Things dropped. A cloth wrapped bundle, a wineskin– praise Christ–something round and heavy that Kit’s blurry eyes could not quite make sense of. The objects variously thumped and clanked; Kit blinked back tears. “Good puss,” Baines said. “Make it last a day or two. I’ll be back for thee when I can.”
Dignity, Kit.It was what he could do to walk to the edge of the pit rather than scramble. He reached for the wineskin and paused, fingers trembling like Will’s.
The scold’s bridle lay beside the skin, tilted on its side, a maniacally grinning iron skull face that gaped open, unlocked.
Ignoring it, Kit reached for the skin. It sloshed, and he hoped it was water or ale, and nothing stronger. Still, he wouldn’t drink in front of Baines. A few more minutes.His hands ached with desire.
“Puss, be brave.”
Oh, that turned his stomach enough to give him strength. He looked up again. Baines–resolving now as Kit’s eyes adjusted to the light–leaned down, his hand on the enormous lid of the oubliette. “Hast made the acquaintance of thy friend Edward the Second’s ghost yet, pussycat? They tell me he still screams.”
Stupid bastard. Edward died at Berkeley.
Kit made a rude gesture and swore without breath. Baines grinned–a white flash of teeth–and lowered the lid silently, without even the catharsis of a ringing slam. The silence lingered. Kit lowered his head in the darkness. His laugh came forth a voiceless sob.
He sat on the floor and drank half the lukewarm small beer, rationing it, then laid his face down on his arms and cried.
I have to get out of here. The bastards have Will.
Act V, scene viii
What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, inform and moving how express and admirable, in action how Like an angel, in apprehension how like a god.
–William Shakespeare, Hamlet,Act II, scene ii
It was Robert Poley who unhooded Will, much later, in a candlelit room with an arrow slit that showed only blackness but admitted the stink of the Thames. There was a narrow pallet on the floor, a straw tick and some blankets, and a single sweet‑smelling beeswax pillar flickering in the embrasure.
Will didn’t speak at first. Poley stepped back, a rough dark brown woolen sack dangling from his fingers, and gestured with his other hand to the oversized roaring boy holding Will’s elbow. Thick fingers released the knotted ropes at Will’s wrists; he gasped at sudden prickles, white‑hot pins and needles jabbing his fingertips and palms. “I beg your pardon, Master Shakespeare, for the undignified circumstances of your appointment here, ” Poley said.
“Appointment?” Will pressed his useless hands together, trying to squeeze blood back into the veins. “In absolute precision of language, Robert, thou must admit this is an abduction, and not a social call.”
Poley smiled when Will thee’d him. “As it may be.
Will swallowed and let his aching hands fall to his side. He wobbled, and the big man grabbed his elbow again to steady him. “Where’s Kit? What dost thou plan to make of me, thou cur?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Poley answered. “You will be quite well and safe, Master Shakespeare. My lord Salisbury would never permit you to come to harm; you are one of England’s treasures in your very own person. But simply too much trouble to be left lying about until things are more certain.”
Will turned his head and spat, though it took him a moment to work enough saliva into his dust‑dry mouth to manage. “Cecil. I should have known–”
“You’d be surprised how little you know.” Poley rested his knuckles on his hips, the image of a fighting cock. “Then again, perhaps you wouldn’t. In any case, you’ll be safe and sound here until it’s possible to set you at liberty. You might try to get some sleep, and I beg your pardon for the rudeness of the accommodation. There are better rooms available, but I am not prepared to explain your presence there.”
Kit … ?” Will asked, and Poley shook his head even as he moved toward the door.
“There are things we’re not prepared to discuss,” he said. “That’s one. A pleasant night, Master Shakespeare. Anything you have need of, simply ask my friend Allan here. I’m sure you will have company from time to time.
Will looked up at the big, balding blond, who offered him an amiable and gap‑toothed smile. Allan, now named, turned to follow Poley from the room, leaving the candle behind.
The heavy door shut behind them, and Will turned to examine his cell. The room was cold through the unglazed window. He was glad of his winter cloak and doublet; some thoughtful person had tucked his gloves into his cloak pocket, and he drew them on. There were blankets enough on the bed, he thought, although he had not been laid a fire and the room, in fact, was hearthless. Perhaps they’ll permit me a brazier when it grows colder.
A thought which almost paralyzed him, when he realized he’d accepted that he might be trapped here for some time to come. No resignation,Will told himself, kicking his boots off and sliding chilled feet under the rough but warm woolen blankets. The straw tick smelled clean, at least; he hoped that meant it wouldn’t be crawling with lice and bedbugs.
He pinched out the candle and composed himself for sleep.
Morning came slowly, after long hours of tossing and worry. He sat up and shuffled to the embrasure in stocking feet, unmindful of the chill. His bones ached of a morning, winter and summer, these days; it was only a matter of degree. “God protect the halt and the lame,” he muttered. “Also the purblind fools. And one Kit Marlowe, wherever he may be.”
The slit would have been just wide enough to get his head into. A black bird the size of a small dog perched inside the opening, eyes gleaming like jet beads pressed into the black cloisonnй of its plumage. “Good morning, Master Raven.”
It cocked its head at him as if it understood, and fluffed its wings. The right one hung at an angle, broken once and healed askew. Beyond it, Will could see sunlight on gray‑white walls, and beyond them the rippled expanse of the Thames.
“I seem to have a problem,” he remarked, and tightened his grip on the ledge. “I don’t suppose youhave any bright ideas?”
The raven tilted its head the other way, and then departed in a flurry of feathers and cawing when the door clattered and swung open behind Will. Its flight wasn’t quite level either, and Will frowned as he turned to face whatever the morning might bring.
While Thou art looking out for the halt and the stupid, Lord, let me put in a word for a crippled bird, as well.
And as the Earl of Salisbury limped into the doorway, Will laughed and amended his prayer. All right, Lord. Mayhap not all the lame.
“My lord,” Will said, more aware than he liked of his uncombed hair and stocking feet. He stopped himself from pushing a hand through his curls to settle them, and fumbled in his pocket for a coin to fuss instead. Not long now, and that trick won’t steady thy hand any longer.He could tell from the trembling in his fingers even as he rolled the shilling across their backs. “What is the purpose of this outrage?”
Salisbury pushed the heavy door a little more open and came forward, the sleeves of his black robe rippling in the cold breeze from the window. “This will never serve,” he said, casting a disdainful eye over the cell. “I will not have your health at risk.”
“My lord‑“
“Peace, Will.” The Earl drew himself up to his full, slight height as if the gesture pained him. “Thou’rt here for thine own protection.”
Will swallowed, knowing how hoarse he must sound. “You’ll risk Ben Jonson on a fool’s errand–”