a lamb to the slaughter.

Their wait was soon over. Feeling the need to relieve himself, Elias put his half-empty tankard on a table and lumbered off towards the door. Ben Ryden nudged his friend.

‘Here he comes,’ he whispered. ‘Get ready.’

Nicholas Bracewell picked up the two cups of wine from the counter then eased his way gently through the crowded taproom to the table in the corner. Anne Hendrik took the drink that he offered her.

‘Thank you, Nick.’

‘We earned this,’ he said, lowering himself on to the stool.

‘Did you have to pay?’

‘Everything is free to Westfield’s Men. We bring in so much business for him that the landlord would like to keep us for a month.’ He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘What a pity he does not own the Queen’s Head as well!’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘To have an agreeable landlord there would be a welcome change for you. The wonder is that you’ve managed to stay so long in Gracechurch Street. Alexander Marwood hates the company. He’s tried to evict you a dozen times before now.’

Nicholas was not listening. Over her shoulder, he had just seen something through the window that made him leap to his feet. As Owen Elias walked across the yard towards the privy, a man came up behind him to deliver a vicious blow to the back of his skull with the butt of a pistol. Nicholas put his wine on the table. He did not ease his way through the press this time. He moved fast and used his elbows to clear a path to the door. When he came into the yard, he saw that Elias’s attacker had dragged him into the stables where a second man was trying to ignite some hay. Unconscious, and with blood oozing from his head wound, Elias was utterly helpless.

The intention was clear. They meant to burn him alive. Without bothering to call for help, Nicholas ran forward and dived at the man who was holding Elias, pulling him away and flinging him against a wall. Josias Greet was momentarily dazed by the impact. Letting out a string of expletives, he then reached for the pistol in his belt but Nicholas was too quick for him. Jumping forward, he grappled with the man and kept banging him against the bare brick. Ben Ryden, meanwhile, had started the fire and was piling fresh hay onto it. The crackling noise put fresh urgency into Nicholas. After exchanging punches with Greet, he brought his knee up hard into his groin and made him gasp. As the man bent forward in agony, Nicholas hit him with a powerful uppercut that sent him tumbling to the ground.

Instinctively, Nicholas swung round. He was just in time to ward off an attack from Ryden, who came hurtling at him with a dagger in his hand. Nicholas moved smartly sideways to avoid the weapon’s thrust then roughly pushed his attacker away. Rushing to the stable, he tried to stamp out the fire but Ryden came after him. Nicholas threw a handful of burning hay into his face to force him back but it only bought him a few seconds. They circled each other warily and Nicholas wished that he had been wearing his dagger. Elsinore was obviously not as safe as he had imagined. Two men were set on murdering Elias in broad daylight and dispatching Nicholas after him. There was no room for error on the book holder’s part.

Greet was slowly recovering. Still in some pain, he shook his head to clear it then took stock of the situation. Ryden slashed wildly with his dagger but to no effect. Nicholas evaded the weapon nimbly. Ryden backed him against a fence. Smoke was now coming from the stables and the two horses stalled there were protesting with frenzied neighs and loud kicks. Ryden needed to act fast. It was only a matter of time before someone came out of the inn. Feinting with his dagger, he went down on one knee to deliver a murderous thrust that would have ripped Nicholas’s stomach apart. But Nicholas saw it coming and eluded it swiftly, reaching out to grab the wrist that held the weapon. The two men grappled wildly.

Greet was incensed. Climbing to his feet, he pulled the pistol from his belt and tried to aim it at Nicholas but the two bodies kept twisting and turning so rapidly that he could not shoot.

‘Stand aside, Ben,’ he called. ‘I’ll finish him.’

Seeing the danger, Nicholas responded at once, holding his man even tighter and using him as shield against the accomplice. Greet came forward and tried to pull Ryden away from his target. Nicholas assisted him, promptly letting go of the man and pushing with all his might. Ryden smashed into Greet and sent him flying, there was a loud report as the pistol went off accidentally and the ball lodged in Ryden’s back. Staggering forward, he let out a cry of anguish and put both hands to a wound. Blood spurted everywhere. The commotion brought many curious faces to the door and windows. Greet thought only of escape. He grabbed his stricken companion and hustled him quickly out of the yard into the gathering dusk.