Edward Marston - The Princess of Denmark

Nicholas was far more interested in saving his friend than in chasing the would-be killers. He snatched up a pail of water that stood beside the well and flung it over Owen Elias to douse the flames that were licking at his clothes. He then handed the pail to the first man who emerged from the inn.

‘Fill it up again!’ he ordered.

‘Yes,’ said the other, gaping at the scene.

‘Be quick, man!’

Taking Elias by the feet, Nicholas dragged him to safety then checked that he was still breathing. When he saw that the Welshman was still very much alive, he went back to the stables and stamped on the burning straw. Other people hurried to help him and, under the onslaught of a dozen feet, the fire was soon contained. A second pail of water put out the last of the flames and it was then possible to calm the frightened horses. Westfield’s Men formed a circle around their fallen colleague, horrified at the sight of the injury to his skull. It was left to Anne Hendrik to bathe and bind up the wound. When he began to regain consciousness, Elias let out a long groan and put a hand to the back of his head.

‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘You were attacked by two men,’ said Nicholas. ‘They tried to burn you alive in the stables.’

‘I thought the Danes were friendly people.’

‘They are, Owen. These villains were English.’

Bror Langberg kissed her gently on the forehead and smiled at her.

‘I am glad to see that you have come to your senses, Sigbrit.’

‘I had a long talk with Aunt Johanna,’ she said, turning to her sister, ‘and with Hansi, of course. They persuaded me that I should have no fears about this marriage.’

‘None at all,’ said Hansi.

‘I am beginning to look forward to it, Uncle Bror.’

‘And so you should,’ he said. ‘Had you been in the square this afternoon, you would have seen what a wonderful company you are about to inherit. Westfield’s Men are the toast of Elsinore. They have brought so much merriment to the town.’

‘Good.’

‘On Saturday, they will perform in the castle ballroom.’

‘I still have qualms about that,’ admitted Sigbrit.

‘They will disappear the moment the play begins.’

Langberg was pleased that his niece’s doubts seemed to have been overcome and he was grateful to her sister for the help that she had been given. He now felt able to take more cheering news to the bridegroom. After bidding farewell to the two women, he went along the corridor with a spring in his step until he came to the apartment set aside for Lord Westfield. When he was admitted, Langberg saw that the chess pieces were in an untidy pile on the table.

‘Rolfe Harling would never have left them like that,’ he noted.

‘No,’ said the other. ‘He kept them neatly in a box.’

‘Everything about him was neat and meticulous.’

‘Have his killers been caught?’

‘Not yet, my lord, but they will be. They will be.’

Langberg studied his guest. Lord Westfield looked more jaded and world-weary than ever. His visit had so far delivered none of the joys that he had expected. All of his natural zest had deserted him.

‘I bring you good tidings,’ said Langberg.

‘Are there such things?’

‘I’ve not long returned from the town, my lord. The performance of The Wizard Earl was the finest I have ever seen upon a stage. Since I speak English, I was able to appreciate its full value but even those who could not understand a word of the language, enjoyed it hugely. Your actors floated on a sea of laughter.’

‘Whereas I am becalmed in the shallows,’ said Lord Westfield.

‘Take pride in the achievement of your company.’

‘I always do, Master Langberg. But there are times when comedy strikes a jarring note inside my head. This is one of them.’

‘Then let us see if we can cure you of that discord.’

‘Only one person could do that and she is not here.’

‘She soon will be,’ said Langberg happily. ‘That’s the other news I bring you. Sigbrit sends word. She apologises for being unable to see you and wants you to know that she is feeling markedly better.’

‘That does cheer me,’ said the other, shedding his malaise in an instant. ‘Can we meet properly at last?’

‘Sigbrit will dine with you tomorrow, my lord.’

‘Why must I wait until then?’

‘That is her request.’

‘Then I’ll willingly abide by it,’ agreed Lord Westfield. ‘It’s the privilege of a bride to keep her husband waiting and I’ll not cavil at that. Had she felt able to attend the play today, I’d have enjoyed it at her side. As it is, we will watch The Princess of Denmark together and she will see what a precious gift I offer her in the form of my theatre company.’

‘Precious and quite unique.’

‘Indeed. They have had the honour of playing before Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth many times.’

‘They will soon perform before a king,’ said Langberg, moving to the door. ‘I wonder if you would care to come with me, my lord? There is something I wish to show you.’

‘Where?’

‘Here in Kronborg. We will not have to leave the castle.’

‘Then I’ll gladly accompany you.’

Opening the door, Langberg took him out and ushered him along the corridor until they reached the end. When they turned at right angles into another passageway, they stopped at the first window. Langberg gestured his companion forward.

‘Behold, my lord.’

‘All that I can see is an empty courtyard.’

‘Look at the window opposite.’

‘Which one?’

‘The one near the corner,’ said Langberg. ‘Do you see her?’

Lord Westfield tingled. ‘Is it Sigbrit?’

‘Who else?’

Pressing his nose against the glass, Lord Westfield stared across the courtyard at the young woman in the window directly opposite. She was some distance away and light was fading but he was still able to recognise her as his bride. Framed in the window, she waved to him and he lifted a hand in acknowledgement. The more he stared, the clearer he could see her. He did not need to take out the portrait this time. Her beauty identified her at once. Doubts that he had felt earlier now disappeared. His gloom and irritation were replaced by a sense of pure joy. There was another treat to come. Putting her hand to her lips, she blew him a kiss across the courtyard. He was enraptured.

‘Sigbrit!’ he murmured. ‘I love you!’

The attempted murder of Owen Elias brought the festivities at the White Hart to a sudden end. Alarmed that such a thing could happen on his premises, the landlord insisted on summoning a surgeon so that the wound could be properly examined, and he also sent for constables. A search of the immediate vicinity began but there was no sign of the two men. Evidently, they had gone to ground somewhere, aided by the fact that it was growing steadily darker.

Westfield’s Men waited until the surgeon had inspected and re-bandaged Elias’s injury. The Welshman was given a herbal compound to ease his headache and to help him sleep. Nicholas Bracewell assisted him back to the cart and they set out for Kronborg. Once they were safely back in the castle, Lawrence Firethorn stalked off to his apartment with Nicholas and Edmund Hoode in tow.

‘This is intolerable!’ he protested as they entered the room. ‘We have unseen enemies in Denmark. First of all, Rolfe Harling is killed. Today, it was Owen’s turn to be attacked.’

‘The two crimes are not linked,’ said Nicholas.

‘They must be,’ argued Hoode.

‘No, Edmund. It may look like that, I agree, but I ask you to compare the cases in detail.’

‘Two of our number have been attacked, Nick. That’s all the detail I need. Someone has a grudge against Westfield’s Men.’