The Marlowe Conspiracy (42 page)

“What can I say, your lordships?” he replied, shaking his head. “I don’t know how to respond to such charges.”

“It’s odd that you should have trouble voicing your opinion now, is it not? Your plays never seem to lack for words – no, nor the libels you’ve posted around London.”

“I must have a moment to think.”

“No. I will repeat the question once more: you are an associate of Richard Cholmeley, are you not?”

“I have never met him. I have never consorted with a man named Cholmeley.”

“Don't deny it. You are both scoundrels and you are both in league to spread atheism around this country.”

“This is ridiculous!”

“That is not an answer!”

“Anyone could create these charges against me.”

“Then it shouldn't be hard to create a defense against them, should it?”

Kit opened his mouth to reply, but stopped – suddenly speechless. Emotionally devastated by recent hours, Whitgift’s pounding tone only crushed him further with every syllable uttered. He could hardly think his own thoughts. He felt Cholmeley’s note inside his shirt, tucked under his belt, but it seemed pointless to use it now without a supporting argument. It was simply too hard to keep fighting. With every minute, surrender and passivity seemed easier, more inviting, more seductive. His eyes floated up to the blue ceiling and he tried to think of a response.

At the head table, Essex sat upright. He raised his voice grandly.

“Yes,” said Essex. “Why should we believe the defendant's story?”

The faces at the long table turned toward Kit with interest.

Kit continued to stare at the ceiling, consumed with thought. Finally, he hung his head.

“My lords,” he pleaded, “I have had no time to prepare a defense.”

“You mean you’ve had no time to concoct a story to mask your atheism,” Whitgift responded quickly.

“If I was given a mere hour or two... some time in order to think...”

An expression of triumph sprang onto Whitgift's face. He turned toward the long table. His lips peeled into a smile.

“The court will agree that an innocent man needs no time to think. In fact, an innocent man need not think or prepare anything at all. Innocence is not the stuff of plans.”

After a moment, Burghley looked searchingly at Kit and shifted in his seat. He issued a small huff, unable to hide his dismay.

“Continue, Archbishop...”

Whitgift swiftly fetched two more documents, held one in each hand, and marched over to the other side of the room. He looked searchingly into the eye of every court member.

“These are the very documents of Marlowe's damnation.” He raised his left hand theatrically. “Mark this! Direct, detailed accusations made by Richard Baines.”

The faces at the long table darkened. Eyebrows lowered. Fingers tapped decisively. Quills scratched notes onto parchment.

Whitgift surveyed the document himself.

“Hearken to just one charge! Marlowe has said the New Testament is so poorly written that he himself could have done better! Can you doubt such bombast and blasphemy from the author of
‘Doctor Faustus’
?”

Two counselors peered over to see as Whitgift set the document down on the table between them. He raised his right hand and waved the other document in the air.

“And should any doubts remain, cast your eyes upon the words of Thomas Kyd – Marlowe's fellow playwright at The Rose. Not until he was tortured would this man admit to Marlowe's monstrous opinions.”

“Such as?” Essex called across the room.

“Let's see...” Whitgift glanced at the document. “...that Christ did love St. John with an extraordinary love.”

A few of the privy counselors squirmed in their chairs, trying not to smirk. They traded fleeting looks of mirth between themselves.

Incredulous, Whitgift halted on the spot, scandalized at their reaction. A scowl cut across his face. In a burst of anger, he slammed the document down onto the table.

“Do not forget the libels and riots linked to this man!” he cried.

The sudden noise shocked the air. It left a tense silence in its wake. Everyone sat back and stared at him with surprise.

“Atheism ravages both God and nation,” he continued. He strode back and forth alongside the table. “Like children, the people look to us to show them right from wrong. They depend upon us for their protection. I ask you: shall we succumb to the violent pox of atheism or shall we purge it forever from this land?”

At the table, heads turned and followed his path. The Archbishop of York and the Bishop of London gave stern looks to the rest of the court members.

Whitgift stopped at the head table.

“My lords, there is only one true choice. You must act now.” He stood up tall and straight and perfectly defined like a stained glass figure. “You must find the defendant guilty of posting the libels, guilty of spreading atheism, guilty of attacking the foundations of Christianity, and guilty of destroying the harmony and stability of our blessed Kingdom.”

Everyone seemed affected by his stirring speech. His passion infected every counselor, every judge, and both members of the clergy. Murmurs of agreement rippled across the long table.

Lord Burghley cleared his throat and the noise in the room immediately quelled. He looked desperately at Kit.

“You have no words of defense?” he asked. “You have no way to protect yourself from the wrath of this court?

Kit rubbed his brow. He hesitated and peered up to the ceiling and then closed his eyes. Everyone awaited his answer. Finally, he clenched his fists.

“No, your lordship. Not without more time.”

Burghley immediately shook his head.

“Then we shall deliberate. This session is hereby closed and the court will retire to consider its verdict.” He snatched the gavel and rapped it. “Guards, remove the defendant from the–”

Before he could finish, everyone's head swiveled toward the courtroom door. Footsteps of someone running close echoed down the corridor outside. The slapping of feet came nearer, nearer still, almost at the door.

A scuffle sounded: the noise of arms twisting and grappling against the doorframe. Kit straightened his posture, alert.

Suddenly, the door flung open.

Will Shakespeare burst into the room, tussling with a palace guard.

SCENE TWO

Star Chamber.

W
ill rushed inside carrying an envelope. Below the starred ceiling, shocked faces stared back at him from the tables. Some court members leapt to their feet in alarm. Whitgift raised his hands, outraged by the intrusion.

“I won’t brook this!” he growled. “You see that Marlowe has planned a subversion of the court! Condemn him this minute!”

Will’s hair flapped in his eyes as he grappled with the guard in front of him. He panted deeply. A look of urgency mingled with the redness of his cheeks. His right foot still pained him, but he flew towards Kit with terrific force.

Eyes large, Kit pressed forward to help him.

“Will!”

“I’m not too late, am I?” Will yelled back. “I trust there’s still time?”

Before Kit could answer, the guards next to him reacted, jumped in front and blocked him. The guard on his right lunged forward and checked Will in the chest with the shaft of his pike.

“Stand fast, sir!” yelled the guard.

“Out of my way!”

“Stand fast! I won't warn ya again.”

Will pushed back against the pike shaft but couldn't get beyond. He stood on his tiptoes to see Kit.

“I have something for you...” He skimmed the envelope across the floor to Kit's feet. “...from Audrey.”

The name seemed to sting the air around Kit's head. Rapidly, he bent down to pick up the envelope but the guard in front of him pinioned his arms and twisted them behind his back. Kit groaned in agony. He slammed his shoulder backwards into the guard’s chest, freed his hands, and shoved the guard away.

Kit stooped, reached out, and snatched the envelope from the floor. He tore it open at one end and tipped the package up: the ouroboros brooch fell out onto his hand along with a document.

“What is this?” he asked.

The guard recovered his strength and lurched forward to take it. Kit grabbed the collar of the guard's cuirass, wrenched it up, and held him back with one arm.

The guard by Will jerked his pike forward and rammed it into Will's chest. He put his full weight behind the shaft and drove Will back from the courtroom. Will struggled but could only slow his departure. He peered over the shoulder of the guard and his hopeful, caring face stood out in the gloom.

“Audrey found me and gave me it,” he called back to Kit. “You can make them listen! Create the argument they need to hear!”

Kit listened thoughtfully to every word. The next second, Will's guard finally succeeded and pushed him around the corner and out of sight. The echoes of their struggle resounded off the stone walls as they moved away.

Kit looked at the document and turned it over. He nodded his head with satisfaction: the original draft of the libel with Whitgift’s signature on the back. His gaze shifted and lingered on the brooch and he rubbed it with his finger. The smooth of his thumb passed over the scales of the snake, its mouth, its circular body. The guard beside him relented, exhausted from the struggle. Slowly, Kit's face brightened.

“Then she was acting...” he mumbled to himself. “Thomas didn't have her for a spy.”

Silence pervaded the courtroom once again. The candlelight made quiet streaks on the varnish of the wooden floor. Kit looked up at the faces of the old men around the tables.

“My lords, I beg your forgiveness of my friend’s disturbance. He meant no disrespect – he wished only to help me with this document.”

Essex sat back down in his chair and rubbed his stomach as if feeling hungry.

“Yes, and I’m sure master Shakespeare’s enthusiasm is very admirable,” Essex replied sarcastically, “but he has not improved the court’s feeling toward you. This has gone on long enough for my taste. It’s time for dinner already.”

“Perhaps the court will change its opinion by this document? Might I show it to you?”

A vein in Whitgift’s jaw swelled, but he refrained from speaking until Burghley had made a decision.

At the head of the long table, Burghley watched every member of the court and listened to every comment. He peered down at a scrap of parchment on which he had scribbled a list of the advantages and disadvantages of punishing Kit. The column of advantages was longer. His face held an expression of sad reluctance.

“I’m not sure how it can change the court’s decision at this stage… but your request is sustained. You may present the document.”

Whitgift’s eyes flashed.

“Your lordship!” he cried. “The defendant was already granted the chance to plead his case and he declined to do so. Is not the time for argument now over?” His fingers twitched at the folds of his cassock but he tried to appear confident.

Kit ignored him and strode down the table towards Burghley. His fingers gripped the signed libel.

“The Archbishop’s case was certainly interesting, but I do have one problem with it. How does it connect with my background?”

“Explain…” said Burghley, growing intrigued.

“I was a loyal servant to her majesty, was I not?”

“You were employed in my service for over two years, and you served under Sir Francis Walsingham for a much longer period.” Burghley addressed the long table with a louder voice. “Aside from the recent counterfeiting, I am willing to endorse the fact that there have been few ill marks against the defendant’s character.”

“Exactly.” Kit’s eyes narrowed. “So why would I suddenly decide to post libels everywhere? And why would I do it without any forethought? During my service as a spy, I’ve learnt many strategies to evade capture. If I wanted to incite open rebellion I would’ve at least made a few plans first, wouldn’t I?” He turned to Whitgift with a mischievous expression. “So far, I haven’t seen any plans connected with me. Have you seen any plans, Archbishop?”