The Bard

by painebook

The lecture hall was full. The room buzzed with conversation as the anxious students waited for the guest speaker to arrive.

I can't believe we have the greatest living expert on the Bard here today.

I had to fight to get a ticket. Waited in line for hours just to be in the back row.

At least you got in. There are many more who weren't so lucky.

The voices stilled as the lights went down. A tall, long-haired man walked out onto the stage. He stood there for a moment, then began his presentation.

"Today, we will be discussing the life and works of the greatest English poet, author and actor, the Bard himself. His funerary monument says it all – 'A Pylian in judgement, a Socrates in genius, a Maro in art. The earth buries him, the people mourn him, Olympus possesses him.' Let us begin."

*****

The floor of the cell stunk of piss and mold. The straw hadn't been changed in a long while. Recoiling from the vile stench, the man lifted his face and looked around the dark room with his remaining eye. He could just make out another figure lying on the single bed across the room.

The figure lifted its arms, outstretched toward the low ceiling. "But soft, what light from yonder window breaks?"

"Still practicing lines from the new play, William?"

"Yes, Christopher. My first major show. The Star-Crossed Lovers."

"I thought we agreed to change the title to the main characters?"

"Who would see a play called Romeo and Juliet? That doesn't sound interesting to me."

"The title gives the whole story away. You want to keep the audience in suspense." Christopher Marlowe reached up to touch the bloody wound along the side of his head. " ."

Laughter erupted from William Shakespeare. "You gave me that line while we were discussing the changes you insisted I make to Star-Crossed." He sat up, looking over at his friend. "Oh, my God. What happened to your face?"

"I was staying at boarding house with my friends, waiting to see the Privy Council about that heresy charge unjustly leveled against me, when my good man Frizer complained loudly that I didn't pay my fair share. That's a complete lie. Once I told him so, he attacked me with a knife." Christopher touched the gash in his head. "He almost bested me, taking my eye in the fight."

"Then why are you here, in the goal with me?"

A smile appeared on Christopher's face. "The lying bastard didn't survive his own knife. He was hoisted by his own petard."

"What a great line! I think I'll add that to my notes." William struggled to sit up. "I have reams of lines at my home in Stratford on Avon. My lovely Anne keeps them for me."

A frown appeared on Christopher's face. "The Privy Council is holding me for murder. I am sure I will be found innocent. It was self-defense." He touched his wound once more. "The proof is in the pudding."

"Another great line. Keep them coming, Chris."

"Enough about me. What brings you to this fine establishment?"

"Star-Crossed Lovers, of course." William shook his head. "I know we talked about not going against the theater ban, but I couldn't help myself. The plague closure has gone on long enough! We spread the word to a few friends. The response was enormous."

"Theater performances have been banned for the past four months. The plague is no laughing matter."

"I know. That's why I wrote the line for Mercutio. Trying to give the masses something they will understand as a terrible curse. 'I am hurt. A plague be a'both your houses.' It's very contemporary." William lowered his head to his chest, whispering something Christopher couldn't hear.

"You, sir, are an idiot!" Christopher laughed aloud.

"I've been an idiot for some time now." William hesitated, then blurted out, "I needed the money to pay off a debt or my friend Shylock will exact his pound of flesh."

"That kind of foolishness got me in here. If I hadn't owed Frizer money, I would be a free man."

"I thought you said he was a liar."

Silence filled the dark cell.

William shifted on the bed, leaning on his elbow as he stared at his cellmate. "So you did owe him money?"

"I did, but the greedy bastard wouldn't wait for me to get it. I was hoping the theaters would reopen so we can continue entertaining the masses and gathering our wages."

"Tis true, Christopher. If money go before, all ways do lie open."

"Now that Frizer is worm food, and I no longer owe any debt, perhaps the Privy Council will take the pound of flesh poor Frizer took from me as sufficient punishment?"

"I wouldn't begin to think what the Council will do. They are a power unto themselves, and not to be trifled with." William pulled the blanket close about his shoulders and lay back down. "I just wish for a swift end to this madness."

"Another of your lines applies here. 'He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a horse's health, a boy's love, or a whore's oath.' You can also apply it to the Privy Council." Christopher shivered in the cool dampness of the cell. "Might I share your blanket, for I'm cold and miserable."

"You may not." William pulled the blanket tighter, turning toward the stone wall. "I have more need of it than you."

The coldness in William's voice reached into Christopher's soul. He was about to speak when the jailer's face appeared at the barred window in the cell door.

"Master Marlowe, the Privy Council is meeting to discuss your case. They asked me to inform you their verdict will be ready within the hour." Yellow teeth showed as the old jailor grinned. "A few want your head, but there's some who think you need saving. From what I heard it could go either way. You may want to make your peace with God."

The face disappeared, as did Christopher's hope of getting out of his predicament alive.

"I don't believe in God." Christopher put his head in his hands. "I cannot unwrite or unsay the words that have already been said."

"No, but you can write new works, and change your ways. Profess your faith in the Lord. Lie. At least you'll live." William shivered under the blanket. "You've been given a second chance. Frizer could have killed you, yet you turned the knife on him. The Privy Council will see that you were justified, I am sure of it."

"That is not my fear. They accuse me of blasphemy, and there is ample evidence of that."

"Then go to them, throw yourself on the ground before them, beg for mercy from the council. Show them that the loss of your eye and your close brush with death has inspired you to believe that Providence had a hand in establishing your true feelings toward the Lord." William smiled weakly. "You are a great actor, even better than I. And of course, you're the better author."

"Methinks thou dost protest too much."

Laughter erupted from the bed. "I surely do protest more than I should. You are good, nearly as good as I. Change your ways. You must survive! Go to Strafford and get my notes, all my manuscripts. Take them and make them your own. My works will live on in you."

"You are the better writer, and always will be." Christopher stood up as he heard the guard approaching. "Soon enough, you will have no competition from me. The Privy Council will surely end my miserable life."

In a voice as smooth as any Christopher had ever heard, William spoke. "To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

"Truer words have never been spoken. That is truly beautiful." Straightening his tunic, Christopher prepared to meet his fate.

"Remember them." William coughed violently, covering his face with the blanket. Once the spasm receded, he looked at his friend. "Be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them. If you live, you will be the greatest of all time."

Moving toward the bed, Christopher stopped when William held out his hands. He could see the black pustules covering the arms of his friend.

"Stay as far from me as possible, lest you catch the plague. The Privy Council was right, it was madness to keep the theaters open." Tears filled William's eyes. "Don't come close. The grave's a fine and quiet place, but none I think do there embrace."

"My God, Will."

"Death, a necessary end, will come when it will come. Go now, throw yourself at the feet of the council. Live on, so that I may live on, too."

Christopher resisted the urge to go to his long-time friend. "I shall do as you request. I will write your stories."

"Words are easy, like the wind. Faithful friends are hard to find. Do one more thing for me." William lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling once more. "Bury me in Christ Church. As for a eulogy, I've had it in my head for years. 'Good Friends, for Jesus' sake forbear, to dig the bones enclosed here! Blest be the man that spares these stones, and curst be he that moves my bones.' Don't let anyone disturb my rest."

"You have my word. I will make you proud." His voice caught in his throat. He managed to choke out, "I will see you in the afterlife."

The door opened, and the guard motioned to Christopher.

"Master Marlowe, the Privy Council has reached its decision."

*****

"In the end, Christopher Marlow survived the attack by his nemesis, Frizer. It led to a change in his mindset. The loss of his eye didn't stop him from becoming the most prolific author of his time."

A young woman in the front row called out a question. "Professor. There are some who say that William Shakespeare is the true author, and that Marlowe claimed all the credit. How would you respond to that?"

"As the world's leading expert on the literature of the time, I can tell you that is complete fabrication. William Shakespeare died long before many of Marlowe's greatest works were published. I think Marlowe himself said it best when he wrote, 'there is no darkness but ignorance.' Don't listen to such rubbish. The Bard had no equal."