Ill Met by Moonlight

ILL MET BY MOONLIGHT

(An Elizabethan Tale)

The afternoon sun shone wanly through the open roof into the theatre, illuminating the actors who were just coming to the end of the performance. Though it was still early Spring, it hadn't rained and the audience attendance had been good. The groundlings were packed around the edge of the platform stage as the actor playing Kate made her last speech. The playwright, young Will, sat on his stool at the side of the stage following the script and prepared to prompt if need be - for this was now his part of the performance but the actors knew their words and he had had very little to do during this afternoon's production.

" . . . Thy husband," said Kate submissively, "is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee and for thy maintenance; commits his body to painful labour both by sea and land, to watch the night in storms, the day in cold, whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe; and craves no other tribute at thy hands but love, fair looks and true obedience . . . "

Ay, thought Will, it was a good speech and one which would go down well with the audience. Whether it was true or not was another matter. Certainly his own wife, brash Ann who lived far away in Stratford in the County of Warwickshire would hardly echo the sentiments he had put into the reformed Shrew's mouth. She had always been forthright, self-assured and - Will tried to concentrate on his task. But the young lad who was speaking the words, said them well and his gestures were accomplished and appropriate. Will tried to remember the boy's name. He was a new recruit to the troupe and though he had heard the name a couple of times it had made little impression. He observed him more closely now, a gentle, well-formed face, still showing the fresh bloom of youth but his body was well set-up with broad shoulders and a narrow waist which showed even under the rich silk woman's dress he was wearing. Will sighed. The boy would soon be growing hair, his voice would deepen and he would no longer be able to take the women's parts. Would he then make a good actor?

" . . . place your hands below your husband's foot, in token of which duty, if he please, my hand is ready, may it do him ease." The boy knelt down and placed his hand on the ground. His rump was towards Will and he could see the rounded shapes of his buttocks outlined through the skirts of his dress.

The actor playing Petruchio, Edward Allen, caught up the boy around the waist, lifted him, drew him to his body and hugged him enthusiastically. "Why, there's a wench! Come on and kiss me, Kate!" Will watched the two kiss and for a moment felt a pang of - could it be envy? The boy was very attractive and, in his costume, made a fine wench. Will purposely tried to visualize him in his everyday clothes. He had surely seen him in the tiring room, getting changed for performances. Yes, he remembered now. He saw him in his tight-fitting hose which clung to those long, well-muscled legs and embraced his male equipment with a tender grasp emphasising its already sizeable proportions. Will shook his head to get the picture from his mind. What was the matter with him? He had hardly looked at the boy and yet the image must have remained somewhere in his mind to return with such startling clarity. Had he spent such a long time away from his wife that he was now becoming besotted with a pretty-faced boy?

"Come, Kate, we'll to bed . . . " Will wondered for a moment whether there was a meaning outside the play though Edward had never given any impression of being a boy-lover. The words uttered on stage seemed but a jumble as the two actors walked off leaving the final lines of the play to the others. The audience clapped and in the crowded press around the stage, the street hustlers, cock-frotters, withdrew they sticky hands from the plackets of their clients' breeches, wiped their fingers and departed with their payment of a penny.

The cast assembled on stage to accept the customary plaudits and then turned to Will so that he should also be applauded. He didn't really want to go out there, feeling as he did, so confused, but there was no refusing their generous sharing of the praise. He found himself standing between Petruchio and Kate who each put an arm around his shoulder in friendship. He could feel the fresh, vibrant young body of the boy pressed against his and could smell his young, healthy sweat. He pulled himself away.

"Well done, young Will," said Richard Burbage, the actor who was playing Baptista Minola, Kate's father, and whose own father, James, had built the theatre in which they were now acting. "Another palpable hit. Everyone to the tavern, payment from the proceeds."

But Will did not feel in a companionable mood. The others had to change into their workaday clothes so he was able to slip out of the theatre before them where the late afternoon sun lit, but did nothing to warm, the Shoreditch street busy with horse and foot traffic. A small group of soberly dressed men stood opposite the entrance to the theatre and Will instantly recognised them as Puritans obviously gathered there to harangue exiting patrons for attending what they considered an evil practice. He heard shouts of "Sodom and Gomorrah" and answering retorts of "Killjoys" and "Spoilsports"

Will avoided the crowd and slipped down a side street which, he knew, led parallel to Bishopsgate down to the Thames. While he walked, thoughts ran through his head. It was the 22nd of April 1593 and the day before his birthday. They called him 'young Will' and it had become a habit but, come tomorrow, his twenties would be over, and no longer would he be 'young' Will. The thought made him even more miserable. Sinking into respectable middle-age with Anne's moustache and the children in a cottage in Stratford - was that his future?

Suddenly an upstairs window opened and he heard a woman's voice shout "Gardez loo" seconds before the contents of the receptacle splashed inches away from his second best woollen hose. Will cursed the careless tosser of household waste and proceeded at greater speed towards the bridge over the river where the upper stories of the houses projected even further and he would be less likely to be drenched in unmentionable substances. There were more people about too even though it was now nearly dark. Women way past their prime propositioned him, their faces painted white with garish red blotches where their sunken cheeks were, in a pathetic attempt to make themselves attractive and once an elderly crone, her face pitted with smallpox scars staggered drunkenly out from a doorway, gave him a dreadful leer and asked him, "Do you fancy a pleasant time, dearie?" Will's horrified reaction produced a string of blasphemous obscenities which sent him scurrying across the main road not seeing the piles of horse, and other excrement which, in some places, lay inches thick.

But even here he was not safe from harrassment. Small boys, some apparently no more than five years old, pulled at his doublet calling "Rub your prick for a penny, Master; Suck it for a groat." Will realised with a horrified amazement that some of these children so immured in vice were scarcely older than his own back in Stratford.

At last he was crossing London Bridge, the tall houses built on either side silhouetted against the darkling evening sky where a pale moon now hung in the west. He could hear the Thames water gurgling and sucking at the wooden piles way beneath his feet. It had an ominous sound. Will began to wish that he had stayed with his friends who were no doubt at this moment carousing at the Tabard Inn in Finsbury Fields. He thought affectionately of his friends in the Company, of Richard Burbage, William Tarleton whose speciality was the Clown, Edward Allen, Walter Hastings - that was the young boy's name - who played the Shrew so well. Funny the way memory worked; his name had been there all the time. Yes he wished he were back there. He could do with a draft of good liquor.

Will looked around him. He wasn't sure exactly where he was but thought he was now walking down the Old Kent Road, perhaps somewhere towards Deptford and there just ahead, if he wasn't mistaken, was a tavern with a sign swinging in the breeze and lit up by the burning flame of a cresset. The Drover's Inn, he read. Lights from inside shone hospitably through the windows. That would do him well, he decided.

As he entered he found the inside not quite what he had expected for most of the lights had been congregated in front of the window presumably to attract clients in with the result that much of the rest of the room was in shadow, but the floor was well strewn with fresh smelling rushes and seemed clean enough. A few men wearing smocks, presumably some of the drovers after whom the tavern was named and who had sold their flocks at nearby Southwark Market, sat drinking ale and two were concentrating on a game at a table. This was played with a number of counters on a board and seemed to necessitate frequent slapping down of hands and loud oaths.

"What does the gentleman require?" asked the inn-keeper, a stout and rubicund figure wearing brown hose and a tunic belted at the waist with leather.

"Oh, ale," said Will. "I'll have a pint of your best ale."

"That will be a penny, sir. If the gentleman would like to sit down, I will bring it over." He gestured to the back of the room which was in almost total darkness but Will could vaguely see a small table and some stools. Obediently he went over to the area and waited for his refreshment.

"The ale's like vinegar," said a low voice. Will was startled as he had not realised there was anyone sitting there but now, peering, he could make out a slim figure sprawled negligently in a chair in the furthest and deepest shadows. It was, he thought, that of a young man dressed elegantly in fashionable clothing, doublet, hose and breeches. He noticed he had a sword strapped to his waist.

"Too late," said Will. "I've already ordered." And indeed the inn-keeper was even now coming across the floor bearing his ale jar and a lighted candle. As he approached, the young man hid his face with his hand so that even when the light was placed on the table, Will still could not make out his features. "What would you recommend?" Will asked.

"If you can afford it ask for his best Canary wine," said the young man from behind his hand.

"It will cost the gentleman a florin," said the inn-keeper, overhearing.

That was expensive but Will searched in his scrip for the silver coin valued at two shillings bearing the likeness of the Virgin Queen. "I'll have a bottle," he said, "and bring two glasses."

"Very generous," said the young man and Will was not sure whether he was being sarcastic or not.

The Inn-keeper turned away and as he did so the young man took his hand from his face and pinched out the wick of the candle. He did it quickly but not quick enough for Will not to catch sight and absorb his features. He was a little older than he had first appeared, his slim body having in the gloom given the impression of late adolescence, now he realised he must at least be in his mid-twenties. His skin, though, still had the bloom of youth and Will immediately thought how envious a woman would have been of that perfect complexion. Against his will he compared it with the hideous frights he had seen on the way here. The young man's hair was dark and slightly curled. He wore it long and a stray lock hung rakishly over his forehead. The only imperfection Will could see was a slight irregularity in one eye-brow which gavee him a quizzical look. His nose was straight and the lips of his mouth full and sensuous. He was truly beautiful without being effeminate, thought Will, and if that was not a word usually applied to men, this one certainly deserved it.

"Bad eyes," said the young man to excuse his rather strange action in extinguishing the candle. But Will had seen those grey eyes, bright and sparkling in the candle-light and doubted whether this could be true. From the gloom a hand was extended. "Christopher," said the young man, "but my friends call me Kit."

Will grasped the hand which was dry and warm and seemed to linger in his for slightly longer than was necessary. "Will," he said, feeling slightly embarrassed at the hand which was still holding his.

"Good to meet you, Will," said Kit and let his hand go. Will could make out a smile on his lips and perversely felt disappointed at the loss of physical contact.

The inn-keeper returned with a leather bottle containing the wine and Will poured it into the glasses. "Has the gentlemen's candle gone out?" asked the inn-keeper. "I'll get a lucifer."

"We prefer it that way," said Kit. The inn-keeper gave him a curious look but raised no further objections and left them in their self-enclosing darkness.

Will tasted the wine. It was good and sweet and warmed his throat as it went down. It tasted of dried fruit and balmy Mediterranean sunshine. Kit clucked approvingly as he sipped from his glass. "And what," asked Kit after a companionable pause, "brings you, young Will, to this part of the world?"

"I'm running away from my friends," said Will and explained how he had forsworn a celebratory gathering and wandered off on his own though he carefully edited from the account all mention of Walter Hastings and his own ambivalent feelings towards him. "What about you?" he asked.

Kit fixed him a look as if he was testing his trustworthiness. Than, apparently having made a decision, he said, "I'm running away from my enemies, Will. There are those who would do me harm." The words were simple but there was an undercurrent of menace in them which made Will shudder. He poured two more glasses of wine and they both drank.

"Who? Why?" asked Will.

"They are powerful men," said Kit. "Men whose names you would know. Men who have influence at Court, men who are the Court." He leaned back in his chair as if to get even further from the lighted part of the room and he lowered his voice so that even Will had to lean forward to hear. "As to why they want rid of me - I worked for them, Will, secretly, in the dark corners of the Embassies of Europe, behind curtains, backstairs, obtaining furtive secrets via all manner of means." Kit moved his body suddenly and under the narrow table which was all that separated them his leg brushed Will's, moved away, returned and then stayed. Will felt the pressure but did not like to move his own as, assuming it to be accidental, he thought that this would draw attention to the contact and embarrass Kit.

"But if you work for them, why do they want to do you harm?" he asked.

"I have become an embarrassment to them, Will. If I talked in public of my methods how would this reflect on the reputation of men like William Cecil, Baron Burghley or the Queen herself?" The leg moved and then returned, this time between Will's and now there could be no mistaking that the touch was unintentional as he felt it rub up the inside of his calf and then his thigh. "And when I have had a drink or two, I do all sorts of things in public."

Will was not sure what to do. He felt the beginnings of an erection stir inside his breeches. Quickly he poured and drank a third glass of the powerful Canary wine. He realised that he had not eaten since he had broken his fast that morning and the wine was going to his head.

Kit laughed. "What, Will, have you nothing more to share with me?" He picked up the leather carafe and refilled his own glass but Will was sure that his words did not only refer to the wine. By now his eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom and he could make out the features of his companion, the lips, those eminently kissable lips, now forming a captivating smile, the grey eyes, amused and mocking, the eyebrow, cocked and quizzical, daring all sorts of activities.

"Come sit by me. Will, the seat is big enough for two and I think we both need company this night." As if he were under a spell, Will moved round the table and sat down beside Kit, their legs touching. Now he could see the rest of the tavern with the men playing their game and drinking their ale but they might have been in another world, so cut off were he and Kit in their shadows. Kit lifted his own glass and put it to Will's mouth. "Let us share the glass first," he said and Will drank from the place where Kit's lips had been.

Kit rested his free hand on Will's thigh and he could feel its warmth through the woollen hose. His prick quickened. "Now," whispered Kit, "let us share other things." His hand moved up Will's thigh and fumbled at the material of his breeches, finding and undoing the fastenings with a practised hand. He entered and pulled down the hem of the hose so that at last he held in his palm the uncovered and engorged prick. At the touch Will felt such elation that he had never felt with the body of a woman and wondered that a man's hand could produce such excitement. Kit murmured in his ear, "Ah I thought something was eager for comfort." There was a smell of sandalwood and cloves from Kit's body and Will's senses swooned.

He put his own hand towards Kit's groin but Kit restrained him, whispering in his ear so that Will could feel the soft, warm, wine-scent of his breath, "You have more need of this than I." He rubbed gently, cupping the ballsack in the palm of his other hand, then increased the motion, probing with a finger under the scrotum, along the perineum and towards the puckered opening to his arse. As it reached the hole, Will's excitement reached its climax, his whole body giving up its essence in pulses of pure delight. He gave a low moan of fulfilled desire and clutched Kit's lean body to his turning his face so that their lips met in a kiss that lasted as long as the orgasm.

At last it was over. Will mopped himself with his kerchief and then passed it to Kit to wipe his hands. When he had done, instead of giving it back, he put it in his breast saying, "This I shall keep for remembrance' sake." They shared the last of the wine from a single glass.

"Is that the end?" asked Will as he drained the last sweet drops.

"Of the wine?" asked Kit flippantly, "Aye apparently so."

"Of us?"

Kit was immediately serious. "I am dangerous to know, Will."

"Can I not come back to your lodgings?"

"Already eager for more, Will?" Kit's tone was amused and Will realised he was. "Not tonight, Will, I have work to do but I promise we shall meet again - and then who knows? Now, I must away. Goodnight, Will." His lips brushed Will's and he watched him as he crossed the floor into the light, his body moving quietly and gracefully. Already Will ached for the feel of his body.

He called the inn-keeper over. "Have you paper and ink?" he asked. Words were forming in his mind. He knew exactly what he had to write. So there in that Tavern in Deptford, by the light of a single candle and with a scratchy goose quill Will Shakespeare penned what would afterwards be published as Sonnet XX.

A woman's face, with Nature's own hand painted,

Hast thou, the master mistress of my passion;

A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted

With shifting change, as is false women's fashion;

An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,

Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;

A man in hue all hues in his controlling,

Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth,

And for a woman wert thou first created,

Till Nature as she wrought thee fell a-doting,

And by addition me of thee defeated,

By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.

But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure,

Mine be thy love, and thy love's use their treasure.

It was late at night when Will eventually got back to his lodgings in Finsbury Fields, in fact early in the morning of his 30th birthday. He had stayed long at the Drover's Inn in the vain hope that Kit might return and, after finishing his poem, he had ordered and drunk, another bottle of Canary which, rather than cheering him up, had left him feeling sick and drunk so that he was lucky indeed to reach home safely without being attacked and robbed as he weaved back along the deserted streets.

Much of the evening - especially the latter end of it, remained little more than a blur in his mind though he did remember quizzing the inn-keeper as to whether the gentleman he had been with often frequented the tavern, if he knew the gentleman's name, perhaps even where he lived but the fellow had become taciturn and almost rude and gave him no information at all.

What did remain crystal clear in Will's mind though was the act, trivial, hurried and frustratingly short though it might have been, that had taken place between he and Kit. As he lay between his cold sheets he recalled every detail of the encounter and as he did so, in spite of the wine which still fuddled his senses, his prick stiffened and he was of a mind to rub himself if only so that he could sleep. But the wine fumes must have been stronger than he realised for his next thoughts were on waking when the busy, unruly sun came poking its importunate way through the bottle glass panes of his window to aggravate his headache and add to the churnings of his stomach.

He would have liked to have stayed in bed the whole day but the business of the theatre could not be denied and it was well that he did for his colleagues had prepared a table loaded with comfits and had purchased small gifts and other falderals to celebrate his birth day. Though his head still throbbed and he could not enjoy the sweet-meats as much as he would have otherwise, Will was nevertheless pleased by their attentions and noted with particular satisfaction that even young Walter Hastings had given him a ribbon which he made haste to pin to his doublet, much to the youngster's gratification who smiled as if he had been given a knighthood by the Queen and kept looking at Will in obvious hero-worship and keeping so close to him that occasionally Will must needs touch his shoulder to avoid tripping over the lad. Unlike yesterday when the touch of the boy's body had embarrassed him, now he found it enjoyable.

Richard Burbage, as leader of the company, made a pretty speech, praising Will's efforts as playwright but not forgetting to scold him for his non-attendance at the previous night's carousal. Will's excuse that he was not feeling too well and had gone straight to bed was accepted with some degree of scepticism but this did not spoil the atmosphere of celebration. In fact all the while Burbage seemed rather on edge and kept glancing towards the entrances as if he was awaiting someone until William Tarleton, always the clown both on and off stage, told him he was so nervous that he must surely be expecting both his wife and his mistress to arrive at the same time.

Then Burbage revealed that none other than the Earl of Southampton had promised to call round that very morning and he had hopes that he could persuade his Lordship to become their new patron. They must all be on their best behaviour, he said, and flattery would not be entirely out of place. He had scarcely made the announcement when there was a scrimmage at one of the outside doors and several foppishly dressed young men entered at the heels of a swaggering gentleman bedecked with ribbons and other geegaws like a galleon dressed overall. He was youngish, blonde, his hair teased into ringlets and heavily made up so that he looked like one of those peg-dolls with painted faces that mothers give their daughters. Will was immediately reminded of the whores he had encountered on the previous evening and took an instant dislike to him.

Burbage, though, met him as if he was Royalty itself and bowed so low that from the back the others seeing his arse stuck up in the air could scarcely stop themselves laughing and Walter, Will observed, must needs stuff his fingers into his mouth to keep himself sober.

"My Lord," Burbage's fruity voice rang out, "this is a great honour that you should deign to visit our humble Theatre and meet the Company."

"Yes, yes," Southampton fluted. "We had little to do at Court and thought it would make an entertaining outing. Now who have we here that we should meet?"

Burbage introduced 'our Principal actor', Edward Allen, the playwright, William Shakespeare, William Tarleton, 'who plays the Clown'. Southampton acknowledged their bows in a perfunctory way and only seemed to take an interest when Walter Hastings was introduced. "Ha, pretty, very pretty," he said and touched the boy's cheek with a not too clean forefinger. Walter coloured and was clearly embarrassed and Will, in an attempt to rescue him, asked the Earl whether he would like to observe the enactment of a scene from their current production 'The Taming of the Shrew' in which Walter played Kate.

Southampton graciously agreed and, while those members of the cast who were to perform went off to change into costume, beckoned Will over to explain what exactly was going on in the play. Will realised only too quickly, when he drew close to the noble Lord that he was not too careful about personal cleanliness and had attempted to cover his rather rank body odour with perfumes. The resultant odoriferous cocktail was almost too much for Will's delicate stomach and he had to take deep breaths to control himself. "Baptista Minola has two daughters. Bianca, the younger," he explained trying to keep as far away from Southampton as he could without appearing rude, "has three suitors all anxious to plight their troths, but the father refuses to allow their approach until the elder, Kate, the Shrew, is safely married and off his hands. Petruchio, though, a rich man from Verona thinks he can tame the girl and marry her. In this scene Kate meets Petruchio for the first time and we appreciate her true shrewish and violent temper."

"Is Kate very violent?" asked Southampton. "Does she beat the others?"

Will admitted that there was a certain amount of beating in an earlier scene. "She hits one of the suitors with a three-legged stool and another with a lute," he said. "It is meant to be a comical scene."

"Oh no, you have it wrong, playwright. Beating is a serious activity," tittered Southampton a hint of lascivious anticipation in his voice and Will realised that the Earl was an effeminate buffoon whose only passports to acceptance were his riches and his title.

"My Lord," said Will fearing he was straying into dangerous waters and wishing to change the subject, "you have knowledge of the Court?"

Temporarily sidetracked, Southampton boasted, "I am the Court. It has no mysteries for me, playwright."

"Do you know a young man called Kit?"

"The name has a rustic ring," said Southampton loftily. "Are you sure he is of the Court?"

"Well his real name is Christopher though his friends call him Kit. I think he works for Lord Burghley, perhaps gaining information for him."

At the mention of Burghley's name an expression of comprehension crossed Southampton's face to be replaced almost immediately by one of loathing. "Odd's Grace you mean Kit Marlowe, the arse-cropper, Marlowe, the bum-bandit." His bitterness suggested that his advances had been rejected by Kit.

Will hated him for the contempt in his tone but was even more amazed at the name Southampton had given him. "Do you mean Marlowe the playwright, the author of such plays as Tamburlane the Great, Faustus and Edward II, the poet who translated Ovid's poem, Lovers."

"He is the same man," said Southampton shortly and then was distracted by the appearance of the actors as they came out to perform their scene. Edward Allen, playing Petruchio, announced his plan to tame the peevish girl.

"I'll attend her here, and woo her with some spirit when she comes. Say that she rail - why, then I'll tell her plain she sings as sweetly as a nightingale. Say that she frown - I'll say she looks as clear as morning roses newly washed with dew. . . "

Kate entered and again Will was entranced by Walter's transformation from lusty young boy to fair, though in this play, froward maid.

"Good morrow, Kate, for that's your name, I hear."

"Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing; They call me Katherine that do talk of me."

"You lie, in faith, for you are called plain Kate, and bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst; But, Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate, For dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate, Take this of me, Kate of my consolation: Hearing thy mildness praised in every town, Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, yet not so deeply as to thee belongs, myself am moved to woo thee for my wife."

"Moved!" retorted Kate, " - in good time! Let him that moved you hither Remove you hence. I knew you at the first Asses are made to bear, and so are you."

"Women are made to bear, and so are you." Instantly Walter was a woman, seductive, twitching her rump, yet at the same time she was a man thrusting with his pelvis.

"No such jade as you, if me you mean."

"Alas, good Kate, I am a gentleman-"

"That I'll try." She struck him and Southampton, standing beside Will gave a little squeal of delight.

"I swear I'll cuff you if you strike again."

"So may you lose your arms: If you strike me, you are no gentleman, and if no gentleman, why then no arms."

Will watched Walter as he played the scene and marvelled at his talent. His eyes flashed as he simulated Kate's anger, his agile body twisting and turning athletically as he and Petruchio fenced with words across the stage. Will could see his male body under the female dress and realised that, at the same time, he was flirting with his audience and wondered whether he was directing his sexual favours towards him, Will, or to Southampton standing next to him. Certainly the solipsistic Southampton thought they were for him and was giggling and simpering in delight. Will wondered whether Walter might be acting under instructions from Burbage.

"Marry, so I mean, sweet Katherine, in thy bed; And therefore, setting all this chat aside, Thus in plain terms: your father hath consented that you shall be my wife; your dowry 'greed on; And will you, nill you, I will marry you. Here comes your father. Never make denial; I must and will have Katherine to my wife."

Southampton was obviously pleased with the performance and especially with that of Walter and immediately it had finished he minced off to speak with Burbage and was soon in earnest conversation with much nodding and pointing in the young boy's direction. Later Burbage announced that the Earl had condescended to become their patron subject to certain conditions but he wouldn't or couldn't meet Walter's eye.

Kit Marlowe moved amongst the packed audience looking - always looking. Although he had not as yet sold his soul to the Devil, like the eponymous hero of his own play, Dr Faustus, he was determined to live his life to the full whatever the consequences - and foremost in his mind at the moment was sex. He pushed his way towards the front but was eventually brought to a stop behind the figure of a young man. Not that he objected too much for the back was well-shaped, the hair at the back of his neck full and lustrous. Kit pressed forward. The touch could have been casual and accidental for the crowd around them was considerable but the thrusting back of the man's buttocks into Kit's groin was without doubt intentional. And this was confirmed when the man's hand snaked behind and felt for and found Kit's manhood amongst the material of his breeches.

Then, secure that he would not be observed in the crush around them, the man edged the back of his own breeches down his thighs until his arse was bare and available. The danger of discovery added a piquancy to the situation and Kit's prick was immediately erect and willing. He ploughed into the young man's offered hole with enthusiasm. It slid in with no apparent let or hindrance - the man had obviously prepared himself well with goose-grease beforehand - and soon Kit, gripping the man's pelvis was plunging it back and forth onto his prick, though with some moderation as he did not want to call attention to his activities with the throng around him.

Luckily the crowd around were far from quiet for the young man whom Kit was rogering mightily, was making a considerable noise and even Kit could not contain a low moan as he made the last lunge to release his load of semen, feeling at the same time, as he did so, the muscles in the receptive arse tense and grip spasmodically as the man himself achieved his own orgasm. Kit flung his head back and as he did so he saw from over the man's shoulder, someone staring at him from the side of the stage. It was Will.

"A gift gratefully given and I hope thankfully received but now, I regret, one that must be withdrawn," Kit whispered in the man's ear and stepped away, merging into the crowd, fastening his breeches as he did so.

He moved as fast as he could towards the place where Will sat and, when he got to the stage, leapt lightly onto it. His appearance on stage did not cause any confusion to anyone except Will for there were already a few men from the audience standing at the side. He, though, appeared to have been struck by a thunderbolt and gazed at Kit as if he could scarce believe his eyes. Again he felt the surge of excitement course through his body as he gazed at that dark curly hair, the quizzical eyebrow, the sensuous lips, the laughing debonair expression, rakish, dare-devil.

"I promised we should meet again," said Kit and touched him gently on the cheek. Will breathed in the exotic perfume of sandalwood and cloves blended with the unmistakable smell of sex. It was a heady mixture and Will felt himself overpowered. "So Will, you are the prompter of the play," whispered Kit. "No, wait a minute, you are the writer of the play - Master William Shakespeare."

"And you are Christopher Marlowe, the playwright," said Will.

"My knowledge of you was intuition," said Kit, "but yours of me was gained by other means. Tell me your secret."

"My Lord Southampton divulged your name," said Will, and from the expression on Kit's face Will knew immediately that Kit's opinion of that nobleman was as low as his was for Kit.

"That noisome popinjay! How come you have dealings with the likes of him?"

"He is our patron," said Will, "but I certainly agree with your opinion of him."

"Then we are of a like mind," said Kit, "and we will talk of him no more. Instead perhaps we should talk of us and of your last request to me. Do you still wish to come with me to my lodgings?" He let the question taper off suggesting all sorts of stirring possibilities. The pause was filled with Petruchio's line from the stage:

"Come on, Kate, we'll to bed."

"Well said! But substitute 'Will' for 'Kate' and all 'will' be well for my 'kit' is ready." He played with the words lewdly.

In spite of himself, Will found he was aroused. Kit's body was very close to him and his groin was almost on a level with his head. If he turned but a small amount, he could nestle in its erogenous depths and - display his feelings to the world! For the moment he was tempted but caution eventually overcame recklessness and he contented himself with whispering, "I too am ready for sport."

Kit and Will would have left the theatre immediately after the performance finished but Kit had been recognised by Richard Burbage and he must needs introduce him to the cast as one of the great playwrights of the age. All were suitably impressed with the exception of Walter who turned his back, grunted in monosyllables and was as unlike his usual cheerful, outgoing self as was possible. Will was pleased to see his friend so acclaimed but rather puzzled by Walter's rudeness which, if he hadn't known better, he would have put down to jealousy, but then Walter had been behaving strangely all week and Will decided he would have to have a talk with him later. At the moment he could think of nothing but the coming assignation.

So it was past dusk by the time they had hired a horse from the local stables and, lit by a full moon shining above them, rode out together, Will behind Kit, his arms around his waist and their bodies pressed together. Shoreditch led into Bishopsgate and then to London Bridge, the bridge on which last time Will had felt such ominous forebodings but which had in fact led to such an enjoyable encounter. Now, with the warmth of his friend's back pressed against his chest and Kit's breech excitingly imprisoned between his thighs, Will felt an increasing anticipatory excitement.

The tall houses on the bridge cast black shadows across their path but Will, entranced by his own delight and the warmth of the dear body in front of him, ignored everything else around him, content to leave the guiding of the horse to Kit. He was, therefore, startled when they were suddenly reined to a halt and, peering over Kit's shoulder he saw in the roadway ahead the menacing figures of three men holding drawn swords.

"Footpads?" he whispered in Kit's ear.

"I think not, young Will," said Kit. "I think I see my Lord Burghley's hand in this." Raising his voice he suddenly shouted, "Hold on tight," and raked the horse's flanks with his heels. It sprang forward knocking the lead man over. Another advanced his arm extended to grab them but Kit kicked out, caught him in the chest and they were away, Will clinging on for dear life, the horse's iron-shod hooves striking sparks from the cobbles on the roadway.

Will was terrified but Kit's laugh rang out cleaving the evening air. "Well, Will, that's the dangerous adventure of the night over - now prepare yourself for the pleasurable one."

"Who were they?" Will managed to get out from between his clenched teeth as the horse sped off into the night.

"Some rascals sent to dispose of me but I am not so easily taken. They have tried before and no doubt will try again. but now let us get home."

They galloped on for a mile or so before Kit drew the horse up before a tall elegantly half-timbered town house and slipped from the saddle. The building was so different from Will's own lodgings in Finsbury Fields that he could only stare.

"Is this yours?" he asked. "If so your play writing pays better than mine."

Kit laughed. "I still have some friends," he said. "And they provide for my comforts. Come, Will, get off that nag and come indoors." A groom took the horse away and a manservant opened the front door and seemed not the slightest bit surprised to see Kit with a stranger. They entered the house.

A pleasantly proportioned hallway hung with tapestries depicting scenes from Classical antiquity led into a room which was lit by so many candle sconces that it was almost as bright as day. The furniture was of oak which had been lovingly rubbed and polished so that it reflected the lights with a rich glow and cushions covered with velvet and brocade seemed to be scattered everywhere. The roaring wood fire in the fireplace gave out a welcoming heat for the night had grown cold and Will felt chilly after his wild ride.

"Food and wine and water for washing," said Kit to the man. "Soap and towels and oils - and some scented goose grease," he added almost as an afterthought.

"Now, Will," he said once the man had left the room. "Come sit down with me." He patted the cushion next to him.

Will looked at the door through which the servant had left the room. "But what if he comes back," he said.

"Oh Nathan will notice nothing," said Kit. "He is well paid to notice nothing." He looked at Will intently. "I think this is all very new to you."

"I have never lain with a man before," he confessed.

"Yet you are not unwilling."

Will looked at Kit as he lay in front of the fire sprawled on the cushions. He looked into Kit's laughing eyes, the smiling, mocking mouth, into which he could sink without trace. He saw his arms outstretched, strong, masculine arms, the doublet already open and exposing his lean, muscled body, waiting to be explored. The long legs, in their revealing hose, spread apart and invited him.

"I am indeed willing," he said and went across.

As Will sank down on the cushions beside him, Kit reached up and drew his face down, cupping it between his warm hands and holding him with a kiss. Will felt Kit's lips like velvet on his, then his tongue darting out and probing into his mouth. For a moment Will felt it alien but then the full sensuous enjoyment of that twisting, turning muscle seized hold of him and he joined his own with it, their tongues entwining.

Will grabbed hold of Kit's body but Kit whispered into his ear, "Not so fast, young Will. This will be a night to remember. Let us take it at a slow pace." He licked the ear and then inserted his tongue inside so that Will shuddered with delight. Gently and slowly Kit unfastened Will's doublet and parted his shirt caressing the cool, naked flesh with his hand stroking gradually lower and lower until it rested on his flat stomach where an upturned V of hair led still further downwards to even greater pleasure. His tongue now traced a line from Will's ear, down the jawline and throat to his nipples and then into the bush of hair beneath his right arm. Will shut his eyes and arched his body upwards in a rictus of ecstasy.

It was at this moment that Nathan chose to re-enter the room pushing a wooden trolley bearing various articles, plates of food, fruit, wine, two large silver bowls of steaming water, linen towels and some small bottles and jars of salve. In his confusion Will could not but try to sit up and hide his exposed body but Kit seemed completely unconcerned and continued to embrace Will in his arms. Nor did Nathan seem in any way embarrassed, merely asking if Kit would require his services any further that evening.

"No, Nathan," said Kit, with the customary hint of mockery in his tone, "I think I can manage everything from now on."

Nathan made his customary deferential exit and immediately Kit sprang to his feet. "To work, Will. We must prepare ourselves for the feast." Will was confused but he was not long left in doubt. Kit spread two of the towels on the floor in front of the fire, pulled Will to his feet and then proceeded to strip him. He removed his doublet and shirt, untied the drawstrings to his breeches and then peeled down his hose. With the water from one of the salvers, a sponge and some of the contents of the jars he started to wash his body, removing the grime of the City. His touch was both gentle but provocative and under his ministrations Will felt his body becoming more and more inflamed as the sweet-smelling unguent slipped and lathered over the most private parts of his body. He then rinsed him with the water from the other bowl. When he had finished he said, "Now, Will, will you return the favour?" and Will obliged most willingly.

He had never seen Kit's naked body before and as he removed his clothing and the fire and candle-light lit his flesh, it seemed to glow with an almost mystical quality. He felt privileged to touch the naked skin and could not stop himself kissing it as if it were a sacred relic, the touch of his lips, producing a stimulating spasm. He washed the erect prick which he held in the palm of his hand, marvelling as he did so how soft and silky its surface was while underneath pulsed a core of iron. He cleaned out the crevices with the sponge thinking as he did so that he would as well have done the same with his own tongue. Eventually both young men were laved and clean and even Kit was satisfied and ceased pointing out hidden places that Will had disregarded.

They dried each other with clean towels and then Kit turned to the contents of the bottles. As he unstoppered them, Will smelled the familiar perfumes of sandalwood and cloves, spicy scents which he had, from the beginning, associated with Kit. He poured the oils into Will's palms and did the same with his own, then, together, they massaged each other until their skins were glowing and reflecting the lights. Only then did Kit allow their two bodies to come into contact, the surfaces sliding voluptuously together.

They sank onto the cushions, their mouths joined, breast to breast, hip to hip, loins to loins. Then Kit moved down Will's body again licking under his arm pits, tracing the line between his pectoral muscles down to his navel and finally following the track of hair which led to his prick. He took it into his warm, moist mouth and at the enclosure Will nearly came, such was the ecstasy of the feeling. But Kit seemed to realise how close to orgasm Will was, and, determined to hold it off for as long as he could, he stopped his sucking and moved his body round so that his groin was opposite Will's face, his prick pointing towards Will's mouth.

The indication was obvious and Will did not hesitate, first washing it with his tongue and then taking the member in as far as he was able. He took hold of his lover's buttocks one with each hand while his fingers found the crack between and probed deeply. He heard Kit's long audible breath expressing longing and felt his own member swallowed by that rapacious mouth. He could no longer hold himself back and, with a cry, discharged again and again. At the same time Kit's own prick swelled and pulsed and Will's mouth was filled with a substance which gave his taste buds a new, but to his surprise not unpleasant, sensation.

They lay for a while recovering and then turned so that they were in each other's arms, tenderly holding. "What think you of the food of Love?" asked Kit.

"It has a savour all its own," said Will and Kit laughed.

"Unfortunately you cannot live on it solely. Come, Will, let's eat."

They sat up and, naked as they were, helped themselves to cold meats and glasses of cool, fresh wine. As they ate and drank one by one the candles in the sconces guttered and died and Kit did not replace them so that the room grew gradually darker until they were enclosed solely in the flickering light of the fire. Finally they shared a bowl of creamy yellow syllabub made from beaten up egg yolks and sweet white wine and then they kissed long and eagerly, and tasted the sweet mixture on each other's tongues.

"It has been the most perfect night of my life," said Will, waxing sentimental. "I have many times done my duty to my wife but nothing I did with her has attained the bliss I reached with you."

Kit grew suddenly serious. "Do not get too attached," he said, "for I think my continued existence is precarious to say the least. My Lord Burghley's men get closer each time."

Will had temporarily forgotten the episode with the three men on the bridge and was unhappy to be reminded of it. "But surely you can appeal for help, Kit. Will not the Queen herself guard you if you are in her service."

"Her Majesty relies on Burghley and Burghley has vassals everywhere." He shrugged the thought away and rolled over so that again his body lay on top of Will's. "I think you have had rest enough. Now is the time to introduce you to the pleasures of goose-grease."

The following morning, Will, having been introduced to the pleasures of goose-grease, both actively and passively, knew full well that he had spent a night of debauchery and vice. He did not, however, regret it in any way. He was sure he was in love with Kit, the master-mistress of his passion and any activity which included him was admissible and licit. They awoke towards the eleventh hour amidst the debris of their ardour, the candle wax hardened in thick incrustations from the sconces, the crumbs and fragments of food scattered over the floor, the dead ashes lay in the grate and the cushions bore ample evidence of their frequent excesses.

"So this is what decadence looks like," remarked Will.

"Nathan will clear the room," said Kit airily and for a moment Will felt sorry for the hard done-by servant.

Their lavage that morning bore no resemblance to the sensual washing of the night before. Kit dragged Will, naked as he was, through the kitchen where wide-eyed scullery maids stared with ill-disguised fascination, and out into the back yard. There he filled buckets of cold water from the well and they hurled the contents at each other. Then shivering they scrubbed themselves with towels until the circulation flowed again and they were warm and dry.

Once dressed they faced the day. Will had to be at the Theatre at noon and Kit had his own duties the details of which he was cautious of divulging. "You do not want to know, Will," he said.

Will did. He wanted to know everything about Kit but thought it better not to insist.

"We shall break our fast at the Drovers' Inn," said Kit and so they mounted the hack and headed for Southwark just as the sun came out from behind a bank of clouds, April showers giving way to April sunshine. In the bank of trees towards the river a cuckoo called repetitively and insistently for a mate. There were people around as they reached the High Street and dismounted at the door of the Drovers, artisans and joiners, beggars and gentlemen, young boys and maids, buyers and sellers of wares, pickpockets and pimps. Kit entrusted the care of the horse to a likely looking lad and promised him a farthing if it was safely kept. Then they went in where the inn-keeper provided them with bread, fresh from the ovens, good meat, red and rare and, at Kit's insistence, some of the ale he kept for himself and which, said Kit, did not taste of horse piss.

The conversation which Kit and Will had over this repast was privy and intimate and I will not burden the reader with its content consisting as it did of words of fondness and looks which, if one were not in such a passionate friendship oneself, would be like to turn the stomach. Suffice it to say that the two enjoyed their breakfast hugely and, as they left the tavern, were in high spirits and great amity.

The three men were waiting for them as they stepped into the street. They had learned from their mistake of the night before and they were professional in their actions, one stood in front while the others closed in from the rear. Instead of swords they had sharp French poniards which they used with deadly effect. The brutal attack was over in a matter of moments. The first Kit knew of the assault was the sharp blade of the dagger slicing his skin and entering his kidneys. Another followed higher up on the other side while the third pierced his heart. He gave a great gasp and his last words were, "Run, Will," before he collapsed onto the cobbles of the street.

But Will was not the object of their murderous assault and the assailants had melted away amongst the startled crowd before anything could be done. Will knelt by the body of his friend and held him in his arms trying to staunch the spreading blood stains. "A surgeon," he managed to gasp through his shock and terror. "Someone fetch a surgeon."

Kit's face had gone chalky white and, in his heart, Will knew he was gone but he kept talking to him, assuring the lifeless body clutched to him that a surgeon had been sent for, that his wounds were but slight and that he would soon be well again. When the man eventually arrived clasping his chest full of potions made from herbal extracts of woundwort and self-heal, there was nothing he could do except assure the distraught young man that his friend was dead and that the body had best be left with the professionals who would lay him out decently and prepare him for burial.

Numb with shock, Will allowed himself to be led aside.

Hours later he found himself at the Theatre staggering in almost beside himself with grief and apparently, so his friends thought, bleeding copiously but it was not his blood that so stained his clothes. Incoherently he stammered out the news. His friends were shocked but some perhaps not surprised for this was a dangerous age and Marlowe's reputation as a reckless desperado was well-known. But it was Walter's reaction which was most extraordinary. His face went dead white and he burst into tears. Even Will who was preoccupied with his own misery, could not but notice and feel compassion for the boy's obvious unhappiness.

He put his hand on his shoulder and Walter turned and showed him a tear-stained face. "Oh I'm so sorry, so sorry," he said. Then he turned and ran off.

"What's the matter with the lad?" Will said but Richard Burbage seemed to be unwilling to meet his eye.

"I really don't know, my boy," he said but Will thought he was lying.

They found him clean clothes but how he got through the performance, Will did not know, and that evening was even worse. He could not but compare it with the bliss of the night before which he had spent in the arms of his lover, now never to see again. He was sitting morosely on the settle in his room in the lodgings, not even having bothered to prepare himself food when there was a knock at the door. For a moment he thought he would pretend he was out, not feeling up to company, but then he heard Walter's voice calling. "It's me, Will. Are you there?"

Will opened the door and the boy came in and sat down next to him on the settle. He seemed troubled and ill at ease. Several times he seemed about to say something but was apparently unable to find the words to start. Will, who did not feel like making small talk, said little to help but eventually, thinking that a drink might make his visitor feel more at ease, poured two glasses of sack and they both drank.

When the glass was empty, Will said, "Well, Walter . . . "

"Oh Will, I have done wrong," Walter suddenly burst out, tears again starting into his eyes, "most grievous wrong. I do not deserve to live."

He was obviously in a desperately unhappy state and Will suddenly felt a great tenderness for him. "I doubt that you have done anything quite so bad." The boy's shoulders were bowed and he looked so miserable that Will was constrained to put his arm around him. "Come, lad, tell me what you have done. I am sure it cannot be that bad."

Walter would not look at him and Will found he was stroking his hair. Suddenly he let out a great sob and at last owned up, "Oh but it is, it is. It is my fault that Marlowe is dead."

Will's hand froze. "How is that possible?"

As if the flood gates had been opened, Walter's confession came pouring out. "I have been so miserable. Master Burbage said I had to be nice to the Earl of Southampton - and he is horrible. He smells so bad and he makes me do things I do not like."

"Tell me from the beginning," said Will.

"You remember when the Earl came round last week to see us." Will did indeed. "Well, Master Burbage said to make up to him in my part as Kate. You know, flirt a bit, shake my hips. Then afterwards, when the Earl said he would be our patron, I was to go to his house and 'be nice to him'."

Will was angry. Richard Burbage had no right to prostitute this young boy. "What did you have to do?" he asked.

Walter seemed embarrassed. He shifted in the chair beside Will, his young body touching him and Will wondered whether it was done on purpose.

"He made me take all my clothes off," said Walter in a low voice which Will could only just hear. "Then he took his breeches down and I had to tie him to his bedposts with a silken cord. Then - " his voice faded away to nothing.

"Yes," said Will.

"Then I had to piss on him, on his arse and sometimes into his mouth. It was horrible. And whip him with a cane."

"Did he do anything to you?" asked Will.

"He wanted to but I wouldn't let him at first - but afterwards . . . " It seemed impossible for him to continue.

"Come on Walter. You must tell me all."

Walter turned and looked at him. "After your birthday, when you wore my ribbon, I thought we were friends," he said.

"But we are friends," said Will.

"I wanted to be more than friends," said Walter. There was a silence while Will digested this.

"But men can only be friends with other men," he said hypocritically.

"But yesterday, when I saw you with Kit, I knew you and he were more than friends. And I was jealous. So, when I had to go to the Earl last night, I told him I did not like Kit and I wished that he were dead - and the Earl said if he got rid of Kit for me, what would I do for him. And I said I would do anything - anything he wanted." And now the boy was sobbing as if his heart would break.

"And this was last night?" asked Will.

Walter nodded, unable to speak.

"Then you are not responsible for Kit's death," said Will. "The men who did it were after him before then. They attacked us on the way home from the Theatre, before you even spoke to the Earl. He is a horrible little man but he is not Kit's killer."

Walter looked at Will full in the eyes for the first time that evening. "But I still hate him," he said.

"Yes," said Will, "and something must be done about it. I will speak to Master Burbage tomorrow. I will tell him that we do not need the patronage of such as the Earl of Southampton. Someone else must be found. If he will not agree, then he will lose my services as well, and without my plays, the Company will certainly founder."

Walter looked at him wonderingly. "You would do that for me?" he said. He flung himself at Will and held him in his arms kissing him on the mouth. Will found his young body very stimulating and was almost content to respond but realised he must not. He gently held him off.

"You do not like me?" asked Walter.

"I do like you," said Will, "but you are very young."

"I am seventeen," said Walter."

"Are you? I had not realised. And I am thirty."

"That is not so old," said Walter.

"Old enough," said Will. He decided to take a resolute line. "You must go home to your lodgings, Walter. We will sort the matter out with Master Burbage in the morning."

Walter looked at him cunningly. "It is very late," he said. "I might get attacked - or worse - wandering through the streets after midnight."

Will realised that it was indeed dangerous for a young boy - even though seventeen - to travel abroad at this time of night. "If you stay here with me," he said, "it will be only for company."

"Of course," said Walter but Will thought he detected a note of triumph in his tone.

"The bed is big enough for two but we will keep our hose and undershirts on - for modesty's sake."

"Of course," said Walter again and this time the tone was surely teasing and Will wondered whether he was doing the sensible thing. He took off his doublet and breeches and climbed into bed extinguishing the candle so that he did not have to see Walter take off his outer garments. A few moments later he felt him clamber into the other side.

Will lay for a while quietly and grieving for Kit but he was acutely aware of the presence of the Walter just a couple of hand's-breadths away and, in spite of himself, in spite of his loss, his body took over and he felt his prick stiffening. He was nevertheless determined not to make a move and he was about to turn over away from Walter when with a rush he felt the boy move towards him and his arms clasp him. His hands felt flesh, naked flesh and he realised that Walter had used the moments before clambering into bed to strip himself completely.

"You trollop," he said. "We agreed it was only for company."

Walter rubbed himself against Will and then felt with his hand the woollen hose which was all that covered his erection.

"But it is not entirely unwelcome, I think," he said and now pressed his own body the full length of Will's.

"I thought these were things that you did not like to do," said Will and because he was drawn so close to the boy, found he was whispering into his ear..

"Oh with the Earl who smells so bad but you, you smell of sandalwood, and you will not want to hurt me. Take off your clothes."

"You deserve to be beaten," said Will.

"Perhaps with you, even that would be enjoyable. Take off your clothes."

Will removed his shirt and stripped off his hose but as he was disentangling them from his feet, Walter launched himself at him like a puppy avid for play. They rolled together on the bed, laughing and almost tied in knots until Walter grabbed hold of Will's prick and fastened his mouth on it.

"Where did you learn that trick?" gasped Will.

"I thought of it myself. And I think I would welcome a little reciprocation."

"Walter Hastings," said Will, "you are a hussy," and obliged.

We will leave the pair, dear reader, locked in this embrace as to linger longer would seem discourteous. How the matter concluded I must leave up to you for history does not record the outcome of the relationship. Suffice it to say that William Shakespeare's 1609 edition of his Sonnets was dedicated as under:

TO THE ONLY BEGETTER OF

THESE ENSUING SONNETS

MR. W. H. ALL HAPPINESS

AND THAT ETERNITY

PROMISED

BY

OUR EVER-LIVING POET

Historical Note (for anyone who is interested)

James Burbage built the Theatre at Shoreditch (City of London) in 1576. I was not able to find out whether The Taming of the Shrew (written in 1593) was actually performed there for there were other theatres by this time though the Globe (built by Richard Burbage, James' son) was not built until 1596. It is quite possible to walk from Shoreditch, across London Bridge, through Southwark to Deptford though it would probably have taken longer for Will than I allowed him. Christopher Marlowe (Kit) is a more shadowy figure than Will Shakespeare. He was known to be homosexual and thought to work for the Government of Elizabeth I as a spy. His death is also something of a mystery and some believe it was politically inspired as Kit had become something of an embarrassment. I have no idea whether Shakespeare actually met Marlowe though as famous playwrights they would obviously have known of each other. I am pretty sure the Earl of Southampton wasn't the unpleasant little shit I have made him out to be - but I had to have a villain!

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