for such trumpery, master,” I told him. His eyebrows raised: most of the pretty boys doted on such gifts and favors. “I wish the scholarship at the King’s School, sir, to go on to the University. But I must gain it soon, before I am too old,” I had continued in a rush, staking all on this throw of the dice. “You have influence, you could help me,” letting my tone convey the merest hint of a threat.
The man tugged at his beard thoughtfully before replying. I knew what he was thinking, that this course would take me away from Canterbury eventually and at about the time that I would become less attractive to him, too old. “I shall see what I may do,” he replied thoughtfully. “Perhaps my friend Manwood will help.”
And so I had got my scholarship, and in due time had gone to University, and there learned firstly to resent the way that blood counted more than brains, and only secondly the classics.
I told of the whipping that I had received my first year there at Cambridge. I had been caught bathing in the river with an older boy and making a sort of casual love. Bathing was forbidden, and that was the charge, no mention made of the other. My companion was the son of a lord and he was warned and let go, while I had been hauled before the assembled members of the college hall. My gown had been stripped from me and I was made to stand against a pillar therein my shabby hose while I was “severely whipped”, in accordance with the rule. The beating was not as rigorous as prescribed, the officer pitying my thin and shivering youth, but still it left me bloodied and weeping with humiliation. I was allowed no food that night and the next day the scene was repeated before my own college. I was then allowed to return to my room, where I lay feverish and sick, with my face to the wall. Cobbler’s son, they had jeered at me. Well that might be, but I would show them, I vowed by every welt, by every drop of blood.
Later I came to believe that the bathing in the river had only been an excuse. Others bathed and were not whipped: I had been punished for showing up the masters. I began to use my quick wits as a weapon after that, honing my tongue on the others’ most cherished convictions and beliefs. It was this combination of bitter wit and callousness that eventually had brought me to Sir Francis Walsingham’s attention, and that of his nephew, Thomas, but of that I could not yet speak.
The thought of Walsingham, dressed always in his puritan black brought my rant back to the church.
“And the Puritans! The puritans are even worse! If there is a more asinine concept than joy being sinful I’ve yet to hear it,” I snorted. “It’s not enough that they must shun delight, but they must be sure that no one else is enjoying the pleasures that they deny themselves! Indeed, it seems the only pleasure of which they do partake is that of making the rest of the world miserable. At least Rome offers a little pageantry and pomp in return for pillaging a man of his means!” I gulped the last of my wine, and went on recklessly.” And the so-called miracles themselves should convince any thinking man that Christ was no more than a conjurer! Why, I know a man, Hariot, that can do as much and more, yet no one names him the Son of God!” Nicolas drew his brows together and gazed at me in consternation.
“My boy, I would that you not noise these opinions about too freely, or depend overmuch upon friends in high places to protect you. These opinions would be called blasphemy in most circles and could well bring you to the stake.”
I shook my head. “It is a pretty toy, to be a poet and a playwright. I am prudent enough to put these ideas into the mouths of my characters and hypocrite enough to send these characters all to bad ends. If I avoid the church, at least I pay my pence for penance,” I said, laughing, and was surprised to see that it was nearly dawn again. I stretched, vainly tried to suppress a yawn and shook my head. “I must go. I have to be at the theater all too soon and tomorrow