Hell and Earth pa-4

by Elizabeth Bear

  Will thought he might need to interpose himself physically between Kit and the door, but then Tom Nashe extricated himself from the gawking crowd and hurried over. As one fish slipping through a weir is followed by a school, suddenly every body in the room moved toward them, and the erstwhile Tom Marlowe was surrounded and embraced and drawn into the center of the crowd so thoroughly that Will wondered if he would ever escape.

  Nashe claimed Kit with a firm arm, introducing first himself – “Kit’s school friend, also Tom, he’ll have told you what we got up to at Cambridge with that play that almost got us all expelled. And why, when in London, didst thou to that hack Shakescene and not thy brother’s old friend Tom!”–and then every member of the great and varied crowd. Burbage neatly cut Phillip Henslowe off Kit’s other arm, and between him and Nashe they got Kit seated and feted and served with warmed wine.

  Will himself smiled and tucked his hands into his pockets, and went to slouch at the fireside beside Ned Alleyn, who looked tall enough to have been leaned there for a prop. “We don’t see you out much these days, Ned – ”

  “I’ve money enough not to miss slogging through the mud behind a cart on tour. Why are you still at it, Will?”

  Will paused and stretched his shoulders against the rough fieldstone chimney. Robin Poley brought him a cup, and Will ruffled the boy’s hair before he remembered that Robin was too old for that now. “It’s in my blood,” he said at last, hopelessly. “The playing and the poetry. I’ll be too sick to tour soon, I suppose – ”

  “Aye,” Ned answered. “Enjoy it while you can. I hope poor Master Marlowe doesn’t think his brother always received so warm a reception.”

  Will shrugged. “Let him take the news home to Kit’s parents. It can’t have been easy on them.” He fell into the role of innocence so easily that it took him a moment to remember that the dark‑haired young man holding court in the corner, looking charmingly flustered and confused by the attention–and then perhaps not as shocked as he should have been when Mary Poley all but slid into his lap in a tangle of dark hair and kilted skirts–wasn’t Tom Marlowe at all, and wouldn’t be taking any tales home to Canterbury.

  Will watched Kit’s face as Mary introduced him to Robin, and saw Kit’s eyes narrow a little before his brow smoothed, and he took the young man’s hand in a firm, unhesitant greeting. And then Burbage was leaning forward into the conversation, and Will caught enough of his shouted anecdote to know that he was telling “Tom Marlowe” an embellished version of the story of the ghost of Kit Marlowe accosting his killers on a rainy street –

  To which Kit responded with startled and delighted laughter. And Will sighed, contented, and went to see the landlord about bringing out the feast.

  It being a Friday, alas, they would eat fish. Not out of Papist superstition any longer, ironically, but of Elizabeth’s desire that the good fisherfolk and fishmongers of England not be put out of trade by something so frivolous as a change of religion. Still, as befitted the name, the Mermaid was known for its fish in pastry, so all was not lost.

  Will encountered his brother Edmund returning across the hall, and made it back neither to Ned Alleyn’s side nor the table where Kit and Mary and Nashe and Robin and Burbage formed the focal point of the party. Rather he found himself standing in a little enclave with Edmund and John Fletcher, haphazardly snatching bites from passing trays and laughing as he hadn’t laughed in –

  – months.

  An abundance of food lowered the rumble of conversation to a contented mutter, and when Will turned to check on Tom Marlowe nй Christofer again, it took a moment to locate him. Finally, Will raised his eyes to the gallery and saw Kit standing with young Robin Poley, leaned against the railing like old friends, the boy pointing down and across at something that the man had leaned close to comment on. Kit caught Will’s eye, and the smile he sent down might have melted Will like a candle end.

  Lovesick fool,Will thought, and looked down before someone could notice his silly grin and draw an entirely correct conclusion.

  A bustle near the door drew Will’s attention from the careful study of his boots and the much‑trod rushes. Will turned, hoping with all his heart that it wasn’t Ben Jonson intent on troublemaking, but instead it was a pair of tall young men, one fair and one dark, each better favored than the other and both fabulously clad in white and gold. The blonder and taller was Robert Catesby, dressed as a member of a Lord’s retinue. The darker and broader wore a Baronet’s ruff and a knight’s chain about his neck, as if they had just come from court or some festivity.

  The sight of the two of them there, in the Mermaid, killed Will’s smile and had him moving toward the door, his cane hitting the floorboards in steady staccato as he closed the distance. Edmund fell into step, the amiable redheaded hack John Fletcher on his other side.

  “Will,” Edmund asked, “what’s Will Parker doing here?”

  Will shook his head. “I don’t know. He’s Baron Monteagle now, though – ” And Essex’s man, knighted by him in Ireland along with the rest of the useless retinue.

  “Who’s Will Parker?” asked Fletcher, blinking.

  “Francis Tresham’s brother‑in‑law. Which makes him Edmund’s and my cousin by marriage,” Will said, and somehow despite his limp outpaced Fletcher and Edmund enough that when he bowed before Parker the other two were half a step behind him. “Lord Monteagle.”

  “Cousin,” Monteagle addressed him, in that rich dark voice that the player in Will had always envied. “I have a business proposition for you and your partners in the Globe. Perhaps we could discuss it in private?”

  “A business proposition?” Will smiled, the fearful tautness in his chest easing. For one mad moment he had thought something had gone terribly wrong, but if it was only a favor to a relative, even if he was a peer –“We have a patron, cousin.”

  Catesby fell in beside them as they turned. Edmund led Fletcher aside, and Will caught Burbage’s eye, and Will Sly’s, and summoned them over with a stagy jerk of his head.

  Monteagle laughed. “Oh, no. It’s just, I had planned a party tomorrow for a friend, and the arrangements. Well. Your Globe rents for performances, does it not? ”

  Burbage joined them, Sly a half step behind. Will opened the door to one of the private dining rooms at the back of the Mermaid and poked his head inside; a quiet conversation broke up and a group of players made themselves scarce for the unexpected appearance of a peer. Places were exchanged, and Sly shut the door firmly.

  “Can you three speak for the Lord Chamberlain’s Men, Master Players?” Catesby, his voice not so rich and refined as Monteagle’s, but clearly precise. Monteagle wandered away, trailing a white‑gloved finger along the woodwork like a master of servants in search of dust.

  “I can,” Burbage said, with a smile that softened it. “As much as can any man speak for a parcel of rogues.”

  Will exchanged glances with the other two players. “What do you need, Master Catesby? ”

  He cleared his throat as if to answer, but it was Monteagle who spoke, cleaning his fingertips daintily on a lace‑edged handkerchief as he turned back. “A command performance? On a bit of an extreme schedule, I’m afraid.”

  “Extreme?” Burbage, in charge.

  “Tomorrow,” Catesby clarified, looking uncomfortable. “The facilities we had planned to use became unavailable.”

  “Tomorrow!” Sly touched his lips with his fingertips, and cleared his throat. “I mean, sirs, it would be a challenge, may it please my lord.”

  “It would have to be a play in repertory,” Burbage said thoughtfully.

  “Richard the Second.”

  “Oh.”

  Will laid a hand on Burbage’s shoulder. “The Master of Revels–cousin, Her Majesty has let it be known that she is not overfond of that play– ”

  The Baron smiled. “The Earl of Southampton will be in attendance, dear cousin, and he is very fond of Richard the Second.Surely, for our family’s sake, you could see your
way to a private performance.”

  And will a gang of players, sturdy villains all, deny a request on behalf of an Earl?Burbage moved a half step back; Will recognized the gesture. Richard was giving him the floor.

  “Cousin. We could play something fashionable, and give better value.”

  Monteagle smiled. “It’s Harry.” Meaning Southampton, of course. “You know how he is when he has his heart set on something.”

  “We’ll pay forty shillings more than your ordinary fee, cousin,” Catesby added.

  Again the look, Burbage to Sly to Will.

  An Earl and a Baron. There’s no way to refuse without risking the company.

  For forty pieces of silver.

  Indeed.

  “All right,” Will said, and Burbage nodded.

  It wasn’t until Catesby had counted the silver into Will’s hand that Monteagle added, “Of course, you must include the scene in which Richard loses his crown.”

  Act IV, scene xviii

  I know sir, what it is to kill a man,

  It works remorse of conscience in me,

  I take no pleasure to be murderous,

  Nor care for blood when wine will quench my thirst.

  –Christopher Marlowe,

  Tamburlaine the Great,Part II, Act IV, scene i

  Mary Poley’s voice had never been musical. It was as gypsy‑wild as her mad black hair, but she leaned close to Kit now and leveled it as she laid a hand on his arm. “Thou didst send Will to look after us, Master Marlin.”

  I told Will this was a bad idea.He turned to look her in the eye, his back to the gallery railing. “Mistress Poley, I’m not certain I take your meaning–”

  She looked up at him and shook her head. “Can’t fool old Tom Watson’s sister, Kitling. Shall I kiss each of thy scars to prove I know thy body well?”

  She dropped her gaze from his eyes and seemed to be looking past him, but he didn’t turn to see where. “Mary–”

  “Hush, Kit. I’m grateful. And Robin is too. He’s courting his master’s daughter, you know. She’s to go in service at the end of the year, but I do think he’ll marry her when she returns and his apprenticeship is done.”

  “He seems a fine lad.”

  “For all his looks, Kit, he’s a sweet soul. More like thee than my husband, damn him to hell.”

  “I’m working on it,” Kit answered dryly. She laughed, and closed her hand around his arm. “Thou hast nothing to justify to me, Mary.”

  “Not all men would see it so. Why didst thou not get me word thou hadst lived? I hope it was not that thou hadst no trust in Robert Poley’s wife.”

  “I told no one. I was on the Oueen’s business.”

  “And now art home?” There was hope in it, like a razor dragged lightly over Kit’s skin. He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. She blinked. “Christ. Thou hast aged not an hour.”

  “Not home,” he said. “Christofer Marley is as dead as Tom Watson, I fear.”

  “Then why hast thou returned?”

  The railing was rough against his back. He turned to lean forward, looking down over the Mermaid, the bustle of poets and players and drunks. He rubbed fingers over the time‑polished dark wood of the railing and lost an argument with a frown. “To say good‑bye.”

  “Ah.” She stepped up beside him and snuggled close, a compactly elfin warmth. No great beauty, Mary Poley, but a comforting sort of fey. He bent and kissed the top of her head; there weren’t many women Kit was tall enough to perform that office upon. “Wilt pass Will somewhat of interest for me, Kitling? I’ve had no luck in cutting him out of the crowd for a privy conversation.”

  “Aye, I will.” Will.A name that still had the power to stop his breath. Aye, and I’d traffic with Hell for thee all over again, for moments such as this.Kit searched the crowd below, but there was no sign of Will. Or, come to think of it, Burbage. There stood Edmund Shakespeare, talking with Henslowe and Alleyn, John Fletcher watching with interest. Ben Jonson had finally arrived and was carrying on a conversation with Chapman that looked at once animated and hushed, involving much waving about of hands.

  Mary gulped breath; he felt it swell her slight body where she curled under his arm. “Robert’s about something.”

  “Not Robin your lad?”

  “No, Robert my husband – ”

  “‘–damn him to Hell.’ ”

  “Precisely.”

  “What is he about, Mary?” She had Kit’s complete attention now but he maintained the casual pose, a man in flirtation with a likely woman, both of them watching the flow and ebb of the gathering below.

  A grunt, her little noise of frustration. “I know not. Mistress Mathews at the Groaning Sergeant is a friend of mine, and she says Robert and Richard Baines were in there of a morning, well pleased and talking of duping some Earl.”

  “That could be important. What Earl, and how duped? Dost know more?”

  “The Queen’s old favorite, I think, from what Mistress Mathews overheard. Essex, I mean. Robert Devereaux. I do not know what it is they mean to have him do, but she said that Baines was positively gloating about compelling such a man to do his bidding.”

  Kit shuddered, having some experience with Baines’ compulsions. Even the quiet ones. “What else did she say?”

  “Only that men and prentices came and went and met with the two of them all the morning, and a good deal of silver seemed to change hands – ”

  She stopped speaking suddenly. Kit knew from the way her breath halted that his own body had gone entirely rigid in her offhand grasp. It could be but a resemblance,he cautioned himself. Especially from this angle.“Mary,” he said carefully. “What is the name of that man, the blond one coming out of the back room beside Will and Dick?”

  “Why, Robert Catesby,” she answered, all innocence.

  His left hand tightened on the railing. His right pulled her close. “Oh, holy Hell,” he blasphemed. “Mary, thou’rt a princess among women, and a canny one at that. I’ll carry my affection for thee to a second grave, if I get one. So please, please, do not take it amiss that I needs must talk to Will on this instant, my dear, and that I may not have the chance to bid thee farewell again.”

  He stepped back. She caught his coarse linen shirt collar in her reed‑fine hand and tugged him down to lightly kiss his mouth. “Go with God.”

  He laughed as he turned away. “Oh,” he said. “If only.”

  Act IV, scene xix

  Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,

  Bound for the prize of all too precious you,

  That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse,

  Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?

  –William Shakespeare, Sonnet 86

  This can only end ill,” Kit said. Will, hurrying fresh‑barbered and clean‑scrubbed through the streets to the bank where he meant to hire a wherry to Southwark and the Globe, glanced over at his friend and nodded. “Aye, there’s no clean way clear of this mess, love. But then, we knew the truth of that when we stepped into it.” Sudden worry diverted his conversation. “Kit, this is thy second day out of Faerie–”

  Kit smiled, a steadying hand on Will’s elbow as they clambered down the steps to the bank. The Thames had never frozen over, this winter, and the banks were clear of ice by now. A sign, perhaps, that Baines’ Prometheans were losing ground at last.

  “I’ve one more at least before it troubles me. What concerns me more is that I’ve dreamed of Catesby–my ill dreams–and I’ve verily seen him in a room, talking privily with Baines. I can’t think but that his presence on this errand with Lord Monteagle means that there will be trouble over this play.”

  “Trouble for the Lord Chamberlain’s Men–” Kit handed Will into the boat as if Will were a lady in a farthingale, and Will glowered at him but didn’t resist. Mind thy Limitations, Master Shakespeare. Or like as not thou’lt tumble into the muddy brown Thames and drown.

  “Aye,” Kit continued once they were seated, le
aning close that the boatman wouldn’t overhear. “And intentionally so. They know your strength now.”

  They were silent then, as the river flowed under them.

  “Kit,” Will murmured, and coughed to ease the scratch in his throat. “I cannot think but there’s more to it than that. If Baines is gloating that Essex has done something foolish–”

  “Something foolish that Baines has directed him to do,” Kit amended, paying the boatman as they reached the opposite bank. “It must be more than a play.”

  “Aye. It must. And we must find out an answer quickly. Before it finds us out.The earth was thawed beneath a layer of frost, crunchy‑sticky underfoot. Kit helped Will up the bank and made no comment when Will struggled.

  Kit had not seen the Globe before, and Will paused to let him tilt his head back and take in the scope of the massive whitewashed polygon. “It’s built on timbers over a ditch to keep the footings dry,” Will explained. “I stayed in that little house beside it a while last year. ‘Tis very snug.”

  “Clever,” Kit said. “There were times I swear the groundlings at the Rose were to their knees in mud and worse things. The south bank’s very wet – ” He paused and lifted his chin in the direction of a tall woman swollen with her babe, her hair modestly covered and her skirts kilted to the ankle to keep them out of the mud. She was making for Will and Kit with grave determination, and her stride was not that of a workworn good‑wife. “Marry, Will. That woman hurrying to meet us–”

  “Aye?”

  “I know her.”

  And a moment later, Will did too, for all he had met her only once before, in a little room where her father lay rotting alive. “Frances Walsingham Sidney Devereaux,” he said under his breath. “I never did understand what Walsingham’s daughter and Sir Philip Sidney’s widow could see in that strutting popinjay Essex.”