Silent Court (13 page)

‘So do I, Kit.’ She sighed. ‘So do I. You will see that John has put in a few touches which I doubt the Leslies would like. They are of the Puritan persuasion, John says, and not at one with nature. I fear they will think we are ruining their home.’ She gestured to the lizards hanging from various curtain tops and the owl who turned its head to watch them go. Of Bibles and plain clothing there was no sign.

‘I see the doctor has tamed another owl,’ he said, pointing to it.

She glanced in its direction. ‘No,’ she said. ‘That takes years. That one is stuffed. How he makes its head do that is a mystery.’ Then she squeezed his arm again. ‘Come on, Kit, there is no sign of Sam, as ever. I will take you up to your bedchamber myself.’ She led him across the Hall. ‘Mind that flagstone just at the foot of the stairs. It is still wet.’

‘Wet?’ Marlowe said, skipping sideways to avoid it. ‘What with?’

‘Blood,’ she said, then, seeing his expression, ‘from the meat for dinner. But John is going to say it is the wet blood spilled hundreds of years ago by the ghost which walks this house; the ghost of Lennox Leslie. Oh, Kit,’ she said, ‘he has a host of wonders planned for this evening. I hope your Egyptians are as good as I hear, or he will leave them gasping.’

‘I think there will be gasps in both camps.’ Marlowe laughed. He looked into her eyes as they prepared to go up the stairs. ‘But what are you frightened of, Helene?’ he said. Her blood was fluttering in her fingers like a trapped butterfly.

‘Why, Master Marlowe,’ she whispered in his ear, ‘nothing at all. What would I be frightened of?’ But the eyes which looked over his shoulder were big and her lip wobbled just a little. He looked behind him and saw the Egyptians outlined by the edge of the great door, with Edward Kelly lurking behind Rose, like a thief in the night.

The cook had made a special effort with the food that night and toast scarcely featured at all, unless it was sitting under a freshly roasted bird to soak up the juices. The great table had been laid along its length with plates for all of the Egyptians; no one was forgotten. Rose made an extra mouth, as did Marlowe, but they were easily accommodated by shunting everyone a few inches and with Helene at its foot and Dee at its head and village women from nearby Prickwillow serving, the feast was perfection. On Dee’s insistence Sam Bowes and the cook had joined them for the meal and the woman’s eagle eye watched the serving women above her increasingly greasy mouth; she was not a cook who only cooked to please others, as the width of her hips bore witness.

The children were along one side, flanked by Rose and Lily on one side and Maria and the shy Eloise on the other. Opposite sat Hern and Balthasar, whose glares kept the behaviour in check and the cutlery on the table and not in pockets. The littlest two, scarcely more than babies, sat on their mother’s knees and watched with round eyes the food being passed up and down. They listened with ears almost overwhelmed to the chatter and occasional bursts of song that filled the room. Their mouths seemed constantly full of some special titbit, rammed in without favour from all along the table. The cook had taken a shine to Lukas and was passing him all the best bits of the roast capon in front of Bowes, who was never quite quick enough to stab her in the back of her hand when she was thieving.

Balthasar sat opposite Rose and drank in her beauty while she ate. Marlowe, two along from him on his right, so favoured with a good view of them both, was struck again as he had often been before that a man in love was truly blind, because although Rose was as lovely as the day, she ate like a swineherd or even one of his swine. She didn’t look to right or left, just into Balthasar’s face, but filled her mouth and cheeks constantly, barely stopping to chew. She was either brought up in a barn, Marlowe thought, or had known long periods of hunger. Or, alternatively, she just had the manners of a pig. To get away from the view of half-chewed food flying all over the place, he looked down the table to where Helene Dee sat, pale and cool as ice. She had not taken much on her plate, just a few slices of the breast meat of the capon and a little sallet. She toyed with her knife, balancing it on the point and twirling it round in her fingers as the blade bit into the wood. He hoped that the Leslies were charging John Dee a sensible rent; it would take a while to remove the traces of the Dee company, what with the stuffed lizards leaking everywhere and the holes in the furniture. Lennox Leslie must already be spinning in his grave.

He felt rather than saw Edward Kelly’s eyes on his back, but did not give the charlatan the pleasure of seeing him turn round. Instead, he bent back to his dinner and, catching the eye of the cook, raised his goblet to her. She simpered and looked away but when she met the eye of Kelly, sitting opposite, she looked the other way in confusion and stuffed almost a whole roast apple into Lukas’ mouth, so that she had something to do.

Just when everyone thought they couldn’t eat another thing, Dee clapped his hands and a huge bowl of frumenty was carried in, all ablaze with the brandy poured over it in the kitchen. The two Prickwillow maids carrying it held it out to their sides, so that they didn’t lose their eyebrows or even their hair. The flames were showing no signs of dying down as it was placed in front of Dr Dee, the Queen’s magus.

‘Good, thank you,’ he said to the wenches. ‘Who has the cloth?’

One of them, the one on his left and standing nearest the wall, unfolded it from across her arm. As she had practised all afternoon she flipped it with a flourish and offered the top corner to her friend standing on Dee’s right. They pulled the cloth taut across the table, masking Dee and the pudding from view, although the tall blue flames were still visible above the top of the cloth. All eyes were on the white screen, through which trembling images were visible. Those further down the table could also just make out the top of Dee’s head. Those close to him could see his elbow or feel the pressure of a foot under the table. Suddenly, there was a bright flash which printed itself on every eye down the table and when they could see clearly again the cloth, the two girls, Dee and the pudding had all disappeared.

But not for long. Balthasar and Hern each had a girl on their knee and, from the kitchen, two new maids carried a flaming dish of frumenty and leading the way was a triumphant John Dee. The girls put the dish in front of his place again, the flames still rising feet into the air.

The applause was deafening, as was the laughter, as Balthasar and Hern both got up from their seats with the maids in their arms and danced them up the table in a wild jig until they were level with the flames.

‘Blow, my pretties,’ Hern said to them.

The one who had been on his lap, a pretty little blonde with an angelic face, turned to him. ‘That’s brandy, sir,’ she said. ‘There’ll be no putting it out until it’s ready.’

‘Blow,’ Hern said, ‘and see who is more powerful, you or the brandy.’

Laughing, both girls bent down to blow and the flames immediately went out. Their faces were a picture of confusion, and more so when Dee waved his hand over the dish and they sprang up again.

‘Blow,’ Hern said again and the girls and Dee were off in a whirl of flames and no flames until eventually the cook intervened.

‘Now then,’ she said. ‘I didn’t slave all afternoon to make this frumenty for you to play with it all night. Bring the ladle and let’s eat.’

‘Well said, cook,’ said Dee. ‘Enough playing with our food – let’s eat it.’ And everyone’s plate was in the air for a spoonful of the rich treat. Only Helene declined a portion and Balthasar and Hern; they knew what went into anything which would not be extinguished and eating it was not sensible. Dee caught Hern’s eye.

‘I think I have fooled you, Master Hern,’ he said. ‘This is not the everlasting frumenty. It is the perfectly edible one from under the table. As long as no one has trodden in it, I think you will find it quite palatable. Will you pass your plate?’

‘That was clever, Doctor Dee,’ Hern said. ‘You have given us something to live up to tonight.’

SEVEN

A
fter the meal was finished, down to the last nut and fig, the Egyptians went outside to construct their stage and get ready to perform. Dee likewise had preparations to make, less elaborate perhaps but just as vital for the final effect. As the Egyptians filed out, he stopped Marlowe.

‘Master Marlowe,’ he said, all formality. ‘What will be your performance tonight?’

‘I am to be part of a strong man act,’ Marlowe told him with a smile. ‘But to save my blushes in front of friends, I am to be only a storyteller tonight. I think that Simon will need practice before he can do much with me. I’m heavier than I look.’

‘Christopher, you are as thin as a lath,’ Dee said. ‘But if you are not busy performing with your new friends, could you perhaps help me with a trick?’

‘If I can,’ Marlowe said. ‘Does it involve… necromancy, at all?’ Dee’s skill at the art of raising the dead had never been proved to Marlowe’s total satisfaction, but that he had links with worlds outside the one they all inhabited in the day to day was not really in any doubt. Anyway, this was the Queen’s necromancer, her magus and if the Queen believed in him, who was a mere subject to disagree?

‘No, no. Well, perhaps I should say, not really. All is trickery, Christopher, all is illusion. I won’t need to practise with you; just do as I say when the time comes and we will do splendidly, I feel sure.’ The magician clapped the poet on the back. ‘How have you been, though? We looked for you in London, but although there were signs and portents, you never came.’

‘I have visited London,’ Marlowe said, remembering his few hurried secret meetings with Walsingham or one of his crew, always in darkness, always in an anonymous alleyway; the Clink Wharf, the Cranes in the Vintry. ‘I have been working, though, as a tutor.’

‘Not a scholar still? What a loss.’ Dee looked at him from under his brows and it was impossible to tell if he was laughing at him or not.

‘A scholar again, I hope,’ Marlowe said. ‘I am just…’ he tried to think of a good reason why he should be with the Egyptians, but nothing sprang to mind. He had told Hern a vague tissue of hints and suggestions, but nothing concrete. He had hoped he would never have to give details.

‘Just doing a little spying,’ Dee finished for him, in a whisper. ‘Don’t worry, Kit, I move in higher places than you. I know not only where the bodies are buried but who wielded the spade. I won’t let you down. Any secret you may have is more than safe with me.’

Marlowe looked at the man before him, in robes which had once been rich and beautiful but which had now seen better days. His eyebrows had grown back since his last alchemical experiment had gone skywards, but the acid stains on the front of his gown and the fact that his hair was noticeably longer on one side than the other bore witness to the fact that for him the search for knowledge never stopped; the elixir of life was a lifetime’s work and a man could grow old looking for the fountain of youth.

‘Will you let me know when you need me?’ Marlowe asked him. ‘I feel I should help outside. I am trying to become a part of the troupe in all ways. Standing in here in the warm while they work outside won’t help me with that.’ And he turned to go.

‘Be careful,’ Dee spoke quietly behind him. ‘This troupe is tricksy and not quite what they seem. Or so I’m told.’

Marlowe continued through the door. How could the Egyptians not be what they seemed? They seemed to be a group of beggars and thieves with a spot of dubious magic thrown in. He had seen them practising. The card tricks, done slowly, were no more than tricks; the bent-up corner or the clever shuffling was all it took to fool a country crowd. He had seen one of the women, he wasn’t sure of her name, possibly Lily or Rose, a flower at any rate, seem to cure a woman who was dying of childbed fever as they passed through a village on the way to Ely. But did she cure her? Was she dying? What was real and what was illusion? He couldn’t tell, yet. In a while he would know, when he had lived with these people a little longer, learned their ways. But for now, just for tonight, he was determined to put aside Kit Marlowe, intelligencer, and become Kit Marlowe, poet and storyteller; just a man prepared to be amazed.

‘Come on, Master Marlowe,’ Ernesto said as he stepped outside. ‘Don’t just stand there. Put your finger on this knot here.’ Marlowe wandered over and was about to comply when a sixth sense alerted him.

‘Why?’

‘Why not?’ the man retorted. ‘Why not, get it? Not. Knot. Oh, I really must try and sneak that into the act.’ Then he looked at Marlowe seriously. ‘Because I need to tie it up, of course. Sometimes things are just as they seem.’

Apologizing, he put his finger on the knot and within seconds was tied down tight to the top of the stage, by the end of one finger. The more he struggled, the tighter the knot became and the perpetrator of the joke had melted into the darkness of the court. Marlowe tried to attract someone’s attention, but no one seemed to see him there.

‘Come on, Master Marlowe,’ a voice said. ‘Don’t just stand there. There’s work to be done.’

Marlowe pointed to his finger. ‘I seem to be a little tied up, Balthasar,’ he said.

Laughing, the soothsayer leaned over and pulled one end of the knot, which immediately unravelled and fell away. ‘Be careful with us, Kit,’ he said. ‘Sometimes things are not just as they seem.’

‘I am learning that, Balthasar, thank you,’ Marlowe said, rubbing the end of his finger carefully. ‘What can I do to help?’

‘I think we are almost ready,’ the man replied. Torches had been lit at the entrance to the courtyard which had become the rear of the performing area. Seats had been brought out for the household and the wenches and men who had been brought in to serve the meal. The servants from the house did not come with the rent but even so some of them had crept back to the house as soon as they discovered there was a show to be seen. They had heard rumours about John Dee and the village was full of tales about plumes of coloured smoke rising from the chimneys and they were anxious to see what was to be seen. And if it annoyed their employer, the old skinflint Gregory Leslie, then the perfection of the evening would be complete. They were spread out along the front of the house, on boxes and blankets to keep the chill of the ground from their bowels. They all knew from their grannies that sitting on the cold ground would make your bowels fall out and that didn’t sound at all a pleasant thing. Finally, everything was ready and the small audience was hushed.