Edward Marston - The Fair Maid of Bohemia

‘And ennobled us,’ Hoode pointed out. ‘We came here as threadbare players and they treat us like minor aristocrats. In England, we are reviled as shiftless actors. Here, we are gentlemen of a company.’

‘It is no more than we deserve, Edmund. Wait until we get to Bohemia. The Emperor will probably give us knighthoods.’

Evening soon merged with night and the atmosphere at the inn grew steadily rowdier. Westfield’s Men were not the only roisterers. Other travellers were staying there and the Golden Lion also had its regular customers from the locality. It was only a matter of time before the drinking songs began in lusty German. Anne decided that it was time to retire to bed. They were leaving at dawn next morning and she needed her sleep. Nicholas escorted her away from the revelry before it took on an even more boisterous note. After taking a fond farewell outside her bedchamber, he urged her to lock her door and open it to nobody. Anne gave a wan smile.

‘I would feel safer if you were with me,’ she said.

‘It is where I would love to be, Anne, but…’ He glanced downstairs. ‘It is awkward. I have other duties.’

‘I understand.’

‘They are envious enough of me, as it is.’

She nodded. What they could easily do in the privacy of her house became trickier when he was with the whole company. Nicholas did not want to expose Anne to lewd gossip or himself to the knowing looks of his colleagues. Discretion was the first priority.

‘There will be time,’ he promised. ‘One day.’

‘I will wait.’

She blew him another kiss and retreated behind the door. When he heard the bolt being slipped home, he went downstairs to the taproom. Firethorn and Hoode had moved to the main table to be with the rest of the company. Nicholas saw that a stranger had joined them.

‘Come and sit here, Nick,’ said Firethorn, making room on the bench. ‘Meet our new friend. I’ll call him plain Hugo because my tongue cannot get round his other name.’

‘Usselincx,’ said the stranger. ‘Hugo Usselincx.’

‘This is Nick Bracewell. The mainstay of the company.’

Nicholas exchanged greetings with the newcomer and sat opposite him. Usselincx was a well-built man of short stature, but his shoulders were so rounded and his manner so diffident that he seemed even smaller than he was. He was soberly dressed in the Dutch fashion with a cap that was pulled down over his forehead. A nervous smile hung around the wide mouth. His English was good but overlaid with a Dutch accent.

‘I came to congratulate you,’ he said softly.

‘You saw the performance this afternoon?’

‘Hugo saw all three performances, Nick,’ said Firethorn with a hearty chuckle. ‘He is a stauncher patron than Lord Westfield.’

‘I only found out this evening where the company was staying,’ explained Usselincx. ‘I would not normally have come. I am very shy. But I had to make the effort this time.’

‘That is very gratifying, Master Usselincx,’ said Nicholas.

‘Please. Call me Hugo. It is easier.’

Nicholas was trying to weigh up the man. Frankfurt was full of merchants-many from Holland-but Hugo Usselincx was not one of them. He had none of the assertiveness of a man who lives to haggle. The dark attire suggested a religious affiliation of some kind. Having been appraised himself, the Dutchman was carrying out his own shrewd scrutiny of Nicholas.

‘Master Firethorn was right to call you the mainstay.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you kept the company together,’ said Usselincx. ‘You are the book-holder, are you not?’

‘How did you know that?’

‘Because you do not look like an actor and you are the only member of the company who did not appear onstage. You were behind the scenes, Nicholas Bracewell. Working hard to make the play flow from scene to scene. The book-holder is an important man. Especially in a company like yours.’

‘You have seen English players before?’

‘Many times. I lived in London for a while.’

‘Oh?’

‘I saw you wondering if I was in holy orders,’ said the other with a smile. ‘You were close. I am an organist. I have worked in churches and cathedrals all over Europe. Earlier this year, I was in London. I heard much about Westfield’s Men and saw you perform Black Antonio at the Queen’s Head.’

‘I hope you enjoyed it, Hugo,’ said Nicholas, warming to him. ‘What brings you to Frankfurt?’

‘I am on my way to Prague to take up a post there. The Týn Church. It is very famous.’ He looked around the actors. ‘I could not believe my luck when I discovered that Westfield’s Men were here. I should have left two days ago but I stayed on so that I did not miss a single performance.’

‘We are bound for Prague ourselves.’

‘So Master Firethorn was telling me.’

‘We are to be guests of honour at the Imperial Court,’ said Firethorn. ‘By personal invitation of the Emperor.’

‘No honour could be higher.’ He peered at Nicholas. ‘I hope that our paths may cross again. If there is some way that I may watch you play in Prague, I will find it.’

‘You will be most welcome, Hugo,’ said Firethorn. ‘But if you go by the same route, why not travel in company with us?’

‘That would be an imposition. Besides, I am days behind now. I must ride hard to make up lost time.’ He rose to his feet and offered his hand to Firethorn. ‘Farewell-and thank you for this pleasure.’

‘We are always pleased to see a friendly face, Hugo.’

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘We wish you Godspeed!’

Usselincx took his hand between both palms and shook it. As he backed away, the Dutchman plucked a small purse from his belt and tossed it to Firethorn.

‘Spend that for me in celebration of your triumph.’

When Firethorn shook out the coins, he was surprised at the man’s generosity. Before he could thank him, however, Hugo Usselincx had given a simpering smile and disappeared.

‘Frankfurt is a city of wonders!’ said Firethorn. ‘Money drops out of the sky.’

‘We would do well to save it against harsher times,’ suggested Nicholas. ‘Shall I take charge of it?’

‘No, Nick. It is ours to spend and that is what we will do with it. We’ll drink the health of Hugo Usselincx.’ He put an arm around his friend. ‘Do not look so disapproving. This money may be spent, but plenty more will fall into our laps. We may find that it grows on trees in Bohemia.’

‘I doubt that.’

‘So will I when I am sober again. But tonight I will get as gloriously drunk as a lord. Then I will fall into my bed and dream sweetly of Sophia Magdalena. The fair maid herself.’ He smacked his friend between the shoulder-blades. ‘Come, Nick. Be honest. You long to see her again yourself.’

‘I do,’ admitted Nicholas, ‘but my first task will be to seek out someone else in Prague.’

‘And who is that?’

‘Doctor Talbot Royden.’

***

He was still not used to the noisome stench of the dungeon or to its chilling coldness. Talbot Royden sat in the straw in a corner, huddled over the single candle they had allowed him. Since he had been thrown in there, he had been given no food or drink. Were they intent on starving him to death? His head was still spinning at the speed of what had happened. Instead of being the respected Doctor Royden, he was one more miserable prisoner in the castle dungeons. Why had Rudolph turned against him so suddenly and unaccountably?

Distant footsteps raised a faint glimmer of hope and he scrambled to the door. A guard came down the steps, lighting the way with a flaming torch that gave off an acrid smell. Peering through the bars, Royden rallied when he saw that his assistant was following the guard. Caspar was carrying a large basket that was covered with a cloth. His assistant was as confused as his master by what had happened, but at least he had retained his freedom. He was Royden’s one link with the outside world.