A Fine Madness

by Alan Judd

  ‘You turn up like a bad penny, Thomas, whenever I have time on my hands.’

  ‘A good penny this time, I hope. Maybe many a penny.’

  ‘Always welcome. How is dear Mary?’

  We talked of this and that for a while. He said living above the baker’s meant the house was always warm but that he and the other player were always tired because they were woken in the early hours by the baker and, unlike him, were not in bed before the day was out.

  No, I fear I cannot recall anything of the player he shared with. I’m not sure I ever knew anything about him. I’ve a faint thought that it may have been the player I met once, the one who was also a play-maker and with whom he collaborated. But I don’t know why I think that. It may have been from something he said.

  I told him my business, without of course mentioning negotiations with the Scottish Court. He did not react with his usual enthusiasm. ‘But how am I to insinuate myself in that tight little triangle of Poley, Skeres and Frizer? I never see Poley unless Sir Robert Cecil sends me to accompany him to Scotland with letters. Skeres I have not seen since the Babington affair, which is no loss at all, and Frizer – well, we see a bit of each other now that he is servant to Thomas Walsingham, as you know. Thomas himself I see but since the plague came he stays at Scadbury, his manor in Chislehurst. Wisely. The plague cart picked up two more bodies from Hog’s Lane this morning.’

  ‘I saw it on my way here. Could you seek refuge with Thomas at Scadbury while the plague lasts? He would welcome you, surely, especially if you wanted to write verses there.’

  ‘It would mean sharing a roof with Frizer. Maybe even a room.’

  ‘Then you would know if he meets Poley and Skeres.’

  He agreed after more talk, partly because he liked the idea of escaping London for a while and was intrigued by my suggestion that Poley might be planning change horses to ride with Essex. But he doubted it. ‘Not because he would have any compunction about changing sides, but I doubt he would see it to his advantage. He once said to me that Essex was a firework, bright and unpredictable, liable to go off at any time and then be finished, but that Burghley and Cecil were a trail of powder, carefully laid. I think he’ll stick with them.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I should like to be able to tell Robert Cecil what they meet and talk about, whatever it is.’

  ‘It will be money, money matters.’ He nodded, smiling to himself. ‘I’d bet you a guinea on it if you were a betting man.’

  That was the last time I saw him alive.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Christopher left for Scadbury the following day. He was to send me reports and I would reply by letter to a local inn. In fact, he had little to report during his brief time there. Sir Thomas and Lady Walsingham made him welcome, urging him to stay as long as he wished and providing him with a spacious chamber in which to write a long poem he was working on. He did not have to share with Ingram Frizer, who had become steward to the Walsinghams and was now part of the household. Frizer was less welcoming, of course, but not hostile. Or not outrightly so. ‘We rub along,’ Christopher wrote. It was in the interest of neither that there should be obvious friction between them and there was no sign that Frizer suspected Christopher’s motive for being there. Although there were indications that he was jealous of Christopher’s intimacy with Sir Thomas. Presumably he feared that Christopher could influence Thomas against him.

  Meanwhile, there was no sign of any plotting with Poley and Skeres. Christopher learned only that Skeres was somewhere in London and that he and Frizer were involved in property business, as Frizer called it, while Poley was said to be abroad. Christopher made an effort to talk business with Frizer and they agreed they should all meet when Poley returned.

  I was summoned again by Sir Robert Cecil. He told me that Poley was in the Low Countries on government business and would return soon. Christopher was to be sure to meet him whether or not the other two were there. Meanwhile, I was to warn Christopher that a warrant was about to be issued for his apprehension. He was not to worry – he was not a suspect, nor was it anything to do with the Dutch Church libel, though it arose from it. It was part of the Essex faction’s manoeuvres against Ralegh, whom they hoped to indict for heresy and free-thinking. Sir Robert had been able to see to it that Christopher was summoned only as a witness, not as party to the alleged crimes, and that he would not be imprisoned, merely required to be available to report regularly to the Privy Council for so long as necessary. In fact, Sir Robert was confident that he could so arrange it that Christopher was never called, even if the case was brought. But it was important that he showed himself to be cooperative, neither resisting nor absconding. I was to ensure he did that by writing to him that day.

  On 18 May – I have these latter dates by heart as a result of my subsequent investigation – Henry Maunder, one of the Queen’s Messengers, set out for Scadbury with a warrant to apprehend Christopher and bring him before the Privy Council. On 20 May Christopher accompanied Henry Maunder – I believe they knew each other anyway – back to the Council, then sitting at Greenwich as the Queen was there. It was eight or nine miles from Scadbury and Christopher appeared before the Council later that day, which on receipt of his indemnity commanded him to appear daily before them until licensed to the contrary.

  They were still gathering evidence, I later discovered, part of which was another note by Richard Baines listing Christopher’s alleged blasphemies and heresies. I also later discovered that Baines was put up to it by a pair of rogues, Thomas Drury and Richard Cholmeley, servants to the Earl of Essex. Why Baines was so keen to help them, having already done his worst to damage Christopher in Flushing, I know not. Personal malice, most likely, fuelled by money. Yet I never knew Christopher bear malice towards Baines; he showed only disdain or indifference. Perhaps that was enough. Indifference can be more wounding than darts of dislike or arrows of hate.

  Meanwhile our inquiry into the Dutch Church libel had widened into a hunt for any malcontents who tried to raise the mob against foreigners and the government. It was not our business to enquire into individual heresies and so I could show no interest in the case involving Christopher. I had news of it only from him or from Sir Robert, both infrequent. My last communication from Christopher was a note saying that Poley was expected within a day or two, depending on weather, and that he was to meet him with Skeres and Frizer to discuss ‘business matters’.

  What happened next is a matter of official record, as you must know, sir. I presume you have access to the record?

  Very well. You will have read that on 30 May Christopher Marlowe, Ingram Frizer, Nicholas Skeres and Robert Poley met on Deptford Strand, on the Thames in Kent, at the house of Eleanor Bull, a respectable widow who was distant cousin to Lord Burghley. Mrs Bull let rooms to gentlemen requiring rest or sustenance while waiting to embark or recovering from the rigours of a voyage. Poley had taken rooms the day before when he returned from the Low Countries. He intended to stay two or three days, having despatches to deliver to the Court at nearby Greenwich.

  The four men met at ten in the morning in one of the upstairs rooms taken by Poley, who must either have already delivered his despatches or was in no hurry to do so. I have among my papers here a copy of the coroner’s account of what happened in that room. If you wish I can read it to you, sir. I shall leave out the names of jurors and other legal details. But you must forgive my slowness. My eyes are going and even with these extra candles produced for your visit it is not easy reading.

  The coroner of the Queen’s household was then William Danby and it fell to him to conduct the inquest because Christopher was killed within the verge of the Court, the Queen residing as I have said at nearby Greenwich. Having named the four men present in the upstairs room, Danby records:

  …the aforesaid in the said County of Kent within the verge, about the tenth hour before noon of the same day, met together in a room in the house of a certain Eleanor Bull, widow; & there passed the time togeth
er & dined & after dinner were in quiet sort together there & walked in the garden belonging to the said house until the sixth hour after noon of the same day & then returned from the said garden to the room aforesaid and there together and in company supped; and after supper the said Ingram & Christopher Morley were in speech & uttered one to the other divers malicious words for the reason that they could not be at one nor agree about the payment of the sum of pence, that is le reckonynge, there;

  I’m sure there is no need to remind you, sir, of the history of relations between Christopher and Ingram Frizer. It began in enmity and, though afterwards they affected a cheerful familiarity necessitated by being parties to common endeavours, they were never of like mind. As I said, there were rumours they were rivals over a wench, though I never knew Christopher engaged with a woman. Nor a man, come to that, as some suggested. Though there is, as I have oft told you, much I do not know.

  Well, yes, perhaps there was some rivalry for the affections of Sir Thomas Walsingham, but their dislike of each other existed before that. Some dogs fight on meeting, with no cause apparent. It is in their temperaments. But Christopher was not a man to bear grudges. His nature was fundamentally generous, he would ignore rather than pursue. Look how he shrugged off Baines. Granted, he could lash out in temper, as you know, but he could also be fond and sympathetic. He was with Mary and, in a different key, with me. He mocked more than he hated, which a man like Frizer would have found hard to bear.

  As you have just heard, William Danby wrote that the cause of their argument that day was the reckoning, Eleanor Bull’s bill. There is no reason to doubt that, it could easily have been sufficient cause. Poley, Frizer and Skeres were all sharp with money, Frizer and Skeres being notable cozeners, as you know. Christopher was what you might call careful with money and, though I never knew him engage in fraud, I came to suspect there might have been more to his interest in coining in Flushing than the casual experiment he claimed. Yet he must have been prosperous when he died, his plays being so popular. You might think he would disdain to fight over the cost of a meal or two, but perhaps that takes too little account of feelings between him and Frizer. The real red meat of an argument is not always the cause given.

  William Danby goes on to write:

  & the said Christopher Morley then lying upon a bed in the room where they supped, & moved with anger against the said Ingram ffrysar upon the words as aforesaid spoken between them, And the said Ingram then and there sitting in the room aforesaid with his back towards the bed where the said Christopher Morley was then lying, sitting near the bed, that is, nere the bed, & with the front part of his body towards the table & the aforesaid Nicholas Skeres & Robert Poley sitting on either side of the said Ingram in such a manner that the same Ingram ffrysar in no wise could take flight: it so befell that the said Christopher Morley on a sudden and of his malice towards the said Ingram aforethought, then & there maliciously drew the dagger of the said Ingram which was at his back, and with the same dagger the said Christopher Morley then & there maliciously gave the said Ingram two wounds on his head of the length of two inches and of the depth of a quarter of an inch; whereupon the said Ingram, in fear of being slain, & sitting in the manner aforesaid between the said Nicholas Skeres & Robert Poley so that he could not in anywise get away from the said Christopher Morley; and so it befell in that affray that the said Ingram, in defence of his life, with the dagger aforesaid of the value of 12d. gave the said Christopher then and there a mortal wound over his right eye to the depth of two inches & of the width of one inch; of which mortal wound the aforesaid Christopher Morley then & there instantly died;

  There you have it, sir. That is the record. I believe it is essentially what happened. There is no reason to assert otherwise. But I can add to it somewhat, not only through what I have already told you about how Christopher came to be there, but through my subsequent investigations on behalf of Sir Robert.

  I continued in his employ for some time following the finding that Frizer had killed in self-defence and his subsequent pardoning, as had happened some years before with Thomas Watson and Christopher. Sir Robert still wanted to know what they discussed that day, to be as sure as possible that Poley was not swinging to Essex. He tasked me with questioning each of them.

  Naturally, he wanted it done without alerting them to his interest, if possible without mentioning him or Essex. ‘Do it as one grieving for the loss of your friend,’ he said. ‘He was after all the man who introduced you to your wife. They know of your official relations with him, of course, but those are far in the past. You admire his verses, you wish to compose a memorial to him, to commemorate your friendship.’

  There was in fact truth in that, as perhaps you have sensed, sir. I feel his loss still. He was a presence in my life like no other. It affected Mary grievously, she wept for days. Only when he was gone did I realise how often I engaged in an imaginary dialogue with him, questioning, arguing, construing his responses. His Kentish burr was ever in my head, querying my opinions, teasing me for my judgements. Thus do we keep the dead alive, giving them life after death. They live in us.

  How did I hear of it? Late, the news reached me late, he was dead and buried before I heard anything of it. Few knew of our connection, I suppose, and those that did probably thought of it as a professional relation, not a friendship. I had it from Nicholas Faunt who had run into Poley after the inquest. Nicholas, like many of us who had served Mr Secretary, was seeking employ and called at my house because he had heard I was sometimes engaged by Sir Robert Cecil and wished me to mention him.

  ‘Please assure him I am of sound Puritan stock, a Canterbury man and a scholar of Corpus Christi, Cambridge,’ he said. ‘A lineage trusted by Mr Secretary and now by Sir Robert, too, I have heard. Though we are one fewer now, Robert Poley tells me.’

  ‘A defection?’

  ‘No, a death. The actor or play-maker who did some work for us in Mr Secretary’s time. You knew him. Morely or Marley or some such name.’

  ‘Christopher? Christopher Marlowe?’

  ‘The very man. Killed brawling, Poley said. But, tell me, are you much engaged with Sir Robert? Does he heed what you say? I would serve him as I did Mr Secretary, if he would have me.’

  I was too shaken to heed much of what else Nicholas said. He had not asked Poley for details, being more concerned with gaining a position for himself. All he could add was that Poley too was engaged with Sir Robert and worried that his involvement in the brawl might prejudice his reputation for discreet behaviour.

  Later, I did mention Nicholas Faunt to Sir Robert, who did engage him. Nicholas served him well, I believe, gaining in discretion as he gained in years.

  As for my own discreet enquiries on Sir Robert’s behalf, I started with Frizer, calling on him at Scadbury one fine July day. He had spent most of June in prison until pardoned by the court. Sir Robert contrived reason for me to visit, sending me with letters for Sir Thomas. The carp in the moat were basking in the sun and Sir Thomas was conveniently out hunting, which meant I had to wait and had time with Frizer alone. He said, of course, that I could leave the letters with him but I said my orders were to hand them over in person. I tried to flatter him by adding that otherwise I should have been happy to, since Sir Thomas obviously trusted him in matters of business, but that I thought these letters concerned Court appointments which the Court officials who appointed me wanted kept close.

  Frizer therefore knew I still had important connections and so was wary enough to be civil, which was not always his natural state. ‘I was very sad to hear of Marlowe’s death,’ I said. ‘He was a friend I much miss, despite his sudden temper. And it must have been fearful for you. You must have feared for your life in those moments.’

  We were sitting with mugs of ale on a bench in the sun, overlooking the moat. He took a long draught and shook his head. ‘No time to fear. He was onto me like a cat, pounding my head before I knew what was happening.’

  ‘Lucky you were not mor
e grievously injured. He could have cut your throat or stuck the knife in your neck.’

  ‘He could’ve, easy, which is why I don’t think that was his intent. He pounded and pummelled, as I told the coroner, using the pommel of my own dagger to give me these cuts. You can still feel them here, see.’ He turned the back of his head towards me, parting his thick red hair with his fingers. ‘See, you can feel them, here.’

  There were two scabs on his white scalp, the skin around them reddened and still slightly swollen. I didn’t want to touch them but he insisted. ‘He hit hard,’ I said. ‘It must have hurt. A lot of blood too, from head wounds. What happened then?’

  He turned back towards the moat, leaning forward, elbows on knees, holding his ale in both hands. I had the impression he was settling in to an account he enjoyed giving. ‘Blood everywhere. I couldn’t see at first. Feared for my life. Wouldn’t you? Didn’t know what was going on or when he would stop and couldn’t do anything because there was no room to move. The bench he was lying on was right behind me, see, in the bay window, with my chair almost right up against it and the others sitting at either end of the table so I couldn’t get out forwards or sideways. I couldn’t even get to my feet at first because I couldn’t straighten my legs. When I did I could only half turn and lift my arm, my right arm, to ward off his blows. Like this, see?’ He got to his feet in a half-crouch, his arm raised and the upper part of his body turned towards me.

  I nodded and he sat again. ‘I could see he was going to keep pommelling me and I grabbed his wrist and pushed it back. He was still coming at me with the blade pointing at him now. It went into his eye, just above it. I didn’t realise it had gone in at first because his fist and mine were in the way and there was all this blood pouring down my face. Then he cried out and stopped, just stood where he was for a moment. Then went down on his knees with me still holding his wrist and the knife came out and there was blood spurting down his face too. I let go and he dropped the knife and put his hands to his face, cursing and swearing. Then he shut up and just subsided down onto his side, quite slowly. Half under the bench, he was.’ Frizer turned to me again, his eyes wide with challenge. ‘Good riddance, I say. Maybe he was your friend, but it served the bugger right.’