The Scar-Crow Men

‘Which is why,’ Dee snarled from the far corner of the room where he had cloaked himself in shadows, ‘once Marlowe was suspected of being a member of our little group the charge of atheism was levelled at him.’

‘The charge of atheism,’ Raleigh continued, his voice dripping with contempt, ‘that great scythe which cuts down all who stand before it. For who would speak out in favour of a man who sets himself in opposition to God? Who makes a jest of the scripture and calls Mary a whore and Jesus Christ a bastard justly persecuted by the Jews for his own foolishness? Who practises black magic and conjures devils? Atheism — easy to prove with fabricated letters and the statements of criminals, and hard to argue against. The Privy Council had finally decided to move against us, and Marlowe was to be the first. They thought they could get him in the Tower and then torture him to give up our names. But he was murdered before their plan could be put into effect.’

The spy looked to the dark where Dee stood. ‘Then Kit’s murder was the work of the Enemy. The Privy Council had other plans for him.’ When he got no reply, he realized the corner of the room was empty. Unseen, the alchemist had sneaked out.

‘We know of whom you speak — the Unseelie Court, the Fair Folk, the Good Neighbours,’ Harriot said with a nod when he saw Will’s surprise. ‘We have known of them for a good many years.’

‘We are aware only that Kit was slain,’ Chapman added, steepling his fingers in front of him, ‘but not by whose hand. There are plots upon plots here, and as we sit and look out, we feel no one can be trusted.’

‘True enough,’ Will said. Sick in his stomach at the thought of his friend’s death, he rose from his chair and sauntered to the window, looking out across the dark deer park. ‘What is your purpose, then? Why are you opposed to the Queen and the Privy Council?’

‘We are opposed to the Unseelie Court too,’ Raleigh called gently across the room. ‘Indeed they are the reason for our existence.’

Northumberland whispered to the two men Will didn’t recognize and they nodded and quickly left. ‘Our friends would prefer their identities to remain a secret,’ he explained. ‘Even from you. They have much to lose, and they are the closest to being uncovered.’ He strode over to Will’s side and continued, ‘We are, if you will, a third way, between the Unseelie Court and the Crown. And we have found ourselves caught in the middle of this damnable world, hated by both sides, hunted, threatened, our lives at risk. But we seek only peace.’

‘Peace?’ Will snorted. ‘There can be no peace with the Enemy.’ He thought of Jenny and his devil gave him a painful tweak.

‘That is an understandable first reaction,’ the Earl replied. ‘But hear what we know and your views may change.’

A glittering corona of light shimmered through the diamond-pane glass. It disappeared so quickly that the spy thought it must have been a reflection of the candle standing on the stool near the hearth. But then another came, and another, earth-bound stars twinkling among the dense, black row of trees running along the slope of the high ground beyond the deer park. The chilling familiarity of the sight drove Will’s hand instinctively to his rapier.

‘The Unseelie Court are here,’ he said in a low, determined voice.

The other men rose from their seats and gathered behind him, peering out into the night. ‘Do not concern yourself for now,’ Raleigh declared. ‘Our defences will suffice until dawn.’

‘The skulls on the poles?’ Will enquired, his eyes following the sweep of fires along the tree-line. An army waited. The house was under siege.

Chapman folded his hands behind his back and raised his chin in an attempt to show defiance, though the spy sensed uneasiness behind his movements. ‘We draw from the growing knowledge of the natural sciences, and from studies of the occult. We have designed our defences with the help of the greatest minds and the most arcane knowledge. They are secure.’

‘You stand between the light and the dark, between man and the Devil, and you expect to win?’ Will said with barely hidden scorn. ‘What conjured this madness in your heads?’

Raleigh rested a heavy hand on Will’s shoulder. ‘Let me tell you a tale of madness and horror. Of the part good Kit Marlowe played in the formation of our group. Then you will understand.’

While the fires blazed in the night, and cries rose up that sounded like no animal the spy knew, a hush fell across the room as Raleigh began to speak.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

15 June 1587

The carriage thundered across the cobbles of the wharf at such a speed it almost turned on its side. The horse was sweat-slick and foaming at the mouth, the driver, Edmund Shipwash, thrashing his whip as if he were demented. When the coach careered to a halt beside the barrels of pitch and coils of oiled rope, Kit Marlowe hurled the door open and leapt out, followed closely by Jerome Pennebrygg, both of them wearing the tricorn hats and black gowns of the English College, the Catholic seminary at Reims.

From his rowboat, skimming the waves towards the quay, Sir Walter Raleigh could see the terror etched on the two men’s faces in the lamplight.

What could have transpired to elicit such a reaction?

Four men on horseback galloped on to the wharf in a similar state of panic. Raleigh recognized Clement, Makepiece, Gavell and the slippery Robert Poley. Just as he wondered where the final spy was, a hunched, wild-eyed figure crawled out of the carriage and sat next to the wheel, looking around fearfully as if he expected God to strike him dead at any moment.

Good Lord, the adventurer thought. Could that really be Griffin Devereux, the cousin of the Earl of Essex?

Running to the edge of the quay, Marlowe peered out across the dusk-shrouded waves. When he saw the rowboat, he all but screamed, ‘Hurry! For God’s sake, man, hurry!’

Raleigh knew all the spies from their work in London and he could not imagine any of them so filled with dread. As his rowers steered his vessel into the quay at Saint-Pol-de-Leon, he eyed the gloom that cloaked the small town on the north-west coast of France, but could see no sign of what had frightened the men.

When the rowboat bobbed in against the wharf, Shipwash almost leapt from the stone steps into the vessel. ‘Steady on,’ the adventurer barked, but within a moment the other spies were all throwing themselves on to the wet boards among the unsettled crew.

‘Wait!’ Marlowe shouted, his voice cracking. ‘We cannot abandon the thing we have brought, if England is to survive.’

Hesitating on the brink of the quay, Poley cursed and then ran back to the young playwright. They delved into the carriage and emerged, sweating and blowing, with a large wooden chest bound with chains which they dragged across the cobbles to the water’s edge.

‘What is in there?’ Raleigh demanded. ‘The body of one of your poor victims?’

Marlowe gave the adventurer such a haunted look that Raleigh dared not ask again. He ordered his men to haul the box on to the boat, and then watched as Marlowe helped Devereux on board. The crazed man sat in the prow, his arms hugged around his knees, his eyes darting.

Before he joined the others, Poley paused to set fire to the barrels of pitch with his flint and some scraps of sailcloth. Rearing up, the horses voiced their fear as the flames roared up into the night.

‘Row, damn you to hell!’ Shipwash shrieked once Poley was on board. ‘Get us away from this devil-haunted country.’

As the vessel pulled away from the quay, Raleigh noticed a curious sight: the rowers nearest to the chest lost grip of their oars and reeled on their benches, each one glancing back towards the box as if whatever was within called to them in a voice only they could hear.

The rowboat ploughed through the waves towards the galleon at anchor in the deep water. As the smaller vessel neared the creaking ship, Raleigh glanced back to the wharf and in the red and gold glare of the flames thought he glimpsed figures lurching with an awkward gait to the water’s edge.

The spies scrambled up the ropes as if consumed by madness. Once the rowboat and its strange