The Princess of Denmark (15 page)

‘Who will supply the seating?’ said Anne.

‘That, too, will be taken care of,’ said Nicholas. ‘The mayor and the town worthies will sit on benches at the front with everyone else standing behind them. Those who live in houses that overlook the square, of course, can watch from their upper windows. The mayor assured me that we can count on large audiences.’

‘What about your patron? Will he have a seat of honour?’

‘I think it unlikely that he’ll even be here.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because he’s seen both comedies before and because he will not leave the castle while his bride is there. Lord Westfield caught his first glimpse of her yesterday,’ said Nicholas, ‘and he is enraptured.’

It was evening before he had a formal meeting with Sigbrit Olsen and it was a moving experience for him. Having
waited all day, he had drunk heavily to subdue his impatience and was decidedly light-headed when the precious moment actually came. Lord Westfield was conducted into the hall beside Bror Langberg and his wife, Johanna. Over thirty people had gathered there to be introduced to their distinguished visitor from England but he had eyes for only one person. When she emerged from the shadows in the candle-lit room and gave him a gentle curtsey, he let out a gasp of wonder. Could this angel really be his?

Sigbrit was dressed in the German fashion with a loose-bodied gown of black and gold fitted to the shoulders and falling in set folds from the waist to the floor. The front was open, exposing the gold-embroidered dress beneath. A small, closed frill was attached to the high collar of the bodice of the undergarment. Sigbrit’s fair hair was held in a network of gold thread, lined with silk. The apparel tended to conceal more than it showed but Lord Westfield did not mind. His future wife was standing only yards from him.

‘This is my niece,’ said Langberg, easing her forward.

‘Good evening, my lord,’ said Sigbrit demurely.

Lord Westfield gave a seraphic smile. ‘I’m enchanted.’

As he bent forward to place a kiss on her gloved hand, he felt a thrill course through him. Whether from the excitement of meeting her or from having consumed too much wine, he did not know but he was so unsteady on his feet for a few moments that Langberg had to support him under the elbow. The prospective bride and groom exchanged a few, stilted sentences before Langberg intervened to draw his attention to the other people there. Lord Westfield was obliged to meet everyone of real
significance in the castle and to make polite conversation with them.

Though they were in the same room for almost an hour, he could never get really close to Sigbrit, still less to speak to her alone. Whenever he looked at her, she was surrounded by women, curious to know what she would wear at the wedding, and, whenever he tried to do more than make a passing remark to her across the room, her uncle was always on hand to introduce him to some newcomers. Langberg made much of the fact that their guest of honour had had to endure a dangerous sea voyage to reach them. Before he knew it, Lord Westfield had acquired a small audience.

‘Yes,’ he recounted, ‘we were set on by pirates in a Spanish galleon but we fought them off bravely. They pounded us at first but Englishmen yield to nobody in a sea battle. I was strongly reminded of
Gloriana Triumphant
.’

Langberg was mystified. ‘My lord?’

‘It’s the title of a play written by Edmund Hoode and it marked our victory over the Spanish Armada.’ There was murmur of approval from everyone listening. ‘Gloriana, as you will guess, is Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth. She inspired us to put our enemy to flight.’

‘The Dutch would value such inspiration.’

‘We’ve sent men and money to help them, Master Langberg, but the war against the Spanish drags on.’

‘Wars are a terrible drain on any nation.’

‘Denmark has done well to keep out of them.’

‘It was not always so,’ said Langberg ruefully. ‘At the start of his reign, King Frederick was embroiled in a Seven Years War to restore the Union. It was highly expensive and
he was forced to borrow money from his wife’s family in Mecklenburg.’

‘Did he win the war?’

‘Nobody won it, my lord. After seven years of fighting – and after the deaths of thousands of brave soldiers – no territory changed hands.’ He led his companion across to a portrait that hung on the wall. ‘The king learnt his lesson. For the rest of his reign, he sought only peace and stability. And he devoted much of his energy to rebuilding this castle and strengthening its fortifications.’

‘He did a magnificent job,’ said Lord Westfield.

‘He was a remarkable man.’

They regarded the portrait. King Frederick II was a handsome man with close-cropped hair and well-trimmed beard and moustache. Wearing shiny black armour, he had a striking red and gold sash across his breastplate. He looked proud, imperious and resolute, gazing down like a monarch in his absolute prime.

‘Do you know what his motto was?’ asked Langberg.

‘No,’ said the other.

‘Without God – nothing.’

‘I endorse that sentiment wholeheartedly.’

‘King Christian has taken up the same theme.’

‘What is his motto?’

‘The fear of God makes the kingdom strong.’

‘Every country should take heed of that,’ said Lord Westfield. ‘I know little of political matters, I fear, but Rolfe is well-versed in the affairs of many nations. What he’s taught me about the history of Denmark has made me eager to take a Danish bride.’

Langberg glanced around. ‘Where is Rolfe Harling, my lord?’ he said. ‘He was invited. I would have expected him to be here by now.’

‘So would I. He is never late. Where on earth can he be?’

George Dart was a poor sailor and the voyage had been a nightmare for him. Now that they had arrived, however, and were staying in a royal palace, he realised how privileged he was to be a member of Westfield’s Men. No amount of teasing from the actors could make him regret the fact that he had come. Since he had to take on so many additional duties, the days ahead promised to be onerous and that made him quail. Meanwhile, however, Dart could enjoy himself.

‘Your turn now, Dick,’ said Martin Yeo.

‘No,’ replied Richard Honeydew, the youngest and most talented of the apprentices. ‘Let George go first.’

‘Very well. George?’

Dart stepped forward. ‘Yes?’

‘We will count up to fifty,’ said Yeo.

‘Make it a hundred.’

‘Fifty.’

‘Where will I go?’

‘That’s up to you,’ said Honeydew, handing him a candle. ‘Hurry up, George. We are starting to count now.’

Dart charged off. They were in the casemates, playing a game of hide and seek, having some harmless fun while at the same time exploring the labyrinthine passages below the castle. It had taken them a long time to find Martin Yeo’s hiding place. Now that it was his turn, Dart wanted
to be just as elusive. With the candle casting a flickering light, he hurried on through the interconnecting cellars, making sharp turns to throw off pursuit and looking for somewhere to conceal himself. Eventually, he found it.

When he came into one casemate, he could pick out a series of storage bays, built of brick against the wall. Three feet in height, they were long enough to hide someone much taller than George Dart. Fish, grain and other foodstuffs occupied some of the bays but he found one that was half-empty. Whatever it contained was hidden beneath a large sheet of canvas. It was the perfect place. The sound of distant voices told him that the apprentices were already on his trail. There was no time to lose. He cocked a leg over the wall and lifted the canvas sheet. He was on the point of blowing out the candle when he saw that someone else was already hiding in the bay.

Face contorted by violent death, Rolfe Harling lay on his back, his doublet stained with blood, his mouth wide open in a soundless cry of protest.

George Dart fainted.

The murder threw the entire castle into turmoil. Guards were alerted, guests retreated quickly to their rooms, outer gates were locked and every inch of Kronborg was searched for interlopers. Bror Langberg took personal charge of the hunt for the killer. Outraged that the crime should cast such a shadow over the castle when there was a wedding ceremony in the offing, he insisted on a speedy arrest of the culprit. The whole atmosphere of the place suddenly changed dramatically. Instead of friendliness and cordiality, Westfield’s Men were met with coldness and suspicion. There was one important consolation. Langberg was hugely apologetic to their patron over the untimely death of Rolfe Harling. Since the body had been found in the casemates, he had Westfield’s Men moved out of there at once and installed them in a wooden hut hastily vacated by soldiers.

Everyone in the company was shocked by the murder – George Dart was still shaking uncontrollably – but few felt a
sense of real bereavement. Harling had not endeared himself to the actors during the voyage. Dry and aloof, he had made no effort to befriend them and had spent most of his time on board apart from them. It was a point that Nicholas Bracewell made when he and Lawrence Firethorn discussed the matter with their patron in his spacious apartment.

‘He seemed to have no interest in us, my lord,’ said Nicholas.

‘No,’ agreed Lord Westfield, sobered by the sudden turn of events. ‘Rolfe was too high-minded to be a playgoer.’

‘Then why did he travel with a theatre troupe?’

‘He came as my adviser, Nicholas. Without him, I would never have met my new wife. Rolfe had many virtues. He could speak Danish and got to know Bror Langberg extremely well. It would have been foolish to leave him behind.’

‘Did he not tell me that he sometimes visited the Continent on government business?’ recalled Firethorn.

‘That is so. He was known in universities throughout Europe.’

‘What sort of work did he do?’

‘Rolfe was a kind of ambassador.’

‘How did you come to meet him, my lord?’ asked Nicholas.

‘He was recommended to me by a trusted friend.’

‘To what end?’

‘It was common knowledge that I wished to marry again,’ said the patron, ‘but I was hindered by financial restraints. My brother’s death – God rest his soul – lifted the burden of debt from me and so it was possible for me to institute a search.’

‘I’d not have thought it necessary,’ said Firethorn. ‘Whenever you attend a play at the Queen’s Head, you are always accompanied by the most charming young ladies. Your circle is very wide. Could you not select from that, my lord?’

‘You, of all people, should not need to ask that, Lawrence.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because,’ said Lord Westfield, lifting an eyebrow, ‘there is all the difference in the world between a wife and a female friend.’

Firethorn grinned. ‘I can vouch for that!’

‘One occupies a permanent place in a man’s life while the other is a temporary, if agreeable, distraction. I would never have considered using Rolfe Harling to search for a passing acquaintance. He would not have known where to look. Where such ladies are concerned, Rolfe had a touching innocence.’

‘Yet you trusted him to find a wife,’ said Nicholas.

‘Only because his travels took him to a number of different countries. And he was supremely discreet.’

‘Why do you think anyone would want to kill him?’

‘I have no idea, Nicholas.’

‘Had he fallen out with someone inside the castle?’

‘Not as far as I know. Besides,’ said Lord Westfield, ‘we have no proof that the villain actually resides within Kronborg.’

‘I think that we do, my lord. Only someone familiar with the castle would have known the ideal place for a dead body. There are all kinds of pungent smells in the casemates. The stink of a corpse might not have been noticed for days. It was only by sheer luck,’ Nicholas pointed out, ‘that George Dart stumbled on the storage bay.’

‘It gave him a dreadful fright, Nick, ‘said Firethorn.

‘Yet we must all be grateful to him.’

‘Why?’

‘For finding Master Harling so soon after the murder. I was able to inspect the corpse before it was carried away. The body was still warm and the blood had not dried. One thing is fairly certain.’

‘What’s that?’

‘His killer is still inside the castle.’

‘Dear God!’ cried Lord Westfield, backing away with a hand to his throat. ‘Does that mean the rest of us are in danger as well?’

‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘Rolfe Harling was singled out for a purpose and we need to find out exactly what that purpose was. That’s why I’d like to learn more about the man. You told me yesterday that he was a chess player, my lord.’

‘True – he was a master of the game.’

‘I never have the patience to play it,’ said Firethorn.

‘Rolfe did,’ said Lord Westfield with admiration. ‘He had the patience of a saint. He never moved a piece until he had considered all of the possible consequences. The fellow had a gift.’

‘Calm down,’ said Hansi Askgaard, putting a comforting arm around her sister. ‘There’s no need to fret like this.’

‘But the man was
murdered
, Hansi.’

‘So I understand.’

‘Right here in the castle.’

‘Uncle Bror will have the killer caught and executed.’

‘That’s not the point.’

‘Then what is?’

‘It’s an omen,’ said Sigbrit Olsen, eyes widening. ‘Rolfe Harling was the man who arranged the match. His death is a warning sign.’

‘You are being silly.’

‘It is, Hansi. There’s no other way of looking at it. We are only days away from the wedding and
this
happens. It must be a portent.’

‘It’s an unfortunate coincidence, that’s all.’

Like everyone else in the castle, Sigbrit had been horrified to hear of the murder and she had hurried back to her apartment and locked herself in. When word had reached Hansi, she had come at once to be with her sister but she was finding it very difficult to soothe her. She eased Sigbrit down into a chair.

‘Try to put it out of your mind,’ Hansi advised.

‘How can I?’

‘By thinking of something else.’

‘This has ruined everything.’

‘Only because you are letting it do so. An hour ago, you were in the middle of a happy gathering, meeting your future husband for the first time.’

‘I’d almost forgotten that,’ said Sigbrit, slightly dazed.

‘But it must have been a wonderful experience for you.’

‘Well, yes … I suppose that it was.’

‘You might sound a little more pleased,’ scolded Hansi gently. ‘I know that I would have been in your place. What was Lord Westfield like?’

Sigbrit shrugged. ‘He was … very pleasant.’

‘That tells me nothing. Everyone makes an effort to be
pleasant on first acquaintance. What about his appearance? Is he handsome or ugly? Is he fair or dark? How was he attired? Tell me about his manner and his deportment.
Describe
him.’

‘He was somewhat older than I expected.’

‘But not ridiculously so.’

‘No, no,’ said Sigbrit. ‘Lord Westfield was spirited enough, I grant him that, though he was a little unsteady on his feet at first.’

‘Overwhelmed by the importance of the occasion.’

‘I know that I was, Hansi. I was trembling all over.’

‘That’s only to be expected.’

‘He dresses well and has a distinct nobility about him.’

‘What of his features?’

‘Tolerable.’

‘No more than that?’

‘I did not really have chance to see,’ explained Sigbrit. ‘As soon as we’d been introduced, I was set on by all the ladies there. They were so inquisitive. For most of the evening, Lord Westfield and I were yards apart.’

‘That will soon change when you are married.’

‘I wonder.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Hansi, hearing the doubt in her sister’s voice. ‘You can surely not be having second thoughts.’

Sigbrit looked uncertain. Getting to her feet, she paced the room and as she tried to weigh everything in the balance. Hansi watched her carefully, waiting in silence until her sister had reached a decision. Eventually, Sigbrit came to a halt.

‘I think that the wedding will have to be postponed.’

‘But that’s out of the question,’ said Hansi. ‘Everything has been arranged. King Christian will be arriving in a few
days. What will he say when you tell him there’s a delay?’

‘He will understand. The murder has altered everything.’

‘It’s a tragedy, I agree, and it could not have come at a worse moment. But it should not be allowed to affect the wedding, Sigbrit. After all, Master Harling was to play no part in the ceremony.’

‘He helped to bring Lord Westfield and me together. For that reason alone, he had to be there, Hansi. It was his right. That’s why his death is so troubling. It fills me with foreboding.’

‘Then you must wrestle with such feelings.’

‘How can I?’

‘You
wish
to be the new Lady Westfield, do you not?’

Sigbrit hesitated. ‘I think so.’

‘It’s too late to change your mind now,’ said Hansi, taking her hand. ‘This business has upset you – it’s upset us all – but it has no bearing on the wedding.’

‘I fear that it has. Someone is trying to stop this marriage.’

‘Then they must not be allowed to do so.’

‘What if they should strike again?’

Hansi was firm. ‘There is no risk whatsoever of that.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I have faith in Uncle Bror,’ said Hansi. ‘He will know exactly what to do. He’ll track down the killer immediately and have the villain hanged. Do as I do in a crisis, Sigbrit.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘Rely on Uncle Bror.’

Bror Langberg shook him warmly by the hand and waved him to a chair before sitting on the other side of the table.
Nicholas Bracewell was glad of the friendly reception. Langberg was the person in the castle who could help him most. They met in his apartment.

‘Rolfe told me a lot about you,’ said Langberg approvingly.

‘Really? We hardly ever spoke.’

‘He talked of you to Lord Westfield. In fact, they discussed several members of the company. Rolfe was cautious. He liked to know as much as he could about people with whom he was dealing.’

‘While giving away very little about himself.’

‘Quite so,’ said Langberg. ‘We think of reserve as an English failing but he turned it to advantage. He hid behind it so that he could study his fellow men and he was a perceptive judge. That’s why he spoke so well of you, Master Bracewell.’

Nicholas was sceptical. ‘I find it hard to believe.’

‘Oh, he did not do so out of affection. Rolfe could never bring himself to like you. But that’s irrelevant. What he observed was your value to the company. When your ship was attacked, it was you who held the others together.’

‘Only because I had more experience than they.’

‘Considerably more experience. Your pedigree is enviable. You sailed around the world with Drake, I gather.’

‘That was a long time ago.’

‘The voyage was an inspiration to sailors everywhere.’

‘Were you one yourself, Master Langberg?’

‘I’m Danish,’ said the other with a grin. ‘In a country like ours, made up of small islands, we are all sailors. However,’ he went on, becoming serious. ‘We are not here to talk about that.’

‘No,’ said Nicholas, ‘we both want the same thing and that’s the early arrest of the man who stabbed Master Harling to death. I’m hoping that we may be able to help each other.’

‘So am I. Feel free to ask anything you wish.’

‘When was he last seen alive?’

‘Earlier this evening,’ replied Langberg. ‘I saw him through my window, strolling around the courtyard.’

‘Alone?’

‘Completely. He was not given to idle chatter with strangers.’

‘Or with anyone else,’ said Nicholas.

‘He was a scholar. He liked his own company.’

‘For that reason,’ suggested Nicholas, ‘it’s difficult to see why anyone should wish to kill him. He made extremely few friends but, by the same token, he made few enemies. I wonder if he found two of them in this very castle.’

‘Two?’

‘If my guess is correct.’

‘Go on, please.’

‘Master Harling would never have gone willingly into the casemates. Why should he? It’s cold and dark down there. I believe that he was killed elsewhere then carried down to that storage bay. It would have taken two men to get him there.’

Langberg was impressed. ‘I never thought of that,’ he said. ‘I assumed that he had been enticed down there before being attacked. On reflection, I admit, it’s difficult to see what possible enticement could have been used.’

‘I’d make another guess, sir.’

‘Well?’

‘The killer and his confederate are employed here in the castle. They not only knew where to hide the body, they were aware of the exact places in the casements where Westfield’s Men and where some of your soldiers were housed.’

‘That’s true. Rolfe was discovered well away from both. Nobody would have cause to go to anywhere near the bay where the body was left. Lord Westfield was right about you, my friend,’ said Langberg with a smile. ‘He told me that you had a keen brain. You’ve dealt with murder before, I hear.’

‘Far too often.’

‘Well, you’ll not be involved in the search for the killer this time. He and his accomplice must still be inside the castle. I’ll turn the place inside out before I find them.’

‘What about tomorrow, Master Langberg?’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘We are due to perform in the town,’ said Nicholas.

‘Then let the performance go ahead.’

‘You have no objection?’

‘None at all,’ said Langberg. ‘I’ll not let this crime interfere with your work. In fact, I’ll do my best to keep the whole business within the walls of Kronborg. Entertain the town and you’ll be helping us. You’ll be giving the impression that everything is as it should be here.’

‘Lawrence Firethorn will be delighted to hear that.’

‘Nothing must be affected by this, Master Bracewell. If someone is trying to disrupt the wedding or hamper your troupe, they will fail. We must be defiant.’