Edward Marston - The Fair Maid of Bohemia

‘I am seeking Master Lawrence Firethorn,’ he said.

‘He stands before you,’ announced the actor with a hand on his chest. ‘Who may you be, sir?’

‘Balthasar Davey, at your service. Secretary to Sir Robert Sidney, Lord Governor of Flushing. I am sent to welcome you to the town and to apologise for the gross inconvenience you have clearly suffered.’ He dismounted from the saddle. ‘Sir Robert sends his compliments and bids me conduct you to the inn where you and your company will lodge for the night.’

‘Thank you, Master Davey,’ said Firethorn, pleased by this new development. ‘We drop from fatigue and need refreshment.’

‘I will take you to it directly.’ He turned to Anne and spoke with courtesy. ‘But I see that you have a lady with you. We have only a short distance to walk but I will happily offer her the use of my horse for that journey.’ He glanced at the soiled hem of her dress. ‘You have already marched too far on foot, I think. Travel the rest of the way in some comfort.’

Anne acknowledged the kind offer with a smile and was about to refuse it but Nicholas took the decision for her.

‘Thank you, sir,’ he said, taking her by the waist and hoisting her up into the saddle in one fluent move. ‘This is Mistress Hendrik, who has been our companion thus far from London. Her business takes her to Amsterdam and we seek advice as to how she can reach it in the safest and swiftest way.’

‘Put the matter in my hands,’ said Davey obligingly. ‘If Mistress Hendrik will spend a night at the inn, I will ensure that she may set off for Amsterdam in the morning. Will that satisfy you?’

‘It will,’ said Anne with gratitude.

Balthasar Davey tugged on the reins and led his horse along the road. Restored by the promise of hospitality, the company followed eagerly. Nicholas fell in beside their guide and introduced himself.

‘One thing more,’ he said. ‘Our baggage was too heavy to drag from Rammekins. A member of the company stayed behind to guard it. I would retrieve it and him as soon as possible.’

‘Your wagons await you at the inn.’

‘Good.’

‘I will find someone to do this errand for you.’

‘No,’ said Nicholas firmly. ‘It is my responsibility. I will drive the wagon myself without delay.’

‘So be it.’

The inn was a long, rambling, ramshackle building with a steep roof whose thatch was in need of repair, but its defects were willingly overlooked by guests in need of rest and sustenance. English ale and wholesome food awaited them. With four walls around them at last, they were mollified. After an inauspicious beginning, their visit to the Continent might yet be redeemed. They were expected, after all.

Nicholas did not share in the repast. When he had shown Anne to the privacy of her bedchamber, he went out to the stables where an ostler was harnessing two of the horses between the shafts of a wagon. Nicholas was soon rumbling off in the direction of Rammekins to collect the abandoned George Dart. Curled up on a basket like a stray dog, Dart shivered in the grudging sunshine and scanned the road to Flushing with large and fearful eyes. When he saw Nicholas approaching with the wagon, he burst into tears of joy and fell on to the ground from his perch. He soon rallied when Nicholas praised him for discharging his duty so well and promised him a nourishing meal once they returned to the inn. After loading the baskets into the wagon, they set off on a creaking journey along the muddy track.

They had gone well over a mile before Nicholas realised that they were being followed. A sixth sense made him turn sharply and he caught a glimpse of a stocky man on a roan some fifty yards or more behind them. The lone horseman quickly dropped back and sought the cover of some trees. Nicholas said nothing to his companion. Flicking the reins, he coaxed a brisk trot out of the animals and they made light work of pulling the wagon along. When he next looked over his shoulder, Nicholas saw no evidence of any pursuit.

It was late afternoon when they trundled up to the inn. The sun had belatedly decided to grace the day with its full force and this drew some members of a Dutch militia company out onto the tufted lawn at the rear of the building for a game of skittles. Inside the hostelry, Westfield’s Men had already made themselves at home and were carousing happily. George Dart was given such a rousing reception that he forgot all about the privations of the voyage and the agonies of being left alone in a foreign country to guard the company’s baggage.

Nicholas saw immediately that Firethorn, Gill, and Hoode were missing. He raised a quizzical eyebrow. Owen Elias spoke over the top of a tankard of ale.

‘They are at the Governor’s house,’ he explained. ‘Sir Robert Sidney invited them to his table and that smooth-faced secretary of his escorted them thither. We have plainer fare here but it goes down well with this ale. Come and join us, Nick. You must be starving.’

‘I will speak with Anne first.’

‘She is resting in her chamber and left word that she will come down to you anon.’ He nudged his friend and chuckled. ‘Forget your office for once. Stop worrying about the needs of others and put Nick Bracewell first.’

‘I will admit to being thirsty, Owen.’

‘Hungry, too, I wager.’

‘Very.’

‘Then let us address the problem.’

With a loud yell, Elias banged the table until one of the servingmen came to see what he wanted. Food and drink were ordered for Nicholas and he set about both with relish. James Ingram and Adrian Smallwood were at the same table. All four men were soon chatting amiably but Nicholas remained alert. He remembered Anne’s warning very clearly and wondered if it might have a connection with the horseman who had trailed him.

They were in a long bare room with a scattering of tables, benches and stools. Apart from the actors, there were groups of English soldiers taking their ease during a break from fighting, watched resentfully by a few Dutch militiamen. Taunting remarks were occasionally tossed between the nominal allies. The tensions of war were clearly taking their toll.

Elias was buoyant again. ‘This tour of ours will be a triumphal march!’ he affirmed. ‘I feel it in my bones.’

‘That may just be the ague,’ joked Smallwood.

‘Do not rush to judgement,’ cautioned Ingram. ‘We have a long way to go yet, Owen. And we will spend far more time travelling than strutting upon a stage.’

‘We are pioneers!’ insisted Elias. ‘Other companies have brought their plays to the Continent, but none of our standing. I may well turn out to be the first Welshman to have acted before the Emperor Rudolph. Perhaps I should insert some lines in my native language for him.’

‘He would not understand them, if you did,’ said Nicholas as he put his dish aside. ‘The Emperor may not speak English, Welsh or any other tongue that you may know. He was brought up in the Spanish Court.’

‘Spanish!’ echoed Elias with distaste. ‘I’ll not speak that foul language for the Archangel Gabriel, let alone for a mere Emperor.’

‘You spoke it readily enough for Banbury’s Men,’ reminded Nicholas. ‘When you played in The Spanish Jew for them, you even sang a ballad in Spanish.’

‘Only in mockery of King Philip!’ he protested. Contrition came at once. ‘You are right to jog my memory, Nick. I rue the day when I was foolish enough to join our rivals. I paid dearly for that act of madness. My heart and hand belong to Westfield’s Men now.’ His chuckle resurfaced. ‘What is the point of travel if we cannot pick up every language that may lie in our way? I am turned schoolboy again.’

‘This venture will educate us all,’ said Ingram.