The Marlowe Conspiracy (27 page)

“But if I were you, my lord,” he replied, “who would you be?”

“I would be...” Essex paused and thought about it. “I would be... I would be.... a king.” He started giggling.

“What?”

“A king.”

“Of course, my lord.

“And a king of England, too.” Essex giggled louder. The absurd noise carried down the corridor. “By God, if I were a king I’d put that red-haired strumpet in her place!” He started thrusting his hips rudely. “She needs a royal rogering!”

Kit frowned in surprise, partly amused, partly frightened by Essex’s behavior. Swiftly, he put the bowl down, stood up straight and beckoned Essex down the corridor.

Still laughing, Essex followed him and thrust his hips again and again. Once they were far away from the kitchen and all passing servants, Kit waved his hands and tried to quiet Essex down a little.

“Soft, my lord,” he said soothingly.

Essex never stopped giggling. In partial disbelief, Kit watched the effects of the truth potion completely take hold: Essex hung his arms loose like a child, his eyes widened, his pupils dilated, and all his movements seemed oddly spontaneous and uncoordinated. Kit drew close and spoke in a slow, hushed voice.

“Hark a moment. I must ask you something important... I need to know about the posters in London. Are you behind Thomas Walsingham’s union with Whitgift?”

“The only thing I want to get behind is that Queen!” Essex said through his giggles.

“But aren't you trying to unseat Burghley from power?”

Essex put a finger to his lips.

“Shhh!” He clasped Kit's shoulder and pulled him closer, as if imparting some secret. “Burghley’s naughty, but Whitgift's on the rise, if you know what I mean.” He grabbed the sword on his hip and tilted it up rudely. “What is that man’s problem? He looks like he sat on his own cross! Damn fool thinks he can even start his own spy circle – make Burghley and I redundant. I’ll make him bloody redundant!”

Kit stood back and rubbed his brow. His face tense with thought, he mumbled to himself.

“Of course…. Whitgift isn’t joined with another lord. He and Thomas are working separately from anyone else… they’re forging their very own intelligence network.” He closed his fists in glee. “Then all I have to do is prove that they alone posted the libels! My god, I've already got part of the evidence!”

Essex gave a rowdy laugh and glanced at his reflection in his goblet.

“God, I really am good-looking…”

Kit frowned and shifted back to his side. He gave Essex a gentle pat on the back, helped him to stand up straight, and gestured toward the inner courtyard.

“You’ve been very helpful, my lord,” he said as if talking to a small child. “Now let’s get you back in there.”

Essex’s face lit up.

“Back in there! Whoa! Back, in, there!” He thrust his hips again and giggled as they walked off toward the courtyard...

Later in the evening, trumpets blared with shimmering notes to announce the serving of dinner. Hand in hand, sedate ladies and noblemen drifted away from the inner courtyard and steadily wandered a short distance through the palace to the banquet hall. As they approached, the stately music of minstrels breezed toward them.

The banquet hall's main entrance stood at the eastern end, shaded by a minstrel gallery overhead. The contrast between the darkness of the entry and the subsequent brightness of the hall only added to the splendor that it made on one's first impression. The room was long with generous width and the ceiling soared sixty foot high. A series of oak arches curved along the center of the ceiling. Rich carvings decorated the arches with grooves, layers, and rounded edges – all finished with burnished gold. At the sides of the room, eight gothic windows ran high down the walls, and below each window an arras tapestry depicted scenes from the life of Abraham.

Relaxed and ready to eat, the guests swanned into the room almost to the tempo of the music. They approached a group of long tables set in horseshoe formation: two tables extended down the length of the room, and a single table at the far end straddled the room's width. A paved dais raised the end table slightly above the others, and a throne-like chair sat in the middle for Elizabeth. During the day, an oriel window – larger than any other in the room – shed copious light over the dais and upon the Queen, but now that all the windows were darkened by nightfall, extra candelabras provided the light necessary to focus everyone's attention on the monarch.

Gradually, all the guests arrived and stood behind the exactly spaced chairs. They watched as Elizabeth paraded into the hall, took her seat at the end table, and said the evening's grace. Chair-legs then rubbed and squealed across flagstones as the guests sat down. A host of serving men entered the hall with heavy platters of fruits, nuts, and cheeses in their hands. The banquet had begun.

Beside every plate, napkins folded in the shape of lilies were undone and spread over laps as the ladies and noblemen devoured their appetizers. Serving men continued to circulate around the tables, bringing dish after dish. Meanwhile, as knives clinked on silver plates and prattling voices lifted above the thrum and whistle of the minstrels in the gallery, Kit and Will entered the hall along with the serving men. Kit bore a silver cup of walnuts in his hands and Will carried a bowl of sliced oranges. With Kit in front, they both marched in stately pace down the table, ever nearer to the Queen. Will leant forward and whispered in Kit's ear.

“I knew Lazell was lying about the side-effects. Still, things aren’t at their worst – at least you got what you wanted from Essex.”

“Yes,” Kit replied.

“But tell me, if it's not Essex not behind the conspiracy, then who is it?”

“I'll explain it all later.”

“When?”

Kit didn't answer – his eyes fixed on Audrey and Thomas at the end of the table near Elizabeth. Will shook his head, then bent down and set the oranges between two ladies buttering their bread roles. Kit marched onwards down the table and paused behind Audrey. She held a plum in her fingers and was just about to raise it to her lips. On her other side, Thomas leaned away and chatted to a man with a long beard. Pointedly, Kit stooped and placed his cup on the table near her plate. As he did so, he turned his head towards her, caught her eyes, and winked.

She averted her gaze defensively and immediately, as if by instinct. The next moment, however, she gave him a second look and regarded him with intrigue. The plum nearly fell out of her hand. Her jaw dropped.

Scared that she might accidentally give him away, Kit stood up straight and quickly paced around the other side of the table. Her eyes trailed him.

Discreetly, she raised her finger, pointed at him, then herself, and flicked her eyes toward the door. He understood and nodded back at her.

Kit left the hall and strode away to the kitchens. Once inside, he searched for Will. The hearths now burnt hotter than ever, but most of the cooks bustled around the preparation tables, hectically constructing the main courses. Hands darted over the plates, pouring sauces, arranging garnishes. Beside a table of appetizers, Kit found Will waiting to collect more plates. He grabbed Will's arm and took him aside.

“Audrey Walsingham needs to speak with me,” he said urgently.

“She does?” Will replied. He raised his eyebrows suspiciously. “Why is that?”

Kit lowered his voice.

“There's no time to explain.”

“No, there never is...”

“I just need a distraction. She needs to escape the hall without notice.”

They stood quietly while the cooks shot back and forth over the room, yelling at each other. Will stared pensively into mid air. Behind him, the bubbles in a vat of soup popped loudly. He suddenly flinched.

“The truth potion!” he whispered.

Kit looked at him hopefully, drew the green bottle out of his pouch, and handed it over.

“What thoughts have you?” he asked.

Will smiled mischievously and turned around to face the soup cauldrons. The soup was yellow and creamy. It smelt of leek.

He checked over his shoulder, assured himself that all the cooks were busy, then removed the stopper from the bottle and emptied every last drop of potion into the cauldron. The green liquid swirled around in the soup and slowly dissipated.

“Laughter,” said Will quietly. “The greatest distraction of all.”

SCENE EIGHT

Banquet Hall.

T
he soup was served.

As before, the serving men, including Kit and Will, filed into the room with silent, ghostly steps. Each carried a single bowl of soup and watched that the little soup-waves didn't splash over the edge as they reached down and set the bowls in front of the ladies and noblemen. Kit made sure he was the one to serve Audrey. She saw him approach and sat up straight. Underneath the table, her hands twisted the napkin anxiously, worried that Thomas might see.

Kit brushed close as he served her the soup.

“Don't drink, my lady,” he whispered.

She heard him but gave no reaction. Kit and Will swept around the table and headed for the door. As they left, soup spoons slid into bowls and the nobles tasted it eagerly.

After the soup came the main courses of the banquet. White tablecloths now became a canvas for all the shapes and colors of the food Elizabeth bestowed upon her guests. Bowls of lush green salad washed against wheat loaves in openwork baskets. Steam climbed from plates of rosy venison. Knives cut chunks from yellow mounds of cheese. Pink salmon tails poked over the sides of dishes. Platters bedded with moss circled the room, each laden with slices of pineapple, melon, red grapes, and purple dates. Orange candle-flames gleamed over silver dish covers. Jeweled goblets cast their shadows on the table. Cloves floated in the wine. Beads of moisture collected on the sides of glass cups filled with crushed ice. Jugs, pitchers, and candlesticks obscured the faces of people seated opposite, and eyes peeked over bouquets of roses to see across the room. The centerpiece of the meal was an entire swan served in its own plumage. Everyone clapped when four serving men carried it into the room and set it down on its own little table in the middle. The swan rested on a blue base, as if it were still swimming in a river. A cook came from the kitchen, ceremonially sharpened his knife, and set to work at carving the creature. Serving men then collected the choicest cuts and went around with trays, offered them to the guests, and with a pair of tongs flipped the slices adeptly onto the center of plates.

Once the ladies and noblemen dug deeply into their main courses, the serving men had orders to stand at the edges of the room and wait upon the guests. With backs almost against the wall, Kit and Will stood side by side and surveyed the table. Audrey refused to look at them.

So far, the potion hadn't taken effect. Kit noted the soup bowls had been taken away long ago. He fidgeted. He voiced his concerns to Will, but Will smiled patiently and told him to wait. Kit watched over the table again: nothing out of the ordinary. Everyone merely chatted pleasantly or asked the serving men for more claret or dipped their bread into gravy and listened civilly to their neighbor. The banquet had proceeded with success. Then things gradually began to change...

At the far end of one table, a man garbed in a military sash sat forward and leant his elbow on the tablecloth. With an entirely serious demeanor, his voice grew loud enough to hear above the people nearby.

“...and if it’s not meetings with my staff,” said the military man in a deep voice, “then it's sessions with the council, or filing report after report.” He desperately scanned the faces of the people seated opposite. “I never get time to myself anymore.”

Sat next to him, his shrewish wife held a napkin to her lips in embarrassment. She put the napkin down to the table.

“Dear,” she said sweetly, “that's not very interesting. Nobody wants to hear you moan.”

He turned to her with a bitter grin.

“You know something...”

“What, dear?”

“I think I hate you.”

She flushed with embarrassment and picked the napkin back up. The ladies and noblemen seated near them tried to hide their smirks.