Edward Marston - The Fair Maid of Bohemia

Something warm and tender touched his left shoulder. It was one of the ample breasts of the hostess, resting casually on him as she bent over to refill his mug from a pitcher of beer. When he looked up, he was met with a grin as wide and wilful as the Vltava. It was not a handsome face. She had the high cheekbones of the Slav race and a flattish nose, but Firethorn was uncritical. At that moment in time, she seemed accessible. It was enough to stir his manhood. As she moved away, she let her other breast caress the side of his face. He supped his beer with beaming relish.

Anne Hendrik sat alone with Nicholas Bracewell on the other side of the room. She had learned to mix well with an exclusively male group and had shown a motherly concern for the apprentices and for the waif-like George Dart. Her pleasant manner, and her refusal to expect any special favours for being a woman, made her popular with the actors. But her real purpose in being there was to spend time with Nicholas, and Westfield’s Men understood this.

Anne sipped a cup of sweet wine and nodded approvingly.

‘This is quite delicious.’

‘Drink as much as you wish,’ he said airily. ‘The wine will be paid for by the Chamberlain.’

‘My needs are moderate, Nick. A cup or two will suffice.’

‘Free beer is too great a temptation for the others. They will be roistering here until they drop from drunkenness or exhaustion or a mixture of both.’

‘They have earned it after that journey.’

‘You suffered everything that they did.’

‘I have my reward,’ she said quietly.

Nicholas acknowledged the compliment with a smile. Unlike the rest of the company, he could not relax so easily into their new home. Unfinished business irked him. As long as the documents were still on his person, he felt vulnerable. Nobody had appeared to trail him from Frankfurt, but that did not mean the danger had passed. He remained watchful.

‘What are you thinking?’ she asked.

‘How much more pleasant a place like this is with you here.’

‘I am not in the way, then?’

‘The company have taken you to their heart.’

‘Do you grow jealous?’

‘Yes,’ he teased. ‘But sorrowful, too. I am sad that you have to share me with Westfield’s Men.’

‘I am used to that, Nick.’

‘They rely on me.’

‘So do I.’

They chatted amiably about how her business would be faring during her absence. She had no qualms about her deputy. Anne had not wasted her time in Germany. She had made sketches of all the unfamiliar fashions in hats she saw and intended to collect inspiration from Bohemia as well. What she was also keen to do was to be of more practical use to the company.

‘Make me your tireman, Nick.’

‘We are in sore need of one,’ he admitted.

‘If you have torn costumes, or need them adapted to fit more snugly, I am skilled with needle and thread.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I do not wish to feel I am only here to speak German.’

‘You are not, Anne. I can vouch for that.’

She answered his smile with one of her own and their voices dropped to a more intimate level. They were so engrossed in each other’s company that they did not see the young man who came into the inn and went to the table where the actors were lolling and drinking. After making enquiry, he crossed over to the couple.

‘Pray excuse me,’ he said courteously. ‘They tell me that you are Nicholas Bracewell.’

‘That is so,’ said the other, appraising him.

‘My name is Caspar Hilliard. I crave a word with you, sir.’

‘You may have it willingly.’

‘It is a private matter,’ said Caspar, with a glance at Anne. ‘I would value a moment alone with you.’

‘You may speak freely in front of Mistress Hendrik,’ said Nicholas. ‘She is a close and trusted friend. I’ll hear nothing that requires her to quit my company.’

The young man weighed her up carefully before reaching his decision. He sat on the bench beside Nicholas and spoke in a whisper, his eyes flicking from the book-holder to Anne.

‘I heard that you were asking after Doctor Royden.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘I reside at the castle. Word spreads.’

‘Only the Chamberlain knew of my interest.’

‘It is one that I share, sir,’ explained Caspar. ‘I am Doctor Royden’s assistant. At least, I held that office until he was cruelly and unjustly taken away from his laboratory.’

‘His assistant?’ said Nicholas.

‘I have worked for him this three and a half years. Ever since Doctor Mordrake left Prague. My father was English but my mother hailed from Koblenz, so I learned German from birth. It was one of the things which recommended me to Doctor Talbot Royden. That and my knowledge of science.’

‘Science?’

‘I studied medicine at Padua.’

‘Indeed?’

Nicholas was quickly warming to him. Caspar Hilliard had a long, intelligent, open face and a smooth-shaven chin. His suit was neat but not costly and he bore himself with modesty. He was patently worried about the fate of his employer.

‘Why did you wish to see Doctor Royden?’ he asked.

‘I have something to discuss with him,’ said Nicholas.

‘No visitors are allowed.’

‘So we were told.’

‘Save one.’

‘Who is that?’

‘Me. I am allowed to take his food to him.’ Another cautionary glance at Anne. ‘If you wish to get a message to my master, I will gladly carry it for you.’

‘I need to see him myself, Master Hilliard.’

‘That may prove impossible.’

‘Why?’ wondered Anne. ‘For what reason is he imprisoned?’

‘It is a cruel whim of the Emperor’s,’ said Caspar with a shake of his head. ‘He is a capricious man and subject to such moods. The harsh treatment is certainly undeserved. Doctor Royden and I have been working twelve hours a day on the experiment.’

‘What experiment?’ asked Nicholas.

‘I am not at liberty to discuss it, sir.’

‘Some branch of alchemy, perhaps?’

‘Doctor Royden is an astrologer as well as an alchemist,’ conceded the other. ‘And he is learned in other disciplines as well. It has been a labour of love to serve him.’

‘You talked of an experiment.’

‘It was nearing success,’ insisted the other. ‘Time was all that we needed. Time and understanding. Emperor Rudolph denied both to us. My master was summarily arrested and dragged off to the castle dungeon. It was disgraceful.’

‘Does he have no means of appeal?’

‘The Emperor will not hear him. Nor me. I have begged for an audience to plead my master’s case but I have been turned away. The Emperor pays no attention to a humble assistant.’

Nicholas sympathised with the young man’s dilemma. Caspar Hilliard was a loyal servant to a master who had apparently been treated very shabbily. If Royden’s fate lay in the hands of the strange Emperor, then his assistant had good cause for alarm. Nicholas thought of the servant who had escorted them at the palace to the Chamberlain. Rudolph was clearly a man of disturbing idiosyncrasies.

‘I am glad to have made your acquaintance,’ said Caspar with a nod at each of them. ‘May I at least tell Doctor Royden that you were asking after him?’

‘Yes,’ agreed Nicholas. ‘And you may give him my best wishes for an early release.’

‘No further message?’

‘None.’

‘I see.’

‘You mentioned Doctor Mordrake earlier on.’

‘That is so, sir.’

‘What connection did he have with your master?’

‘They worked in the laboratory together. Doctor Mordrake was one of the Court physicians for a while but his interests extended well beyond medicine. It was at his suggestion that my master was invited here.’