time Cornelius and Voltemont had proved industrious. In a short span they had accomplished more useless work for the prince than ever they had labored on my business.
The smaller bed chamber at the head of the stairs was cleared of rubbish and Voltemont displayed to Christian with pride the shutters he had affixed at the windows to stop the wind. Cornelius pointed to the stove in the corner; it was alive with a warm fire. They had even built a low wooden pallet for the prince along one interior wall.
“We must yet wrap ourselves in our furs to sleep, but this should prove a worthier chamber for my lord than the kitchens below.”
“I am well pleased,” Christian said, and took their hands. “For these labors you shall both have what thanks as fits a prince’s remembrance.”
The men smiled like children and bowed to the prince. Christian released them and paced along the walls as an admiral inspects a ship of the line.
“The room is safe? It is surely warm, at least.”
“Aye, my lord,” Cornelius said. “The chimney works. I am not sanguine about the exterior walls. It would be wise, I think, to keep away from them.”
“That’s the failure of the Italian school of building,” Christian said. “Brahe should not have used Palladio as his model. What succeeds in the Mediterranean is not suited for the hardier climes of Denmark, eh Soren?”
“I cannot say, my lord.”
Christian walked to the window, opened one of the shutters, and looked out briefly before closing the shutter again.
“Cannot or would not or will not. Not to speak ill of the dead, eh?”
“My lord?”
“You will not condemn your master whilst standing in his very cranium. That is commendable.”
Christian pushed against the wall beside the window, leaning against it with all his weight.
“One can discuss any man, or that man’s home, with a free tongue,” he said in a sharp tone. “As long as he makes not his home in that good man’s head. It would be unseemly to sit beneath a friend’s crown and speak the truth, eh, gentlemen?”
“My lord, I know not what you mean,” I said. “And it is unsafe to so beleaguer the walls, my lord. Do stand away, prithee.”
“You are afraid one of Brahe’s bricks will crown me?”
“You would surely regret such a coronation, my lord. I beg you, stand away from the wall.”
Christian shrugged and began to beat against the wall with his right fist. Cornelius and Voltemont exchanged a look of alarm and stepped over to the prince.
“My lord,” Voltemont said. “To speak of heads, my lord.”
“Aye?”
Christian did not look at Voltemont. He continued to pound the wall.
“My lord, I wonder if you wish to visit the surgeon.”
“The surgeon?”
“My lord,” Cornelius said. “Will you not rest elsewhere than on the wall? It may fall in, my lord. It is not safe.”
“Safe? Nothing is safe.”
Cornelius and Voltemont reached out to take Christian’s arms. The prince slipped between the men and came to where I stood. He leaned close to me and spoke in a low voice.
“Who are they, Soren?”
“My lord?”
“Those men.” He nodded toward the window, where Voltemont was inspecting the wall and Cornelius was watching Christian. “Who are they?”
“My lord,” I whispered. “That is Voltemont and Cornelius. You know them.”
Christian snatched at the collar of my cloak and pulled our faces even closer.
“Not those men, of course.” He blinked rapidly and shook my cloak. “The other men.”
“My lord, there are no other men here.” I thought that perhaps Voltemont’s advice was sound, that the blow to Christian’s head caused him to wax desperate with imagination. The prince’s left eye was bloodshot, and I could not recall if it had been thus since we discovered him in the night.
“Did you send for them, Soren?”
“My lord, these are wild and whirling words you speak. There are none but the four of us in this room.”
Christian rolled his eyes like a dog with hydrophobia and shook me harder.
“Not us,” he said. “I dare say I worry the cold affects your brain, Soren. Look out the window, sirrah. There are three men on horseback coming from the north. Who are they?”
“Three men? Why, I know not.”
Christian took his hand from me and I went over to the window and opened the shutter. Below us was a trio of riders on coal black mounts, wearing the black and yellow of Swiss mercenaries. I did not know what they were doing at Uraniborg. Perhaps Marcellus had sent them to fetch me back to Kronberg, though