“Probably means nothing, then,” he said. “No doubt it will be resolved in time, but try to keep him from it, if you can.”
“Why?” Geoffrey turned sharply on me at the question, and I flinched in spite of myself. When he seemed satisfied that it was a simple request for information, and not a flaunting of his command, he answered.
“It can act like a drug upon mortals, conveying some of the advantages of the full exchange, but not perfectly, and only temporarily. It is best not to foster such a need,” he said, and took his leave. I thought about what he had said, and decided to make an attempt to see Hal that night.
To my surprise I found Cecil arriving at the Tower at the same time. The Earl of Essex had sent for the secretary, to tell him the truth, he said, about the conspiracy. The little man eyed me speculatively for a moment, then allowed me to enter, requesting an interview at a later time. The scene was much the same, except that Hal was clean, and his candles were plentiful and made of wax. He looked up from the book resting on the table before him, his eyes flashing and a smile flitting across his drawn face as he saw me. I could see the change that Geoffrey had mentioned: the feverish light in his eyes and the hectic spots of color on his cheeks. Suddenly, without a word, Hal threw himself from the chair and into my arms. “I hadn’t thought that they would allow me visitors,” he said raggedly. “You must be paying out a fortune in bribes.” I held him a moment before settling him back on his stool at the table.
“I met Cecil at the gate, and from what I overheard Essex will be spinning him a pretty tale even now; he said I might see you, and I expect that he will be along here when he is finished with Devereux. She said she would spare you, Hal, if you asked her,” I reminded Hal, my voice sharpening with the words. Hal nodded, smiling bitterly.
“She has said a great many things in her time,” he said. “I can still hear Buckhurst’s voice and the words of the hideous sentence pronounced upon us ringing in my ears: ‘. . . to be drawn upon a hurdle through the midst of the city, and so to the place of execution, there to be hanged by the neck and taken down alive—your bodies to be opened, and your bowels taken out and burned before your face: your bodies to be quartered—your heads and quarters to be disposed of at her Majesty’s pleasure, and so God have mercy on your souls.’ The words are branded upon my brain.” His voice was low and colorless, and his eyes had looked upon Hell. “The Queen despises me, I know. I shudder at the thought of what forms her ‘pleasure’ might take.” There was an awkward pause, and I stood abruptly.
“I shouldn’t have come. I will return when we know her majesty’s final decision, Hal. My cousin, Rózsa, is with Libby tonight, so she will be looked after.” Hal caught my hand, pulling me back.
“No, don’t go, not yet. I am glad that Libby’s not alone tonight. Will we know by morning, d’you think? I am such a coward, after all. I could have died in the fighting, with my blood up, but I cannot face dying like that.”
“You will not die like that, Hal, whatever might happen. That I do promise you,” I murmured, my lips against that burnished hair. We sat in silence for some time, and I was filled with pity for the rash young man, so like and yet unlike myself at that age. I could see him struggling with his fears, and he twitched violently at the sound of the bolt, staring at the door as if he expected the executioner to step in and drag him off to the block forthwith. I stood and slipped into a shadowy corner by the window.
Robert Cecil entered and stood a moment inside the doorway, perhaps garnering his strength after the grueling interview with Essex. His stooping figure, hunched from a childhood injury, bent even further with fatigue. He drew a breath and entered the chamber where we waited. He seemed shocked at the desperate fear on the Hal’s face, and a rare sympathy shone in his own.
“Rest easy, my lord,” he said softly. “Her Majesty has commuted your sentence. You will not die.” Hal’s head snapped up, his dark eyes enormous in his white face, and I thought for a moment that he was going to faint. With a visible effort he got himself under control, and stood to face the Secretary.
“I understand that you added your voice to others,” he flicked a glance tome, standing in the shadows by the window, “in my behalf. I do thank you, my lord, for I know that you have little cause to love me. What will happen tome?” he added, with only the faintest tremor in his voice to betray the strain he was under.
“You are to be kept here at the Tower for the rest of your life, my lord. This room is not uncomfortable, I think, and I will arrange for a partition to be built as well, for a withdrawing room. You will be allowed servants, and comforts, but not visitors without the council’s permission, at least at first. Your highness,” he added, glancing at the still figure by the window, “if you will accompany me?” He waited for me to join him in the outer chamber, quietly bolting the door behind him before proceeding to his office.
I declined the chair offered me, and stood waiting, watching the little man as he poured the last of the brandy from the small bottle I had procured on my last visit to that little office room. As I took the cup I noticed that the Secretary’s hands were cold as ice, chilling even to my own unnaturally cool flesh.
“Essex has laid the full blame of his enterprise upon the backs of his friends,” Cecil said abruptly. “He has even blamed his mother and his sister for helping to lead him astray. The only innocent in the whole affair is himself, it would seem. It’s spite, of course. He has heard that others have confessed their various roles, and all to his dishonor.” Cecil passed a weary hand over his high forehead, as if memory of the earl’s vituperation and servility made him ill. “His chaplain is with him, and we will soon sort him out. It is touching upon another matter that I wish to speak with you, your grace. Her Majesty is most displeased by your attachment to Southampton, and you are not to be allowed to see him. Neither will you present yourself at court until she calls you back. I am sorry for it, my lord; the young man needs a strong friend to guide him, but I fear he will only find sycophants.” Cecil gazed at me for a moment, lost in thought. “We have often been at cross purposes, I fear, when combining our forces might have served us, and the crown, better.”
“It would have been an uneasy alliance, at best, with so little trust between us. Would it be any less so now?”
“It might be so, now that I no longer have any perception that you might mean her Majesty harm, your grace, and there are stronger foundations than trust.” I nodded coolly, but returned no answer as I left the room.
Chapter 37
Northumberland tossed in his shabby bed for an hour before giving up and arising. The bedding was musty and the rushes on the floor needed changing. His sharpened senses were far less tolerant of the odors produced by neglect. He would have to move out while the residence was cleaned and sweetened, a process he lately found had to be repeated two or three times a year, where once had sufficed before. Immortality, it seemed, was going to be a costly indulgence.
He went into his study and lit the candle, turning his attention to the stained and battered manuscript Sommers had brought to him. The dialect was obscure, and the book, a Latin translation of an Arabic original text, appeared to have been pulled hastily from a fire at some point. He ground his teeth at the thought of the priceless manuscripts that had been lost from his own collection the night of the fire. He had only lately learned that the boy had been rescued and that the fire had been set in an attempt to cover the deed. He added these grievances to the mental tally that he kept, and set light to the small brazier of coal laid ready nearby, rubbing his numb fingers together in the meager warmth for a moment before picking up his pen. Sometime later a slight sound behind him told of Sommers’ return.
“Did you make the arrangements?” Percy asked without looking around.
“Aye, I did, but this will not be contrived at a twelve-penny fee, my lord. The risks are too great,” and Sommers named a sum large enough to cause the earl to turn and stare at him in amazement. “Aye, but that’s the lea
st amount. An you want it done, that’s the price. The date’s been set, and the man but awaits your word.”
“Tell him I agree.” Percy studied the candle flame for a moment, edging his quill into the flame until it began to smolder, then quickly jerking it away. The smell of burned feathers permeated the chamber, masking the noxious odors that rose from the rushes in this room as well. “About the other matter,” the earl added, clearing his throat, “have you found anyone suitable?” Sommers nodded, furtively licking his lips.
“Do you wish to see?” he asked, and Percy followed his limping servant from the chamber to the little room in the second cellar. There was a man laying there in the straw, shackled, but with fetters that had been well wrapped with rags, to avoid galling the skin beneath. He turned vacant eyes to the light, and gazed uncaring at his observers. He was a tall thin man, with thinning sandy hair, narrow eyes over a hawk’s beak of a nose, and a thin-lipped mouth. The resemblance was not remarkable, but it was there. Northumberland rubbed his hands together in delight.
“Oh yes, well done, Newman. He is very well. Where did you find him?” He bent to get a closer look.
“Up on the borders, my lord. May he be distant kin, think you? He has the Percy look to him.” Sommers winked vulgarly, and Percy brushed the possibility aside impatiently, much to his companion’s secret amusement. Percy would be using his own half-brother for this purpose, and would neither admit it, nor allow it to be suggested. “I shall see him bestowed tomorrow, then.”
“Yes, yes. He will suit us admirably. See to it, Newman, but return as soon as you may.”
Chapter 38
In the evening of the day that saw Essex to the block, Richard made his first appearance downstairs, supported on Jehan’s arm, for his broken feet had not yet fully healed. I glanced up as the invalid was settled into the chair near the fire, and then looked more closely. He was bound to create no end of disturbance, wherever he went. Even I could feel the pull of his nature: a mortal would have no chance at all. Richard smiled shyly, waiting for me to speak, but no words came. After a few minutes, I shook my head and smiled back.
“Richard, I—” I broke off at the sound of a disturbance in the hall, but before I could do more than stand, Nicolas bounced into the little room, beaming at us and catching me in a rough hug. He stepped back and contemplated Richard, for a moment, then drew the boy to his feet and into a warm and gentle embrace.
“Welcome to our family, Richard,” he said simply, and began hunting around for a seat. I nudged him into my chair, and took a seat upon a stool near the fire, asking him what had brought him to England again.
“Business, my boy, always business. We must see about a settlement for young Dickon, here, and I must see that our interests are not affected by the change of sovereigns.”
“Do you think that it will be soon?” I inquired quietly. I was truly fond of the shrewd and shrewish old woman, and had heard little to the credit of her probable successor, although I was somewhat troubled by a feeling that in my reckless and impetuous previous life I may have thought quite the opposite. Nicolas stirred and answered softly.
“The Earl of Essex died today, and the light has gone from her eyes. She is a tired old woman, and all of the friends of her youth have died away. It can be a terrible thing to live on when there is no one to remember you in your youth.”
“I remember her, riding through Canterbury, more beautiful than any tale, all in gold and glittering with jewels,” I spoke as if to myself.
“Yes, many do, but the ones who knew her familiarly have all gone before. It is a hard thing to see those you love descend into death and decay, Kit, and no less hard for us, though we do not. It may be that we, by accepting the dark gift, deny ourselves any chance at reunion with those we love.” A sudden tear slipped down his plump cheek, and disappeared into the silky beard.
“Nicolas, what has happened? Is Anneke—”
“She died last month, of a fever, and did not rise,” Nicolas said flatly, and buried his head in his hands. Richard rose silently and hobbled from the room, leaning on various pieces of furniture for support.
“I am sorry, Nicolas. I do not know what to say,” I began softly as Sylvana slipped into the room, leaving Richard, who had fetched her, leaning unsteadily on the doorjamb. She knelt beside the weeping man and held him, soothing him as she would a child. When he quieted somewhat she stood and drew him to his feet, leading him from the room. Richard stepped out of the way and tottered for second, but before he could fall I caught him and settled him back into his chair. “Thank you, Richard. That was very well done.”
“Sylvana is a healer,” Richard said simply, then looked sharply to the door. Nashe stood swaying there, a squat black bottle in his hand. He landed himself on the hearth in a series of swoops and staggers, and sat grinning up at me.
“I found a bottle,” he said, flourishing it before indulging in a healthy pull. He offered it to me, but I refused gently. “No drink? But I forgot, you’re dead. I am too, but not nearly so dead as all that!” He turned to Richard and stared a moment, but did not offer the bottle. “My God, Kit, he’s a pretty one! Where did you find him? You always did find the prettiest boys . . . I used to hate you for it, you wouldn’t look at a homely wart like me.”
“You never were one for boys, Tommy, that I ever heard,” I answered gently. Nashe nodded emphatically.
“True! I just wanted you to notice me. I was on the outside, and you were there, with Chapman and the Walsinghams, and Ralegh too, so brilliant it hurt the eyes to look on you. I never attacked you, though. That was just a lie. Harvey, the hangman’s son!” He spat into the fire.
“Rope-maker’s son.” I corrected.
“Halter-maker, hangman, it’s all one. Brays like an ass! Kit, they burnt all my books!” Tears slid down his cheeks, and he looked up through his sandy lashes guiltily. “Kit, I took the Dido and published it with my name beside yours. I needed the money, you see.”
“You did good work on it as well, Tommy. I’m not angry, but glad to see it printed, and do you suppose that I do not know how you fought with those who denigrated me while I lay dead and defenseless?” I said soothingly. Nashe began to laugh then.
“Do you remember that time you bet all your month’s allowance that you could write a better poem than the other students? Fifty-four shillings in the purse, one from each lad in your class, and Roger Boyce, from the lower form, tried to talk you out of it? ‘If you lose, you’ll be without money for a month!’ said he, but you just laughed, and said ‘But I’ll win, and then I’ll have a further fifty-three shillings to keep mine company!’ and ran laughing up the stairs.”
“How did you know about that, Tommy? It was at Canterbury, at the King’s School, not at Cambridge.”
“Boyce told me about it. He never forgot it, he said, your hair flying and your eyes flashing as you ran up those twisted stairs, and of course you did win. Did you come to London like that, ready to win the world like so many shillings?”
“I do not remember, Tommy,” I said helplessly.
“Ah,” Nashe replied, nodding sagely, “that comes of being a ghost, you see. Ghosts are like that.”
I smiled. “I think you have had enough drink for one night, let’s get you to your bed,” I said and lifted the little man to his feet. When I returned a few minutes later Richard looked at me thoughtfully.
“It is hard to think of you as Marlowe the poet and playwright.”
“So I should imagine. That Marlowe is dead, Richard, as dead as Richard Bowen. Or deader, as I have very few memories of my former life. I cannot even read the works I wrote before and may never be able to do so. Are you sorry that you asked my gift of me?” I asked abruptly, my voice harsh in my own ears.
“No. I am only sorry that I wasted so much that I might otherwise have had by pushing you away for so long. Oh, and sorry for judging you when I knew nothing about you, as well,” Richard added, looking at the fire.
“I rememb
er dying,” he went on. “I felt the life slip out with my breath, and I seemed to be watching you and Eden from above. I saw a light, and moved towards it, drawn by its beauty, but it receded from me, and the more I longed for it the farther away it was, until I was left drifting in the fog. I could make out nothing and I cannot tell you how long that lasted. After a time I became aware of my body again, that it was somewhere that I was not, and a need to find it possessed me. I was frightened that I wouldn’t be able to return, but when I calmed myself, I felt a tug, and followed it. I moved faster and faster, until it seemed that I was falling, and I started, as one does from a dream, before I hit the bottom. When I opened my eyes you were there, and I knew that I was safe. Was it—I mean, did you—”
“No. I did not remember anything for a long time. Then, what I did remember was close to intolerable.” I realized that my hands were shaking, and clenched them together. Richard stirred uncomfortably and looked immensely relieved when Nicolas returned.
He motioned us to keep our chairs and took the stool. As we sat in companionable silence we heard a horse cross the cobbled court, and I recognized Ralegh’s voice as he hailed Rhys to come and care for his beast. I left Nicolas and Richard and went to greet my friend. I asked Sylvana to bring mulled cider and took Ralegh into the study. He and Nicolas were old friends and occasional business partners, but he gave Richard a keen glance as I introduced the young man as my cousin. Sylvana brought in the cider and Ralegh gratefully wrapped his chilled fingers around the pot-bellied silver cup, gazing at the fire. Richard, who seemed revolted by the smell of the drink, excused himself, and Nicolas helped him from the room. I took Richard’s chair and settled back, sipping my cider and waiting for my friend to unburden himself. Presently Sir Walter stirred, and turned troubled eyes on me.
“I saw Essex executed this day,” he said abruptly, and set his cup on the hearth. “I watched from indoors, as my presence seemed to trouble him; I learned later that he had asked to be reconciled at the end, and I wasn’t there. The story is going about that I refused him. I would have gladly reconciled with him, Kit, at anytime.”
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