In the Shadow of Shakespeare (24 page)

Thomas
left and Christopher sat next to Alice, taking the blue vase from her
hand.  “It would be better if thou dids’t not speak of papists and spies.”

Alice
glared at him.  “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I’m
tired of it.  I don’t want to pretend I don’t know who Walsingham is, or
that you work for him, and that the papists are plotting against the queen.”

Astonished,
Christopher raised his eyebrows and began to smile.

 “Did
anyone ever tell you your eyebrows look like cupids bows?”

He
broke into a grin.  “Aye.  And did anyone tell ye that ye smell of
cow offal?”

 “Well.” 
Alice felt spent. 

Christopher
pointed to a basin sitting on a table.  “There.  You may refresh
yourself.  Get the cow off ye.”

She
walked over and dipped the cloth in the water, rubbing it over her face and
between her breasts.  “I suppose privacy is a thing unheard of here?”

Christopher
averted his eyes, and took a coin from his pocket.  “I suggest also, lady,
you visit a seamstress, and have another gown sewn.   I will pay ye
this wage…now, for services ye ha’ yet to render.”

 “If
I told you once, I have said it a million times!  I’m not a…”

 “Nay. 
Ye shall play Bellamira in the
Jew
.  And there is another matter of
disguise…A little matter of a man named Baines.  Dost thou know of this
man?”

Alice
nodded.  “The man deals in doubles.  He is an agent
provocateur.  I would rather not speak of him.  And, as such, you
mentioned you would rather not speak of papists and spies.”

 “’Tis
good to stray from such things.  Let us come from the shadows then. 
Dear heart, what say you?  The light of day beckons and we have much work
to do.”

 ***

Alice
stood in front of the thrust stage.  The groundling area in front of the
stage had been swept clean, but the stench of old dirt and sweat was
overwhelming.  She was trying her best not to gag.

Kit
and Thomas were arguing about a scene in the
Jew
, and Alice concentrated
on what they were saying. Aaron appeared from backstage, and did a somersault,
then a flip, noticing her when he had completed the maneuver.

 “Ah! 
My fair one, my lovely mistress!  What say thou?  Come to, come
to!”  He held his hand out towards her.

Alice
smiled, moving towards the stage.    

 “Mistress? 
What say thous’t clown?  This woman, Alice.  Dost thou know her?” Kit
said.

 “Oh,
aye.  She is my fair Alice, living with Mare she is.”  He turned to
the absent audience, and with an aside added, “I aim to make her my
wife.” 

Kit
frowned.  “I’ll not ha’ a clown and my playmaker make the bare-backed
beast together.  Nay…”  He walked over to the foot of the
stage.  “Come to, Alice, time for Bella Mira.”  He held out his hand
and smiled. 

Alice
grabbed Kit’s hand and he pulled her upright onto the stage.  She looked
down onto the empty groundling area.  Kit pulled her close and spread his
arm across the stage area.  “Look.  ‘Tis not a view?  You shall
be my lovely Bellamira.”

She
saw the eye of Alvis blink, enveloping them into a thousand and one
things.  She shook her head, dislodging the vision.

 “I
want this to last.” she said.

Aaron
grabbed her arm, pulling her from Kit.  “Bellamira!”

She
laughed and grabbed his hand.  “And who shall be Pilia-Borgia?  Who?”

Thomas
smiled.  “I am to play Pilia, infamous pickpocket.”

They
faced each other and Alice began Bellamira’s lament over losing her
scholars.  She recited the lines perfectly and when she was finished Kit
nodded approvingly.  “Well said, Alice.”  He squeezed her hand. 
“And thou art my lovely Bellamira.  Dost thou know?”

Thomas
looked from her to Kit.  “We shalt pull it off.  Can’st thou play a
man too,  Alice?”

 “Of
course.”

Although
the camaraderie of the play bound them together, Alice felt an impending
sadness flowing in with the muted sunset.  Time here was not
immortal.  It was as efflorescent as the blink of a dwarf’s eye.

Chapter 31

The
bed was warm, but the sheets felt rough.  Like a cat’s tongue.  He
had his quill, and she playfully grabbed it from him, running it up his
thigh.  He held his breath, and she touched his cheek, his hair, running
the feather across his nose.  Kit gently took it from her hand.

 “Over,
my Alice.”

She
turned on her back.  Feeling the quill move over her skin, she
laughed.  “What are you writing?

The
movements against her flesh were at once short, long, and sensuous.  When
it was finished she promised that she would let it dry, and after what seemed
like hours she finally turned over. 

 “Mmm.” 
She kissed Kit, feeling the warmth of their bonding washing over her.

He
pulled back and propped his head underneath his hands. 

 “What
did you write?”

 “Ye
shall see my Alice.  Ye shall see.”

She
took his hand and held it between hers.  “Again?”

Kit
laughed.  “Ah, give me time woman!  Thou art insatiable.”  He
snuggled next to her.  “And now we will speak of the spy Baines.”

Alice
felt stung, literally slapped.  She sat up in bed and looked long and hard
at him.  “Now who is bed…and bled.”  She grabbed the quill and made a
slicing motion across her throat.  “You might as well cut my throat then
use me so.”

 “Ah,
now the drama comes…”

 “How
could you do this to me?  How could you!  Right after – this.” 
She stood up and grabbed her gown, pulling it roughly over her
head.  

 “How
could I?”  Kit grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him.  “What of you
lady?  What of these bed vows you speak?  Who is pulling who? 
Art thou a spy?  What do you want?”  He took her hand, placing the
quill in it.  “This, my mistress, is what binds us.”

 “And
Baines will soon bind you.”

Kit
stood and went to the window.  The street was dark, and there was no
movement.  The dawn was just beginning to show on the rooftops.  He
placed his hands on the edge of the window and leaned out.  She watched
him stretch, then turn towards her. 

 “He
haunts me still.  He is waiting in late for me.”

 “Aye.”

 “Alice…do
not taunt me with an accent that not suits you.  Why do ye speak such?”

 “I
know of Baines and what he is capable of.  But I would rather not speak of
him directly after…”  She got up from the bed and stood beside him. 
He looked down at the people walking the dusty street. 

Alice
touched his tattooed arm.  “And what of this?”  She touched the
leaves circling his arm.  “What does it mean?”

 “How
do ye know of Baines?” He looked suspicious.

 “I
have learned of him through my studies.”

 “Studies,”
He scoffed.  “Dost thou trivel with my affections Alice?”

 “No. 
The circle of all we do unites us together again.”

He
glanced down at her fingers circling the chain of leaves around his
bicep.  “In Espana I received it.  It means I believe in all
things.  The magic of alchemy.  It cans’t be broken this chain. 
Working for Walsingham I was,” He sighed.  “As of now.  And at a time
when I believed in what could be done.  He cupped her chin in his
hand.  “Cans’t it be, sweet Alice?”  “I know not.  Tell me,
love.  Tell me of Baines.”

She
shook her head free from his hand, sensing that the things that bound them were
beyond the both of them.  “I don’t know what he is planning next.”

His
eyes met hers.  “Find him.  Tell me what of him I can take…and
unmake,”

“But
what of his whereabouts?  He is undercover, and I know not where he is.”
she said.

 “He
may be a priest.  He is in a village not far…ever angry at me since I knew
him at Rheims.  He is hell bent to kill me, he is.”

Chapter 32

She
awoke to the toll of church bells.  Someone had died.  Alice placed a
hand behind her feeling for Kit, but he had gone. Thomas was sitting at a table
dipping his quill in an ink pot.  He placed the quill on the parchment and
began writing.  He looked up, and she realized she was naked.  She
quickly grabbed a sheet, wrapping it around her body.

Thomas
smiled.  “I shall avert mine eyes, lady.  Thou ‘twill be hard. 
Thou art lovely.”  He began writing again.  Alice watched him for a
moment. 

 “Thomas,
do you know the date?”

He
looked up from his writing.  “Aye.  ‘Tis the 25
^th
of May.”

 “The
year?”

He
looked at her quizzically.  “Tis the year of our lord 1593.”

 “Oh
God.”

 “Aye. 
Exactly.”  He continued writing.

 “I
don’t have much time.”

 “Time
lady?  You mays’t pass the time with me if thous’t care.  I shall go
to the theatre soon enough.  But thous’t art welcome to stay.”  He
stopped writing.  “Kit speaks well of ye.  It seems he knew of your
coming.”

 “Yes?”

 “Aye. 
He spoke of a woman through a dream he had.  ‘Alice, her name is Alice,’
quoth he. He told me his very thought then.  The dream is like that of
that man, Leander, swimming to his love, Hero.  Dost thou know the story?”

 “Yes. 
I do.”  She clasped the sheet around her and sat up.  “Thomas, you
have to leave.  You’re in great danger.”

Thomas
frowned.  “Art thou unwell Alice? Thou speaketh strangely of danger. Thou
hast come too far, and now are ill.  Rest awhile.” 

 “You’re
in grave danger.  They will find you and torture you.  Kit too. 
I must find Baines.”

 “Lady,
you are too much in yourself.   ‘Tis safe here.  Ye have no need
for such worries, for whatever has plagued ye is in the past.  Kit will
take good care of ye.  Of that I am sure.” 

 “No
Thomas, you misunderstand.”

 “Ah,
no.  Ye speak in tales I
don’t
understand. Ye shall be safe here,
lady.  I guarantee it. Sir Cecil holds us in great regard, as does Sir
Walsingham.  There is nothing to fear.”

 “I
must dress.” 

He
turned and averted his eyes from her as she pulled on her gown. She quickly
fastened the buttons, and pulled on her shoes, hopping on one foot as she
pulled on the other.  “I have to find Kit.”

 “He
‘tis at the theatre lady.  The Rose.”  Thomas watched as she quickly
left the dwelling, then turned again to his writing. 

 ***

Growing
increasingly faint with hunger Alice hurried down the street.  There were
no bread vendors in sight.  She was worried Kit would go to the stationers
at Saint Paul’s Church Yard, and she would be too late.  He would be an
easy target for the authorities at Saint Pauls.  They knew where to find
their scholar, their playmaker who loved to read. 

Time
was running out.  There were only five days to the end.  The end of
history for Kit Marlowe, and the beginning of history for one William
Shakespeare.

She
turned the corner and was engulfed in a throng of people coming to the market
selling their wares. Fishmongers took their catch off the carts, bearing the
fish in huge baskets.  They set up their stalls, and basket weavers, and
bread minders took their place beside them.  Alice stood in line in front
of a baker.  The smell of the bread caused her stomach to grumble. 
She licked her lips and rooted in her side pocket for a pence.  Her hand
came up empty.  Frantically she searched harder in her pocket.  It
was her turn in line.

 “I
ah…”  Her hand came out empty, and the baker turned to the next
customer. 

The
little girl behind her pressed a pence in her hand.  “Lady.”

It
was Anne.  She smiled broadly at her then shyly looked away.  Alice
hugged her and collected her bread from the baker woman, who shooed them away
from the front of the stall. 

 “Will
ye be coming home lady?”

Alice
broke off a piece of bread and handed a piece to Anne.  She felt tears
well in her eyes, touched that Anne thought of her this way. 

 “I
don’t know.  I must find Kit.  I fear he is in grave danger.”

Anne
nodded distractedly and looked at her feet.  “I would like ye to look
after me lady.”  She tried to smile, but her eyes were full of
sadness. 

Alice
felt her heart would burst.  She held Anne’s hand.  “I’ll do the best
I can.  I’ll try to come back as soon as possible.”  She gave her
hand a squeeze, then brushed the crumbs from her hands.  “Tell Mare I’ll
be back in a fortnight.”

Anne
looked at her longingly.  “Grammercy Lady.  For the bread.”  She
turned and began walking down the street.  Alice watched her pick her way
among beggars and vagabonds.  She did not look back, and Alice knew
why.  Her back stood tall and strait.  She was like a strong willow,
bending with the wind, but snapping back.