Edward Marston - The Fair Maid of Bohemia

‘Did they work well together?’

‘Extremely well,’ said Caspar. ‘At first.’

‘What happened then?’

‘Professional differences. That is all I can tell you.’

‘Have they kept in touch with each other?’

‘From time to time. Doctor Royden was in England the best part of a year ago. I know that they met up again.’

‘For what purpose?’

‘To talk about old times.’

‘Even though they had fallen out?’

‘They still had some things in common.’

‘What were they?’ pressed Nicholas.

‘I really cannot tell you,’ said Caspar with a slight hint of embarrassment. ‘My master does not confide everything in me. I am only his assistant and not his father-confessor. They met in London. They talked. That is all I can say.’ He cocked a head to one side as he studied Nicholas. ‘Why are you so interested in Doctor Mordrake?’

‘I met him once. At his house in Knightrider Street.’

‘Then you will know what a remarkable man he is.’

‘That was self-evident.’

‘My master is even more remarkable,’ said the other with pride. ‘He will be grateful to hear that he may have another friend in Prague apart from me.’ He stood up. ‘Thank you for giving me your time. I bid you both adieu!’

‘Farewell!’ said Nicholas. ‘Thank you for coming.’

‘My pleasure, sir.’

Anne watched him leave before turning to Nicholas again.

‘Why did you not entrust him with the message?’ she said.

‘Because I had no proof that he was who he said he was.’

‘He was plainly honest.’

‘I needed more than honesty, Anne.’

‘But this was your one chance of getting those documents to Doctor Royden and you refused to take it.’

‘I want to deliver them in person,’ he asserted. ‘I have not brought them all this way to hand them over to a young assistant, however charming and helpful he may be. Remember that the documents robbed Adrian Smallwood of his life. I wish to know why.’ His manner softened. ‘Besides,’ he added with a wry smile, ‘after what we were told about Doctor Mordrake, I cannot wait to put something from him into the hands of his old colleague and mark his response. It should be very revealing.’

***

Westfield’s Men were initially overcome by the opulence of the palace. They wandered in a daze past an unending series of fine paintings, arresting sculpture, ornate tapestries, ancient books, rare maps and assorted curiosities from every corner of the known world. The collection of jewellery and ornaments alone must have cost an immense fortune. Emperor Rudolph might have his personal eccentricities but his patronage of the arts was unrivalled in Europe. His whole palace was a monument to his long and generous commitment.

When they were shown into the hall where the plays were to be performed, the actors were cowed by its splendour. Frescoes adorned its walls, statuary stood in alcoves and the high ceiling was a work of art. While most of them were still awe-struck by the sumptuous surroundings, Nicholas was surveying the practicalities of the space. He chose the end of the room which afforded them entrances through two doors and which would give them the best of the afternoon light.

Performances of one kind or another were fairly frequent and the palace carpenters had constructed a series of small platforms which could be fitted together to form a stage. When servants carried them into the hall, Nicholas was relieved to see that the Emperor himself was not among them. The stage was large enough but too low. Nicholas called for a second tier of platforms to be laid upon the first, giving the players the height they needed to dominate the room and to project their voices to best effect. Curtains were hung at the rear of the stage. Steps were placed behind them to assist the cast up onto the raised platform.

By the time that the puffing George Dart had dragged the last scenic device into place-an oak tree, expertly made by Nathan Curtis from a much baser wood-they were eager to begin the rehearsal. The Three Sisters of Mantua would be their first offering in the short season of plays at the Imperial Court. It was a light comedy with a simple plot and a clear distinction between its shining heroes and its dark villains. It also afforded three of the apprentices an early opportunity to shine in the title roles. Experience had taught them the inestimable value of music, dance and mime to a foreign audience. The Three Sisters of Mantua was liberally stuffed with them.

The company made heavy weather of an undemanding play. Fatigue, nerves and a late night at the Black Eagle conspired to produce all kinds of serious errors and disastrous lapses of memory. Firethorn brought them to a halt after Act Three.

‘Shame on you!’ he cried, stamping a foot to make the whole stage shudder beneath them. ‘Shame on you and shame on me! For I am as big a culprit as any here. This performance is not fit for an empty room, let alone for an Emperor. Wake up, sirs. Stir yourselves. Remember who we are and why we are here. First impressions are crucial. Fail today and we will lose much of the goodwill we have built up. We must sweep the audience off its feet with our vitality and not lull it to sleep with our plodding delivery. Gird your loins and fight like men!’

Nicholas added his own strictures in the tiring-house. Delivered quietly to individual actors, they had even more impact than Firethorn’s public blast. The actors writhed under the joint chastisement, but it was well-deserved. They were now keyed up to exonerate themselves. The improvement was instant, and The Three Sisters of Mantua began to live and breathe on the stage. As the performance gathered momentum, a new spirit coursed through them. A clever play started to look like a comic masterpiece. As the Duke of Mantua, the now superb Firethorn brought the piece to a close with the epilogue.

‘Thus ends our play and this the moral is,

That nothing holds more danger than a kiss

Upon the lips. Love’s potion has a taste

That brought three sisters in great haste

From Mantua to seek their hearts’ desire.

Remember how they burned with Cupid’s fire.

Their youthful folly earned them sharp rebuke,

For each one loved the self-same Mantuan Duke,

And while his noble heart was strong and free,

He could not give it to all sisters three.

Choose one, hold fast and stay forever true

Unto your love. That is the only way you

Find real peace and happiness on this earth

And understand what love is truly worth.’

The Duke of Mantua doffed his hat and gave a low bow to the non-existent audience. There was a long pause. It was broken by the most unlikely sound. A single pair of hands began to clap earnestly from the other end of the hall. They looked up in surprise to see the dainty figure of Sophia Magdalena, clad in her finery, acclaiming their performance with ladylike enthusiasm. It was the best accolade they could have wished.

The whole company was lifted by her presence and by her approval of their art. But her eyes were fixed firmly on Lawrence Firethorn as she spoke the two words in English that she had mastered.

‘Thank you,’ she said sweetly. ‘Thank you.’

It was enough. His feelings of betrayal melted away in a flash. Sophia Magdalena had come back to him at last. All was forgiven. As her delicate palms clapped on, Firethorn heard a choir of angels in his ears. He felt transfigured.

He was in love again.

Crouched in the corner of his cell, Doctor Talbot Royden munched disconsolately on an apple and listened to the rat snuffling in the clotted straw. There was a savage irony in his predicament. A famous scientist, who strove to push out the frontiers of knowledge, could not even tell whether it was night or day now. A celebrated alchemist, who basked in the glow of his furnace, had only one flickering candle between him and total darkness. An Emperor’s favourite had suddenly become the butt of his cruel humour. Royden spat out a pip, then hurled the apple core angrily at the wall.