Had we been going as ordinary citizens, we would have climbed the new palace steps, which clung to the ramparts and provided a safe way for pedestrians. Instead we wended our way up Sporrengasse on horseback as befitted a representative of the queen of England, which gave me a chance to fully take in the houses with their canted foundations, colorful sgraffito, and painted signs. We passed the house of the Red Lion, the Golden Star, the Swan, and the Two Suns. At the top of the hill, we took a sharp right into a neighborhood filled with the mansions of aristocrats and court appointees, called Hrad?any.
It was not my first glimpse of the castle, for I’d seen it looming over its surroundings when we came into Prague and could look up to its ramparts from our windows. But this was the closest I’d yet been to it. The castle was even larger and more sprawling at close range than it had appeared at a distance, like an entirely separate city full of trade and industry. Ahead were the Gothic pinnacles of St. Vitus Cathedral, with round towers punctuating the walls. Though built for defense, the towers now housed workshops for the hundreds of artisans who made their home at Rudolf’s court.
The palace guard admitted us through the west gate and into an enclosed courtyard. After Pierre and Jack took charge of the horses, our armed escorts headed for a range of buildings tucked against the castle walls. They had been built relatively recently, and the stone was crisp-edged and gleaming. These looked like office buildings, but beyond them I could see high roofs and medieval stonework.
“What’s happened now?” I whispered to Matthew. “Why aren’t we going to the palace?”
“Because there’s nobody there of any importance,” said Gallowglass. He held the Voynich manuscript in his arms, safely wrapped in leather and bound with straps to keep the pages from warping in the cold weather.
“Rudolf found the old Royal Palace drafty and dark,” Matthew explained, helping me over the slick cobbles. “His new palace faces south and overlooks a private garden. Here he’s farther away from the cathedral—and the priests.”
The halls of the residence were busy, with people rushing to and fro shouting in German, Czech, Spanish, and Latin depending on which part of Rudolf’s empire they came from. The closer we got to the emperor, the more frenetic the activity became. We passed a room filled with people arguing over architectural drawings. Another room housed a lively debate about the merits of an elaborate gold-and-stone bowl fashioned to look like a seashell. Finally the guards left us in a comfortable salon with heavy chairs, a tiled stove that pumped out a significant amount of heat, and two men in deep conversation. They turned toward us.
“Good day, old friend,” a kindly man of around sixty said in English. He beamed at Matthew.
“Tadeá?.” Matthew gripped his arm warmly. “You are looking well.”
“And you are looking young.” The man’s eyes twinkled. His glance caused no tell-tale reaction on my skin. “And here is the woman everyone is talking about. I am Tadeá? Hájek.” The human bowed, and I curtsied in response.
A slender gentleman with an olive complexion and hair nearly as dark as Matthew’s strolled over to us. “Master Strada,” Matthew said with a bow. He was not as pleased to see this man as he was the first.
“Is she truly a witch?” Strada surveyed me with interest. “If so, my sister Katharina would like to meet her. She is with child, and the pregnancy troubles her.”
“Surely Tadeá?—the royal physician—is better suited to seeing after the birth of the emperor’s child,” Matthew said, “or have matters with your sister changed?”
“The emperor still treasures my sister,” Strada said frostily. “For that reason alone, her whims should be indulged.”
“Have you seen Joris? He has been talking about nothing but the triptych since His Majesty opened it,” Tadeá? asked, changing the subject.
“Not yet, no.” Matthew’s eyes went to the door. “Is the emperor in?”
“Yes. He is looking at a new painting by Master Spranger. It is very large and . . . ah, detailed.”
“Another picture of Venus,” Strada said with a sniff.
“This Venus looks rather like your sister, sir.” Hájek smiled.
“Ist das Matth?us h?re ich?” said a nasal voice from the far end of the room. Everyone turned and swept into deep bows. I curtsied automatically. It was going to be a challenge to follow the conversation. I had expected Rudolf to speak Latin, not German. “Und Sie das Buch und die Hexe gebracht, ich verstehe. Und die norwegische Wolf.”
Rudolf was a small man with a disproportionately long chin and a pronounced underbite. The full, fleshy lips of the Hapsburg family exaggerated the prominence of the lower half of his face, although this was somewhat balanced by his pale, protruding eyes and thick, flattened nose. Years of good living and fine drink had given him a portly profile, but his legs remained thin and spindly. He tottered toward us on high-heeled red shoes ornamented with gold stamps.
“I brought my wife, Your Majesty, as you commanded,” Matthew said, placing a slight emphasis on the word “wife.” Gallowglass translated Matthew’s English into flawless German, as if my husband didn’t know the language—which I knew he did, after traveling with him from Hamburg to Wittenberg to Prague by sled.
“Y su talento para los juegos también,” Rudolf said, switching effortlessly into Spanish as though that might convince Matthew to converse with him directly. He studied me slowly, lingering over the curves of my body with a thoroughness that made me long for a shower. “Es una lástima que se casó en absoluto, pero aún más lamentable que ella está casada con usted.”
“Very regrettable, Majesty,” Matthew said sharply, sticking resolutely to English. “But I assure you we are thoroughly wed. My father insisted upon it. So did the lady.” This remark only made Rudolf scrutinize me with greater interest.
Gallowglass took mercy on me and thumped the book onto the table. “Das Buch.”
That got their attention. Strada unwrapped it while Hájek and Rudolf speculated on just how wonderful this new addition to the imperial library might prove to be. When it was exposed to view, however, the air in the room thickened with disappointment.
“What joke is this?” Rudolf snapped in German.
“I am not sure I take Your Majesty’s meaning,” Matthew replied. He waited for Gallowglass to translate.
“I mean that I already know this book,” Rudolf sputtered.
“That doesn’t surprise me, Your Majesty, since you gave it to John Dee—by mistake, I am told.” Matthew bowed.
“The emperor does not make mistakes!” Strada said, pushing the book away in disgust.
“We all make mistakes, Signor Strada,” Hájek said gently. “I am sure, though, that there is some other explanation as to why this book has been returned to the emperor. Perhaps Dr. Dee uncovered its secrets.”
“It is nothing but childish pictures,” retorted Strada.
“Is that why this picture book found its way into Dr. Dee’s baggage? Did you hope he would be able to understand what you could not?” Matthew’s words were having an adverse effect on Strada, who turned purple. “Perhaps you borrowed Dee’s book, Signor Strada, the one with alchemical pictures from Roger Bacon’s library, in hope that it would help you decipher this one. That is a far more pleasant prospect than imagining you would have tricked poor Dr. Dee out of his treasure. Of course his Majesty could not have known of such an evil business.” Matthew’s smile was chilling.
“And is this book that you say I have the only treasure of mine you wish to take back to England?” Rudolf asked sharply. “Or does your avarice extend to my laboratories?”
“If you mean Edward Kelley, the queen needs some assurance that he is here of his own free will. Nothing more,” Matthew lied. He then took the conversation in a less trying direction. “Do you like your new altarpiece, Your Majesty?”