Edward Marston - The Fair Maid of Bohemia

Rudolph blinked. ‘On whose orders?’

‘Yours.’

‘Why did I have him arrested?’

‘He has failed yet again.’

‘But he promised me that he would succeed this time.’

‘He did not.’

‘This is intolerable!’ said Rudolph, rising to his feet. ‘I need men around me who can keep their word. I want a Court that is the envy of the civilised world. I demand success and achievement in every branch of the sciences and the arts. Has Doctor Talbot Royden been told that?’

‘Many times.’

‘Send him to the dungeons.’

‘He is already under lock and key.’

‘What further punishment should I inflict upon him?’

‘That is up to you, your Imperial Highness.’

Rudolph sat down on his throne to consider the question. His anger slowly ebbed and it gave way to a sudden outburst of manic laughter. The Chamberlain edged away from him. Rudolph clapped his hands together with glee.

‘I know what I will do for the good doctor!’ he said.

‘What is that?’

‘Send him a basket of fruit.’

The Chamberlain was mystified. ‘Fruit? A basket of fruit?’

‘The perfect gift,’ insisted the other before turning to the artist and translating his edict into fluent Italian. ‘I am sending my prisoner a basket of fruit.’

‘Fruit?’ said the other with a giggle.

‘From the Emperor!’

As the two of them went off into another peal of wild and inexplicable laughter, the Chamberlain made a dignified exit.

***

The journey to Frankfurt took two days longer than they had anticipated. When they left the Rhine Valley and headed east, they came up against topographical problems of all kinds. Hills, mountains, woodland and waterways slowed them down, and the appalling condition of the roads was another delaying factor. One of the wagons lost a wheel when it hit a boulder at speed and precious hours were taken up by the repair.

Westfield’s Men soldiered on bravely and Firethorn kept up their spirits by leading rehearsals of plays from their repertoire. By common consent, The Corrupt Bargain had been eliminated from the list they would offer to their audiences. Robbed of one of his plays, Edmund Hoode was determined to make amends with another. He worked conscientiously on The Fair Maid of Bohemia , sitting beside Nicholas Bracewell so that he could profit from the book-holder’s advice. It was not the first time a play had been written on the hoof. During a tour to the West Country, the two friends had collaborated on ideas which eventually grew into The Merchant of Calais . Hoode was keen to revive that fertile partnership.

‘Barnaby is calling for an extra song,’ he said.

‘He already has enough,’ argued Nicholas. ‘The play can carry two more songs but they should be given to Owen and to Dick Honeydew.’

‘That was my feeling as well.’

‘It will lend more variety to the singing.’

‘That was the joy of Adrian’s voice,’ observed Hoode sadly. ‘It was such a welcome contrast. This play cries out for an actor like Adrian Smallwood.’

‘I know. But you have made good progress, Edmund.’

‘Thanks to you.’

‘All that I have done is to make a few suggestions.’

‘You fired my imagination, Nick. Whenever I faltered, I took fresh inspiration from her.’

‘Her?’

‘Sophia Magdalena. The fair maid who arranged for us to be invited to Bohemia. The least I can offer her by way of thanks is a play in her honour. It is an expression of my deep and lasting devotion to her.’

‘But you only saw her that once.’

‘It was enough.’

‘She struck a chord with the whole company.’

‘You, too, will fall in love with her, Nick.’

‘I am already spoken for,’ said the other softly. ‘You pursue your fair maid of Bohemia and I will hold fast to my fine lady of Bankside.’

‘It may be a long while before you are together again.’

‘We are resigned to that.’

‘Absence serves to whet the appetite.’

‘True.’ He flicked the reins to goad the horses into a trot. ‘Tell me more about the play. What other changes have you made to it?’

Hoode needed no more encouragement. He talked at length and with enthusiasm about the heroine’s translation from Wapping to Bohemia. Nicholas was pleased to hear that some of his own ideas had been incorporated and developed. It was evident that, by the time they reached Prague, the revisions would be complete and the play fit for rehearsal. After the harrowing experience at the Palace in Cologne, the playwright was in sore need of a triumph to restore his morale.

Absorbed by what he heard, Nicholas did not lose sight of caution. He knew that they were being followed. Ever since they left Cologne, he sensed that they were being trailed even though he never laid eyes on the man in their wake. When he saw a copse ahead, he decided to take a more positive step. Handing the reins to Hoode, he waited until the wagon merged with the overhanging branches, then jumped to the ground. The others assumed that he was going to relieve himself and a few good-natured jeers followed him behind a tree.

Secure in his hiding-place, Nicholas waited for ten minutes or so but no following horseman came by. When he stepped out into the road, all that he could see behind them were a few peasants travelling on foot. The wagons had halted on the other side of the copse for him. As Nicholas hurried after them, he decided that the man was either too clever to be caught in the trap or had somehow got ahead of them again. They could not afford to lower their guard for a second.

He was still there.

***

The Taunus offered a stern challenge and slowed them down even more. Wrapped in thick forests, it rose to a greater height than any of the other Rhineland Schist Massifs, and they had to struggle up mountain tracks and through narrow passes. At one point, the road was so steep that the passengers had to leap off the wagons and help to push them from behind. They were grateful when they met the downward gradient. Their efforts were eventually rewarded with a first sighting of their next destination.

Frankfurt was another beautiful city, steeped in tradition and occupying a strategic point on a major river. For over seven centuries, Germany had elected its rulers there and emperors were now crowned in its majestic cathedral before being honoured at a coronation banquet in the palatial Kaisersaal. Frankfurt had developed into one of the most thriving commercial centres in Europe. So closely interwoven had its past been with the great events in German history that it could lay claim to being an unofficial capital.

Impressed by the size and the location of the city, the visitors could see from a distance the soaring cathedral tower, ornamented in the Gothic style and topped by a dome and lantern-tower. It reached up to heaven with a multitude of churches and tall buildings scrabbling after it. Westfield’s Men were by no means the only travellers on the road. The closer they got to Frankfurt, the thicker became the traffic. They were soon part of sizeable crowd converging on the city.

When they entered through the gates, they were carried along by the stream of heavily laden carts and riders towing pack-horses. Over the general clamour, they could hear music being played ahead of them. Sporadic applause and laughter broke out. It was only when they reached the main square and saw it awash with stalls that they realised how timely their arrival was. Frankfurt was holding one of its bi-annual fairs. Merchants had poured in from all parts of Europe to buy, sell or borrow from the city’s banks. Acrobats, jugglers, musicians and other itinerant entertainers were offering their wares.

Lawrence Firethorn took one look at the seething mass of people and responded in the true spirit of an actor. Arms outstretched, he stood up in the wagon and shouted with joy.