A Second Daniel

by Neal Roberts

  Sir Robert looks to Burghley. “I told you, Father. He doesn’t miss a thing.”

  Burghley nods thoughtfully. As though he still needs to test Noah’s mettle himself, he leans forward to pose a question.

  “Tell us, Master Ames. How did you learn that the two victims had been Walsingham’s agents?” As Burghley probably already knows, a straightforward answer would require Noah to reveal Henry as the source of that delicate information.

  Noah is careful not to glance in Henry’s direction. “I was told this in confidence, m’lord — ”

  “I told him,” interrupts Henry.

  Burghley smiles at Sir Robert, as though Noah has passed the test. “Discreet, as well as observant.”

  Sir Robert asks: “Why have you come forward with such a grave accusation before developing all the evidence?”

  “I would rather risk my own life than Her Majesty’s,” Noah replies, and it’s all the more persuasive for being true.

  Burghley asks: “And you feel that Lord Essex’s plan, if it is as you suspect, may present a threat to Her Majesty’s well-being?”

  The tension is thick as Noah replies. “I am no one to pass judgment on the character of a peer of the Crown, m’lord. But Mister Walsingham’s successor — of undoubted loyalty — should have been given charge of all such agents.” He glances at Sir Robert. “As this apparently has not been done, the inference might readily be drawn that whoever has prevented it from being done is … not so loyal.”

  “We will begin looking into this question immediately, Master Ames. Please accept our thanks, and the thanks of Her Majesty, for your perspicacity in her interest. And do not speak of this to anyone else.” Noah bows his head respectfully.

  Burghley changes the subject, lightening the mood. “Tell me, Master Ames, is it your experience that many of the people acquitted after trial at Queen’s Bench are genuinely innocent, or are most acquittals simply the result of lawyers’ wiles?”

  “Well, some are indeed innocent — at least of the charges against them.” This draws an unintended laugh. “Some are innocent altogether, as far as I can tell. Just the other week, I counseled a grain merchant who was acquitted of murder. As far as I could detect, he hadn’t done a blessed thing seriously wrong in his life. Family man, God-fearing, and so on.”

  “Oh, that’s right!” says Burghley, glancing at Sir Robert. “You bested Sir Edward Coke in that case, did you not? Remarkable!”

  Noah is abashed. “Oh, I don’t know, m’lord. His principal witness was Essex’s man, Gelly Meyrick, who appeared to have seen … shall we say … a crime in another district?”

  “Ah, but still! To defeat an adversary as learned as Coke must be quite a feather in your cap at the bar, no?”

  “I suppose.” Noah sips his coffee, searching his mind for an analogy. “But it’s like besting a chess champion at a game of loggats. They’re simply different sports.”

  “How so?” asks Sir Robert. “Are you not both barristers at the Queen’s Bench?”

  “Well, yes, we have that in common,” says Noah. “But a trial is only partly about scholarship. To a large extent, as I have been reminded of late, it is about showmanship and amiability. Coke has a problem putting people at ease. He finds it difficult to persuade them that he is … just like them, in a sense. You know, that he puts his robes on one at a time, and that he occasionally may sneeze, or even fart.”

  Lord Burghley’s face turns red, and he laughs despite himself. Sir Robert and Henry do the same, although more at Burghley’s reaction than Noah’s remark.

  Noah continues. “Coke’s strength — and it is formidable, I can tell you from experience — is in the depth of his legal learning. He is a scholar’s scholar.” He takes a bite of a small muffin. “Although it doesn’t matter much at trial, he also has an unquestioned dedication to justice through the Common Law. Brilliant man!”

  Burghley is momentarily speechless, and he looks to Sir Robert and Henry, as though Noah’s remarks have in some way touched upon a prior discussion among them. Burghley turns to Noah. “You may be surprised to learn, Master Ames, that he heaped as much praise upon you, as you have upon him.”

  Noah is taken aback. He puts down the muffin, sits upright, and clears his throat. “I am indeed surprised, as I was always under the impression that he does not much like me.”

  “Nonsense,” says Burghley. “It’s losing he cannot abide.”

  “Well, then,” says Noah, “he should be offered a position where he’s not required to play at loggats.”

  Several beautiful days pass uneventfully. While there’s still no word from Marie, it has not been so long yet as to be worrisome, especially as several of the countries to be visited are under the control of forces hostile to England. He trusts that, when she finally writes to him, she’ll be careful to avoid giving prying eyes any cause for suspicion.

  Although Noah greatly enjoys the company on this visit, all the bustling has deprived him of any opportunity to contemplate the loss of Marlowe. Late one afternoon, he takes a walk in the garden alone to sort through his feelings on the subject. True, he met Marlowe only once, and that with uncomfortable results, yet he will miss Marlowe the playwright. Of that he feels sure. And he’ll feel it all the more poignantly for Henry’s loss.

  “Noah!” He’s being called by Henry. It’s as though the man has been conjured by his own thoughts. Henry waves, emerging from the main house. “Let me show you the labyrinth!”

  Although he initially thought he’d prefer to be alone, if there’s anyone who can cast light on the significance of Marlowe’s death, it will be Henry. Besides, how can he deny attention to this wonderful host who has singlehandedly saved Jessica from an outbreak of plague?

  Henry catches up with him, the very pink of health, neither short of breath nor showing any sign of pain.

  “I must tell you, Henry, that your improved diet and Doctor Lopez’s tablets have done wonders for your health and appearance.”

  “Oh, you needn’t tell me that. I feel like a new man. But it’s all been diet and less drinking. I haven’t taken a single one of Lopez’s pills since the day he gave them to me.” Henry grows a bit more serious. “I don’t mean to intrude on your solitude, old man, but when I saw you from the doorway just now, you didn’t seem to be thinking happy thoughts.”

  “Well … some were happy. I was thinking how fortunate I am that you invited Jessica and me to Billingbear. I must tell you, I don’t think I’ve been this happy or well rested in many years. And my mind is at ease now she’s out of Southwark. I’ve also enjoyed meeting the Cecils, and Jessica enjoys their company immensely. She finds Sir Robert’s baby adorable.”

  Henry smiles. “Yes, a very handsome chap, isn’t he?”

  “He is. You caught me thinking about something else, though. I was contemplating the loss of Christopher Marlowe, which I haven’t had a moment for.”

  Henry sighs. “I know just what you mean. The thing of it is, it’s mostly an artistic loss. He was no great contributor to the society of men.”

  “True. I met him only the once, and he didn’t seem very interested in talking with me, if you take my meaning.”

  “No, indeed. They accused him of being everything from a pederast to an atheist. For all I know, it’s true. I can’t help but wonder if his … preference did not have something to do with his murder.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, I suppose he might have ‘come on’ to one of the men he was with that day.”

  “Implausible, in my view,” says Noah. “No, they must have known from Walsingham’s brother that Marlowe was a sodomite. A man doesn’t get angry about such an invitation unless he’s surprised by it. And they could not have been.” Noah suddenly remembers something Marie told him. “Before Marie left England on business, she mentioned something that seemed unimportant at the time. Did you know that her upstairs parlor looks out upon Gray’s Inn Square?”

  Henry stops and closes his eyes.
His face assumes a faraway look. “Now that you mention it, I can see her window.”

  “See her window? Where?”

  “In my mind’s eye, Noah.”

  “Ah! Well, as you know, she lost her husband shortly before leaving for the Continent. She told me that, like many a grieving widow, she’d pace the floor half the night sometimes. She said she saw Francis Bacon and Marlowe in amorous embrace at a place on Gray’s Inn Square that can be seen from her window.”

  Henry looks only mildly interested. “And?”

  “And she saw Francis Bacon pass Marlowe a letter there.” Noah stops and turns to Henry. “Suppose we were to think deviously.”

  “Is there any other way?”

  “Suppose there was something in that letter that incriminated Bacon.”

  Henry seems dubious. “Why would Bacon give an incriminating letter to Marlowe? Wouldn’t that enable Marlowe to extort him at will?”

  “It would, precisely, but suppose it would have incriminated Marlowe equally, so that Marlowe would not dare to disclose it.”

  “In what crime?” asks Henry.

  “Perhaps the pederasty that has been rumored about the two of them. Anthony Bacon, who is Essex’s candidate for Attorney General, becomes ill … too ill for the job. Now Francis becomes Essex’s prime candidate. But there’s this incriminating document out there, in Marlowe’s possession. Francis tells Essex about it, and Essex decides to get it back, just in time for his big party, the one we attended. Yes, it would give Francis something to celebrate. So, Essex, or Thomas Walsingham, doesn’t matter which, sends those murderous wretches Skeres, Poley, and Frizer to fetch the document.”

  “I’m following you so far. But those three were with Marlowe all day. Why wouldn’t they have just taken the letter from him right away?”

  “Because Marlowe would still once have had the letter, and he could always turn informer,” Noah speculates.

  “Without written evidence?”

  “Why not? He may have been an eyewitness to the act, for all we know, as reprehensible as that seems. Such testimony is admissible, and can be very persuasive. Besides, it’s possible that Marlowe had hidden the letter, and they could not find it. In that case, they would have to … ”

  Henry completes the sentence. “To badger Marlowe until he produced it.”

  “And Marlowe would have replied, as we know he repeatedly did: ‘Tell Devereux he can’t have it.’”

  “If they could not find it, why would they take all day before murdering Marlowe?”

  A shiver shoots up Noah’s spine. “We’ve been missing Marlowe’s fatal mistake!”

  “What is that?” asks Henry.

  “He gave it to them. After refusing all day, he turned over the letter! And that sealed his fate. Don’t you see? Though they had recovered the only written proof, they still had to eliminate the possibility of eyewitness testimony. And there was only one way to do that.”

  As Henry completes Noah’s thought, he looks stricken. “They had to kill him, as they may have been ordered to do regardless, because he’d also declined to serve as one of Essex’s spies.”

  “Yes, and they couldn’t kill him until he turned it over, for then it might yet have been found by someone else.” Noah glowers. “Did you see the look on Francis’s face as he and Anthony left Gray’s Inn for Essex’s party?”

  Henry nods grimly. “Like the cat who ate the cream, exactly as he would have felt if he knew that a threat posed by Marlowe had been … removed.”

  Henry points to a gap between the hedges. “This is the maze. Shall we enter?”

  “Why not?” says Noah. “It can’t be any more confusing than the one we’re caught in out here.”

  After making a few turns in the maze, Noah says, “Why do you suppose Marlowe was such a successful playwright?”

  “I suppose he loved playing off the old conventions, and adding his own touch.”

  “Conventions?” asks Noah.

  Henry nods. “It’s a creaky old profession, playwriting is. It has its clichéd forms, mostly based upon audience expectations. To some extent, the playwright is stuck with those expectations, and he either conforms to them, or plays off them at his peril.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “For example, there are some hoary old sayings among players. Here’s one: ‘If a pistol appears on the stage at the opening curtain, it must be fired before the end of the first act.’”

  Noah laughs. “What other expectations?”

  “Oh, there are so many. How about this one? It’s positively ancient: ‘If there’s an arras onstage, a high nobleman must be concealed behind it.’”

  “An arras?”

  “Yes, you know, like a tapestry. The more ornate, the higher the nobleman’s stature must be. An ordinary arras may conceal an earl, possibly even a duke, but an intricately detailed one … well, that requires a king or queen.”

  “Seriously? Why?”

  “Because the audience knows that a play is a game of make-believe, and enjoys these little conventions. Part of the fun is guessing what will happen next. It’s so much more engaging for them if they have some built-in clues. All theater — in fact, all fiction — is a game of concealment and revelation, of masking and unmasking, of seeming and being. But Marlowe’s strength was in punishing the audience.”

  “Punishing?”

  “You know: ‘You’re all bad little boys and girls for wanting to see this forbidden, wicked thing. So, I’m going to shove your noses in it until you cringe.’ Even so, at times his poetry soared. It ennobled the audience, despite themselves.”

  The sun is beginning to set.

  Henry asks, “So, can you get us out of this maze unassisted?”

  Noah smiles and quickly leads him out. “I don’t see what the Cecils found so puzzling.”

  “Neither did I.”

  Chapter 21

  AFTER SUPPER THE next day, Noah finds himself next to Henry again, walking in the moonlight to the cottage whose upstairs room is occupied by the slowly failing Sir Henry.

  While Henry holds the lantern, tonight it’s Noah who carries the basket. He glances back at the main house, and locates his own room just above the rear door. So dark and inviting. Though he might have remained there in comfort, he’s chosen instead to visit Sir Henry. In truth, he has two reasons: to reveal his great secret, and to close a circle opened at the Tower so many years ago.

  “It took me a fair amount of persuading,” says Henry, “but my father ultimately agreed that you could accompany me tonight. I had to send one of the maids up to make him presentable, something he rarely bothers with any more. Bear in mind, when you see him, that he’s in a great deal of pain. His temperament is not what it once was. And he spends so much time alone, albeit by his own choice, that he’s lost a good deal of the social grace he once had.”

  “I’m not going there to judge him, Henry.”

  “I haven’t a clue what your ‘great secret’ could possibly have to do with my father, but we’ll do this your way.”

  Noah smiles. “Spoken like a true friend. I will do my best to avoid upsetting him. Indeed, I cannot imagine why he would become upset. And I trust you will not be disappointed. Tell me, is his pain caused solely by gout?”

  “Solely? I’m not sure. But I believe it’s preponderantly so. I have tried to persuade him to lose weight and stop drinking, but it’s a hopeless cause.”

  “Have you given him any of Doctor Lopez’s tablets?”

  “I asked him if he’d take them, but he has a very low opinion of physicians. I told him they worked for me, but still he seems uninterested.” At the side door to the cottage, Henry comes to a halt. “I always stop here a moment,” he says, “to put myself in the proper frame of mind. He can be quite irascible sometimes, and I must remind myself of the respect he is due. Come on.”

  Henry knocks at the outside door. Although there’s no answer, he opens it, and they enter. Closing the door behind them, he turns as
if to speak, then evidently changes his mind and leads the way upstairs. He takes a deep breath and opens the door to his father’s room. They step inside.

  The room is illuminated this evening by two large candelabras, and one small candle in an uncovered glass case that apparently burns all night. At the opposite end of the room is a large bed with a carved and polished wooden headboard. In the bed sits an old man, nearly bald, propped up against several pillows, his broad shoulders supported by extra pillows at his sides. A blanket has been wrapped around him from his lower torso to his feet. His face, though unsmiling, seems alert and interested.

  “Good evening, Father,” says Henry.

  “Good evening, Sir Henry,” says Noah.

  “Good evening to you both,” replies Sir Henry in a voice much like that of young Henry, but more gruff and seasoned. He beckons to Noah. “Come over here, young man. Let me see your face in the light.”

  Hesitantly, Noah approaches Sir Henry, who reaches up with both hands to touch his face. After a moment’s contemplation, Sir Henry moves Noah’s head around to view it from various angles, as though he were a horse for sale.

  “Nope, never saw you before in my life. You’re a barrister?”

  “Yes, sir. Queen’s Bench.”

  Henry says: “Father, Noah is one of my oldest friends. He and I went on the same European tour with Sir Henry Savile many years ago.”

  “Intelligent fellow, Savile. A bit too chummy with the Essex crowd nowadays, if you ask me.” He turns to Noah. “What were you doing on the tour?”

  “I’d been reared in the home of Master Savile, and he brought me along to converse with the many Hebrew scholars whom he intended to consult along the way. It has always been a dream of his to rewrite the Geneva Bible to reflect the beauty of the original language. He has not done it yet, but hope remains.”