Read The Marlowe Papers Online
Authors: Ros Barber
Tags: #Fiction, #Historical, #Literary, #Biographical, #Women's Prize for Fiction - all candidates
The Marlowe Papers (16 page)
My own fate crept towards me too. How frail
is the bubble reputation. On a pin.
is the bubble reputation. On a pin.
What starts with only rumour, just the fluff
of some poor servant’s ignorance and fear
becomes corporeal, trails a snaky tail,
until the tale’s found devilish enough,
and scurries to the dark, as lode to pole.
of some poor servant’s ignorance and fear
becomes corporeal, trails a snaky tail,
until the tale’s found devilish enough,
and scurries to the dark, as lode to pole.
An anonymous agent writes of how we meet
to spread the unholy creed, and from my lines,
twists joke to accusation: how we teach
scholars ‘to spell God backward’. We who thrilled
at Raleigh’s phrase ‘adventure to our souls’
begin to understand we may be damned.
to spread the unholy creed, and from my lines,
twists joke to accusation: how we teach
scholars ‘to spell God backward’. We who thrilled
at Raleigh’s phrase ‘adventure to our souls’
begin to understand we may be damned.
‘Faustus!’ A stranger hails me in the street.
‘Send my regards to Hell!’
‘Send my regards to Hell!’
I grab his throat
and thrust him against the baker’s door.
‘Who said
that I am Faustus?’ The sweetest smell of loaves
warms in the air between us.
warms in the air between us.
‘Why, it’s known,’
he stammers. ‘Is generally known.’
I see his hand
making a surreptitious cross, and growl
into his face, ‘What’s known? What’s this that’s
known
?’
‘That the author of
Faustus
is an atheist.
That you are he.’
into his face, ‘What’s known? What’s this that’s
known
?’
‘That the author of
Faustus
is an atheist.
That you are he.’
‘Who said this?’
‘Robert Greene.’
‘Greene! Open up!’ I hammer on the door
of his digs in Holywell Street. A passer-by
skirts me like I’m a pothole. ‘Mistress Ball!
I need to speak to Robert.’
of his digs in Holywell Street. A passer-by
skirts me like I’m a pothole. ‘Mistress Ball!
I need to speak to Robert.’
It is May.
Enfeebled sunshine warming up the roofs
and the foul load of the gutters. ‘Open up!’
and the foul load of the gutters. ‘Open up!’
Movement. An upstairs window creaks its joints
and the woman’s face appears. ‘’E isn’t well,’
she says in a voice as sharp as splintered wood,
‘and not receiving visitors.’ She’s gone.
and the woman’s face appears. ‘’E isn’t well,’
she says in a voice as sharp as splintered wood,
‘and not receiving visitors.’ She’s gone.
I could have left. Perhaps, had I turned my heel
and left them well alone, his spiteful pen
would not have felt it had to set in ink
the vitriol he’d drafted with his tongue
and freely spewed in taverns and hostelries.
But I was righteous. Full of consequence.
and left them well alone, his spiteful pen
would not have felt it had to set in ink
the vitriol he’d drafted with his tongue
and freely spewed in taverns and hostelries.
But I was righteous. Full of consequence.
I hammer again. ‘Greene! Open up this door!’
It flies from my fist. ‘Whaddya want ’im for?’
Miss Ball was Greene’s protector, those last days,
her shrew-like features screwed up like a page
whose scenes he had rejected. ‘He is ill,
I said, and if you do not know the word,
then please acquaint yourself and catch the plague.’
Her diction was deliberately strained.
It flies from my fist. ‘Whaddya want ’im for?’
Miss Ball was Greene’s protector, those last days,
her shrew-like features screwed up like a page
whose scenes he had rejected. ‘He is ill,
I said, and if you do not know the word,
then please acquaint yourself and catch the plague.’
Her diction was deliberately strained.
‘He has the plague?’
‘Whaddya take me for?
Would I be ’ere without an ’andkerchief?
No. No, you fool. Although a plague of “friends”’
– her tone has marked the word for quarantine –
‘seems to descend here daily. What’s yer beef?’
No. No, you fool. Although a plague of “friends”’
– her tone has marked the word for quarantine –
‘seems to descend here daily. What’s yer beef?’
‘I want to speak to Greene,’ I say, and take
advantage of the open door to bolt
like lightning up the stairs. She follows. ‘Hey!
Don’t push me! Don’t go up there! Bloody men.’
advantage of the open door to bolt
like lightning up the stairs. She follows. ‘Hey!
Don’t push me! Don’t go up there! Bloody men.’
Greene is indeed in bed, but fully dressed,
as though he’s just retreated there.
as though he’s just retreated there.
‘Ah, Marlowe.
I thought I recognised your dulcet tones
drifting up from the street. And such a rhythm
you played on my door, as if it were a drum
and I should break out singing. But, alas,
I am unwell. They say the very air
can spread contagion. You may note the smell.’
There was, indeed, a stench.
drifting up from the street. And such a rhythm
you played on my door, as if it were a drum
and I should break out singing. But, alas,
I am unwell. They say the very air
can spread contagion. You may note the smell.’
There was, indeed, a stench.
‘One cannot catch
the slow death wrought by liquor, Greene,’ I say,
stalking across the room to pull the sheets
away from his booted body. Emma swears,
arriving in the doorway out of breath,
and hands him the olive cloak draped on a chair.
‘And you have been well enough to venture out
and smear my name amongst the taverners.’
stalking across the room to pull the sheets
away from his booted body. Emma swears,
arriving in the doorway out of breath,
and hands him the olive cloak draped on a chair.
‘And you have been well enough to venture out
and smear my name amongst the taverners.’
‘So? I must eat. My Em’s a dreadful cook.’
She scowls at him; he smiles and grasps her hand
to pull himself up to sitting. Clears his throat.
‘A dying man should have his fill of fare
while time allows. If I should stagger out
for breakfast, an evening meal—’
She scowls at him; he smiles and grasps her hand
to pull himself up to sitting. Clears his throat.
‘A dying man should have his fill of fare
while time allows. If I should stagger out
for breakfast, an evening meal—’
‘You miss my point,’
I say. ‘Eat what you will. And where you will.
But keep your mouthparts busy mangling food
and not unravelling slanders. Several men
in this last week alone, have savaged me
for views I do not hold, and claimed that you –’
(I jab my finger in his chest. He coughs.)
‘– were their source of information.’
But keep your mouthparts busy mangling food
and not unravelling slanders. Several men
in this last week alone, have savaged me
for views I do not hold, and claimed that you –’
(I jab my finger in his chest. He coughs.)
‘– were their source of information.’
‘Oh? What views?’
All innocence he is, all empty-eyed,
though his lips are curled like paper by a fire.
‘A man’s religious opinions –’ I begin
‘– that is, beliefs – should not be simplified.
Not in these times.’
though his lips are curled like paper by a fire.
‘A man’s religious opinions –’ I begin
‘– that is, beliefs – should not be simplified.
Not in these times.’
‘What times? I’m out of touch,’
he sneers. ‘Dear Em, will you fetch me a mug of wine?’
‘The Queen herself once promised, we are told,
not to make windows into her subjects’ souls.
But if others, spreading lies—’
not to make windows into her subjects’ souls.
But if others, spreading lies—’
‘What have I said?
No more than you’ve said yourself a dozen times.
“Christ was a bastard and his mother dishonest.”
The atheist highlights, if you please.’
“Christ was a bastard and his mother dishonest.”
The atheist highlights, if you please.’
‘For God’s –
for pity’s sake, you cannot spread this stuff!’
Nashe said I should have run him through, right there;
but to witness one man die was enough for me.
And I am not a natural fighting man.
I prefer the bright and bloodless cut of words.
but to witness one man die was enough for me.
And I am not a natural fighting man.
I prefer the bright and bloodless cut of words.
‘What fiendish foul excuse for a human being
would put my life and liberty at risk
for his private entertainment? The powers that be
have cooked up fear until it bubbles thick
in the brains of the ignorant, and you would stir
it further, give them names? And give them mine,
as if this mind is fodder for the ropes
at a public hanging? Damn you, Greene, you may
have bitterness against me, but this life
of graft by pen and ink, and several friends,
we have in common. Say what you like of me,
but do not say I am an atheist.’
would put my life and liberty at risk
for his private entertainment? The powers that be
have cooked up fear until it bubbles thick
in the brains of the ignorant, and you would stir
it further, give them names? And give them mine,
as if this mind is fodder for the ropes
at a public hanging? Damn you, Greene, you may
have bitterness against me, but this life
of graft by pen and ink, and several friends,
we have in common. Say what you like of me,
but do not say I am an atheist.’
Emma returns with wine. He curls a hand
around the mug, and pats her on the bum.
around the mug, and pats her on the bum.
‘Say it? I’ll write it. Publish it indeed,
under my name.
Greene’s Devils.
That would sell.
Greene’s Former Friends
, the atheist and the clown,
who feed their best lines to an upstart crow.’
under my name.
Greene’s Devils.
That would sell.
Greene’s Former Friends
, the atheist and the clown,
who feed their best lines to an upstart crow.’
‘But you will ruin me. For mercy’s sake,
if you call me an atheist in print—’
if you call me an atheist in print—’
‘You’ll soon be back in gaol, where you belong.’
He takes a gulp of wine. ‘And I’ll be dead.
Chettle will publish it when I am gone.’
A smile spreads on his face as though a stain
has crept across a tablecloth. He coughs
and pats his mistress’s hand. The spill of glee
has spread to her lips, which curl up like a cat.
He takes a gulp of wine. ‘And I’ll be dead.
Chettle will publish it when I am gone.’
A smile spreads on his face as though a stain
has crept across a tablecloth. He coughs
and pats his mistress’s hand. The spill of glee
has spread to her lips, which curl up like a cat.
‘Well, damn you both!’ I pace across the room
and, in a surge of fury, draw my sword.
‘What maggot in a cloak, what pickled turd,
would find this shit amusing? And what sow,’
I skewer her with a glance; she looks away
‘would suckle this poison? In the name of God –
for now you swear allegiance, like a cur
licking the foot that kicks him – damn you, Greene!’
and, in a surge of fury, draw my sword.
‘What maggot in a cloak, what pickled turd,
would find this shit amusing? And what sow,’
I skewer her with a glance; she looks away
‘would suckle this poison? In the name of God –
for now you swear allegiance, like a cur
licking the foot that kicks him – damn you, Greene!’
He eyes me like a sore. ‘How very choice.
In the name of God you damn me. Does that work,
I wonder, when your blood’s so thick with sin?
I will not fight. So murder a dying man,
be witnessed by my Em. I am unarmed.’
He coughs again. She pats him, eyes all spite
in my direction.
In the name of God you damn me. Does that work,
I wonder, when your blood’s so thick with sin?
I will not fight. So murder a dying man,
be witnessed by my Em. I am unarmed.’
He coughs again. She pats him, eyes all spite
in my direction.
‘Sin? You hypocrite.’
I sheathe the sword with difficulty. ‘Sin?
You’re the high priest of sin. You’ve said as much
yourself. Full house. Let’s lay them out to see:
pride, envy, greed and lust.’
You’re the high priest of sin. You’ve said as much
yourself. Full house. Let’s lay them out to see:
pride, envy, greed and lust.’
This last word licked
against Miss Ball, who steels each dwarfish inch
of herself towards me. ‘Get out of my house!
I’ll call the constables.
Flo! Get the law!
’
she shouts at her neighbour’s wall. ‘
A man in ’ere
is causin’ trouble!
’Andsome. Now ye’re cooked,’
she says, self-satisfied. ‘Go on, clear orf,
before ye’re clapped in irons.’
of herself towards me. ‘Get out of my house!
I’ll call the constables.
Flo! Get the law!
’
she shouts at her neighbour’s wall. ‘
A man in ’ere
is causin’ trouble!
’Andsome. Now ye’re cooked,’
she says, self-satisfied. ‘Go on, clear orf,
before ye’re clapped in irons.’
‘Don’t do it, Greene.’
‘I’ll do whatever I please.’ The mug set down.
‘Perhaps if you had come on bended knee,’
he smoothes his beard into a sharper point,
‘and not on a horse that you can ill afford,
full of yourself and your self-righteous wrongs,
full of your friendships with the sirs and earls,
trussed up in velvet like a bloody lord.
You’re all pretence. An upstart cobbler’s son
who dresses up as pounds what is worth pence.’
‘Perhaps if you had come on bended knee,’
he smoothes his beard into a sharper point,
‘and not on a horse that you can ill afford,
full of yourself and your self-righteous wrongs,
full of your friendships with the sirs and earls,
trussed up in velvet like a bloody lord.
You’re all pretence. An upstart cobbler’s son
who dresses up as pounds what is worth pence.’
‘You filthy weasel!’ I am at his throat
with my eating knife before his breath is out,
and Mistress Ball at the window, ‘
Murder! Help!
’
with my eating knife before his breath is out,
and Mistress Ball at the window, ‘
Murder! Help!
’
‘You piece of shit.’
He’s not the least alarmed,
knowing I’ve not the heart for it. ‘How quaint.’
His Adam’s apple bobs against the blade.
‘You’ve reverted to your class. I’ve heard distress
will do that to a man.’
His Adam’s apple bobs against the blade.
‘You’ve reverted to your class. I’ve heard distress
will do that to a man.’
‘
This way! This way!
’
the shrew shrieks at the window. ‘’Ere they come.’
She grins at me. ‘Ye’re really for it now.’
She grins at me. ‘Ye’re really for it now.’
It could have been worse. I was bound to keep the peace
and warned to stay away from Holywell Street.
But had I hoped to stem the bleed like this,
I was mistaken. ‘Marlowe the atheist’ –
the rumours thickened, reproduced and spread
from house to inn, from corner shop to bed,
from maid to fishwife, serving man to priest.
and warned to stay away from Holywell Street.
But had I hoped to stem the bleed like this,
I was mistaken. ‘Marlowe the atheist’ –
the rumours thickened, reproduced and spread
from house to inn, from corner shop to bed,
from maid to fishwife, serving man to priest.
Death came that summer, dressed up in a heat
as unforgiving as the smelter’s fire,
stalking the alleyways and London streets
as hot and unrelenting as desire
will track a woman down and smear her sheets.
as unforgiving as the smelter’s fire,
stalking the alleyways and London streets
as hot and unrelenting as desire
will track a woman down and smear her sheets.
So many deaths, they couldn’t count them all:
the cry,
Bring out your dead
, soon emptied complete
houses. It heaped whole families with its call
and tipped them into everlasting sleep.
Summer burnt on relentless. At St Paul’s
the cry,
Bring out your dead
, soon emptied complete
houses. It heaped whole families with its call
and tipped them into everlasting sleep.
Summer burnt on relentless. At St Paul’s
the thinning buyers milled more thickly where
the stationer stacked Greene upon his stalls.
A freshly dead contagion in the air
as accusation gossiped round the walls
the plague of rumour. I would not be spared.
the stationer stacked Greene upon his stalls.
A freshly dead contagion in the air
as accusation gossiped round the walls
the plague of rumour. I would not be spared.
And the fear that gripped me as it spread its wrong
ensured I would be perfectly ensnared
by throwing me into a dark despond.
For the flavour and appearance of despair
looks much like guilty truth when stamped upon.
ensured I would be perfectly ensnared
by throwing me into a dark despond.
For the flavour and appearance of despair
looks much like guilty truth when stamped upon.
Such heat. September came without relief,
the summer furiously clinging on,
killing exhausted mule, pernicious weed
and sucking the river dry. Thom Nashe was gone
to spy on the Church; our friend was in the Fleet
sucking the humid air, while like a fly
my brain buzzed madly round the corpse of Greene
pressing to find a window to the sky
but only knocking into stink. A priest
confused me with Doctor Faustus as if I
the summer furiously clinging on,
killing exhausted mule, pernicious weed
and sucking the river dry. Thom Nashe was gone
to spy on the Church; our friend was in the Fleet
sucking the humid air, while like a fly
my brain buzzed madly round the corpse of Greene
pressing to find a window to the sky
but only knocking into stink. A priest
confused me with Doctor Faustus as if I
had damned the world to gulp his curses down.
So merged the playwright and the Queen’s own spy,
by the power of language flushed from underground;
my fictional creations now not mine,
but
me
. And in their mythic flesh I drowned.
So merged the playwright and the Queen’s own spy,
by the power of language flushed from underground;
my fictional creations now not mine,
but
me
. And in their mythic flesh I drowned.
Fear sends the mad man running off a cliff.
I asked Arbella Stuart for forty pounds;
an annual sum, to save me from the list
of poverty-murdered poets. I could hear
Fate drumming at the window. But the doubt
surrounding my religion reached the ears
of the countess. Like a flea, I was dismissed.
I asked Arbella Stuart for forty pounds;
an annual sum, to save me from the list
of poverty-murdered poets. I could hear
Fate drumming at the window. But the doubt
surrounding my religion reached the ears
of the countess. Like a flea, I was dismissed.
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