lips. She alternated the shellfish with sips of dark red claret and bites of sharp crumbly cheese, occasionally leaning over to lick my lips and kiss me. It was pleasant to be waited on, to feel cared for and safe. She had shed the doublet and slops, and I could feel the hardness of her nipple against my arm through the silk shirt she wore, as I jestingly caught her hand after the sixth oyster.
“Succubus! I do know the reputation of these things; just what might you intend?” She laughed, opening another.
“I intend, my love, that you will not fail in rising to my will! What else?” I laughed, for I was indeed rising, drawn to her vitality, her assurance, as helpless as a moth before a candle. She drew the mismatched bed curtains with quick graceful tugs and enfolded me in her arms. When I woke the next morning she had gone.
Chapter 4
The weeks passed into months. I wrote, I took my turns prompting rehearsals at the playhouse, even sometimes treading the boards myself, and casually bedded a few young men among the players, but more from habit than desire. I visited Scadbury frequently, but never had opportunity to speak to Tom away from Frizer’s triumphant presence. More than once I found myself regretting the prohibition upon his murder that Rózsa had pronounced that January morning.
I was an even more frequent visitor to Crosby Place, a guest of the guests of the Lord Mayor, spending many wonderful evening hours with my hosts in scholarly pursuits and hours even more wondrous alone with Rózsa in pursuits of a more earthy nature. Von Poppelau knew and seemed to approve of our coupling and I did not wish to disturb things with questions and risk losing all. Often we went out together, Rózsa dressed always as a young man, but only at night, never before twilight.
I continued working on Hero and Leander, but it was Tom’s poem and I found the delight I took in it thoroughly tarnished. About mid-April, upon returning from one of those unsatisfying visits with Tom I wrote furiously for a time, then studied my words:
Love is not full of pity, as men say,
But deaf and cruel where he means to prey.
I threw down my pen, spattering the page, and snatched up my cloak. I took the stairs two at a time and strode into the street, heading for Crosby Place.
Not far from my lodgings a shadow stepped from an alley and tugged at my arm. I jerked away and dropped a hand to the hilt of my sword, turning to face my assailant.
“My, my,” the small man said, with a supercilious grin. “Touchy, aren’t we, Kit?” I recognized Robin Poley, who had taught me the ropes of spying for Sir Francis Walsingham. I’d heard that he was back in England, working for Robert Cecil, who had gathered up the fallen reins of power when Sir Francis had died.
“I’m rather late for an appointment, Robin,” I told him, backing away. He followed.
“Your new friends, is it? Oh, I know that you think you have done with the game, sweet Kit, but be assured the game has not done with you!”
“Go away Robin! I’ll have none of it.” I started to walk and he trotted after.
“You’d do well to heed me, Marlowe,” he panted. “You think your fame or your patron or your new friends will save you? Naught can—if your old friends are forgot! I could drop many a word about how certain names found their way into Walsingham’s ear! Men have burned because of you and their friends crave bloody vengeance. Your position is perilous, Kit! You’re a known atheist, sodomite, blasphemer—”
“And you’re a known knave! Leave off, Robin!” I walked faster. As I left him scowling behind me, I recalled how I had gotten involved in what he had called “the game” several years before.
It was in London, the streets muddy with the promise of spring. I had been invited to attend upon Sir Francis Walsingham, the Queen’s Secretary, one of the most powerful men in the country. As I waited in the anteroom, one of a large number, I gazed out of the window, startled to see a form that I thought I knew from Cambridge. But surely not: that blackmailing boy had left when his father died, and what business could he have with the Secretary? For that matter, what business had I? I brushed my nervous fears aside and resolved myself to wait.