“Ah,” Nashe replied, nodding sagely, “that comes of being a ghost, you see. Ghosts are like that.”
I smiled. “I think you have had enough drink for one night, let’s get you to your bed,” I said and lifted the little man to his feet. When I returned a few minutes later Richard looked at me thoughtfully.
“It is hard to think of you as Marlowe the poet and playwright.”
“So I should imagine. That Marlowe is dead, Richard, as dead as Richard Bowen. Or deader, as I have very few memories of my former life. I cannot even read the works I wrote before and may never be able to do so. Are you sorry that you asked my gift of me?” I asked abruptly, my voice harsh in my own ears.
“No. I am only sorry that I wasted so much that I might otherwise have had by pushing you away for so long. Oh, and sorry for judging you when I knew nothing about you, as well,” Richard added, looking at the fire.
“I remember dying,” he went on. “I felt the life slip out with my breath, and I seemed to be watching you and Eden from above. I saw a light, and moved towards it, drawn by its beauty, but it receded from me, and the more I longed for it the farther away it was, until I was left drifting in the fog. I could make out nothing and I cannot tell you how long that lasted. After a time I became aware of my body again, that it was somewhere that I was not, and a need to find it possessed me. I was frightened that I wouldn’t be able to return, but when I calmed myself, I felt a tug, and followed it. I moved faster and faster, until it seemed that I was falling, and I started, as one does from a dream, before I hit the bottom. When I opened my eyes you were there, and I knew that I was safe. Was it—I mean, did you—”
“No. I did not remember anything for a long time. Then, what I did remember was close to intolerable.” I realized that my hands were shaking, and clenched them together. Richard stirred uncomfortably and looked immensely relieved when Nicolas returned.
He motioned us to keep our chairs and took the stool. As we sat in companionable silence we heard a horse cross the cobbled court, and I recognized Ralegh’s voice as he hailed Rhys to come and care for his beast. I left Nicolas and Richard and went to greet my friend. I asked Sylvana to bring mulled cider and took Ralegh into the study. He and Nicolas were old friends and occasional business partners, but he gave Richard a keen glance as I introduced the young man as my cousin. Sylvana brought in the cider and Ralegh gratefully wrapped his chilled fingers around the pot-bellied silver cup, gazing at the fire. Richard, who seemed revolted by the smell of the drink, excused himself, and Nicolas helped him from the room. I took Richard’s chair and settled back, sipping my cider and waiting for my friend to unburden himself. Presently Sir Walter stirred, and turned troubled eyes on me.
“I saw Essex executed this day,” he said abruptly, and set his cup on the hearth. “I watched from indoors, as my presence seemed to trouble him; I learned later that he had asked to be reconciled at the end, and I wasn’t there. The story is going about that I refused him. I would have gladly reconciled with him, Kit, at anytime.”
“Yes, I know that, Wat, though, I do doubt that he would have had such consideration for you, if the positions had been reversed,” I commented sourly.
“No, I suppose that the urge to gloat would have overpowering. He made a good end, after all, Kit, and recanted the craven statement he made after the trial. But while I watched, as the axe was raised above his kneeling form, something happened, and it seemed for a few seconds that I was out there, climbing the scaffold to meet a traitor’s death. It was so vivid, I could smell the straw they had placed to catch the blood, and see my breath on the air. The ravens were racketing, and then, as I reached the top step, I was back behind the glass, and Essex’s head fell into the straw. It took three blows to sever