Ink and Steel

Morgan laughed and unpinned something winking gold from the cambric of her shirt, coming back to Will. “Have you a place for an earring, Master Shakespeare?” He lifted his hair, showing the bit of silk that kept the hole from closing. Kit nodded when Will caught his eye, and so Will ducked his head and let her untie the cord and slip it from his ear. A little gasp as she tugged the hole open and slipped something into it: a substantial ring, warm from the heat of her bosom. “There,” she said. “A favor from a lady. A favor that will permit thee, Master Shakespeare, to come and go from this land to that land as thou wilt, without years cut from thy life whilst thou in Faerie dwelleth.” Kit came forward beside her, rubbing at his eyepatch as an exhausted man might rub his eye. As Morgan stepped back, Will touched the earring, feeling heavy gold swing. “A rich gift, Your Highness.”

“We have a special love of poets here,” she said. “Don’t we, Sir Christofer?” She turned to kiss Kit on the cheek. Will saw his friend pale, but Kit did not step away, and in fact smiled as if at a favor. The door shut behind her, concealing the sway of her hips, and Will touched the earring again. “Do you trust this?”

“Her word is good. When you can get her to give it.”

“An impressive woman.”

“If thou knowst what’s wise,” Kit said, “that will be the last time thou thinkst so. Come, lay thee in my bed and rest. I’m too long slept, myself: I’ll sit and read thy Jonson’s plays while thou dost slumber, and wake thee when thy clothes arrive.”

Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?

CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE, Hero and leander

Once Will fell into exhausted slumber, Kit dragged the fireplace armchair to the window for better light, muttering amiable profanity as ornately worked legs snagged on the carpets. Taking up the remaining papers, he settled down to study. Jonson’s play he set aside, for perusal when his concentration improved, while he spread the sheets of Will’s comedy across his knees and held them up, unfolded one by one, to read.

Five or ten leaves in, he stifled laughter against his sleeve and read faster. At the end of the third act, he turned the already-read pages over and laid them on the floor, sitting back in the chair to regard their slumbering author. He gazed for long minutes, blinking thoughtfully, and at last picked up the remaining sheets to read: more slowly now, and with attention.

“Ganymede, eh?” But it was no more than a murmur, the shape of a name on his lips. He read the play twice over before he set it aside, and then he stood and paced the width of the room once or twice, stealing glances at Will now and again, shaking his head each time. Will showed no signs of stirring, sleeping the sleep of utter weariness, and Kit at last stopped pacing and returned to the window and Jonson’s play. The wit was sharp, the rhyme fitting, if the tone a little dismissive of both players and audience but Kit could not concentrate long enough to read a page complete. He laid them aside and picked up Will’s play again, thumbing through it to read a line here and there. Again shook his head, and again laid the papers aside. At last, in frustration, he stood and fetched a bundle, thread, and a needle-book from the clothespress: a task to busy his hands enough, he hoped, to silence the breathless longing that had sprung painfully to life in his breast.

Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, As You like It

Will found himself turning and turning again, trying not to stare at on eimprobable being after another as Kit led him through the soaring hall. It took concentration not to crowd Kit for the transitory feeling of safety the brush of his shoulder gave. Will stole another look at his friend’s ragged cloak, almost a motley, a panoply of richest fabric stitched with a tight and tidy hand. Court garb in Faerie. Will looked longingly at the wine in his glass, but set it on the edge of the table.

“Go ahead and drink,” Kit said. You’ve a Queen’s surety you may return home without fear. The Fae keep their word. And now, come and meet my lover.”

“Another one? Haven’t you enough problems?”

“Mix with the men of power and rise.” Kit shrugged. “They teach that at Cambridge, too.”

The banter, the sparkle. It was tinsel, Will thought, understanding. There’s a reason no one ever let you on a stage, Marley.But as Kit led him forward, he followed on.

   Act III, scene ii

Faustus:

Was not that Lucifer an Angel once?

Mephostophilis:

Yes Faustus, and most dearly loved of God.

Faustus:

How comes it then that he is Prince of Devils?

Mephostophilis:

O by aspiring pride and insolence,

For which God threw him from the face of heaven.

CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE, Faustus