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.
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.’