at
odds.'
Which
is true, but then he didn't know what my interests were.
We
travelled in a windowless carriage, hurtling along the uneven roads
at a bewildering speed, which soon had me disorientated, though I
began the journey calculating streets and turnings, half expecting to
be bundled across the river. When we arrived, I was harried quickly,
not with a rag or cap about my face, but wedged so tight between the
coachman and my companion that I was blinkered and could make out
only the impression of a formidable townhouse.
The
room my new friend ushered me into was modest, an anonymous office
which offered no clues about the nature of the person who worked
there. A man of about thirty was seated behind a large wooden desk.
He was small, more elf than gnome, with a clever, pointed face. He
would have looked youthful were it not for his dark hair, which
receded sleekly into a widow's peak giving him a sinister aspect. He
looked up, then signed something with a flourish and came out from
behind the desk.
`Master
Marlowe, thank you for agreeing to visit us. May I offer you a drink?
I
could have said they left me no choice. But there seemed little
point. So instead I bowed and asked for wine. The man nodded to my
chaperone who, reduced to the role of steward, poured us both a glass
of malmsey before bowing and retiring. I had trusted his openness and
was sorry to see him go for I could tell that the man in front of me
was of a more sophisticated cast. We settled ourselves in adjoining
seats and sat for a while in silence. My companion leaned back,
steepling his hands beneath his chin, button-bright eyes examining me
as if there was something he couldn't quite decide upon. I sipped my
drink quicker than I meant to, and waited for the reason for my visit
to be revealed. At last he spoke.
`You
seem to find yourself in some small difficulty, Master Marlowe.'
`It
is a fact of my profession. Theatre is built on difficulties.'
`The
theatre of life also?? 'it is so for all men.'
`Perhaps,'
he smiled, a brotherly smile, sympathetic, yet with no illusions
about my character, `but most men's troubles are of a mundane nature.
They lack money or have upset their wife. You are in danger of losing
your life.'
I
took a swig from my glass and returned his grin. `That has the ring
of a threat.'
`It's
a fact. The city is unnerved by Plague and on edge with the threat of
war. The Spanish are rumoured to be outside our ports. Only yesterday
the Queen dispatched troops to waylay invasion. Times are desperate,
tempers stretched and the Privy Council is investigating you. Should
investigations go badly, you might swing.'
And
that is only the half, I thought. For though I feared the Council,
Tamburlaine had been at the forefront of my concerns. I banished
doubt from my voice.
`I
have confidence in the Council's ability to find the truth.'
He
laughed. `Master Marlowe, you know as well as I that the Council
finds what it seeks.' He took a sip of his drink and turned serious.
`Has it occurred to you to wonder why you are not locked safe and
tight in Newgate?'
The
sound of a key turning in a lock and a poor view through a barred
window had been my constant expectation since returning to London.
But there was no premium in admitting it.
`I
thought perhaps some influence or friendly feeling had worked for me
amongst the Council.' He leaned forward, like an eager schoolmaster
congratulating a poor student on mastering a times-table.
And
so it did. Have you thoughts on who might have spoken for you?
I
kept the curiosity I felt from my voice. `Aye sir, but I don't feel
obliged to share my thoughts with a stranger.'
`In
that case I will tell you, and you can judge if we are of like mind.
Lord Cecil spoke of you as one who had done good service to the
Queen.' Relief must have shown in my face. The man leaned closer. `He
spoke well for you, well enough to keep you from gaol, but those who
know about such things thought his
odds.'
Which
is true, but then he didn't know what my interests were.
We
travelled in a windowless carriage, hurtling along the uneven roads
at a bewildering speed, which soon had me disorientated, though I
began the journey calculating streets and turnings, half expecting to
be bundled across the river. When we arrived, I was harried quickly,
not with a rag or cap about my face, but wedged so tight between the
coachman and my companion that I was blinkered and could make out
only the impression of a formidable townhouse.
The
room my new friend ushered me into was modest, an anonymous office
which offered no clues about the nature of the person who worked
there. A man of about thirty was seated behind a large wooden desk.
He was small, more elf than gnome, with a clever, pointed face. He
would have looked youthful were it not for his dark hair, which
receded sleekly into a widow's peak giving him a sinister aspect. He
looked up, then signed something with a flourish and came out from
behind the desk.
`Master
Marlowe, thank you for agreeing to visit us. May I offer you a drink?
I
could have said they left me no choice. But there seemed little
point. So instead I bowed and asked for wine. The man nodded to my
chaperone who, reduced to the role of steward, poured us both a glass
of malmsey before bowing and retiring. I had trusted his openness and
was sorry to see him go for I could tell that the man in front of me
was of a more sophisticated cast. We settled ourselves in adjoining
seats and sat for a while in silence. My companion leaned back,
steepling his hands beneath his chin, button-bright eyes examining me
as if there was something he couldn't quite decide upon. I sipped my
drink quicker than I meant to, and waited for the reason for my visit
to be revealed. At last he spoke.
`You
seem to find yourself in some small difficulty, Master Marlowe.'
`It
is a fact of my profession. Theatre is built on difficulties.'
`The
theatre of life also?? 'it is so for all men.'
`Perhaps,'
he smiled, a brotherly smile, sympathetic, yet with no illusions
about my character, `but most men's troubles are of a mundane nature.
They lack money or have upset their wife. You are in danger of losing
your life.'
I
took a swig from my glass and returned his grin. `That has the ring
of a threat.'
`It's
a fact. The city is unnerved by Plague and on edge with the threat of
war. The Spanish are rumoured to be outside our ports. Only yesterday
the Queen dispatched troops to waylay invasion. Times are desperate,
tempers stretched and the Privy Council is investigating you. Should
investigations go badly, you might swing.'
And
that is only the half, I thought. For though I feared the Council,
Tamburlaine had been at the forefront of my concerns. I banished
doubt from my voice.
`I
have confidence in the Council's ability to find the truth.'
He
laughed. `Master Marlowe, you know as well as I that the Council
finds what it seeks.' He took a sip of his drink and turned serious.
`Has it occurred to you to wonder why you are not locked safe and
tight in Newgate?'
The
sound of a key turning in a lock and a poor view through a barred
window had been my constant expectation since returning to London.
But there was no premium in admitting it.
`I
thought perhaps some influence or friendly feeling had worked for me
amongst the Council.' He leaned forward, like an eager schoolmaster
congratulating a poor student on mastering a times-table.
And
so it did. Have you thoughts on who might have spoken for you?
I
kept the curiosity I felt from my voice. `Aye sir, but I don't feel
obliged to share my thoughts with a stranger.'
`In
that case I will tell you, and you can judge if we are of like mind.
Lord Cecil spoke of you as one who had done good service to the
Queen.' Relief must have shown in my face. The man leaned closer. `He
spoke well for you, well enough to keep you from gaol, but those who
know about such things thought his
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