Her Last Assassin (30 page)

‘Good night, my old friend. And sleep well.’

Elizabeth signalled to the steward to allow her ladies to approach, for she was overtired herself and ready for her bedchamber.

‘We are safe enough from King Philip’s assassins here, whatever Lord Essex might say. All the same, with this new worry, and the plague back in the city, it might be prudent to move the court out to Richmond for a few months.’ She closed her eyes, already wishing herself among the peaceful open fields of Richmond, a good ride west of Greenwich. ‘There should be better hunting there, anyway.’

Four

‘S
HAKESPEARE
? W
ILLIAM
S
HAKESPEARE
? What in the name of all that’s holy are you doing in a brothel in Southwark?’

Kit Marlowe stared down at the buxom girl in Will’s lap, squirming pleasantly as he tried to study his cards around her fulsome figure.

‘And a good evening to you too, Master Marlowe,’ Will managed, then grinned, pleased that he had not slurred his words despite the large amount of ale he had consumed that day. ‘What does it look like I’m doing?’

Kit’s eyebrows shot up as he took in the unfastened doublet, the fresh pitcher of ale on the stained table, and the flushed faces of the good-natured fellows with whom Will was playing cards.

‘I had heard that Master Shakespeare was a little wild these days, but this is beyond even what I had envisaged.’ He paused, becoming serious for a moment. ‘I am glad to see you in London though. I thought you had disappeared off to the country again.’

Will raised his brows at that unpleasant suggestion. ‘Not I.’

Kit looked thoughtful. ‘I have been reading that epic poem you sent me.
Venus and Adonis
. It is a rare piece of work, Will, far better than anything you have written for the stage. I tell you, reading it made me sick with jealousy. That poem will make your name.’

Will was surprised by this unexpected praise. He felt heat in his face, and did not know what to say. ‘I thank you, Kit.’

‘Your patron is the Earl of Southampton?’

‘Yes, and a more generous patron I could not have hoped for.’ Will caught an odd expression on Marlowe’s face. ‘What is it?’

‘Only that powerful men make dangerous bedfellows.’ Marlowe looked at the girl in Will’s lap, and his friend had the impression that Kit was trying to distract him. ‘Is this your catch of the night? Are you in such a rush to catch the pox? Because if so, I can suggest whores of even less repute than this pretty jug in your lap.’

‘I’m here with Dick Burbage,’ Will replied shortly, playing his hand to jeers from the other men. ‘Damn, I’m out.’

‘I’m not surprised, with cards that bad.’ Kit frowned, glancing around the brothel’s smoky room. ‘Where is Dick?’

‘Upstairs.’

‘I see.’ Kit smiled as Will extricated himself with difficulty from the whore’s arms, amid her shrill protests. ‘Are you not heading that way yourself, then?’

At that moment, Dick Burbage appeared in the low doorway, his clothing dishevelled. He spread his arms wide at the sight of them. ‘Kit, my friend! What, are you here too? Come and join us, there’s plenty of soft flesh in this house to go round, if you don’t mind dipping your ladle in the same barrel as the rest of us.’

Burbage stumbled into the room, a fair-haired girl on his arm, her gown pulled down to expose large, pink-skinned breasts with prominent nipples, her face drowsy with too much ale.

‘Will!’ he exclaimed, dragging the girl forward so that she cried out and stumbled, almost falling into Will’s arms. ‘See, I found the girl I was telling you about. She’s a trifle drunk, which mars all, but when her head clears, I swear she will show you a trick with her purse to surpass any performance you have ever seen, in bed or on stage.’

‘I can’t wait,’ Will said drily.

‘Well, sir, you must,’ Burbage rejoined sharply, slapping him on the back. ‘Consider our parts. I like to play the nobleman, you prefer to play the pauper. And as every fellow knows, the prince must be served before the pauper.’

Kit gave a bark of laughter at this exchange. He shook his head and moved away to speak to a foreign-looking man at the counter. There was a brief exchange, then the man handed him something and left the room.

Watching uneasily, Will could not see what it was the man had given him, but saw Kit push it hurriedly into the leather pouch on his belt.

Marlowe came back to the table, still laughing. ‘Shall we retire upstairs then, and see this trick?’ he asked, surprising Will, who had thought he had little love for women. ‘I have a few shillings to throw in the kitty if you’re short.’

‘Short?’ Burbage belched loudly at this implied insult, and shook his head in mock anger. ‘No such thing, I promise you. And this little kitty will vouch for that later tonight. Why, she’ll be walking stiff for a sennight after our sport. Won’t you, my sweet Marjorie?’

‘Margaret,’ the girl corrected him sourly, no doubt sobering up at the prospect of three on one, but allowed Burbage to lead her back towards the stairs.

They passed an open door at the head of the stairs. Within the narrow smoky chamber Will could see men playing illegally at dice. Beyond their table, a girl lay nude and shameless on a straw pallet, so thin that her ribs showed through her skin. Her legs were still sprawled wide from where they had used her, her thumb in her mouth like a child, fast asleep despite the shouts and laughter around her.

‘With the plague raging and the Rose shut down, what is there to do but lie with whores and play dice?’ Burbage declared, staring lewdly in at the naked girl on the bed. ‘Do the city fathers not understand that closing the theatres leads us poor players into sin, not out of it? Come, girl, where is this chamber? I am eager to be up and at it.’

The girl Margaret obediently showed them to a room further along the upper landing. It was cramped, just one bed, and stank like a fishhouse, but Will barely considered this as he kicked the door shut – this was no stage, and he would not be watched by strangers while he performed – and jerked the fair-haired girl towards him.

He kissed her mouth, which was not so sweet as he had hoped, then ran his hands over her full breasts. A driving need for debauchery had taken hold of him in recent months, his lust insatiable, as though each girl he used was another blow against Lucy’s hold on his heart.

Lucy! Lucy! She was lost to him. He should not even think her name.

And yet he could not help but bring her to mind every morning when he woke and every night when he lay down to sleep. To remember her face was a pain beyond anything he had ever felt, a hammer-blow to his manhood. He told himself he hated her, and meant it, but the agony such reminders brought could mean only one thing: that he still loved her, and had been rejected.

The only way to drown out her incessant name in his head was to lie with other women, to indulge his lust for this sweet flesh until he was wholly emptied of it.

‘Margaret,’ he muttered savagely, and dragged her gown down to her waist, rubbing his thumbs back and forth across her nipples until they grew large and stiff. ‘Sweet Margaret.’

He remembered Lucy’s voice in the darkness of the palace garden, spinning her wicked lies about his patron, telling him the Earl of Southampton had warned her not to see him again. And yet Henry Wriothesley, the earl himself, had given him a girl to enjoy at his grand palace; they had even shared the whore between them that night, and several times since, when Will had been invited to join Henry and his wealthy friends again as they drank and caroused through the long cold winter. So why would Henry warn Lucy off? It made no sense.

The only explanation must be that Lucy had fallen out of love with Will and sought an excuse to part from him that would not bring her blame.

Damn her, still haunting him!

‘Hey, Shakespeare, not so greedy, if you please. Leave some for us,’ Burbage told him laughingly. He lifted the girl’s tousled fair hair and kissed her throat.

Margaret moaned and let her loosened gown fall obligingly past her hips to the floor. Burbage slapped one of her buttocks with a resounding crack; the girl gave a mewling protest but did not attempt to pull away, clearly used to such rough treatment.

‘Come, shall we toss a coin to see who fucks her first? I call heads.’

But the girl was gazing across the room at Marlowe instead, brazen in her nakedness, licking her lips greedily as though drawn to his good looks.

Will muttered, ‘I’ll go tails,’ though he was already erect and itching to sink himself inside her.

Oblivious to the girl’s interest, Kit Marlowe had taken up a position at the window and was staring down into the dark street. He seemed uneasy, watching those passing below, not even glancing at the girl’s nudity, and Will recalled some talk about Marlowe’s preference being for young men. He had been friends once with the unfortunate Jack Parker, who had married Lucy and met his death at some brigand’s hands.

Lucy, again. His mind had come full circle.

‘Enough talk. Let’s have at it,’ he managed hoarsely, wishing it was Lucy before them, dark-skinned Lucy, her ripe breasts in his hands, her urgent whispers in his ear.

Marlowe had unfastened his pouch and withdrawn a small coin. This he tossed in the air, catching the coin as it descended and slapping it down on the back of his hand.

‘Heads it is,’ Kit declared, then grinned at Will’s expression. ‘Never mind, Master Shake-Your-Spear, you can go next. Indeed, I’ll leave you two gentlemen to share the spoils between you. I’ve just remembered there’s a man I’m to meet at the Angel tonight.’

‘Wait, you’re not staying?’ Margaret demanded, suddenly coming to life, hands on hips, apparently vexed by this insulting refusal of her services.

‘I cannot, my fair whore,’ he replied, barely acknowledging her with a glance. ‘Another time, perhaps.’

Her eyes spat venom at him. ‘Such a fine gentleman too, walking in here like you own the place. I’ve seen you here before, and in better company than this, when there were three or four girls paid for, and other games besides. But I suppose I’m not good enough for you this time. Or perhaps I am not cut to your taste, being too womanly.’ Lasciviously, she cupped her large breasts, her nipples so duskily pink it looked as though she had painted them with rouge, and offered them to Marlowe. ‘I’m clean, you know. I wash every Sunday. Not like most of the whores in this filthy town.’

But Kit merely laughed at this naive speech, turning to leave. Margaret, infuriated by his response to her outburst, struck out at him, all sharp claws like a cat, hissing between her teeth. The player staggered backwards, taken by surprise, and fell across the narrow wooden-framed cot which passed for a bed. Kit grunted, jumping back to his feet at once, and fiercely slapped the girl’s face before Will could intervene.

She yelped and clutched at her reddening cheek, staring up at him in hurt and accusation. ‘Bastard!’

‘You deserved that, you little wildcat.’ Kit was breathless. He bowed briefly, tidying his clothes. ‘Gentlemen, I wish you joy of this termagant. For myself, I have sweeter pleasures in mind tonight than those to be enjoyed at such a stinking nunnery as this one.’

Will bent, retrieving a glinting object that had rolled under the cot. ‘This fell from your pouch, Kit.’

It was a diamond ring.

Burbage swore under his breath, then stared at Kit in narrow-eyed suspicion. ‘Why, Master Marlowe, that’s a pretty bauble, and fit for a nobleman’s finger. Where in God’s name did you get it? You could buy a share or two in Henslowe’s company with a jewel like that.’

‘Mind your own business, Burbage. Go back to your playhouse and leave me to mine.’

His face oddly pale, Kit snatched the ring from Will’s open palm and thrust it back into the pouch on his belt, tightening the drawstring to keep it secure. He left the room without another word.

Burbage caught the petulant girl in his arms when she would have stormed after him. ‘Quiet, wench, the fool’s gone, do you hear me? And we need not miss him.’

Torn between curiosity at Kit’s newfound wealth and his urgent lust for the girl, her breasts jiggling pleasantly as she struggled in Burbage’s arms, Will gave in to his baser desire.

‘Hold the girl still for me, Burbage,’ he muttered, and kissed her mouth again, this time pushing an exploratory hand between her thighs.

Burbage caught his lusty mood, grinning at him over her shoulder. He drew the whore towards the cot, already unlacing his hose. ‘Come, Margaret, show my friend that trick you do with your rose purse, and there’ll be an extra shilling in it for you.’

Wandering home alone, stumbling through the narrow streets with not even a lantern to light his way, Will found some solace in the moonless night. He felt empty and ashamed of his sport tonight at the brothel, his spirit poured out in lust for a girl who lay with any man who could produce her paltry fee of four shillings. The dark houses seemed to glower down at him like a row of judges. Not that earthly punishment was what he feared, for Anne knew nothing of his sins and no man in London would condemn him for whoring. But God’s judgement on him as an adulterer and a fornicator was another matter.