Tamburlaine Must Die Read Free

dark-dressed
with an expression to match. I had thought I might wait days before
being granted an audience. But relief at being brought straight into
their presence was tempered by the confirmation that my position was
deadly serious. This was'the Privy Council. Ministers who cared
enough for high office to profit from death. Who had committed men
they knew well and men they had met only once to torture and death.
Dangerous men, each with a ruthless core, who had played chess with
their own lives and still lived, though some had sat in prison cells
and listened to the hollow sound of nails splitting wood as their own
gallows grew in the yard. I bowed and scanned their faces,
recognising the Lords Cecil and Essex; at opposite ends of the long
table, as far apart in their seating as in their sympathies. I knew
this was not the forum in which to solicit allies, but hoped
spymaster Cecil would think me still useful and speak in my support
at one of those discreet meetings that take place in dark rooms where
alliances are struck and promises exchanged.

    The
man who had spoken sat at the Council's centre behind a long table of
the same gloomy wood that lined the walls. Old and grey with the
flinty'stare of a survivor, he was an ideal companion to the ancient
oak. Destined to grow ever more ancient in the service of the Crown.
His gown was black, untrimmed by fur or jewels, but his ruff was
intricately pleated, his long beard groomed with a vanity that
suggested he had once dressed with more extravagance and might do so
again should the age allow. He glanced at the papers before him, then
turned his stone stare on me, repeating the question with the
patience of one accustomed to completing difficult tasks.

    `Do
you know why you have been brought here?

    My
back ached from the long ride. I concentrated on standing upright,
throwing my shoulders back like one of the Queen's livery, though the
effort took all my will.

    `I
thought perhaps the Queen requires my service.'

    The
old man sighed.

    `The
Queen requires your loyalty.'

    We
live in desperate times, where loyalty is all. The Queen grows old.
Her allies and her enemies grow restless. Some dread the old religion
while others pray for its return. The State is uneasy. It glimpses
plots at every turn and fear makes it ruthless. I steeled my voice
and met the old man's even stare.

    `Loyalty
is the duty of every subject.'

    He
lifted a page from a bundle before him, raising his eyebrows as if
something he saw there interested him.

    `Loyalty,
like love, does not always answer to duty.' He dropped the page and
stared into my eyes, lowering his voice the better to emphasise his
speech. `Yours is in question.'

    My
eyes were drawn to the lace that trimmed the hem of my sleeve. I
seemed to see it more clearly than I ever had before. All its
wonderful simplicity revealed in a moment. I forced my gaze back to
the officials.

    `Sir,
if there is a question about my loyalty or my love for the Queen,
might I be permitted to answer it??

    'Perhaps.'
The man's voice was close to a whisper now and all the method that
might be employed in the asking was in his smile.

    I
too know the actor's art. I forced my fear into anger, forging metal
into my voice and fixed his eye with a passion that was dangerous in
its insolence.

    `My
loyalty remains steadfast.'

    He
made an amused fanning gesture like someone trying to banish a bad
smell or a small insect. `We may test you on that promise.'

    At
the far end of the table a small, squat man took up the questioning.
His round, creased face put me in mind of a loaf of bread which,
failing to rise, had collapsed back on itself.

    `Tell
us what you know about the playwright, Thomas Kyd.'

    I
turned to face the new speaker, keeping the rest of the Council at
the edge of my vision. `We once shared a patron, Lord Strange, who

    issued
us a common set of rooms. We knew each other, though not well.'

    `Master
Kyd claims you were once firm