Read The Marlowe Papers Online
Authors: Ros Barber
Tags: #Fiction, #Historical, #Literary, #Biographical, #Women's Prize for Fiction - all candidates
The Marlowe Papers (5 page)
‘Oh, that was something. This’ll run for weeks.’
Over my shoulder, ‘Robert, sir, you’re late!
Where were you at this young man’s play?’ Ned barks.
Greene almost flinches. ‘Though there’s nothing I
would rather do than laud another’s art,
I was unwell.’ There is a hint of truth
around his lips; the lightest tint of green
reflected from his cloak, or in his blood
from the rumoured diet of fish and Rhenish wine.
Tonight, exaggerating for effect,
Greene is his name, his nature and attire.
Over my shoulder, ‘Robert, sir, you’re late!
Where were you at this young man’s play?’ Ned barks.
Greene almost flinches. ‘Though there’s nothing I
would rather do than laud another’s art,
I was unwell.’ There is a hint of truth
around his lips; the lightest tint of green
reflected from his cloak, or in his blood
from the rumoured diet of fish and Rhenish wine.
Tonight, exaggerating for effect,
Greene is his name, his nature and attire.
‘On rewarding myself with a pint or two of wine
for finishing that script I promised you,
I find my head inoperative, too full
to take this young man’s pounding poetry.
But, Marlowe, you’re well, I trust. Another triumph?’
for finishing that script I promised you,
I find my head inoperative, too full
to take this young man’s pounding poetry.
But, Marlowe, you’re well, I trust. Another triumph?’
‘Marley,’ I say.
‘That doesn’t have the ring
an author needs, my boy. Whereas Mar-lowe
seems altogether fitting, since the sound
paints you with either syllable. Mar, low.
The play went well?’
seems altogether fitting, since the sound
paints you with either syllable. Mar, low.
The play went well?’
Ned chips in, ‘Like a trollop!’
The insult doesn’t land with him at all.
‘That’s just as well for me. These fashions change,
sometimes before a man can capture them.’
He pushes a manuscript in front of Ned.
‘
Alphonsus, King of Aragon
. The part
is made for you, Alleyn. Bold bombastic verse
in quite the style you’re used to. Guaranteed
to pack the house as full as
Tamburlaine
.
Ten pounds is not too much to ask.’
sometimes before a man can capture them.’
He pushes a manuscript in front of Ned.
‘
Alphonsus, King of Aragon
. The part
is made for you, Alleyn. Bold bombastic verse
in quite the style you’re used to. Guaranteed
to pack the house as full as
Tamburlaine
.
Ten pounds is not too much to ask.’
‘Ten pounds?
I paid half that for
Tamburlaine Part Two
!’
‘But this is twice as good again, at least.
(Excuse me, no offence intended.) And
the Spanish title makes it topical.
You’ll more than make your money back again.’
Tamburlaine Part Two
!’
‘But this is twice as good again, at least.
(Excuse me, no offence intended.) And
the Spanish title makes it topical.
You’ll more than make your money back again.’
‘Can I distract you?’ Watson, at my side.
‘A friend from Paris would like to meet the man
who has a shepherd turn kings into beasts.
Sir Francis’ cousin, Thomas Walsingham.’
‘A friend from Paris would like to meet the man
who has a shepherd turn kings into beasts.
Sir Francis’ cousin, Thomas Walsingham.’
Thus, you have joined me in the tale I tell:
your gentle face beside him, framed in curls.
‘Perhaps you’d call me Tom. Another Tom.’
You grasp my hand. ‘I’ve read your poetry.
You’re Watson’s heir. In English. And your play –
it’s very brave.’ Your eyes are so intense
I’m speechless for a moment.
your gentle face beside him, framed in curls.
‘Perhaps you’d call me Tom. Another Tom.’
You grasp my hand. ‘I’ve read your poetry.
You’re Watson’s heir. In English. And your play –
it’s very brave.’ Your eyes are so intense
I’m speechless for a moment.
‘How so, brave?’
‘To scold religions, have an atheist
depose both Christian and Muslim kings.’
depose both Christian and Muslim kings.’
Is it natural for a memory to scorch,
word upon blistered word, that first exchange?
Do you recall as clearly my new gaze
falling upon you? Yours was torching me.
word upon blistered word, that first exchange?
Do you recall as clearly my new gaze
falling upon you? Yours was torching me.
‘It isn’t bravery, but metaphor.
Impassioned right slays cold hypocrisy.
Those who swear oaths on sacred books and break
their promises should surely feel God’s wrath.’
‘In the form of a shepherd?’
Impassioned right slays cold hypocrisy.
Those who swear oaths on sacred books and break
their promises should surely feel God’s wrath.’
‘In the form of a shepherd?’
‘Why not in a shepherd?
A shepherd’s a man like any king. But rarer:
he keeps his word.’
he keeps his word.’
‘You don’t see danger in it?’
Instinctively, I draw back from the cliff
of my own confirmed opinions, wondering if
you fish for your cousin also.
of my own confirmed opinions, wondering if
you fish for your cousin also.
‘May I speak
not as intelligencer, but as poet?’
‘Can you separate yourself so?’
‘Can you separate yourself so?’
‘Certainly.’
As though you’d entered, verbal sword half drawn,
and we were locked now, hilt to hilt.
and we were locked now, hilt to hilt.
‘Then do.’
‘Truth’s dangerous to liars. But in art
it’s softened by beauty. If we put both sides,
as dialectic training teaches.’
it’s softened by beauty. If we put both sides,
as dialectic training teaches.’
‘Where
were you educated?’
‘Cambridge.’
‘Tom, I swear,
he works for you already. Interviewed
by Sir Francis himself.’ The jest from Watson there
only voicing my own discomfort. You stay fast
on the subject as a ship’s own barnacle.
by Sir Francis himself.’ The jest from Watson there
only voicing my own discomfort. You stay fast
on the subject as a ship’s own barnacle.
‘One of the sceptic colleges, no doubt.
Not Christ’s. Say, Corpus Christi?’
Not Christ’s. Say, Corpus Christi?’
‘You are sharp.’
And serious. ‘My father kept blades like you
for skinning rabbits.’
for skinning rabbits.’
Trying to prick a laugh,
to distract you from your purpose. To no avail.
‘They train good heretics,’ you say as plain
as if I’d just assented.
as if I’d just assented.
‘I would say
they train young men to question and debate
both sides of all positions.’
both sides of all positions.’
‘And is there
a bar on what may be counter-argued?’
‘No.’
‘The existence of God?’
‘Ah, come now.’ Watson leaps
ahead of my answer. ‘Let us get to know
each other first. Thank goodness it’s a play.
As quite opposed to something serious.’
He clasps your shoulders. ‘Come now, gentle friend!
A play is only playful. There’s no threat
if we are entertaining make-believe.’
Your eyes assess the set of my mouth and jaw
precisely as a housewife squeezes fruit;
remain there lest I slip away. ‘I don’t
believe he’s made it up.’
each other first. Thank goodness it’s a play.
As quite opposed to something serious.’
He clasps your shoulders. ‘Come now, gentle friend!
A play is only playful. There’s no threat
if we are entertaining make-believe.’
Your eyes assess the set of my mouth and jaw
precisely as a housewife squeezes fruit;
remain there lest I slip away. ‘I don’t
believe he’s made it up.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘The atheism.
Are
you an atheist?’
Are
you an atheist?’
Watson laughs loudly, ‘Faith, he isn’t, Tom!
He’s toying with you.’
He’s toying with you.’
‘No, I’m not,’ I say.
‘Not an atheist?’
‘Not toying with you.’
‘Oh,’
you say, and I watch your face fall like a bird
hit by a slingshot. So surprised by ‘Oh’
that the fight quite leaves me.
hit by a slingshot. So surprised by ‘Oh’
that the fight quite leaves me.
‘Nothing more than “oh”?’
There is a folding sadness in your face.
‘If you don’t know God’s not an argument,
I cannot help,’ you say.
‘If you don’t know God’s not an argument,
I cannot help,’ you say.
‘You want to help?’
‘A talented writer like yourself? I do.’
The strangest sense, then, of your tenderness
washed over me. I’d read you very wrong.
‘I’m open to help,’ I say, ‘all kinds.’
The strangest sense, then, of your tenderness
washed over me. I’d read you very wrong.
‘I’m open to help,’ I say, ‘all kinds.’
And Tom
slips in, ‘He hasn’t any money, Kit.
He’s a second son. His brother has the manor.
Handsome place, too. At Scadbury, in Kent.
But Tom’s as penniless as the rest of us.’
He’s a second son. His brother has the manor.
Handsome place, too. At Scadbury, in Kent.
But Tom’s as penniless as the rest of us.’
We spent some borrowed pennies anyway
on further beers. You softened visibly.
and as we parted, grasped my hand and said,
‘You know God’s name is Jove?’
on further beers. You softened visibly.
and as we parted, grasped my hand and said,
‘You know God’s name is Jove?’
‘Of course.’
You dipped
my finger in the frothy head that lay
at the bottom of my exhausted cup and spelt
across the tabletop: ‘I-O-V-E’.
‘As it is written,’ you said, quietly.
at the bottom of my exhausted cup and spelt
across the tabletop: ‘I-O-V-E’.
‘As it is written,’ you said, quietly.
I close that memory, and sleep alone.
Just two days later, I was called away
to the continent. The Spanish invasion fleet
was building off the Netherlands. Inland
the Duke of Parma’s army gathered strength.
I crossed the Channel as a pious man
and quoted verse at those who challenged me,
defrauding death by blasphemous degree.
Yet in the honest service of a faith
and that faith’s defender; loyal to my Queen
by counterfeiting service to a God
I couldn’t quite believe in. If that God
despised my actions, he left me unharmed
to estimate men and horse, artillery.
to the continent. The Spanish invasion fleet
was building off the Netherlands. Inland
the Duke of Parma’s army gathered strength.
I crossed the Channel as a pious man
and quoted verse at those who challenged me,
defrauding death by blasphemous degree.
Yet in the honest service of a faith
and that faith’s defender; loyal to my Queen
by counterfeiting service to a God
I couldn’t quite believe in. If that God
despised my actions, he left me unharmed
to estimate men and horse, artillery.
Flushing, the English garrison where I
reported news that they might use at home
was base to every spy and volunteer.
The inns were choked with soldiers on alert
exchanging rumours over watered beer;
with tables squeezed, it wasn’t possible
to eat alone, unless one was diseased.
But I was halfway through a history play,
preferred to eat alone than make small talk,
and the inn, at least, had candles. I was glad
scribbling in public frightens people off.
It kept me out of trouble.
reported news that they might use at home
was base to every spy and volunteer.
The inns were choked with soldiers on alert
exchanging rumours over watered beer;
with tables squeezed, it wasn’t possible
to eat alone, unless one was diseased.
But I was halfway through a history play,
preferred to eat alone than make small talk,
and the inn, at least, had candles. I was glad
scribbling in public frightens people off.
It kept me out of trouble.
‘Can I sit?’
The gentleman who joined me had a voice
as singular as Fortune.
as singular as Fortune.
‘Be my guest.’
I hoped he couldn’t read things upside down.
‘Do you mind my asking what you’re working on?’
‘Do you mind my saying yes?’
‘Do you mind my asking what you’re working on?’
‘Do you mind my saying yes?’
He didn’t blink.
‘It can’t be secret if you’re writing here.’
‘It isn’t secret, but it’s personal.’
‘Looks like a play.’
‘It isn’t secret, but it’s personal.’
‘Looks like a play.’
‘Excuse me, have we met?’
‘Henry,’ he said, his hand entreating mine.
I took it. ‘Christopher Marley.’ Back to the page.
‘Marley the poet?’
I took it. ‘Christopher Marley.’ Back to the page.
‘Marley the poet?’
‘So they say.’
‘What luck!
I finished reading, only recently,
your fine translation of Ovid’s Elegies.’
‘That manuscript has travelled well.’ I wondered
how the stranger came by it.
your fine translation of Ovid’s Elegies.’
‘That manuscript has travelled well.’ I wondered
how the stranger came by it.
‘Indeed. Like fire
through August hayricks. You have quite a skill.
I write a little myself. Not fresh as you.
I’m more of a reader.’
I write a little myself. Not fresh as you.
I’m more of a reader.’
‘Very interesting.’
I admit my patience wore a little thin.
‘I’m sorry. I’m interrupting. Pay no heed.’
He sat and tapped his fingers on the edge
of the beery table. Like he dabbed the keys
of some invisible virginal to scales.
He sat and tapped his fingers on the edge
of the beery table. Like he dabbed the keys
of some invisible virginal to scales.
‘Curious how, on the very edge of war,
our thoughts are drawn to the wars of history.
I couldn’t help noticing it’s a battle scene.
Apologies.’ He’d been quiet a good two minutes.
Time to give up. ‘You’re fond of history?’
our thoughts are drawn to the wars of history.
I couldn’t help noticing it’s a battle scene.
Apologies.’ He’d been quiet a good two minutes.
Time to give up. ‘You’re fond of history?’
‘I’m fond of learning. Fond of the arts, and science,
debate. Though I avoid theology.
As wise men should. But knowledge interests me.’
debate. Though I avoid theology.
As wise men should. But knowledge interests me.’
Clearly he was no soldier. Though in clothes
as practical as mine, there was an air
of velvet and silk about him, suddenly.
I wondered I hadn’t noticed it before.
as practical as mine, there was an air
of velvet and silk about him, suddenly.
I wondered I hadn’t noticed it before.
‘When all this is over, if they don’t invade,
perhaps you’d like to use my library.
Come stay with me. I have two thousand books;
you might find one or two of use.’ He grinned.
‘Do you know Thomas Watson?’
perhaps you’d like to use my library.
Come stay with me. I have two thousand books;
you might find one or two of use.’ He grinned.
‘Do you know Thomas Watson?’
‘He’s a friend.’
‘A mutual friend. Delightful. Well, I’ll go
and leave you to your play. We’ll meet again.’
and leave you to your play. We’ll meet again.’
I asked the tapster to supply his name.
‘That’s Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland.’
‘That’s Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland.’
At summer’s end, I crossed the Channel, thin
and ready to rest, and made his Petworth home
my own for several weeks. His own pet poet:
he asked me to read my verse aloud to him,
and had my portrait painted. We discussed
Copernicus, that whispered heresy
all clever men must orbit. But religion,
which killed his father with a pistol shot,
we never mentioned. Had I lingered there,
and caught the habit –
and ready to rest, and made his Petworth home
my own for several weeks. His own pet poet:
he asked me to read my verse aloud to him,
and had my portrait painted. We discussed
Copernicus, that whispered heresy
all clever men must orbit. But religion,
which killed his father with a pistol shot,
we never mentioned. Had I lingered there,
and caught the habit –
Oh, this thorn, regret.
I catch my eye upon it every time.
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