Read The Marlowe Papers Online
Authors: Ros Barber
Tags: #Fiction, #Historical, #Literary, #Biographical, #Women's Prize for Fiction - all candidates
The Marlowe Papers (7 page)
‘I must abandon London, Kit,’ you said,
catching me as I left the inn that night.
‘My brother’s fallen ill.’
catching me as I left the inn that night.
‘My brother’s fallen ill.’
Perhaps the drink
had magnified my feelings, but your news
felt like a blow. And that surprised me so
that I staggered back.
felt like a blow. And that surprised me so
that I staggered back.
‘Woah, Kit!’
You pulled me up
from the path of a carthorse and its fatal load.
‘All well?’ you asked.
‘All well?’ you asked.
‘No, Tom! All isn’t well.
Why are you going?’ You helped to brush me down
unaware your touch was setting light in me
a thousand fuses. And confusion too,
tipped up, the drink not helping. ‘For my brother,’
you said. ‘And Scadbury needs managing.’
‘Is he very ill?’ I asked. ‘Will you inherit?’
The drink, the drink. You smiled all your forgiving.
‘I do not know the upshot, Kit, only
that I am called away.’
unaware your touch was setting light in me
a thousand fuses. And confusion too,
tipped up, the drink not helping. ‘For my brother,’
you said. ‘And Scadbury needs managing.’
‘Is he very ill?’ I asked. ‘Will you inherit?’
The drink, the drink. You smiled all your forgiving.
‘I do not know the upshot, Kit, only
that I am called away.’
‘Don’t go, dear friend!’
My sudden passion shocking even me
as I went to kiss you.
as I went to kiss you.
‘Kit,’ you reeled, ‘be sober!’
The boy holding our light looked sharp away.
‘I need you here,’ I said.
‘I need you here,’ I said.
‘You don’t need me.
You have Tom and the others,’ you replied.
These days you know how much I needed you,
my voice of caution, and my gentler side.
How differently this story might have spun
had you remained with me. But your advice
faded in time as clothes do with the sun.
For I remember, parting, how you gripped
my hand in both of yours with urgency.
‘Work less for my cousin. All the lies required
are dangerous for honest men like you.’
These days you know how much I needed you,
my voice of caution, and my gentler side.
How differently this story might have spun
had you remained with me. But your advice
faded in time as clothes do with the sun.
For I remember, parting, how you gripped
my hand in both of yours with urgency.
‘Work less for my cousin. All the lies required
are dangerous for honest men like you.’
‘When money comes more readily, I’ll stop.’
You went to Kent. And what was I to do?
Liquor kicks doorframes while the Lowlands sleep.
It shoulders blame for my catastrophe,
swallows my life and pisses it in the sink,
blurs what I hurt to look at, pillows sense.
Drink fogs a future which is only dark
and endless tramping into foreign towns
until tomorrow narrows to a point
on the nose’s tip. Then soaks and hardens thoughts,
weighting them into bruising hammer blows
It shoulders blame for my catastrophe,
swallows my life and pisses it in the sink,
blurs what I hurt to look at, pillows sense.
Drink fogs a future which is only dark
and endless tramping into foreign towns
until tomorrow narrows to a point
on the nose’s tip. Then soaks and hardens thoughts,
weighting them into bruising hammer blows
which wake me, not as senseless as I wish
I was. Each leaden limb thuds with the poison:
self-administered. As I lift my cheek
from its crumpled resting place, and shift my head,
the world shifts with it, wobbles, settles down.
I was. Each leaden limb thuds with the poison:
self-administered. As I lift my cheek
from its crumpled resting place, and shift my head,
the world shifts with it, wobbles, settles down.
‘And Christ is risen.’ Thomas Thorpe is sitting
four feet away, his hands placed on his knees
like handkerchiefs. ‘You’re lucky I’m a friend.
I could have had eggs and bacon off your back,
you’d not have noticed.’
four feet away, his hands placed on his knees
like handkerchiefs. ‘You’re lucky I’m a friend.
I could have had eggs and bacon off your back,
you’d not have noticed.’
‘How did you get in?’
I squint my eyes at the daylight’s acid burn.
‘Old-fashioned charm,’ he says, smoothing his hair.
‘A drop of rose-oil too. The ladies like it.’
‘Old-fashioned charm,’ he says, smoothing his hair.
‘A drop of rose-oil too. The ladies like it.’
My brain is coming back from somewhere cold,
finding its way by following the steps
it stamped out yesterday. ‘You have the letter?’
‘The letter, yes. All in good time, my dear.
There’s something else more pressing. A request.
We need a play.’
finding its way by following the steps
it stamped out yesterday. ‘You have the letter?’
‘The letter, yes. All in good time, my dear.
There’s something else more pressing. A request.
We need a play.’
‘The theatres are closed.
Unless you’re saying they’re open?’
‘No such luck.
The plague’s still rampant. Gathering for sport
is quite forbidden. All the same a play
has been requested. You’ll be paid for it.
A comedy.’
is quite forbidden. All the same a play
has been requested. You’ll be paid for it.
A comedy.’
‘A comedy!’
‘Indeed.’
He keeps his mouth straight, though it longs to smile.
‘The Queen, apparently, likes something light
at Christmas time.’
‘The Queen, apparently, likes something light
at Christmas time.’
I launch towards my desk,
pick up the papers I was writing there
and wave them like a fist. ‘I have a play.
A tragedy of violence and revenge.
Titus Andronicus
. The crowd will love it.
Henslowe will make a mint. Though he’ll complain
about the cost of bull’s blood, and the slopping
and mopping for each performance. Here. It’s done.
Or close to done. I’ve had my fill of it.’
A wave of nausea forces me to sit,
my heart capsized.
and wave them like a fist. ‘I have a play.
A tragedy of violence and revenge.
Titus Andronicus
. The crowd will love it.
Henslowe will make a mint. Though he’ll complain
about the cost of bull’s blood, and the slopping
and mopping for each performance. Here. It’s done.
Or close to done. I’ve had my fill of it.’
A wave of nausea forces me to sit,
my heart capsized.
‘And then the comedy?’
‘What? Are you mad? Pray, find me comedy
in the nonsense that my life’s become. Go home.’
I press my aching head between my fists
as if I could squeeze him out of it. ‘Go home.
in the nonsense that my life’s become. Go home.’
I press my aching head between my fists
as if I could squeeze him out of it. ‘Go home.
Go back to – where you came from.’ Thinking Hell
might be the place. ‘But give me the letter first.’
might be the place. ‘But give me the letter first.’
‘Touchy,’ he says, and offers it from afar
like meat on a stick that’s pushed towards a bear.
The seal, and the hand, Southampton’s, and not yours.
I break it open. Not a word of you.
like meat on a stick that’s pushed towards a bear.
The seal, and the hand, Southampton’s, and not yours.
I break it open. Not a word of you.
‘There’s nothing else?’
‘There’s gold if you’ll write the play.
I assume you’re running low by now.’
He’s right,
and knows he is, but quiet in victory,
stares out the window at a distant cloud
feeding his hat brim through his hands, to mime
that velvet wheel of Fate, necessity.
stares out the window at a distant cloud
feeding his hat brim through his hands, to mime
that velvet wheel of Fate, necessity.
‘I’ll try,’ I say, my hand out for a purse,
aware of my own petulance. ‘Perhaps
the joke will come to me in Italy.’
aware of my own petulance. ‘Perhaps
the joke will come to me in Italy.’
‘Commedia dell’Arte! I saw it once
in Padua. What larks!’ He stops the flow
immediately, though a boy had bubbled up
beneath the beard. ‘You’ve travelled much?’ he asks,
dropping the gold into my open palm.
‘A little,’ I say, with unmasked bitterness.
‘In service of the Queen. What I’ve not seen
I’m sure to make up for in the coming months.’
in Padua. What larks!’ He stops the flow
immediately, though a boy had bubbled up
beneath the beard. ‘You’ve travelled much?’ he asks,
dropping the gold into my open palm.
‘A little,’ I say, with unmasked bitterness.
‘In service of the Queen. What I’ve not seen
I’m sure to make up for in the coming months.’
‘Do you know Padua?’ ‘Just by report.’
‘A scholar ought to go there at least once.
You’re travelling as a scholar, I believe.
You might want to visit the university.’
‘A scholar ought to go there at least once.
You’re travelling as a scholar, I believe.
You might want to visit the university.’
‘If I have time,’ I say, aware of time
stretched out before me in an endless rope
that I must climb towards the heartless gods,
its end fraying behind me. And the drop.
stretched out before me in an endless rope
that I must climb towards the heartless gods,
its end fraying behind me. And the drop.
I tuck the purse inside my shirt. ‘I’ll try,’
I say to his eyebrows, arching up like cats
at an enemy. ‘No promises.’
I say to his eyebrows, arching up like cats
at an enemy. ‘No promises.’
He picks
up the
Chronicles
, that volume from the trunk
that groans with England’s misery, and flicks
to a page that wants to open. Reads for a blink,
then puts it down as gently as a babe.
Chronicles
, that volume from the trunk
that groans with England’s misery, and flicks
to a page that wants to open. Reads for a blink,
then puts it down as gently as a babe.
‘There’s humour in every tragedy,’ he says.
‘Not this,’ I answer, stabbing the title page
of the bloody play that hacks out my revenge.
of the bloody play that hacks out my revenge.
‘The troubled mind is a creative one.
But have you watched the crowd’s reaction when
the blood starts gushing? Faces turned away.
Barbaric as humankind might seem to be,
most cannot look. The point you mean to pierce
is deflected. No one sees. But make us laugh
and we’re toys for you to play with.
But have you watched the crowd’s reaction when
the blood starts gushing? Faces turned away.
Barbaric as humankind might seem to be,
most cannot look. The point you mean to pierce
is deflected. No one sees. But make us laugh
and we’re toys for you to play with.
Just a thought,’
he says when a silence follows.
Though that thought
is tugging a mental sleeve, points at the door
of my own imprisonment. Which is unlocked.
Liquor, however, clouds the hall beyond.
of my own imprisonment. Which is unlocked.
Liquor, however, clouds the hall beyond.
I turn to Thorpe. ‘What was amusing once
seems less amusing now I am obliged
to forgo my native tongue. Go by a name
I cannot tune my ear to when it’s called.
Good conversation, which would feed my heart,
is fields and seas away, and barred from me.
Banished from friends and loved ones, putting miles
between us daily. That’s my life. Perhaps
you’d like to suggest the humour in it.’
seems less amusing now I am obliged
to forgo my native tongue. Go by a name
I cannot tune my ear to when it’s called.
Good conversation, which would feed my heart,
is fields and seas away, and barred from me.
Banished from friends and loved ones, putting miles
between us daily. That’s my life. Perhaps
you’d like to suggest the humour in it.’
‘Well …’
He thinks for a moment, scratching at his chin
to make a cloud of fairies. ‘You’re alive.
Whereas Marlowe, so they say, is horribly dead.
Stabbed through the eye. Some drunken tavern brawl.’
I startle. ‘Sorry, what?’
to make a cloud of fairies. ‘You’re alive.
Whereas Marlowe, so they say, is horribly dead.
Stabbed through the eye. Some drunken tavern brawl.’
I startle. ‘Sorry, what?’
‘That’s what I heard.’
‘He was a gentleman! A Cambridge scholar.
He never would have died in such a manner.’
He knows. I know. Third person is a sham.
He never would have died in such a manner.’
He knows. I know. Third person is a sham.
Thorpe shrugs. ‘Does it matter now? Kit Marlowe’s dead.
And no one looks for a dead man. So. Be glad.
Get out in the air and breathe it. Friends of yours
have taken risks that you might do so.’ And
with that, he turns, gathers the play, and leaves.
And no one looks for a dead man. So. Be glad.
Get out in the air and breathe it. Friends of yours
have taken risks that you might do so.’ And
with that, he turns, gathers the play, and leaves.
No one dared breathe
succession
, but the stage
was clearing for the coming deathbed scene
of the Virgin Queen. Vibrating in the wings,
the noble houses and the royal courts,
a dozen hopefuls. She would not discuss
such certainties as might endanger them.
succession
, but the stage
was clearing for the coming deathbed scene
of the Virgin Queen. Vibrating in the wings,
the noble houses and the royal courts,
a dozen hopefuls. She would not discuss
such certainties as might endanger them.
For power’s an intoxicating brew,
and plots begin to cook in seething heads
that ache to overthrow the old regime
with cold assassination. So we were placed:
the university men. The tutor spies.
The secretary agents of the State.
and plots begin to cook in seething heads
that ache to overthrow the old regime
with cold assassination. So we were placed:
the university men. The tutor spies.
The secretary agents of the State.
For a change of head may bring a change of faith,
and the careful man will shift from foot to foot
and listen to the words that will determine
who will be judges, who will be hanged and burnt.
The university men, known for their wit,
would use intelligence, and gather it.
and the careful man will shift from foot to foot
and listen to the words that will determine
who will be judges, who will be hanged and burnt.
The university men, known for their wit,
would use intelligence, and gather it.
The God of Shepherds, Poley named himself.
In charge of the poets: as if poets can
be ruled by anything except their dreams.
But still, we drank with him, and called him Pan,
alive with the danger he might put us in
to serve our country, and to serve the Queen.
In charge of the poets: as if poets can
be ruled by anything except their dreams.
But still, we drank with him, and called him Pan,
alive with the danger he might put us in
to serve our country, and to serve the Queen.
Watson went to Cornwallis, while my charge
was the King of Scotland’s cousin, Arbella Stuart.
We were to guide our pupils down the road
of strict obedience and loyalty.
We were to note who called, who crept to church.
The loyal man at work. Yet still, I played,
was the King of Scotland’s cousin, Arbella Stuart.
We were to guide our pupils down the road
of strict obedience and loyalty.
We were to note who called, who crept to church.
The loyal man at work. Yet still, I played,
dandled that toy, religion. Spun ideas
to jet above Ned’s buskins on the stage.
For it was God – at least, it seemed like God,
who kept me up at night, and scribbling
those thoughts humanity might understand.
Only, I wrote – and signed them – in my hand.
to jet above Ned’s buskins on the stage.
For it was God – at least, it seemed like God,
who kept me up at night, and scribbling
those thoughts humanity might understand.
Only, I wrote – and signed them – in my hand.
‘So should I sign in blood?’ My joking words
fell silently on the official’s face.
I put my name to paper anyway.
And so I set the wheel of my disgrace
trundling towards me on some distant road.
fell silently on the official’s face.
I put my name to paper anyway.
And so I set the wheel of my disgrace
trundling towards me on some distant road.
Knowledge. It sounds as gentle as a bell
at three a.m. from the neighbouring parish clock.
It sounds as safe as wood does to a tree.
It guides me dreamily, from book to book.
But certain volumes, authorised in Hell,
at three a.m. from the neighbouring parish clock.
It sounds as safe as wood does to a tree.
It guides me dreamily, from book to book.
But certain volumes, authorised in Hell,
are dangerous to know. Some knowledge lifts
and some intoxicates. Jesters and clowns,
pretending they know nothing, are the wise.
Some knowledge airs the mind; some knowledge drowns –
and yet, I couldn’t drink enough of it.
and some intoxicates. Jesters and clowns,
pretending they know nothing, are the wise.
Some knowledge airs the mind; some knowledge drowns –
and yet, I couldn’t drink enough of it.
I had such faith in me, such certainty
the licensed bloodhounds couldn’t do me harm;
dull thinkers not equipped to sniff me out,
who missed the jokes, too slow to see me palm
the words from hand to hand, or hand to mouth.
the licensed bloodhounds couldn’t do me harm;
dull thinkers not equipped to sniff me out,
who missed the jokes, too slow to see me palm
the words from hand to hand, or hand to mouth.
But the universe has lessons, tailored tight
to fit the sin, and I was set to fall.
Proud of the name I signed away that day,
as former cobbler’s son who had it all
but shared with Lucifer the sin of pride.
to fit the sin, and I was set to fall.
Proud of the name I signed away that day,
as former cobbler’s son who had it all
but shared with Lucifer the sin of pride.
Bright Lucifer, once so beloved of God
but tumbled out of heaven, and his wits;
the universe correcting for its gifts.
True knowledge of humanity confirms
that this is Hell. Nor are we out of it.
but tumbled out of heaven, and his wits;
the universe correcting for its gifts.
True knowledge of humanity confirms
that this is Hell. Nor are we out of it.
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