Read The Marlowe Papers Online
Authors: Ros Barber
Tags: #Fiction, #Historical, #Literary, #Biographical, #Women's Prize for Fiction - all candidates
The Marlowe Papers (28 page)
My fear, at first, was that familiar tropes
would shout my name in each delivered line,
hanging their author from a stylish rope.
Could they tell my invention’s work from mine?
would shout my name in each delivered line,
hanging their author from a stylish rope.
Could they tell my invention’s work from mine?
My fear now is, they do. This sheltering name,
beneath which wisdom grows as sorrow’s fruit,
is fathering plays I still hope to reclaim
but sharper, without the arrogance of youth.
beneath which wisdom grows as sorrow’s fruit,
is fathering plays I still hope to reclaim
but sharper, without the arrogance of youth.
And who will know them mine? How can I snag
some threads of myself to show I passed this tree,
and not stuff Kit into the drowning bag?
I write in fits and starts, a comedy,
some threads of myself to show I passed this tree,
and not stuff Kit into the drowning bag?
I write in fits and starts, a comedy,
between the inns and lodgings of the road –
bizarrely peppered with some scraps of me
too ghostly for the ignorant to see,
disguised, as truths had better be, as jokes.
bizarrely peppered with some scraps of me
too ghostly for the ignorant to see,
disguised, as truths had better be, as jokes.
A book stall in Frankfurt. How the ear homes in
on the English language, as a lamb’s attuned
to its mother’s bleat and trots with wagging tail –
in my case, to be startled. For within
two steps I heard my name at Cambridge, ‘Merlin.’
on the English language, as a lamb’s attuned
to its mother’s bleat and trots with wagging tail –
in my case, to be startled. For within
two steps I heard my name at Cambridge, ‘Merlin.’
There by a pile of English tracts, a man
I didn’t recognise – who had not called
across to me, but read out loud a book
he cradled in his hands for a laughing friend.
Adopting a preacher’s tone despite the scorn
in his Rhenish accent:
I didn’t recognise – who had not called
across to me, but read out loud a book
he cradled in his hands for a laughing friend.
Adopting a preacher’s tone despite the scorn
in his Rhenish accent:
‘
See what a hook the Lord
put in the nostrils of this barking dog!
’
Some joke in German. Then, ‘May the good Lord
preserve the English from their atheists!’
A scoff, and the book’s rebalanced on the pile
before they saunter back into the crowd.
’
Some joke in German. Then, ‘May the good Lord
preserve the English from their atheists!’
A scoff, and the book’s rebalanced on the pile
before they saunter back into the crowd.
What do I do? What joke is this of Fate’s
to drag me over Europe to this spot
for the moment that a stranger turns a page
– a random page, just where the spine decreed –
and reads my name aloud?
to drag me over Europe to this spot
for the moment that a stranger turns a page
– a random page, just where the spine decreed –
and reads my name aloud?
And ‘atheists’ –
it surely
is
about me.
is
about me.
No. Too mad.
If raw coincidence can cook that up
then I’m a pig in pastry.
then I’m a pig in pastry.
Sweat breaks out,
like catcalls in a madhouse. Who is here?
Whose eyes are on me, who paid them to bait
me with that tome, that conversation?
Whose eyes are on me, who paid them to bait
me with that tome, that conversation?
Fear
stamps my heart, rapid as the rabbit’s foot
that warns the warren. Fake it, saunter past,
or find a dagger’s hilt between your ribs.
(I’m told you never know it instantly.
That to be stabbed feels only like a punch
until hot fluid soaking leads you to
notice your life blood leaving, stem the flow.)
that warns the warren. Fake it, saunter past,
or find a dagger’s hilt between your ribs.
(I’m told you never know it instantly.
That to be stabbed feels only like a punch
until hot fluid soaking leads you to
notice your life blood leaving, stem the flow.)
At the edge of the marketplace I find a spot
beside a wall, and sink me to the ground.
I breathe as if a fist has winded me,
but slowly return to focus. People mill
and natter. There are children playing chase.
The sun shines meekly. Browsers move from stall
to stall like cattle, grazing. I’m alone.
I am prey to senseless terrors; this I know.
beside a wall, and sink me to the ground.
I breathe as if a fist has winded me,
but slowly return to focus. People mill
and natter. There are children playing chase.
The sun shines meekly. Browsers move from stall
to stall like cattle, grazing. I’m alone.
I am prey to senseless terrors; this I know.
For half an hour I fidget with my thoughts.
What is it called, this book? How can I find
it elsewhere, when I know it only by
its uppermost position on that stack?
What is it called, this book? How can I find
it elsewhere, when I know it only by
its uppermost position on that stack?
But if this slander’s published, I must know
what else it says about me. To be sure,
what’s snacked upon in Germany will be
meat and potatoes to the London crowd.
what else it says about me. To be sure,
what’s snacked upon in Germany will be
meat and potatoes to the London crowd.
I could ask a boy …
I do not have enough
to buy it, though …
I could return disguised …
Yet by that time, what book will be on top,
and that one buried?
and that one buried?
Thus I venture back
a little closer, testing how it goes,
and fret discreetly, sifting the market stalls
for suspicious loiterers, for patent spies
who might be focused on that book, and me
(the most suspicious loiterer of all),
until the vendor, free of customers,
descends upon that teetering stack of wares,
beginning to rearrange it, as a trickster
will whisk a marble underneath three cups—
and I’m running like a child,
and fret discreetly, sifting the market stalls
for suspicious loiterers, for patent spies
who might be focused on that book, and me
(the most suspicious loiterer of all),
until the vendor, free of customers,
descends upon that teetering stack of wares,
beginning to rearrange it, as a trickster
will whisk a marble underneath three cups—
and I’m running like a child,
‘
Nein, nein, nein, halt!
’
and wrest the book from where he buried it.
A thick book, though. Author, one Thomas Beard.
I skid my thumb through pages, nothing, where?
Then set it on its spine to fall apart.
And again. And again. The fifth time, it is there –
the page where ‘Marlin’ leaps into my face,
the phrase ‘a poet of scurrility’.
And worse, far worse. All Baines’s points transcribed
and summarised as fact. A gory death
painted as if Beard mopped the blood himself.
I skid my thumb through pages, nothing, where?
Then set it on its spine to fall apart.
And again. And again. The fifth time, it is there –
the page where ‘Marlin’ leaps into my face,
the phrase ‘a poet of scurrility’.
And worse, far worse. All Baines’s points transcribed
and summarised as fact. A gory death
painted as if Beard mopped the blood himself.
I close the tome, disgusted. Come, sweet blade,
into my guts. Sharp steel could do no worse
than printer’s ink to wound me.
into my guts. Sharp steel could do no worse
than printer’s ink to wound me.
Then despair’s
consumed in the heat of anger. I will fight.
By God, I will set sail to England now
to claim my name, to shake this lying Beard.
By God, I will set sail to England now
to claim my name, to shake this lying Beard.
Did I die swearing? No, see how I live!
Swearing most certainly, but full alive.
Swearing most certainly, but full alive.
And how does God perceive me? See this eye,
this unstabbed brain?
this unstabbed brain?
And am I wretch? A villain?
Do I look filthy? Tell me to my face,
so close and living you can take my pulse;
judge for yourself the odour of my breath,
and what is a fact, and true. And what is death.
so close and living you can take my pulse;
judge for yourself the odour of my breath,
and what is a fact, and true. And what is death.
I drink it out, of course. Drink out that rage
into a pool of vomit by the road.
into a pool of vomit by the road.
For some time after, I sit with my head.
How helpless we are to write our histories.
How helpless we are to write our histories.
As I made Richard crookback, so these flies
lay maggots in my life’s realities
and print bestows them with authority,
cold worm-gnawed fabrications.
lay maggots in my life’s realities
and print bestows them with authority,
cold worm-gnawed fabrications.
My side of it –
these papers that build quietly with me –
become the very breath of me because
else
there
I am, and
that
is what I was.
become the very breath of me because
else
there
I am, and
that
is what I was.
Because I can’t fight back, because we’ve sworn
my disappearance from all mortal men,
new stings arising from the angry swarm
are sunk into the name I left for them.
my disappearance from all mortal men,
new stings arising from the angry swarm
are sunk into the name I left for them.
A corpse can’t shake itself, so slander sticks,
encasing the mind as heavily as wood –
as lies, far more delicious on the lips,
obliterate my every trace of good.
encasing the mind as heavily as wood –
as lies, far more delicious on the lips,
obliterate my every trace of good.
Poor truth, already exiled in disguise
is truly now deceased and heaped with earth.
For what slim chance this man could ever rise
to claim a name no longer wreathed with worth?
is truly now deceased and heaped with earth.
For what slim chance this man could ever rise
to claim a name no longer wreathed with worth?
Yet join me in my silence. Don’t defend
that man, and put at risk his dearest friend.
that man, and put at risk his dearest friend.
Reviled as brawler, traitor, heretic,
as resident in lies as in my skin,
my loyalty remains with England still,
my skill with knowing chaff and wisp from will.
as resident in lies as in my skin,
my loyalty remains with England still,
my skill with knowing chaff and wisp from will.
October 1598. The Hague.
Burghley is dead. And I am working for
the French. So say my papers. Since the King
of France signed peace with Spain, my mission is
to ascertain the trueness of his heart
as I shuttle his general’s letters back to him.
the French. So say my papers. Since the King
of France signed peace with Spain, my mission is
to ascertain the trueness of his heart
as I shuttle his general’s letters back to him.
The road to Paris. More familiar now
than boyhood lanes; though conkers rain here too.
Then through the northern gate, down city streets
where you and Tom Watson, many years ago,
wrestled each other into inns.
than boyhood lanes; though conkers rain here too.
Then through the northern gate, down city streets
where you and Tom Watson, many years ago,
wrestled each other into inns.
The Court
swallows me as a snake slips down a mouse
whole, for digestion later. I may walk
around the fountains, through the panelled halls,
or rest in my chamber until I am called.
whole, for digestion later. I may walk
around the fountains, through the panelled halls,
or rest in my chamber until I am called.
‘And have you heard from Anthony?’
The King
and he spent years together in Navarre.
‘How is his gout?’
‘How is his gout?’
‘He’s been in bed two months,’
I say in French.
‘Bad business. Why the good
are struck with such afflictions beggars me.’
His warmth to me seductive, friend to friend.
‘You stayed with him in London?’
His warmth to me seductive, friend to friend.
‘You stayed with him in London?’
‘Three years past.’
‘You know Petit?’
‘I hesitate to say.’
‘Why hesitate?’ The twitch around his mouth
appears to invite my playing. I have missed
banter more keenly than an English ale
with beef and kidney pie.
appears to invite my playing. I have missed
banter more keenly than an English ale
with beef and kidney pie.
‘Because to
know
suggests a depth that I have failed to plumb,
Your Majesty.’
Your Majesty.’
His smile cracks in his beard,
breaks like a sunrise. ‘Yet he’s surely not
a shallow man,’ he answers graciously.
a shallow man,’ he answers graciously.
‘Oh, no, indeed.’
En garde
. And then engage.
‘Since I have failed the fault must lie with me.
He wears misanthropy like battle-dress.
I’m not equipped to pierce it.’
En garde
. And then engage.
‘Since I have failed the fault must lie with me.
He wears misanthropy like battle-dress.
I’m not equipped to pierce it.’
‘I perceive
some modesty. You seem amply equipped.
Where were you schooled? I reason, not in France.
Our academies are dull.’
Where were you schooled? I reason, not in France.
Our academies are dull.’
‘In Wittenburg,
Monsieur Le Roi.’ I chose it playfully,
having once immersed myself inside the head
of its most famous heretic.
having once immersed myself inside the head
of its most famous heretic.
‘I see.’
He beckons a servant carrying a bowl;
announces, selects, ‘A juicy gift from Spain,’
and breaks a fig between his thumbs. ‘Like Faust,
you tired of scholarship and sold your soul
for power and influence.’
announces, selects, ‘A juicy gift from Spain,’
and breaks a fig between his thumbs. ‘Like Faust,
you tired of scholarship and sold your soul
for power and influence.’
‘Your Majesty?’
‘You might have been a fellow. Write and teach.
But you carry post. A most intriguing choice.
I’ll know you better. Come, sit by my hand.
I’ve several other messengers to see.
Observe them, and recount their traits to me.’
But you carry post. A most intriguing choice.
I’ll know you better. Come, sit by my hand.
I’ve several other messengers to see.
Observe them, and recount their traits to me.’
Thus is my afternoon accounted for,
amusing the King as though I were his fool.
How this man’s eyes could not leave off his boots,
and how another’s collar did the work
his mother left unfinished, strangling him.
Jests for that mangled turn of phrase, those shoes.
Easy unkindnesses.
amusing the King as though I were his fool.
How this man’s eyes could not leave off his boots,
and how another’s collar did the work
his mother left unfinished, strangling him.
Jests for that mangled turn of phrase, those shoes.
Easy unkindnesses.
‘How did you find
the ambassador from Norway?’
‘Full of puff.
He wears his limp as if he made it up.’
‘And none of these fellows, note, do as you do.
You’re easy with the Crown. It’s puzzling.’
You’re easy with the Crown. It’s puzzling.’
‘I believe we are both men.’
He takes me in:
a drenching, sideways look. ‘I am a king.’
‘Respectfully, Your Highness, so might I
have been, had your mother borne me.’
have been, had your mother borne me.’
I detect
that the servants, locally, have turned to stone,
as though afraid Jehovah’s thunderclap
might singe them as it smites me. I might choose
to be afraid myself, except my taste
for subjugation has grown less of late.
He stares at me all seriousness, and when
he fails to find the crack, starts chuckling.
‘How very odd you are!’ He claps his hands
delightedly, and makes the servants jump.
‘The show is almost through. Who have we left?’
He reads the courtier’s finger. ‘Ah, just one.’
as though afraid Jehovah’s thunderclap
might singe them as it smites me. I might choose
to be afraid myself, except my taste
for subjugation has grown less of late.
He stares at me all seriousness, and when
he fails to find the crack, starts chuckling.
‘How very odd you are!’ He claps his hands
delightedly, and makes the servants jump.
‘The show is almost through. Who have we left?’
He reads the courtier’s finger. ‘Ah, just one.’
And what a one.
My breath stops in my throat.
The great hall is in shadow by that door,
and what steps through it glimmers like an ounce
of wishful thinking. Caramel, chest-length hair.
I thought he was a figment, made of dust.
But no, he is announced, and I am stuck
watching him bow before me, then look up –
and almost react. As startled as a horse
spooked by a gust of nothing, and reined in.
He stares, tries not to stare, then stares again.
Then builds a wall between us in the air.
and what steps through it glimmers like an ounce
of wishful thinking. Caramel, chest-length hair.
I thought he was a figment, made of dust.
But no, he is announced, and I am stuck
watching him bow before me, then look up –
and almost react. As startled as a horse
spooked by a gust of nothing, and reined in.
He stares, tries not to stare, then stares again.
Then builds a wall between us in the air.
‘I came at your request,’ Hal says. ‘You asked
to see me, Your Most Christian Highness?’
to see me, Your Most Christian Highness?’
‘Yes,’
the King replies. ‘I wanted to confirm
you had returned from England quite unchanged.
You left the embassy so suddenly
in August, I was most concerned. And since
your return, there have been rumours. I could not
accept them without seeing you myself.’
you had returned from England quite unchanged.
You left the embassy so suddenly
in August, I was most concerned. And since
your return, there have been rumours. I could not
accept them without seeing you myself.’
A fleeting tiredness shifts across the face
I’ve loved so pointlessly. And then a steel
glints into it; the glittering eye of pride.
I’ve loved so pointlessly. And then a steel
glints into it; the glittering eye of pride.
‘You’ve heard that I am married, then.’
‘Indeed.
And are you?’ ‘Certainly.’
Here, I am cut
down from love’s gallows with a hearty thump.
‘Then you must dine with me, to celebrate!’
the King says cheerily. ‘Return at eight.
And bring your wife with you.’
the King says cheerily. ‘Return at eight.
And bring your wife with you.’
‘She is – detained.
In London.’ Hal replies. His halting words
betray an awkwardness the King has dammed
and now is fishing, smilingly.
betray an awkwardness the King has dammed
and now is fishing, smilingly.
‘Detained?’
Hal nods his lovely head.
‘She’ll follow you?’
‘More likely I’ll return to her,’ he says.
I sense, where tenderness might be, regret,
an aching to acknowledge me expressed
in the stiff tilt of his neck. He and the King
exchange more formal pleasantries before
he is dismissed. And as he bows, I swear,
a glance at me from underneath his brow,
swift as a spark, and instantly snuffed out,
too brief to be understood. Southampton sweeps
out of the room like summer warmth.
I sense, where tenderness might be, regret,
an aching to acknowledge me expressed
in the stiff tilt of his neck. He and the King
exchange more formal pleasantries before
he is dismissed. And as he bows, I swear,
a glance at me from underneath his brow,
swift as a spark, and instantly snuffed out,
too brief to be understood. Southampton sweeps
out of the room like summer warmth.
‘“Detained”!
Wonderfully delicate. She’s in the Fleet,
disgraced by a swelling belly. Are you well?
You’ve gone quite pale.’
disgraced by a swelling belly. Are you well?
You’ve gone quite pale.’
‘Your Majesty, I am –
fatigued.’
‘By all that gorgeousness, no doubt.
How did he strike you?’
‘As a man who knows …’
And here I blank. Should I betray myself?
Or sift myself and lump here as I am,
a lonely, shamed pretender of a man?
Or sift myself and lump here as I am,
a lonely, shamed pretender of a man?
The King is sharp. ‘“Who knows”? Do you not know?’
More knowing than I wish. So I restart,
‘Your Majesty, he strikes me as a man
who knows how he’s regarded, as he sees
himself reflected in the eyes of men
with hair that tumbles on imagined sheets,
lust for a mouth, and jealousy for skin,
but nothing inside of substance, since their gaze
falls only on the crust of him.’
‘Your Majesty, he strikes me as a man
who knows how he’s regarded, as he sees
himself reflected in the eyes of men
with hair that tumbles on imagined sheets,
lust for a mouth, and jealousy for skin,
but nothing inside of substance, since their gaze
falls only on the crust of him.’
‘Bravo!’
the King applauds. ‘You’ve earned yourself a drink.’
More claps bring wine. His smile is quivering.
‘He looked at you most oddly, don’t you think?’
More claps bring wine. His smile is quivering.
‘He looked at you most oddly, don’t you think?’
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