Edward Marston - The Fair Maid of Bohemia

‘Why?’

‘That is of no concern to you.’

‘But it is,’ said Nicholas earnestly. ‘I must speak with him in order to pass on a message from England.’

‘Out of the question.’

‘Is he not allowed visitors?’

‘No,’ came the crisp reply. ‘He is in disgrace.’

‘Can we at least know why?’

The Chamberlain was peremptory. ‘That is the end of the matter. Doctor Royden is being held on the Emperor’s orders.’ He glanced at Firethorn. ‘Did you have a question?’

‘A number, sir,’ replied the actor. ‘The first concerns the lady whose interest in Westfield’s Men brought us here. The Emperor sent the invitation but we know that she must have encouraged him to do so.’

‘That is so, Master Firethorn. Sophia Magdalena watched your company in London and was overwhelmed. She insisted that you were brought here.’

‘She has been our guiding star.’

‘Lawrence Firethorn was mentioned many times.’

‘She wanted me!’

‘Sophia Magdalena says you are a wonderful actor.’

‘Ecstasy!’

‘She will be pleased that you got here in time.’

‘Not as pleased as I am,’ said Firethorn, leaning forward with a chuckle. ‘When may I see the fair maid herself?’

‘At the wedding. Naturally.’

Firethorn gulped. ‘The wedding?’

‘That is why you are here,’ said the Chamberlain. ‘In a few days’ time, Sophia Magdalena of Jankau is to marry the son of the Duke of Brunswick. The marriage will take place in the cathedral. Banquets will be held for a week thereafter. Your plays will be part of the wedding celebrations. Did you not realise that?’

Nicholas adjusted to the news with ease but Firethorn was staggered. Libidinous desires which had sustained him through fatigue and adversity now crumbled into dust. Imagining that Sophia Magdalena had-like so many gorgeous young women before her-fallen hopelessly in love with him during one of his monumental performances, the actor had never paused to wonder if there might be another man in her life. He was at once incensed at the magnitude of his own folly and shaken by what he saw as her betrayal of him.

‘Sophia Magdalena?’ he said under his breath. ‘Rather would I call her Mary Magdalena. The sinful creature!’

The Chamberlain gave a pale smile. ‘We look to you to select plays which are suitable for such an occasion.’

‘We will be happy to do so,’ said Nicholas, covering his companion’s evident exasperation. ‘By way of a wedding gift, we have brought a new play for the bride.’

‘Excellent! What is it called?’

‘ The Whore of Prague! ’ mumbled Firethorn.

‘ The Fair Maid of Bohemia ,’ said Nicholas quickly. ‘Our playwright, Edmund Hoode, has fashioned it with care for this joyful event. He will also take part in the play.’

‘We look forward to seeing its first performance.’

‘It will also be its last!’ said Firethorn.

‘Oh?’

‘What Master Firethorn means,’ intervened Nicholas, ‘is that the play is new-minted for Sophia Magdalena. It belongs solely to her and will not be offered elsewhere. Beyond the confines of Bohemia, it would not have the same value or inner meaning.’ He shot the actor a reproving glance. ‘Was not that the decision you reached?’

‘Indeed, it was,’ said Firethorn, regaining his composure and smothering his frustration beneath a fawning smile. ‘Westfield’s Men offer the bride a wedding gift which will sing sweetly in her memory forever.’

‘Sophia Magdalena will be duly grateful,’ said the Chamberlain brusquely. ‘But you will no doubt wish to view the hall where this piece will be staged.’ He reached for a bell. ‘I will have someone conduct you there directly.’

‘One moment,’ said Firethorn, intent on propping up his sagging pride in some way. ‘There is something else we wish to do before that. We are the guests of Emperor Rudolph. His letter of invitation expressly requested us to seek him out as soon as we reached Prague.’ He sat up straight in the chair. ‘Let him know that Lawrence Firethorn has arrived and is desirous of meeting the Emperor.’

Wolfgang von Rumpf spoke quietly through gritted teeth.

‘You have already done so,’ he said.

‘I fear that you are mistaken, sir.’

‘Believe me, I am not.’

‘The only people we have met since we arrived have been a Dutch acquaintance of ours, Hugo Usselincx, and your good self. When are we supposed to have met Emperor Rudolph?’

‘On your way to this apartment.’

Firethorn exchanged a look of amazement with Nicholas.

‘The servant?’

‘That was the Holy Roman Emperor and King of Bohemia.’

‘An underling in his own palace?’

The Chamberlain winced. He spoke with the distaste of a parent who is forced to acknowledge an obstreperous child as his own. He nodded wearily.

‘The Emperor is somewhat eccentric,’ he said.

***

Dressed in the garb of a keeper and carrying a large hunk of fresh meat, Rudolph strolled past the cages in his menagerie and waved familiarly at their snarling denizens. He paused to watch two white doves, perched side by side in their little domed prison, nestling up to each other with cooing affection. Touched by the sight of love in a place of such roaring anger, he moved on until he came to one of the largest cages. Three wolves were padding restlessly around, checking the perimeter of their limited territory in an endless search for escape. They paid no heed to the curious onlooker.

The animals were a gift from Russia and had white-tufted fur. Their feline grace concealed a deep and vengeful rage. When Rudolph tossed the meat through the bars, they pounced on it as if it were the man who had stolen their freedom. As they fought noisily and viciously over the meat, a profound sadness descended on their keeper. He was no longer feeding his beloved animals. He was watching his empire being torn apart by wanton brutality. His hands rested forlornly on the bars.

‘Catholic, Protestant, Hussite,’ he sighed, nodding at each animal in turn. ‘Which wolf will devour the biggest portion?’

The sight soon appalled him. Turning sharply away, he went off quickly to seek the solace of his botanical gardens.

***

The Black Eagle was situated in one of the labyrinthine streets of the Malá Strana, the Little Side of the river. Most of the inhabitants lived in the larger part of the city on the eastern bank and Westfield’s Men had already walked across the bridge to acquaint themselves with its many wonders. However, they found the Malá Strana more to their taste. It had a secretiveness that appealed to them. None of them could read the Czech name on the inn sign, but the crudely painted black bird of prey left them in no doubt where they were.

The inn was small but comfortable and their hostess was the image of hospitality. A big, bosomy woman with a roguish eye, she was thrilled to have been chosen to look after a famous English theatre troupe. After a regular diet of sausages and bacon in Germany, the visitors were pleased to find more fish and poultry being served. The local beer was dark and strong. An hour in its congenial company soon won them over.

While his fellows caroused, Firethorn stared blankly at the table and mused on the fickleness of destiny. The others might be toasting their arrival in Prague but it had so far brought him nothing but heartache and rejection. Three imperatives had taken them to the palace. A doctor, a maid and an Emperor. They had not made meaningful contact with any of them. Doctor Talbot Royden was locked away in a dungeon. Sophia Magdalena would soon be incarcerated in a marriage. And Emperor Rudolph seemed to be trapped in some weird and childlike prison of the mind. Three totally inaccessible people. Firethorn emitted a low moan. Prague was failure writ large across his soul.