A GREAT RECKONING IN A LITTLE ROOM (Treatment)
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A GREAT RECKONING IN
A LITTLE ROOM
( T r e a t m e n t )
Before the Credits we see in white lettering on a black background, the following quotation.
When a man's verses cannot be understood nor a man's good wit seconded with the forward child understanding, it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room.
- Touchstone ACT I11 Scene I11 As Y o u Like It.
NOTES
Ightham Mote i n Kent c a n be used for Scadbury Cast le if more than a r u i n i s r e q u i r e d .
Throughout t h e T r e a t m e n t t h e dialogue i s merely r e p o r t a g e , not f i n i s h e d d i a l o g u e .
N.B. More r e p r e s e n t a t i v e s oP government s e c u r i t y s e r v i c e s w i l l be seen i n a number of s i t u a t i o n s i n s u p p o r t of P l u n k e t .
I t would also be possible t o make t h e Rheims and F l o r e n c e 1oc:al.ions dornesLic i f n e c e s s a r y .
1.
The f i r s t s c e n e takes p l a c e i n t h e g a r d e n of Eleanor B u l l ’ s
house i n D e p t f o r d , nea r t h e Pool of London. I t i s a h i g h
a n g l e s h o t and f o u r men w a l k i n t h e g a r d e n i n E l i z a b e t h a n
c l o t h e s . They a r e laughing and c h a t t i n g t o g e t h e r . T h e i r
names are Ingram F r i z e r , N icho las S k e r e s , Rober t Poley and
C h r i s t o p h e r Marlowe.
Over t h i s w e h e a r t h e v o i c e of Coroner Danby :
On t h e 3 0 t h day of May 1 5 9 3 , t h e f o u r men Ingram
F r i z e r , N icho las S k e r e s , R o b e r t P o l e y and C h r i s t o p h e r
Marlowe m e t a t a house of a c e r t a i n Eleanor B u l l ,
widow of Dept ford S t r a n d , and d i n e d t h e r e , ‘ ta lked
and wa lked i n q u i e t s o r t t o g e t h e r i n t h e garden a d j o i n i n g
t h e h o u s e u n t i l t h e s i x t h h o u r a f t e r noon and t h e n .....
A t t h i s p o i n t w e h e a r Marlowe d e c l a i m i n g s o m e l i n e s from
D r F a u s t u s :
Was t h i s t h e f a c e t h a t l a u n c h e d a thousand s h i p s
And b u r n t t h e t o p l e s s t o w e r s of I l i u m Sweet Ingram make m e immortal w i t h a k i s s
H e r l i p s suck f o r t h my s o u l see where it f l i e s
Come Ingram come g i v e m e my s o u l a g a i n .
A t t h i s p o i n t h e k i s s e s Ingram F r i z e r on t h e l i p s and t h e r e
i s a g r e a t d e a l of bawdy l a u g h t e r .
and g o t o a l i t t l e room i n t h e house and d u r i n g t h e c o u r s e
of t h e v o i c e o v e r t h e y ac t o u t p r e c i s e l y what t h e c o r o n e r
d e s c r i b e s - t h e d i s p u t e over t h e b i l l , Marlowe’s a t t a c k on F r i z e r , F r i z e r ’ s s t r u g g l e w i t h him and h i s e v e n t u a l s t a b b i n g .
They leave t h e ga rden
Coroner Danby p i c k s up t h e s t o r y i n v o i c e o v e r :
They r e t u r n e d t o t h e l i t t l e room a f o r e s a i d and t h e r e
t o g e t h e r i n company supped.
s a i d Ingram F r i z e r and C h r i s t o p h e r Marlowe w e r e i n
s p e e c h and u t t e r e d one t o t h e o t h e r d i v e r s m a l i c i o u s
A n d a f t e r supper t h e
(Con t inued)
2 .
words for the reason that they could not be at one nor agree about the payment of a sum of pence that is le reckonynge there, and the said Christopher Marlowe then lying on a bed in the room where they supped, and moved with anger against the said Ingram Frizer upon words aforesaid spoken between them and the said Ingram Frizer then and there sitting in the room aforesaid with his back towards the bed where the said Marlowe was lying, sitting near the bed and with the front part of his body towards the table and the aforesaid Nicholas Skeres and Robert Poley sitting on either side of him in such a manner that the same Ingram Frizer in no way could'take flight: on a sudden and of his malice towards the said Prizer aforethought then and there maliciously drew the dagger of the said Ingram Frizer which was at his back and with the same dagger the said Christopher Marlowe then and there maliciously gave the aforesaid Frizer two wounds on his head of the length of two inches and the depth of a quarter of an inch. Whereupon the said Frizer in fear of being slain and sitting in the manner aforesaid between the said Nicholas Skeres and Robert Poley so he could not in any wise get away, in his own defence and for the saving of his life then and there struggled with the said Christopher Marlowe to get back from him his dagger aforesaid; In which affray the same Frizer could not get away from the said Christopher Marlowe and so it befell in that affray the said Frizer in defence of his life with the dagger aforesaid to the value of twelve pence gave the said Christopher Marlowe then and there a mortal wound over his right eye to the depth of two inches and of the width of one inch; of which mortal wound the aforesaid Christopher Marlowe then and there instantly died. And so the jurors say upon their oath. Dated this day the 1st June 1593.
It so befell that the said Christopher Marlowe
We now move to the study of ProEessor Edmund Whitgift. He is 45 years old, an angular man and a scholar.
3 .
~e is with a young girl student of about 25 years old, attractive p e r k y and cheeky. Her name is Lucinda Semple.
'Garbage, poppycock and horse manure", says Whitgif t, "Flim-flam, cozening, and coney-catching! Can't you see it's all rubbish! A fix. A put up job to save Marlowe from the clutches of the Star Chamber."
Lucinda says that it seems perfectly plausible to her and Whitgift derisively says that he can give her four reasons why it is not plausible at all. She opts for one and he tells her that Frizer served the sentence of less than a month's jail for the murder and Marlowe was buried in an unmarked grave less than 48 hours after his murder.'
"Both events are clear evidence", he says "of the Coroner William Danby , having been suborned".
''By Walsingham?" inquires Lucinda.
"Certainly", says Whitgift "his cousin was the Spy Master of England".
Lucinda asks for an explanation.
"What could have taken place, there was a body after a l l ? "
"I don't deny it - some foreign sailor most like. Deptford was a Port, remember. And in addition there are many other reasons as I've said including medical ones. You should ask my friend Doctor Teitelbaum about that. 'I he says.
"Anyway," says Lucinda "so what's it matter if Marlowe wasn't murdered?''
"Don't you see," says Whitgift "if he wasn't dead in 1593, as everyone has always assumed he was - he could have written Shakespeare!!''
4 .
She looks a t him open-mouthed.
"You I re k i d d i n g , s h e s a y s .
"Am I?" h e r e p l i e s , " j u s t b e c a u s e M i s s Semple, l i k e
m o s t p e o p l e , you p r e f e r t h e s t a t u s q u o . I t h i n k
you had b e t t e r come and h e a r my l e c t u r e on t h e s u b j e c t
tomorrow e v e n i n g a t t h e Rudol f S t e i n e r H a l l . "
"Can you p r o v e he a c t u a l l y d i d i t?" s h e a s k s .
' ' Y e s , " h e s a y s "1 t h i n k beyond a shadow of d o u b t . "
"1'11 bet Bede w i l l be p l e a s e d , " l a u g h s Luctinda, r e f e r r i n g t o S e b a s t i a n B e d e , R e g i u s P r o f e s s o r of E n g l i s h
i n t h e U n i v e r s i t y of Cambridge.
W e now go t o t h e Rudolph S t e i n e r H a l l .
P r o f e s s o r S e b a s t i a n Bede, t h e w o r l d ' s f o r e m o s t a u t h o r i t y
o n S h a k e s p e a r e s i t s i n a crowded h a l l , s cowl ing deep ly
as
W h i t g i f t f r o m t h e podium a r g u e s l u c i d l y and p e r s u a s i v e l y
t h a t C h r i s t o p h e r Marlowe w r o t e S h a k e s p e a r e . Next
t o him s i t s h i s p r e t t y young d a u g h t e r Anna i n h e r
e a r l y t w e n t i e s . Lucinda Semple s i t s on t h e p l a t f o r m
w o r k i n g a s l i d e p r o j e c t o r . H e r s l i d e s i l l u s t r a t e ,
w h i l e W h i t g i f t t a l k s f v a r i o u s p o r t r a i t s of Walsingham,
Marlowe, S k e r e s , Poley a n d F r i z e r and a l s o t h e f r o n t i s p i e c e s
of M a r l o w e ' s p l a y s and f i n a l l y t h e s a i l o r b e i n g p l i e d
w i t h d r i n k , and be ing murdered by F r i z e r , S k e r e s and
P o l e y w h i l e i n s e n s i b l e .
" F o r twen ty - f i v e y e a r s , I' s a y s Whi tg i f t have
p u r s u e d a l i t e r a r y w i l l 0 '
m e no rest - t h a t i n b r i e f W i l l i a m S h a k e s p e a r e n e v e r
w r o t e t h e p l a y s and poems a t t r i b u t e d t o h i m , b u t t h a t t h e y w e r e i n f a c t w r i t t e n by C h r i s t o p h e r Marlowe t h e
a t t e s t e d a u t h o r of Tambur la ine , The J e w of Malta,
D r F a u s t u s and Edward The Second i n t e r - a l i a . The s t u m b l i n g b lock w a s of c o u r s e t h a t Marlowe w a s d e a d i n t h a t l i t t l e room i n E l e a n o r B u l l ' s house i n
D e p t f o r d , k i l l e d i n 1593 i n a d i s p u t e o v e r t h e
t h e w i s p t h a t h a s g i v e n
5 .
" b i l l o r r e c k o n i n g . Now what happened i n t h a t room?"
H e i s i n t e r r u p t e d by Bede who p r o t e s t s t h a t t h i s i s a l l most ly
s p e c u l a t i o n , b u t h i s daugh te r manages t o g e t him s e a t e d aga in s a y i n g ,
" L e t W h i t g i f t hang h imsel f w i t h h i s i d e a s " .
W h i t g i f t g o e s o n ,
''1 have g r o v e l l e d through g r a v e y a r d s , c rawled i n t o
d u s t y tombs, huddled f o r e n d l e s s h o u r s i n musty
l i b r a r i e s and a r c h i v e s u n c o v e r i n g a r e a l - 1 2 f e l i t e r a r y
t h r i l l e r comple te w i t h murder , b r a w l s , duels and abnormal s e x u a l i t y . Recent d i s c o v e r i e s have now
a t l a s t a l l o w e d m e t o speak o u t , and r e v e a l t o you a masque rade - an impos ture so u n b e l i e v a b l e , so d e v i o u s
t h a t i t n o t on ly c r e a t e d h e a r t b r e a k but condemned
i t s p r o t a g o n i s t t o e t e r n a l anonymity ."
Bede c o n t i n u e s t o i n t e r r u p t and W h i t g i f t t o l e c t u r e .
" C e r t a i n l y , 'I he goes on "no character t h e a u t h o r
d e v i s e d on paper e v e r matched t h e d e p t h of h i s own t r a g e d y . I f e v e r h e l l w a s c r e a t e d f o r a w r i t e r i t w a s t h i s . The man r e s p o n s i b l e f o r t h e g r e a t e s t p o e t r y
and t h e greatest d r a m a t i c p r o s e and v e r s e i n t h e
h i s t o r y of t h e Eng l i sh l anguage w a s doomed t o l i v e h i s l i f e watching a n o t h e r g a i n t h e p l a u d i t s and t h e
fame t h a t r i g h t l y belonged t o him and t o s u f f e r i n s i l e n c e . S t i f l e d by a s u f f o c a t i n g g a g , h i s s o u l
g a l l e d w i t h d i sappo in tmen t , h e l i v e d a n e m b i t t e r e d ,
l a c e r a t e d l i f e . J u s t l i s t e n t o a few l i n e s of t h e
2 9 t h S o n n e t , undoubtedly i n my submiss ion w r i t t e n
t o h i s p a t r o n , p r o t e c t o r and l o v e r Thomas Walsingham,
c o u s i n t o t h e spy mas ter of England, F r a n c i s Walsingham.
"When i n d i s g r a c e w i t h f o r t u n e and men ' s e y e s ,
I a l l a l o n e beweep my o u t c a s t s t a t e ,
And t r o u b l e deaf heaven w i t h my b o o t l e s s c r i e s ,
( C o n t i n u e d )
6 .
And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least."
He goes on to claim that the sonnets tell a tale of fraud, guilt and banishment and that they were not written to Henry Wriothesly, Earl of Southampton, nor the Dark Lady of the sonnets nor to anybody nor to anything else, but to Walsingham Walsing-Ham W.H. He points out that it was the fashion in those days to divide peoples' names with a hyphen in the middle.
Bede again snorts derisively and loudly. His daughter Anna having yet again to calm him.
"And why?" asks Whitgift "Because he was his lover, and protector who had saved him from the rack, the wheel, the red hot pincers and the water bag and the other unpleasant inquisatorial devices of the Star Chamber who you must remember had already arrested him and were about to investigate him, after Thomas Kyd the playwright had accused him of Atheism, under torture. I'
And we go through from Professor Bede's sceptical sneering face to Kyd's rictured face as he lies on the rack in agony in the torture chamber at Bridewell Prison.
In voice over we hear the recital of the warrant that got him there.
"It is Her Majesty's pleasure that some extraordinary pains and care be taken by you Commissioners appointed by the Lord Mayor for the examining of one Thomas Kyd, suspected of divers lewd and mutinous libels, and vile heretical conceits denying the deity of Jesus Christ Our Saviour, found amongst his papers. And if he shall refuse to confess the truth, you shall by authority hereof, put him to the Torture
7 .
i n B r i d e w e l l , and by e x t r e m i t y t h e r e o f t o be used
a t such t i m e s , and as o f t e n as you s h a l l t h i n k f i t , draw him t o d i s c o v e r h i s knowledge conce rn ing t h e s a i d l i b e l s . And t h i s s h a l l be your s u f f i c i e n t warran t . "
Kyd y e l l s o u t t o t h e I n q u i s i t o r .
"These h e r e s i e s are Mar lowe 's ! The p a p e r s you found
s h u f f l e d up w i t h mine i n m y rooms are Marlowe's - C h r i s t o p h e r Mar lowe 's ! W e wrote t o g e t h e r i n t h e
same room two y e a r s s i n c e . Marlowe i s t h e t r u e A t h e i s t !
He screams a g a i n as t h e levers of t h e wrack a re t i m t e n e d .
Back i n t h e Rudolph S t e i n e r Wall. Bede sudden ly r ises t o
h i s f e e t , w i t h a s h o u t of " P i f f l e ! " , s t o r m s o u t o v e r t u r n i n g
c h a i r s , f o l l o w e d by h i s embarrassed d a u g h t e r .
" E x i t p e r s u e d by a b a i r n ! " l a u g h s W h i t g i f t .
Anna Bede now c a l l s W h i t g i f t , a s k i n g him t o meet h e r f a t h e r
i n Cambridge f a i r l y soon b e c a u s e he w i s h e s t o have f u r t h e r
d i s c o u r s e w i t h him. She also a p o l o g i s e s f o r h i s behaviour
t h e p r e v i o u s e v e n i n g . W h i t g i f t a c c e p t s , b u t s a y s it w i l l
have t o be t h e n e x t d a y as h e c a n ' t come t h a t a f t e r n o o n as he h a s t o go t o t h e M a r i t i m e Museum i n Greenwich where he
i s on t h e t r a c k of a new p i e c e o f e v i d e n c e which w i l l r e a l l y
confound h e r f a t h e r .
W e now go t o t h e m a g n i f i c e n t e x t e r i o r of t h e Naval Co l l ege
a t Greenwich and w e see f rom a d i s t a n c e t h e e x t e r i o r of
t h e b u i l d i n g from t h e POV of t h e Greenwhich Obse rva to ry Telescope
which i s i n t h e O b s e r v a t o r y on t h e hill above t h e Naval Col lege .
A hand w i t h a n e l a b o r a t e crested r i n g on it a d j u s t s t h e f o c u s
of t h e t e l e s c o p e as W h i t g i f t ' s car d r i v e s up t o t h e Museum
and s i n i s t e r mus ic t e l l s u s t h e owner of t h e r i n g i s up t o
no good.
8 .
Whitgift and Lucinda get out of the car and enter the museum. Whitgift asks for records of the Port of London in 1593. Having received them, he turns to the month of May and then turns to Lucinda excitedly,
"Look here, 'I he says "Look at this entry for the 30th May, 1593 the Hero leaves Port of London for Dover and the Low countries."
Lucinda asks "What's so important about the Hero?"
"Hero and the Lcander was Marlowe's first poem", says Whitgift. "It would be just like Walsingham to have a little fun at the government's expense and ours." "Could it be," he wonders "if the old fellow le€t us clues to his plot?"
He then investigates the records for the Port of Dover.
"Here!" he yells suddenly "Look at this!" and he points to an entry. "Received from Captain Pope of the Hero, one Oliver Martext for transportation to France. Private Quarters aft. Paid for by a gentleman of Kent. Captain Curlew of The Leander. 30th May 1 5 9 3 . "
Lucinda asks whether he isn't a character in As You Like It? The clergyman who's meant to marry Touchstone and Audry? And Whitgift replies that she is absolutely right.
"It's a completely extraneous role," he said "Plainly Marlowe hinting he was s t i l l alive and writing Mar-text. Marlowe's text. You are of course aware that after its registration with the Stationers Company on August 4th 1600 A s You Like It was neither published nor produced for twenty three years. It was marked a booked to be stayed. Someone had obviously seen the danger of Marlowe in his exiled, unhappy state,
(Continued)
9 .
giving the game away, and had acted to suppress it. A friend? A lover? A spymaster? A gentleman of Kent perhaps?"
"Wasn't Walsingham's country house Scadbury in Kent?" asked Lucinda.
"Of course," he replies "and it's quite obvious to me that he paid Marlowe's passage to France on the Leander on the 30th May 1593 while Frizer and S k e r e s
and Poley were enacting their murderous charade at Eleanor Bull's house at Deptford."
I
"But how did Shakespeare get in the act?" she asks,
The scene moves to Professor Bede's room at Corpus Christi. His daughter tries to passify him as in a passion he demands an answer to the same question as Lucinda's from Whitgift.
"Alright, alright, he says "but how did Walsingham get to Shakespeare?"
"That was the easy part," says Whitgift " a l l he needed was a pliant front man - a minor actor w a s ideal. After a l l he was the Spy Master of England and had control over the acting companies. What you have to accept is the Deptford Chicanery. 'I
"I don't know that I do," he replies "it's too fantastic. Martext indeed. On the Leander! I'd like to see this new piece of evidence of yours."
"And so you shall, but that apart you must admit that Oliver Martext is a character in As You Like It.
"1 am thoroughly familiar with the play," Bede says
frostily.
10.
"You must be thoroughly familiar with Touchstone's lines in Act IV Scene IV, addressed to Audrey," pursues Whitgift. "'When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the forward child understanding, it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room'. They apparently mean nothing. Audrey confesses herself baffled by them. There is no motivation for them. The entire speech is irrelevant to the play. I wonder if a learned Shakespearean scholar like yourself could possibly interpret them?"
Bede replies that he cannot, suggesting that they may be wrongly positioned, or a misprint. There are many s u c h examples in the Folios, he adds.
"But if they're not," argues Whitgift "they are plainly a reference by Marlowe to the p u t up job of his own death. Would William Shakespeare, had he written the plays, have been privy to the exact circumstances of Marlowe's bogus assasination. How would he have known of the "great reckoning in a little room?"
"From the Coroner's report, I suppose,'' Bede replies grudgingly.
"It was filed away in the Public Records Office. No one knew of it till 1925," says Whitgift.
Bede continues to bluster that it is folly to believe that anyone but William Shakespeare wrote William Shakespeare, as Whitgift continues to press his case.
"I can quite see you have a vested interest in Shakespeare being Shakespeare," he says to him "If - 1 am right, your life's work will be in ruins. 'The Definitive LiEe of Shakespeare' is what you're chiefly known for, and if I prove my theory
(Continued)
it will immediately change from a revered benchmark tome into a pile of steaming horse manure - 'the Definitive Life of An Obscure Second Rate Actor'."
He laughs immoderately and Bede now furious challenges him to show him his new evidence about Marlowe or Martext being on the Leander bound for France on the 30th May 1593.
Whitgift agrees to meet him at the Greenwich Maritime Museum the n e x t day at noon.
"That at least will be a pleasure," growls Bede, "its a fine building I haven't been there in years.''
Ne opens the door of the room imperiously to indicate the meeting is at an end. We go to the close up of his hand on the doorknob, On the middle finger is the crested ring we saw on the telescope in Greenwich Observatory!
We now go to the great dining hall at Corpus Christi to see
the portrait of Marlowe which hangs there. Whitgift explains to Anna that it was found in two pieces in a pile of workmens' rubble in the pouring rain by an undergraduate, rescued and cleaned up. She now goes with him to the Fellows Garden where they walk by an ornamental lake. She asks him to take it easy on her father. He is a great and respected scholar who has everything to lose from Whitgift's theory. He must not aggrandise himself at her father's expense.
Whitgift tells her that truth is more important than either of them. But in public he will show restraint towards her father's stubborn insistence that nobody but Shakespeare w r o t e Shakespeare. This draws them together and she takes his hand in gratitude, foreshadowing a future closer relationship.
"Ah, there you are!" says a plummy effeminate voice, belonging to Sir Peregrine Plunket, a dandified smoothie, five years younger than Whitgift. said you might me here in the Fellows Garden.''
"the old pater
12.
Anna introduces him to Whitgift and in the course of conversation it emerges that he works for the Foreign Office.
"Not half as intriguing an occupation as yours, Professor Whitgift," he whinnies patronizingly, slipping an arm through Anna's. "I don't spend my time investigating four hundred year old murders."
"How exactly do you spend it?" Whitgift asks with an edge, irritated at the interruption to a moment of tendresse with Anna, and his familiarity with her.
"Casting my bread upon deep waters, old boy," Peregrine replies, producing a bread roll from his pocket and throwing bits of it to the ducks on the ornamental lake. "And sailing in them occasionally. It
With a radiant smile he strolls o f f arm in arm with Anna, leaving Whitgift alone, fuming by the lake.
A small t o y galleon suddenly sails into sight from behind the flowered bank in the middle of the lake. It has the name LEANDER on its b o w , written in large letters. Whitgift regards it in astonishment and shivers as a sharp breeze suddenly gets up, ruffling the trees, and the waters of the lake and moving the scudding clouds to blot out the sun.
We now return to the Greenwich Maritime Museum. A fine morning sees Professor Whitgift drive up to the Greenwich Maritime Museum. Waiting for him on the steps is a testy Professor Bede and Anna.
"You're late," he snaps "Noon was the appointed hour. It's almost five minutes past."
Whitgift apologies and leads the way into the Museum, muttering
"I am sure what 1 can show you, will make your wait worthwhile. 'I
13.
In the Library, a different librarian is on duty. asks him f o r the relevant volume and takes it to a He turns to the entry written by Captain Curlew of
Whitgif t desk. the Leander.
It has been excised. And in its place is written. .."'Tis no matter: ne'er a fantastical knave of them all shall flout me out of my calling"- Sir Oliver Martext. Act 111 Sc IV As You Like It.
Whitgift is dumbfounded, Bede smiles with grim satisfaction.
"1 see no reference to the ship Leander,'" he says.
Whitgift replies,
"This record has obviously been tampered with," he splutters with indignation.
"Tampered with?" Bede enquires blithely.
"Certainly. the records of the Port of Dover?"
Why a reference to As You Like It in
"Who could have done such an outrageous thing?" asks Bede.
"Someone perhaps who dreaded being flouted out of his calling", snarls Whitgift.
Bede smiles at him - a picture of innocence.
We cut now to the P a l m Court of the Ritz Hotel.
Whitgift and Anna are having tea together at the Ritz. the background a trio scratches through a selection of twenty year-old American musicals. Whitgift t e l l s her of the toy
ship in the Fellows Garden with the name Leander on it and the two of them f a l l to discussing just how crazy her father is.
In
"Eccentric perhaps , 'I says Anna "He is obviously indulging in a few pratical jokes."
14.
"I'd have said defacing a unique, historical manuscript goes a bit beyond a practical joke", says Whitgift "the man must be demented.
Anna asks him whether he is absolutely sure that he was the one who did it and Whitgift replies
"Who else could it have been? Who else has such a vested interest?"
She points out that her father is not the only distinguished Shakespearean academic in the country. There are others at the Universities of Cambridge and Bristol.
"He is the only Shakespearean academic who knew my recent discovery in the records of the Port of Dover in the Greenwich Maritime Museum however," points out Whitgift.
This silences Anna for a long moment.
"What can we do?" she asks sadly at length.
"If I were you I'd eat that delicious meringue before it melts," interposes the orotund voice of Sir Peregrine Plunket.
And to Whitgift's fury he suits action to words, and stuffs it into his mouth.
"What are you doing here?" he enquires bluntly.
"Just nodding in for some egg and cress sandwiches, and possibly a hint of the walnut cream cakey", Peregrine replies. since they closed Gunters. How's the historical sleuthing going, by the bye?"
"There's no better tea in London
H e sits down at the table unasked, and helps himself to another cake. Whitgift gets to his feet ill-humouredly and says
15.
to Anna,
"Try and persuade your dad to grow up, will you Anna?"
"The aged P not been behaving himself?" enquires Plunket sneeringly. "I've always said those ivory towers have a most deleterious effect on the grey matter. You know there are literally scores of old academics roaring round the country raping and pillaging. Did you not read about that dotty Professor of Archaeology who wrapped his housekeeper Gladys in bandages at the command of the Pharoah Horemheb, and smothered her to death? I suppose thatifs how they got the word Gladwrap. It
"Shut up Peregrine", says Anna. "You're not funny and youlre not going to eat all the cakes," she adds slapping his hand as he reaches for the last cake.
Whitgift strides away as the trio spiritedly and inaccurately charges into Brush U p Your Shakespeare from Kiss Me Kate. Peregrine sings along,
"Brush up your Marlowe, start quoting him now."
Whitgift's study mantlepiece shows he has received an invitation from Anna to see a performance of The Winter's Tale at Corpus Christi College the following weekend with herself playing Perdita.
Some badinage takes place with Lucinda who is obviously opposed to Whitgift going to see the performance because she is jealous of Anna, and Whitgif t says finally,
''1 suppose that old Bede will maintain that Shakespeare's name was on the frontespiece of it when it was first published. 'I
"Wasn't it?" she asks.
16.
I I N o , " he replies "nor was it on most of the others. In fact of the first fifteen first Quarto plays published while Shakespeare was still alive - only nine appeared with the name William Shakespeare attached to them."
We cut now to the Corpus Christi quadrangle in Cambridge, where The Winter's Tale is to be performed. Stage and stands have been erected.
Bede paces with Anna in costume f o r Perdita, while Whitgift harangues him.
"In fact Professor", he is saying "only nine plays bore Shakespeare's name when they were first published in Quarto. They were Love's Labour Lost, A Midsummer Night's Dream, The Merchartof Venice, Henry IV Part 11, Much Ado About Nothing, The Merry Wives of Windsor, Hamlet, King Lear and Troilus and Cressida. In other words, from the year Shakespeare emerged as a writer in 1593 to the date of his death in 1616, only 25% of the total number of plays written were printed for the first time, naming him as their author. This is the only reason on which posterity bases i t s belief that Shakespeare wrote all the plays that bear his name. There is no other reason for so believing. I'
Bede growls:
"It was not always the fashion to claim authorship in those days. one of the nine.''
I see that The Winter's Tale is not
" N O . I '
"So you claim that Marlowe wrote it, do you?" he asks.
"Most certainly," Whitgift replies "I say he wr0t.e them all. 'I
17.
A man in a bear's outfit passes by without the head. Anna greets him warmly.
"At least," her father says to him, "you don't have any lines of a second rate poet to speak tonight, Ned. I'
" N O Professor,'' says Ned, "But Exit Pursued by a Bear is one of the best stage directions in dramatic literature.
I I I I r n not at a l l s u r e it's not just plain si~ly," Bede repostes, "Let's see how it is received tonight."
The production of Thewinter's Tale is in full swing. Antigonus in Act I11 Sc I11 places the swaddled baby Perdita on the ground.
Antigonus, I' Far ewe 11 ! The day frowns more and more' thou'rt like to have A lullaby t o o rough; I never saw The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour! Well may I get aboard. This is t h e chase: I am gone f o r ever."
A flashlight goes off angering a real bear who appears out of the wings roaring. Ned appears briefly in bear costume and runs off.
"Is that you N e d ? " says Antigonus, "Christ. .It's a real one!"
He takes to his heels while the bear rips the scenery to shreds with its claws. The audience cracks up laughing, before starting to shriek in genuine alarm as the bear hurls members of it from their seats onto the stage, snarling and spitting. Many try and leave jamming the exits. B e d e laughs heartily at the confusion.
18.
A man comes on and overpowers it with a net and a tranquilizer dart.
We mix through to later in the play, Act IV Sc IV in the Shepherd's Hut. The audience is quiet and attentive as Perdita addresses Florizel, a Shepherd, Clown, Mopsa, Dorcas, Polixenes and Camillo.
Perdita's speech is as follows; (Or as much as we need to hear)
''I would I had some flowers o'the spring that might Become your time of day; and yours, and yours, That wear upon your virgin branches yet Your maidenheads growing; 0 Proserpina, For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall. From Dis's waggon! Daffodils that come before the swallow dares and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes
Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses, That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength - a malady Most incident to maids; bold oxlips and The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds, The flower-de-luce being one!
We now go to the dressing room, a makeshift affair. In it are Whitgift stands congratulating Anna who is sitting at the dressing table removing her make up after the show. Professor Bede is also there.
"You really quietened them down,'' says Whitgift, "at one point it looked as if the performance was going to be abandoned, before we g o t to your bit, after some lunatic let that bear l oose . . I '
He looks directly and accusingly at Professor Bede.
1 9 .
"1 hope you're not suggesting I had anything to do with that," says Bede.
"Why not," says Whitgift hotly, "It was just another in the list of bizarre,sinister warnings to me to abandon my Marlowe wrote Shakespeare theory, wasn't it?"
"What can you mean. What list?"
"The altered page at the Greenwich Library, the toy galleon named Leander in the Fellows Garden of your college. I'
I
Bede draws himself up. "I have no idea what you mean," he insists haughtily. "Come along Anna let us leave this paranoid charlatan."
Anna demurs and says she has to get her make-up off and will see him later. Bede slams out in a huff.
"Well at least we know where we stand," says Whitgift "He I s denying all knowledge. I'
Anna insists he might well be telling the truth.
"I mean the stunt with the bear was a bit over the top," she reasons. "Someone might have been killed and in any case where would the o l d thing get a bear from in the first place. They don't normally dwell in university rooms do they?"
Whitgift smiles at her, "Byron had one in his. It was astigmatic, so he called it G l a d l y . ' '
"1 don't get it," says Anna.
"Gladly my cross-eyed bear! 'I
She laughs delightedly.
2 0 .
"Come to that,'' she continues, "where would anyone get one? I mean you just don't walk into Marks and Sparks and say send me a grizzly round will you and fifty pounds of honey?"
"It's a good question," he agrees, "Perhaps we'd better start asking a few more."
First they go in search of the man who subdued the bear. They find them both in the car park and the bear is safely secured and muzzled in a cage on a trailer. In the driver's cab sits its keeper Sam Harker. He is distinctly aggrieved, as the police have been giving him a hard time. We see his story in flashback.
He is with a travelling circus playing Cambridge that week and a man had called him and offered him a couple of hundred pounds to bring the bear around that night and p u t him on the stage on the cue in Act I1 Sc III... "Well may I get aboard. This is the chase. I am gone forever". It was
going to happen about nine-thirty he was told.
We see him in the wings of the theatre with the bear on a chain and we a lso see him making enquiries of the girl on the book as to where they are in the p l a y . At the relevant moment he pushes the bear on stage and when it starts its mayhem, he rushes on with his net and anaesthetic dart.
He continues, didn't know the old fellow was going to behave the way he did, did I? He's normally not like that. it must have been that flashlight that went off. I told the bloke no flashlight photos most particularly. Mephistopheles is highly allergic to them."
"Mephistopheles?" asks Anna.
"It's the name of the bear," says Sam.
2 1 .
Whitgift looks meaningly at Anna.
"And also the tempter in Dr Faustus," he says, "HOW curious ! 'I
"1 don't suppose you saw who took the flashlight photo?" Anna asks the two men.
They both shake their heads.
" S o you don I t know the man who employed you?" Anna persists.
"Never met him."
"Didn't you think it all a bit peculiar?''
"Two hundred nickers is two hundred nickers, miss" he says.
fl Cheque?
"Cash. There ain't no need for you to go rabbiting on about that neither. I ' m in enough trouble with the law as it is."
In the corridor outside the dressing rooms, Anna and Whitgift question Ned to try and discover if he could identify the flash photographer. He cannot. Ned is fuming because the real bear stole his thunder.
"Never act with children or animals," he moans, "Someone might have told me I was being replaced."
Anna pursues her enquiries among the cast and stage hands to t r y and vindicate her father, but f a i l s to get a convincing identification.
2 2 .
"Perhaps it was a local journalist," suggests Whitgift, "that would make more sense."
And so they pay a visit to the offices of the Cambridge Daily N e w s . The Editor tells them that they don't use flash photography in auditoria as it disturbs the performance and there is usually sufficient light on stage. Alternatively they have their own photo calls.
Anna l o o k s through a pile of photographs of t h e evening on the desk. We note a soft-ish profile of Sir Peregrine Plunket in the audience. The newspaper layout is also on the desk. The headline reads: "Audience Tries to E x i t Pursued by R e a l
Bear" over the audience doing just that.
In the next scene, Anna persuades her father to meet Whitgift and Dr Teitelbaum at Deptford. They say they can prove their claim of a fix, if the Professor will only agree to visit the little r o o m in Eleanor Bull's house which still stands.
The Professor is unwilling to do this, and refuses.
T h e scene after however, which is in Deptford Church shows that he has been over-persuaded by his wily daughter. On the north wall of the church is a tablet. Whitgift, Lucinda and the Bedes stand before it. It reads: To the immortal memory of Christopher Marlowe who met a tragic death near this spot on the 30th May 1593. This tablet is erected in 1957 by the Association of Men of Kent and Kentish Men to replace an earlier memorial unveiled by Sir Frank Benson on the 3rd June 1919 and des t royed by enemy action in 1940. Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight.
Whitgift points out that the previous tablet was actually better in that it was inscribed to the founder of grandiloquent blank verse, but that it also was confused about the date of death, giving it as the 1st June, 1593 thus mixing it up with the date of his burial.
2 3 .
" T h a t i s n o t t h e o n l y confus ion" growls B e d e .
" I d o n ' t know why I a l lowed Anna t o p e r s u a d e me t o
c o m e a l l t h i s way down h e r e t o d a y . The re a re more s a l u b r i o u s p l a c e s t h a n Deptford.
W h i t g i f t re i terates t h a t he wanted Bede t o m e e t D r Te i t l ebaum
as what h e had t o r e v e a l w a s v e r y i m p o r t a n t . Bede looks s c e p t i c a l .
"1 u n d e r s t a n d h e ' s g o t some tom fool n o t i o n h e c a n
prove t h a t t h e deeds d e s c r i b e d i n t h e C o r o n e r ' s
r epor t o f the a s s a s i n a t i o n are i m p o s s i b l e and t h a t
h e will b e g i v i n g a number of p u b l i c d e m o n s t r a t i o n s . "
W h i t g i f t agrees w i t h him.
" T h a t i s correct , 'I he s a y s " P r o f e s s o r . C u r i o u s l y
E l e a n o r B u l l ' s house s t i l l s t a n d s on t h e S t r a n d h e r e
a n d t h e room h a s been p rese rved w i t h t h e same
f u r n i t u r e . ' I
A t t h i s moment D r T e i t e l b a u m h u r r i e s Up. A f a t , f l o r i d , V ienese
of i m p e c c a b l e g a i e t y of manner. I n somewhat f r a c t u r e d E n g l i s h
he makes h i s e x c u s e s , blaming it on t h e London t r a f f i c and
s a l u t e s Anna w i t h a n u n n e c e s s a r i l y c a r n i v e r o u s hand kiss, much t o h e r f a t h e r ' s d i s c o m f i t u r e .
" O f w h a t s i r , p r e c i s e l y i s i t t h a t you are a d o c t o r ? "
h e g r o w l s .
" M e d i c i n e , mein h e r r P r o f e s s o r , I' s a y s t h e o t h e r .
H e p r o d u c e s t h e C o r o n e r ' s r e p o r t of W i l l i a m Danby s a y i n g ,
" T h i s i s a copy of Coroner Danby ' s repor t found i n t h e P u b l i c Records o f f i c e i n 1 9 2 5 b y L e s l i e Hotson.
I f you would k i n d l y ove r look t h e document. I'
2 4 .
The Professor grumpily takes the paper and leads the way out of the church and sits on a bench in the graveyard to read it. Whitgift and Anna l o o k at each other nervously.
"The old English is perhaps difficult to read," says Teitelbaum tactlessly.
I r T have read tudor medieval documents before!" snaps Bede frostily.
He continues to read. The shadows of the clouds move menacingly over the adjoining grave stones, as we mix through to the next scene which is the exterior of Eleanor Bull's House Deptford Strand and we see a poster affixed to one of the doorposts of the house. It reads: The Murder of Christopher Marlowe, re-enacted in front of your eyes by Dr Ernst Teitlebaum. Bede looks at it with displeasure. The party moves into the garden that we s a w in Scene I.
"This , ' I says Teitlebaun, "is the garden where Ingram Frizer, Nicholas Skeres, Robert Poley and Christopher Marlowe walked and talked together before repairing to the little room mentioned by the Coroner for supper. Just imagine the four of them arm in arm drinking merrily . . . . . I 1
"Quite s o , " says Bede testily, "Did anything significant happen here?"
"NO, I' Teitelbaum admits.
"Then let's get to where it did. Atmospherics are not proof. I'
Teitelbaum leads the way out of the garden as we mix through to the next scene which is the little room in Eleanor Bull's house.
2 5 .
I n t h e room, f o u r dummies wea r ing 1 6 t h c e n t u r y c l o t h e s have
been p l a c e d as d e s c r i b e d by t h e Coroner . Marlowe l i e s on
t h e b e d , F r i z e r s i t s on a bench a t t h e t a b l e w i t h h i s back
t o Marlowe. H e i s c l o s e l y flanked by P o l e y and Ske res and h i s d a g g e r i s a t h i s back.
h i s handiwork . T e i t e l b a u m p o i n t s p roud ly t o
"I have p o s i t i o n e d t h e dummies where t h e coroner
h a s i n d i c a t e d t h e y were a t t h e t i m e of t h e q u a r r e l
o v e r t h e reckonynge, t h e b i l l ! "
Bede s i g h s h e a v i l y a t t h e e x p l a n a t i o n .
"You w i l l n o t e Nicho las S k e r e s and Rober t 'Poley s i t t i n g on e i t h e r s i d e of F r i z e r i n such a way t h a t
" i n no way c o u l d h e t a k e f l i g h t " . A most impor tan t
p o i n t I ' m s u r e you w i l l a g r e e , as s i m p l e se l f de fence
w a s n o t enough j u s t i f i c a t i o n i n E l i z a b e t h a n law."
" G e t on w i t h i t , " s n a p s Bede.
T e i t e l b a u m ac t s o u t t h e drama. H e l i e s on t h e bed n e x t t o
t h e dummy o f Marlowe, t h e n p i c k s it up and walks it over
t o t h e bench where he seizes t h e d a g g e r f r o m F r i z e r ' s b e l t
and s t a b s him t w i c e i n t h e neck from b e h i n d .
"One," s ays Te i t l ebaum, "Why w a s it t h a t F r i z e r ,
t h e s u r p r i s e d d e f e n d a n t s u s t a i n e d o n l y two minor
s c a 1 p w o u n d s " o f t h e l e n g t h of two i n c h e s , and t h e
d e p t h of a q u a r t e r of an i n c h " , t hough a s s a i l e d by Marlowe w i t h eve ry advan tage f rom above and behind,
and i n r e t u r n d e s p i t e b e i n g s o p l a c e d t h a t h e " i n
no way c o u l d t a k e f l i g h t " managed t o retrieve h i s
d a g g e r , and deal a m o r t a l blow t h a t s t r u c k home t o a d e p t h of where t h e b l a d e was one i n c h t h i c k . "
H e now d e m o n s t r a t e s t h e p r o x i m i t y of S k e r e s and Poley by
h i m s e l f s i t t i n g on t h e bench, and t u r n i n g a n d g r a p p l i n g w i t h
t h e dummy of Marlowe.
2 6
W TWO,^' he continues, "Why did Poley and Skeres w h o were hemming Frizer in on either side, not come to his assistance, since apparently there was time to have intervened - according to Frizer a considerable struggle, having preceded the slaying."
He now demonstrates the death blow on the head of the dummy, which is a real skull.
"Three. Where exactly would the blow which dealt a mortal wound over the right eye have landed? Ladies and gentlemen it is my carefully considered opinion that a knife thrust of two inches in depth into the brain, could not result in "instantaneous death" as the conspirators claimed - or necessarily in death at all. Moreover, it is equally my opinion that a knife could not penetrate the bone structure of the forehead. ' I
The descending knife slips off the bone of the skull's forehead, and buries itself in the table.
"That is my case Herr Doctor Bede,' he concludes with a bow.
"Very dramtically presented, Dr Teitelbaum," groans Bede, ''1 must thank you for an amusing morning."
"Surely it's more than that?" queries Anna, "1 found it most persuasive."
Bede looks slyly between Anna and Whitgift.
"There are many kinds of persuasion," he says.
He then turns to Dr Teitelbaum and says that he would like some time to consider what he has presented and asks him when he gives his next performance. He is told it will be 6 o'clock that evening.
2 7 .
"It may, I' he says, "become as popular as the Ripper walks. I'
Bede plainly has no idea what he is talking about.
Bede says that he would be happy to see another performance at 6 o'clock that evening.
''A most appropriate hour!" laughs Whitgift, "It was the time Marlowe and his friends returned to that same room in 1593.
I
Dr Teitelbaum excuses himself, pleading previous appointments with patients and Anna announces that she has brought a picnic hamper and suggests that they all have it in the garden.
So Whitgift, Anna, Lucinda and Professor Bede go down to the garden. We mix now through firstly to the high shot of the garden - the same angle as in Scene I to watch the two men walking up and down and Anna packing up the picnic, watched by Lucinda who does little to help.
We hear the voice from Scene I of Coroner Danby,
"On the 30th day of May 1593, the four men Ingram Frizer, Nicholas Skeres, Robert Poley and Christopher Marlowe met in a little room at the house of a certain Eleanor Bull, widow, of Deptford Strand, and dined there. Talked and walked in quiet sorts together in the garden until the sixth hour after noon, and then returned to the little room aforesaid."
We now cut down to the garden to overhear the conversation between Whitgift and Bede.
Bede quizes Whitgift on the Sonnets - about them being as he put it in his lecture "about fraud, guilt and banishment. ' I
2 8 .
And Whitgift agrees with this and says that he actually went further .
"1 said," he points out, "that they reflected the anguish of a pleading soul suffering under forced anonymity, written to a lover and protector."
Bede asks whether he really believes this and Whitgift says that of course he does and reminds him that he gave the example of the 29th Sonnet - When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I a l l alone beweep my outcast state etc. He gives other examples in the sonnets, noticeably the 50th;
How heavy do 1 journey on the way, When what I seek - my weary travel's end Doth teach that ease and that repose to say, "Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend!" The beast that bears me, tired with my woe, Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me, As if by some instinct the wretch did know His rider loved not speed, being made from thee; The bloody spur cannot provoke him on That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide; Which heavily he answers with a groan, More sharp to me than spurring to his side; For that same groan doth put this in my mind; My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.
Over this we cut away to Marlowe wearily composing the sonnet on a terrace in Padua.
Whitgift quotes the 27th: Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, The dear repose for limbs with travel tired; But then begins a journey in my head, To work my mind, when body's work's expired: etc.
Bede says that whilst he might concede there are elements of exile in the sonnets he can see nothing of the substitution plot, that Whitgift so clearly endorses. And Whitgift refers him to the 134th Sonnet.
2 9 .
So , now I have confess'd that he is thine And I myself am mortgaged to thy will, Myself 1'11 forfeit, so that other mine Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still; But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free, For thou art covetous and he is kind; He learn'd but surety-like to write for me, Under that bond that him as fast doth bind ...
and ending,
Him have 1 lost; thou hast both him and me; He pays the whole, and yet am I not free.
He gives two last examples - the 66th, with the lines -
Tired with all these, for restful death 1 cry, ... And art made tongue-tied by authority.
And the last example he gives is after we have mixed through to the early part of the evening. leaving his works in trust to Walsingham to deal with. is sonnet 48.
It is a reference to Marlowe It
How careful was I, when I took my way, Each trifle under truest bars to thrust, That to my use it might unused stay From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust!
"As you know Professor the first Folio plays were actually called "These T r i f l e s " , by John Heming and Henry Condell who collected them." says Whitgift.
''I know all that," says Bede, "but a11 this is speculation. I '
Whitgift grows more desperate in his argument.
"Please Professor, I' he says, "if you won't consider the sonnets, please consider the parallelisms."
3 0 .
And he quotes to him a number of examples where lines in Marlowe and lines in Shakespeare are either the same or very similar.He quotes from Dr Faustus, comparing it with T o i l i u s
and Cressida. From Marlowe's translation of Ovid's Elegies and Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice. From Marlowe's Passionate Shepherd to his Love, comparing it with The Merry Wives of Windsor and Marlowe's Tamberlaine with Shakespeare's Henry IVth Part 11.
Bede remains unimpressed and says he has to go and wash i n preparation for Teitlebaum's arrival as the time is now 5.30.
Whitgift has one last stab at convincing him.
"IS: all else fails, PrOfesSOr," he says, "just look
at the poetry. Only one man could have written the end of Faustus. There couldn't have been two such geniuses alive at the same time."
And he quotes from the very fine last speech of Faustus -
Ah, Faustus, N o w hast thou but one bare hoi3.r to live,
ending -
0 , 1'11 leap up to my God! - Who pulls me down? See, see, where Christs blood streams in the firmament One drop would save my soul, hal€ a drop: ah, my Christ!
B u t Bede refuses to be convinced. He says everything that Whitgift is saying is disruptive and serves no u s e f u l purpose and that it is a wicked canker that will destroy all confidence in Shakespeare. The world must not be subjected to it. All this playacting i n old rooms cannot prove anything. He is convinced that Marlowe died in 1593 snd that is a l l
there is to it.
31.
“And this irresponsible charade, It he concludes “must be stopped at all costs!”
He strides away into the house. Anna fo l lows at a distance. Lucinda tries to console Whitgift but is shrugged off impatiently.
Back in the house on the landing outside the little room at 6 o’clock, watched by Whitgift, Anna and Lucinda, Bede pushes open the door of the little room with a sonorous creak.
In the room the four dummies of Frizer, Skeres, Poley and Marlowe sit and lie as before. But there is an addition to the tableau. Sprawled across the table is D r ’ T e i t l e b a u m ,
stone dead in a wide pool of blood. A dagger protrudes from his right eye.
Whitgift, the Bedes and Lucinda reel back aghast. Anna screams hysterically.
Fade to Black.
End of Episode One
EPISODE I1 3 2 .
We s t a r t i n t h e l i t t l e room i n E l e a n o r B u l l ' s house i n Dept ford
w h e r e w e c o n c l u d e d t h e f i r s t e p i s o d e . W h i t g i f t , t h e Bedes
and Luc inda s t a n d o v e r t h e c o r p s e of D r Te i t lebaum.
W h i t g i f t l o o k s a c c u s i n g l y a t P r o f e s s o r Bede.
" T h i s c h a r a d e s h o u l d be s t o p p e d a t all cost, I t h i n k
you s a i d , p r o f e s s o r . "
" Y e s , " h e s t u t t e r s , " b u t of c o u r s e I d i d n ' t mean . . . .
I.. . . . I 1
''1 t h i n k you had b e t t e r s a v e your e x p l a n a t i o n s for t h e p o l i c e , " s a y s W h i t g i f t . " T h e y ' l l have t o know
a l l a b o u t t h i s .
"Of c o u r s e , " s a y s Bede. H e t u r n s h e l p l e s s l y t o h i s
d a u g h t e r , " P e r h a p s you would t e l e p h o n e t h e m , Anna. I'
She l e a v e s t h e m t o d o s o .
I ' I h a v e n o t h i n g t o do w i t h t h i s , you must know t h a t , "
b l e a t s Bede.
"I know no s u c h t h i n g , " r e p l i e s W h i t g i f t . "You ' r e
t h e o n e w i t h t h e m o t i v e . Y o u ' r e p r a c t i c a l l y a one-
man S h a k e s p e a r e c o t t a g e i n d u s t r y . a lways o n hand when i n c i d e n t s o c c u r t o d i s c o u r a g e
f u r t h e r i n v e s t i g a t i o n i n t o t h e Marlowe t h e o r y . "
And somehow y o u ' r e
"So y o u l v e sa id , b u t you r e a l l y c a n ' t t h i n k I would
go t o these l e n g t h s ? " Bede e x p o s t u l a t e s .
W h i t g i f t regards him c o l d l y .
"I t h i n k y o u ' r e m a d enough, y e s . "
3 3 .
"book, 'I expostulates Bede, "I couldn't have done it, I was in the garden a11 afternoon with you."
"No you weren't," repostes Whitgift, "You left at 5.30 to have a wash. Teitlebaum would have been here by then. You could easily have nipped up here and. . . .
"Preposterous! You could have done the same thing," accuses Bede.
"Why should I?" Whitgift smiles. "I endorse Teitlebaum's theory. It supports mine, that Marlowe didn't die at Deptford. 'I
They continue to wrangle with flashbacks showing the possibility of either man, or indeed Lucinda or Anna having killed Teitlebaum.
" I ' d save it for the police," concludes Whitgift,
as Anna enters the room to announce that they are on their way and that they are to touch nothing. guiltily as Anna seizes her wrist as she is a b o u t to remove the dagger from the eye of Dr Teitlebaum.
Lucinda starts back
"Nothing! Miss Semple, I' says Anna firmly, "particularly not the murder weapon, it may have your Tutor's fingerprints on it - or
"Or more likely yours or your fathers," says Lucinda tartly.
"Why more likely?" Anna flares.
34.
"Motive. I'
"1 can't believe it. Scholars don't kill people ."
"Not with daggers at any rate,'' laughs Whitgift, "though they sometimes bore them into catalepsy."
"Yet he is dead," says Lucinda, "Perhaps it was done by a rival firm of tourist operators," she jokes. "The Ripper Walk people, for example, or the proprietors of the London Dungeon, or the Haunted House Tour lot *
The police arrive in the shape of Inspector Lovelace and Sergeant Bourne, a photographer and print man. The latter two go about their work as the scene progresses.
"SO, " asks the Inspector, a dour North Country man, "You think this fellow was killed by a rival tour operator?
"It seems the most likely explanation," says Lucinda, "Though I must say it would have been more fun in the London Dungeon. T h e y c o u l d have guillotined him there or garrotted him."
"Fun?" queries the Inspector , "Murder isn' t fun young lady. I'
"Well perhaps not fun exactly officer, but gothic perhaps wouldn't you say?"
"That's not my kind of word, miss. Who is he?" he says, pointing to the corpse.
Whitgift identifies him and in response to more questions details his theory of the fake death of Marlowe and the other weird happenings in connection with his quest to prove Marlowe wrote Shakespeare.
35 .
"Looks like you could be next, sir if your suspicions are correct," remarks the sergeant grimly.
"Why?" asks Whitgift nervously.
"That would be the quickest way of closing down this 'ere Marlowe business. It seems no-one else believes in it that much."
Bede grins slyly as if he had never thought of the idea.
"It seems to me," says the Inspector to Whitgift, "yould do well to find out why MK Marlowe was arrested in the first place. Court of Star Chamber?"
By what was it you said - the
"What on earth for?" asks Whitgift.
llWell,ll says Lovelace, "He never answered to the charges did he. And that might help you find out why he was spirited away Like by this 'ere Warburton."
"Walsingham, I' Whitgift corrects.
"Aye. I mean what had he done that was so bad? It might also shed some light on this business. Someone wanting to shut down now what was never opened then. I t
"What? All this time later?"
"I suppose it's unlikely," says the Inspector, "but you never know. What I ' d like to know, Professor is exactly what was he accused of?
"Of Atheism. 'I replies Whitgift, "Blasphemy of one kind or another."
"Could be, 'I the policeman pursues , "we're dealing with some kind of religious nut here. I'd watch my step if I were you sir, A little police protection mightn't come amiss."
3 6 . "YOU don't really think so, do you?" asks Whitgift incredulously.
The Inspector merely turns to the newly sheeted form of Teitlebaum being carried out on a stretcher.
We now go to a montage sequence as Whitgift makes his way through the echoing, empty twilit streets of Deptford in Southwark. He walks down Clink Wharf, a sinister cobbled alley, down to Bankend and stands outside the Anchor Pub on Bankside, looking suspiciously behind him. Suddenly the Inn sign, a great golden anchor, falls narrowly missing him. A concerned landlord rushes out and is all apologies.
;
"My God! ' I he says, "you could have been killed. Come in and have a drink - on the house."
A much disturbed Whitgift complies. Plunket drinking a Black Velvet - champagne and guinness. He has had a clear view of the accident, if accident it be.
In the pub sits Peregrine
"Good grief , I ' he exclaims, "if it isn't the Prof. Come and birth yourself here by me and have a Black Velvet. You'll find it safer than playing crown and anchor in the street."
The landlord hastily pours a glass of guinness and champagne.
"Compliments of the house, 'I he says. that. I can't think how that thing came to come down like that."
"Nasty moment
"1 thought you were meant to be with our dear Anna down in Deptford this evening, ' I says Plunket.
''1 was and it wasn't any safer there," Whitgift replies.
And tells Plunket of the murder of Teitlebaum.
"It's certainly not safe round old man Bede," says
Plunket.
37.
"They shou ld r e a l l y l o c k him up . "
"I d o n ' t t h i n k t h a t t h a t would please Anna t o o much,"
s a y s W h i t g i f t , "Good g r i e f , speak of t h e d e v i l . "
And P r o f e s s o r Bede walks i n t o t h e pub.
"He l lo , f ancy you be ing h e r e , " h e s a y s to h i m .
The P r o f e s s o r g r i n s s h e e p i s h l y ,
"I t h o u g h t I'd l i k e t o t a k e a look a t Rose Al l ey
a n d Globe A l l e y . T h e s i g h t s o f t h e two great Shakespea rean t h e a t r e s . 'I
P l u n k e t a s k s W h i t g i f t whether h e w i l l g i v e up h i s Marlowe
t h e o r y now. Bu t W h i t g i f t s a y s n o , he w i l l s o l d i e r on. H e
means t o f o l l o w up on t h e I n s p e c t o r ' s q u e s t i o n - w h a t had
Marlowe d o n e t h a t w a s s o b a d , w i t h t h e concomi tan t sugges t ion
o f someone w a n t i n g t o s h u t down now what w a s n e v e r opened
i n 1593 .
"The E n g l i s h J e s u i t C o l l e g e a t R h e i m s i s t h e most
l i k e l y place t o s t a r t . A f t e r a l l h e w a s t h e r e i n
F r a n c i s Walsingham's employment on government service
when a t Cambridge. I'
"Watch o u t f o r f a l l i n g anchor s , 'I P e r e g r i n e calls c h e e r i l y a s W h i t g i f t leaves t h e pub.
Anna Bede i s w a i t i n g f o r W h i t g i f t i n h i s f l a t when h e g e t s
home, h a v i n g been a d m i t t e d by Lucinda Semple. She h a s been a sked to s t a y by h e r , r a t h e r r e l u c t a n t l y , h e r too e v i d e n t
b e a u t y b e i n g someth ing of an o b s t a c l e i n h e r e y e s .
H e t e l l s h e r h e has m e t P l u n k e t a t t h e Anchor I n n a t Bankside
and o f t h e a d v e n t u r e w i t h t h e I n n s i g n .
and wonders b r i e f l y i f P e r e g r i n e had a n y t h i n g t o do wi th i t .
She shows r e a l concern
3 8 .
"How could he have?" asks Whitgift, "He didn't know I would be passing that pub."
"He could have seen you through the pub window approaching," she says.
"Yes, I suppose that's possible, but why would he? What's his motive? You can't believe he's interested in closing down my Marlowe theory. He's a civil servant. I '
"Jealousy," she says seriously, "Can't you see he's madly jealous of you. He's as jealous as ..<... as . . . . I 1
" O t h e l l o ? " supplies Whitgift, "Has he any reason to be so?" he asks provocatively.
"Quite a bit, I'd have said," she answers boldly, moving close and placing an arm on his. "My dear you must be very careful."
They kiss, at first tentatively, and then more passionately.
"And you too," he rejoins, surprised at the sudden intimacy between them. "I'm not sure your father's completely sane. I think there are no lengths he wouldn't go to to protect the Shakespeare legend. The status guo is his life's work."
'lIVm afraid the police think so too," she says sadly. "They've detained him for questioning. That Inspector's a beast."
"I'm sorry to hear it, but I suppose it was inevitable."
"It wouldn't have been if you hadn't told them about the Fellows Garden and the Maritime Museum,and the Bear," she says rather sharply.
3 9 .
"You can't expect me to withold evidence now can you?"
"Don't be a prick," she says, "he's my dad and I don't believe he did any of those things."
No sooner have they come together and they are fighting.
"Well who the hell did!?" shouts Whitgift.
"Calm down, don't get excited!"
"Don't get excited?" he explodes, " I t m next according to that Inspector. What am I supposed to da - just sit around and wait for someone to knock me off?"
"If you weren't such a wimp, you'd do something," says she tartly.
"Like finding out why someone is trying to shut down now what was never opened then, as the Inspector suggested?''
"Precisely.
"Well that's exactly what I am going to do,- starting at Rheims this weekend."
"Why Rheims of all places?"
"Because we know for certain that Marlowe was on government service there, spying for Walsingham at the English Jesuit College in 1587. a l l about atheism and connected matters there I expect."
They'd know
"HOW do we know for certain?" she challenges.
"The Privy Council wrote a letter to his Cambridge College forcing them to give Marlowe his M.A., when they refused to do so on the grounds that he was A.W.O.L . I'll read it to you if you like."
4 0 .
He opens a book and does so -
"Whereas it was reported that Christopher Marlowe was determined t o have gone beyond the seas to Rheims and there to remain, their lordships thought it good to certify that he had no such intent but that in a11 his actions he had behaved himself orderly and discreetly whereby he had done Her Majesty good service and deserved to be rewarded for his faithful dealing. Their lordships' request was that the rumour thereof should be allayed by all possible means and that he should be furthered in the degree he was'to take this next commencement. Because it was not H e r
Majesty's pleasure that anyone employed as he had been in mattters touching the benefit of his country should be defamed by those that are ignorant of the affairs he went about".
"Extraordinary, 'I she says, ''1 'm coming with you. If
"Is it wise?" he replies, "It could be dangerous."
"All the more reason. You are going to need someone to look after you. If
"And daddy t o o ? " he asks.
"If the cops let him. There's nothing like a s p o t of adventure to lighten the spirits," she whoops, and throws herself into his arms.
Whitgift disengages himself.
"Did he not draw a sort of English priests, From Douai the seminary at Rheims, To hatch for treason 'gainst their natural Queen': he quotes.
"What's that from?" she asks.
41.
"The Massacre at Paris," he answers, "Let's hope there won't be one at Rheims."
We mix through to the next scene which is in the street at Rheims. We begin with a close up of the sign reading The English Jesuit College and pull back and see Whitgift, Lucinda, Professor and Anna Bede standing outside the austere 17th Century facade of that building in Rheims. A monk opens the door and announces that Father Mortirner is expecting them. Father Mortimer, a Jesuit of an austerity to match the building, greets them in a bare forbidding 17th century room whose main features are a long refectory table and a hammer beamed ceiling.
He confirms that Marlowe was there in 1587 and before and later. And he gives it as his opinion that he posed as a Catholic to spy on the inmates to determine any seditious plans they might have against the detested, from their point of view, new protestant religion in England.
"Agitation was their principle activity, I suspect," he adds, "Queen Mary who had been dead since 1558 and with her the Catholic religious dominance in England. who sought to revive it."
But there were many outside her borders
Whitgift explains why he has come. what Marlowe was accused of by the Court of Star Chamber.
Does Mortimer know exactly
'IYes," he says, "We have a copy of the indictment here, I'm pretty sure of it, or at least of the evidence offered against him. I don't think they ever got to an actual indictment. The Playwright Kyd, of course betrayed him under torture and another man completed the job. I forget his name."
"Baines?" asks Whitgift, "Was it Robert Baines?"
"Very possibly,'' says the Father, "Come 1'11 show you. Knowing you were coming and what you wanted, I looked it out."
4 2 .
They walk through the cloistered court outside towards the library.
"Of course he was very fortunate to die when he did. It looked as if he was in for a rather uncomfortable time, I ' says Mortimer.
"Yes it was most convenient," replies Whitgift, "almost too convenient, you might say."
Father Mortimer gives him a calculating look and Professor Bede snorts derisively as they enter the library. It is a forest of musty, leather-bound tomes and dingily Lit stacks. Father Mortimer goes directly to one particular folder,lying ready on a table. It is headed: Marlowe's copy.
"This is it," he says, opening it and starting to read ..." A note containing the opinions of one Christopher Marlowe concerning his damnable judgement of religion and scorn of God's word, given by, yes you're quite right - Robert Baines." He goes on reading: "He affirmeth that Moses was but a juggler and that one Hariots being Sir Walter Raleigh's man can do more than he."
''1 suppose that would be Thomas Hariot, the astronomer and mathemetician. He knew Marlowe in the School of Night," interrupts Whitgift.
"Most likely, 'I Father Mortimer replies , "I've always thought it was a pretty seditious organisation devoted to the follies and traps of free thinking."
He resumes reading - "That Christ was a bastard and his mother dishonest. That Christ deserved better to die than Barabbas, and that the Jews made a good choice, though Barabbas was both a thief and murtherer.
4 3 .
"The beginning of religion was only to keep men in awe. ' I
"If there be any God or any good in religion then it is in the Papists because the service of God is performed with more ceremonies as Elevation of the Mass, organs, singing men, shaven crowns etc, and that all the Protestants are hypocritcal asses.
"That if he were put to write a new religion he would undertake a more excellent and admirable method and that all the New Testament is filthily written.
"That the woman of Samaria and her sister.were whores and that Christ knew them dishonestly.
"John the Evanglist was bedfellow to Christ and leaned always in his bosom and he used him as the Sinners of Sodom.
"That all that love not tobacco and boys were f o o l s .
"That all the apostles were fishermen and base fellows.
"That he had as good a right to coin as the Queen of England and that he meant to coin french crowns, pistolets,and English shillings.
"That the sacrament would have been much better administered in a tobacco pipe."
"That the Angel Gabriel was bawd to the Holy Ghost because he bought the salutation to Mary.
"That one R i c Cholmley had confessed that he was persuaded by Marlowe's reasons to become an atheist.
"There i s nothing in that to make people kill today - to want my theory closed down," Whitgift interrupts. "What's the date of that document, by the way?"
4 4 .
The Father looks again at the document and says,
"Dated the 29th May 1 5 9 3 . l '
"Good grief, cries Whitgift excidedly, "HOW did it get here? If it's Marlowe's copy, Marlowe must have brought it. 'I
"He came here a lot," says Father Mortimer.
"But don't you see," pursues Whitgift, "if the orthodox theory is correct, he couldn't have, he was meant to be dead at Deptford the next day."
Father Mortimer l o o k s at him shrewdly.
"Then it very much looks as if he wasn't."
''1 don't see why," says Bede, "someone else could have brought it over later."
"NO they c o u l d n ' t, I' says Father Mortimer "Look here it was lodged here on the 31st May ,I1 and he points
to the Seal of the college's library.
"You don't seem very surprised, Father?" says Anna.
"I don't suppose I am, 'I he replies, I' I've suspected for a long time he didn't die at Deptford."
"Good God, 'I Whitgift exclaims , "how do you know that?"
"Because there's and elsewhere afterwards. I'
some tangential evidence that he was here
"Where elsewhere?" asks Whitgift, pursuing Mortimer
among the murky stacks.
"Well, 'I he Saysr 'I I 'm almost sure where he was until about 1616. I'
"The year of Shakespeare's death," says Whitgift, "Where? I'
A bell sounds.
"We are now enjoined to silence," says the Father, "Come back after the private mass I attend in the chapel over there at 5 o'clock. Take a look at it if you wish, before you go, it's rather splendid. When you return you must sample the Rheim's version of tea and crumpets,-you'll find it distinctly heretical. 'I
And he disappears into the gloom. The four of them now enter the chapel and split up to examine various parts of it. Professor Bede in particular inspects the altar with the wine and wafers set out ready for Mass.
"What wonderful panelling," he murmurs and his voice is eerily amplified by the whispering gallery which runs around the ornate little building.
Once in the street again, outside the college, Anna takes Whitgift's arm.
"What an amazing morning, 'I she exclaimed, "Your theory is proved correct."
"I'm afraid not quite, the fact that Marlowe w a s alive after 1593 doesn't mean that he wrote Shakespeare, merely that he could have done."
Whitgift, Professor Bede and his daughter return to the Jesuit College as the clock strikes 5. They are admitted as before and they wait outside the chapel for the end of Mass. the o l d chapel Father Mortimer receives the wafer and the wine from another priest. Suddenly he gasps horribly and with his face in rictus he topples from a kneeling position
Inside
to the floor in extremis.
4 6 .
The priest cries out and the little party outside rush in, but are powerless to do anything.
"He must have had a stroke," says the priest.
Anna bends over the body, sniffing the face.
"He smells of bitter almonds," she says, "It couldn't be.. . ? "
"Strychnine?" asks Whitgift grimly. "Oh yes it could," and he looks accusingly at Professor Bede.
"1 know nothing of this," he exclaims wildly.
Father Mortimer's head writhes against the woodwork of the little whispering gallery.
"Florence," he whispers so that it echoes around the chapel. "San Spirito, the curator Miss Salt, she must take you to the 17th century portrait room of the Bargello Museum. Say to her quod me nutrit me destruit, she will understand."
"That which nourishes me, destroys me," Whitgift translates.
"As it is with me, chokes Father Mortimer .
He points to the poisoned wine and wafers, smiles wryly and dies. Whitgift again l o o k s accusingly at Professor Bede.
"It seems to me, you took a strange interest in thase wafers and that altar wine, when we were here before Professor," he says.
4 7 .
"Nonsense, I' Bede blusters , "1 was merely examining those extraordinary hooded figures," as he points to some carved stone figures holding up a tomb.
The reference to this tomb is that of Philippe Pot in the Abbey Church at Citeaux.
Whitgift, the Bedes and Lucinda are now interrogated by the French police to establish what they know of Father Mortimer's murder, for it now has been established it is - by strychnine poisoning. They deny all knowledge of it. The French police Inspector is highly suspicious, particularly of Professor Bede. The London police have told him of the murder at Deptford a few days before. Finally he is forced to let them go, once they have provided forwarding addresses, which they do - in Florence.
In the street, Professor Bede tries to persuade Whitgift to give up his trying to prove Marlowe was not only alive after 1593, but was Shakespeare.
lrItls caused two deaths already, I' he pleads, "and there may well be more."
He is joined in this endeavour by Anna. Whitgift refuses.
can't stop now," he says.
On the aeroplane to Florence, the entreaty to discontinue is renewed by Anna more forcibly, showing an obvious concern for Whitgift's safety. Again he refuses.
The church of San Spirito, Florence is where w e go to next. Whitgift, Professor Bede, Anna and Lucinda arrive at the austere church of San Spirito and go inside. In the formally arranged gloom within, they make out the figure of an imperious elderly lady sitting at a table on which are some piles of informative literature on the church.
4 8 .
"Good a f t e r n o o n , 'I s h e s a y s , "welcome t o San S p i r i t o .
I t w a s d e s i g n e d i n 1 4 3 6 by B r u n e l l e s c h i , a v e r y grea t
a r c h i t e c t . / e n g i n e e r . A s you w i l l see he a c h i e v e d comple t e command of t he f o r m a l p r i n c i p l e s of b u i l d i n g
i n t h e V i t n u v i a n manner, a f u l l decade b e f o r e h i s
d e a t h .
She h o l d s o u t t h e pamphle ts , s a y i n g you may give m e what you p l e a s e f o r t h e s e . W h i t g i f t app roaches h e r .
"Miss S a l t ? "
S h e i n c l i n e s h e r head.
" I t seems t o m e t h a t quod m e n u t r i t m e d e s t r u i t , " he murmurs
a s h e looks meaningly a t h e r .
After a p a u s e s h e s a y s ,
"Who s e n t you here? ' '
" F a t h e r Mor t imer , It he answers .
"HOW i s t h e F a t h e r ? " s h e a s k s .
"I'm a f r a i d h e m e t w i t h a n u n f o r t u n a t e a c c i d e n t y e s t e r d a y , "
s a y s Anna.
"The c h a l i c e i n t h e c h a p e l w a s n o t t h e brew t h a t w a s t r u e , a l a s , " s a y s Lucinda f l i p p a n t l y .
" N o r w a s t h e wafer s a fe s , " s a y s Anna j o i n i n g h e r
mood and de termined n o t t o be outdone .
"What - c a n you mean?'' a s k s M i s s S a l t .
"Sweet , sweet, sweet p o i s o n f o r t h e aged t o o t h , "
q u o t e s P r o f e s s o r Bede.
"Good G o d ! s h e e x c l a i m s , "Why have you come?"
4 9 .
"Y,ou must take us to the 17th century portrait room in the Bargello Museum, says Whitgi-f t.
"Very well, if Father Mortimer wished it."
They set off. A montage of Florence streets, passing the David, and the Baptistry Doors of Ghiberti and takes us to the Bargello Museum where Miss Salt leads the party into a little room at the back, passing some of the better known treasures of that Museum. For example, Michelangelo's "Drunken Bacchus" and the "Bust of Brutus". The five of them crowd into this room which is filled with portraits of noble men and women. at the portrait of Sir Thomas Walsingham, named and dated 1603. She takes it off its hook and turns it over. On the reverse side is a portrait of Christopher Marlowe, similar to but older than the one we saw at Corpus Christi College Cambridge. The subject is standing by a fountain with lions. The motto, background. It too is named and dated 1603.
At the far corner, Miss Sa'lt stops
"Quod me nutrit me destruit" is written in the
"Good grief! 'I exclaims Whitgif t.
"Incredible." agrees Anna, "He was sitting for a portrait ten years after he was murdered."
Miss Salt beams at them.
"Who painted it?" asks Whitgift.
Miss Salt opens a cupboard and produces tape recorders and headphones.
"All the information you require is on those tapes. Needless to say, the normal tapes given to the general public o n l y make Thomas Walsingham, which is normally displayed and is obviously a mutual gift or lovers' shared object."
mention of the portrait of
5 0 . "There are various languages mostly Italian, but some in English. ' I
Whitgift opts for an English tape.
"My Italian is a little rusty," he says, "1 must be certain what it says."
"Take mine," says Bede exchanging them, ''1 am perfectly happy in Italian,"
Whitgift thanks him, ignoring the sneering ineundo of linguistic ignorance in his tone and dons the headphones. We cut in close to hear what the tape recorded voice is saying.
"In front of you you will see a portrait of the English playwright and poet Christopher Marlowe. It was painted in 1603 by Piedro Bernini the father of the famous Lorenzo, on the reverse side of the portrait of his patron and close friend Sir Thomas Walsingham, also by the same artist in the same year. The whole picture is something of a trornpe l'oeil and in order to get the intricate pattern in proper perspective it is necessary to fix one's eye on the tip of the central lion'snose and to step back, fifteen paces without removing one's gaze."
Whitgift, whose tape we have been listening to, follows the instructions meticulously, counting off the paces as he slowly walks backwards towards the floor to ceiling open window from which the guard rail has been removed. He does not
take his eyes off the picture.
"One, two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve thirteen fourteen fif ....I1
He is about to fall backwards into the courtyard, sixty feet
below - to his death!
END O F EPISODE TWO
5 1 .
EPISODE I11
In the 17th century portrait room of the Bargello Museum, Whitgift is still staring at the picture and is about to take the last step backwards which will pitch him out of the window into the courtyard below.
It is Miss Salt who saves him, by shouting,
"Professor Whitgift, stop! Do be careful! There's an open window behind you."
She runs to save him but misses her footing and topples through the window to her death, being impaled on the bronze horn of a unicorn by Gianbologna in the courtyard below.
For a long moment the Bede's,Whitgift and Lucinda stand appalled, and then fall to suspicion and recrimination.
"What were you thinking of?" Anna asks Whitgift, "You nearly killed yourself. 'I
"The tape was fixed," quavers the shaken Whitgift "Listen for yourself." and he plays it back.
Ingenious but over elaborate, ' I pipes Lucinda heartlessly.
"You gave it to me," Whitgift says accusingly to Professor Bede. "1 refused to give up my investigation and you decided to take the shortcut to making me."
Once again, Bede is forced to defend himself against a murder charge. Anna comes to his rescue.
"The person who fixed that tape had to have known of the existence of the Marlowe portrait," she says, "My father didn't even know it existed."
"HOW do we know that?" asks Whitgift, "He's always on hand, I notice when there's a homicide."
They continwto argue, finally pausing to reflect where they are to go next. It is Whitgift who points out that the fountain in the picture, closely resembles the one in the Lion Court in the Alhambra.
"That's where the picture was obviously painted," he says, "that's the next clue in the treasure hunt."
"Don't you think you should ask yourself a fundamental question?" asks Anna.
"Like what , If says Whitgif t .
"Well, I' replies Anna, "Inspector Lovelace thought someone was trying to close down the Marlowe investigation because of some charge against him that was never aired.
"Well, we found nothing of any possible significance at Rheims, I' he answers.
Anna is suddenly very thoughtful and very forceful.
"Could it be," she says, "that Walsingham took Marlowe out of the game because of something he had discovered and would probably have revealed under torture?"
"That is an extremely interesting thought, says Whitgift, " D o you think it might have been something Spanish?"
"HOW do I know?" she says.
"But what possible relevance could any secret Marlowe might have known,have today?" asks Whitgift.
"Again how do I know, 'I Anna replies, "But Spain is probably a good place to start. He seems to have been there posing for a picture ten years after his death. ' I
Whitgift reverses the painting on the wall to show Thomas Walsingham again.
"Then what are we waiting for?" he says.
"What about her?" says Lucinda pointing to the dead woman i n the courtyard, "They do say it's bad luck if there's no salt in the house."
"We've had all the bad luck we can handle. We don't need salt in the house," snaps Whitgift at her, "We just need a little good taste. Andiamo."
A slow mix takes us to the glorious Court of the Myrtles in the Alhambra. Whitgift, the Bedes and Lucinda walk besides the huge pool. A cloaked figure passes the portal and leads them into the fountain court. They see the cloaked medieval figure fencing with the line of fountains, slashing at the line of sprays with his sword, before finally disappearing into the Court of the Lions. They enter it, though it is apparently empty. Professor Bede and his daughter, Whitgift and Lucinda group themselves around the fountain in the Lion Court.
"It's definitely the same place as in the picture," says Whitgift.
"He was standing just there," says Anna as she points to the f a r side of the fountain.
The medieval garbed figure rises from behind the fountain. It is Marlowe, exactly as portrayed in the picture. It speaks:
"Let base conceited wits admire vile things Fair Phoebus lead me to the Muses springst1.
5 4 .
They stare at the apparition open-mouthed, as it points to the fountain.
"Come come, I' it says, "Its Marlowe's translation of Ovid's Amores Elegy XV. You of a11 men should know that, Professor Whitgift."
The figure drops his mask to reveal the self-satisfied features of Sir Peregrine Plunket.
"Salutations, Anna, I' he continues. "We do keep meeting in the strangest places."
He walks around the fountain to give her a kiss of unnecessary length and warmth, watched both by Whitgift and her father, without enthusiasm.
"What are you doing here?" she gasps when finally allowed to speak.
''1 am a member of the Hispanic Society. We re-enact old battles sometimes. You know, like the Cavaliers and Roundhead chappies' wargames in England. This week is the anniversary of when Granada fell to Ferdinand and Isabella in 1492, and Ilm practicing for it. Quite charming isn't it?"
He starts to strut around the courtyard.
"You know in the event, the Alhambra's perfection appealed as much to its Spanish conquerers as it had to the Moorish kings they dispossessed. As a monument to late medieval Islamic civilization at its most cultivated and luxurious and as an example of a rare intact survival of palace architecture, I'm s u r e you will agree the Alhambra i s quite unique, eh Professor Bede? It
55 .
"I1m not at all sure," he replies bleakly, "that all that excuses you strutting around in fancy dress at least a hundred years out of date, I should have said, and bussing me daughter in that importunate way.
"Excuse me Professor, I ' Peregrine replies, "it was just the enthusiasm of unexpectedly meeting an old friend. 'I
"Less of the old," says Anna firmly, then taking Whitgift by the arm, steers him aay, "Come, we have work to do."
"I know," he groans, "but where do we start?"
"Didn't you tell me that for example in As You Like It and The Winter's Tale that Marlowe was aching to reveal himself and had to be continually checked and prevented from doing so by Walsingham?"
"Yes," replies Whitgift, "I'm convinced he had the publication of A s You Like It stayed for twenty-three years because of Martext and the lines about "When a man's verses cannot be understood, it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room".
"Well, who's to say he wasn't more indiscreet when out of Walsingham's clutches?" suggests Anna.
"We know he was here ten years after he was supposed to be dead, so we'd better look about."
"If I were youflI says Peregrine cheerily, "I'd start with the walls of the Hall of Judgment and the Hall of the Ambassadors. They are absolutely covered with the verses of Ibn Zamrak, the great Sufi poet celebrating the beauty of the place. After all it. was for this that Boabdil, the dispossessed King of Granada, wept as he went into exile."
56 .
Anna gives hima withering look and takes Whitgift off.
At the Hall of Ambassadors, Whitgift and Anna study the panels on which Zamrak's velrses are written. They don't however yield a clue to Marlowe's presence and they give up in despair.
"Better try the Hall of Judgment , I ' says Anna. "This is getting u s nowhere."
In the courtyard between the Hall of Ambassadors and the Hall of Judgment they bump into Professor Bede with a large splash of terracotta paint on his hand and sleeve. He tries to hide it quiltily as his daughter stares at it.
"There is some wet paint in there, I ' he expostulates, "Damn careless to leave it around with no warning sign. ' I
He hurries off.
They enter the Hall of Judgment. The same panels of Zamrak verses are repeated, but in one corner the whole panel has been painted over in a deep terracotta.
"Odd, ' I says Whitgift trying it with his finger and sniffing, "the paint's scarcely dry. Your father's right,there should be a warning of some kind."
''1 suppose so, " says Anna, "but what interests me is why only this bit of wall has been painted."
''1 frankly don't see the interest," says Whitgift, "but perhaps it conceals something, I' he muses,
"Perhaps something has been recently painted over."
"That should be easy to determine," says Whitgift and hurries from the room.
Anna follows him into t h e entrance hall.
There he spies a pile of illustrated guides through the Alhambra. Quickly he turns the pages of one of them.
"Here! 'I he cries, " look! I'
A full double page colour photo reveals the missing panel. It reads:
A night sometyme of worthie fame Sir Thomas of Chiselhurst was his name Master was hee of Scadbury Serving therein many years space Continuously in his Monarchs good grace Unto him did 1 send most privily A paper to wound fair Albion perfidiously I can but hope like me it will be hidden away For a time without end, without hope, without stay.
At the bottom of the panel reads:
We All Make His Praise.
"Well it's unquestionably Marlowe," says Whitgift.
"HOW do you know?" asks Anna.
"Well it's plainly addressed to his patron Thomas Walsingham, the master of Scadbury Castle near Chiselhurst and is also a parody of the inscription on his grand- father ' s tomb. ''
And he quotes:
"A knight sometime of worthy fame Sir Edmund Walsingham was his name Lieutenant he was of London Tower Serving therein twenty-three years space Continually in h i s Princes good grace.''
"And the last lines of course refer to Marlowe's exile,.l[ adds Anna, "like me hidden away f o r a time without end, without hope, without stay. Poor o l d
sod ! 'I
58 ..
"Poor old sod indeed," Whitgift agrees, "Could any great artist have ever had a more miserable time of it, divorced completely from his public and all recognition, for the greatest literature in the world."
"And his lover," says Anna, drawing close to Whitgift.
They kiss. He notes a terracotta paint stain on the sleeve of her dress. She follows his gaze.
''1 must have picked it up just now," she says with a laugh and adds quickly as if to change the subject, "What do you make of the verse as a whole?"'
"It's pretty obvious, isn't it?" says Whitgift.
"You mean Marlowe in his capacity of Spy," says Anna, "sent to what I suppose we would call today his control, Walsingham, a document revealing a plot of enormous potential damage to England? - Albion that's England isn't it?"
"Exactly," he agrees. "A document so dangerous that he hopes he will hide it away ..."
"Any guesses?" she says.
"It was probably a Catholic plot," he replies. "If it emanated from here, a Spanish plot from 1593 onwards since Marlowe was already exiled. 'I
'#Or before," says Anna shrewdly, "He might have found out something from years before."
"You mean Pre-Elizabeth?"
l f I t l s possible."
5 9 .
''1 can't believe any secret at that time, however perfidious would be worth killing to preserve today."
She shivers as a breeze stirs the curtained doorway and comes into his arms again.
"I'm frightened," she says.
A shadowy figure moves outside on the sundrenched flagstone.
Still with his arm round Anna, he draws aside the curtain to reveal in the dazzling courtyard, the lurking figure of Lucinda Semple. One hand is behind her back as she stares malevolently at the entwined couple.
"Well," she sneers, "If it's not a marriage of Marlowe and Shakespeare ... Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments!"
Terracotta paint drips on the flagstones behind her.
"What's that you have behind your back," demands Whi tgif t .
Slowly she brings a paintbrush into view, it is covered in terracotta paint. Anna is determined to give her a Shakespearean quotation back.
"I've heard of your paintings too well enough, God has given you one face and you make yourself another".
Lucinda flushes at the riposte.
IrI found it on the ground here," she stutters, "It's not mine. I'
"Well stop snooping about," says Whitgift as he lets the curtain f a l l back into place.
6 0 .
"She gives me the creeps," says Anna.
"It's just jealousy," Whitgift replies, "and all that sort of thing."
He and Anna go back to their contemplation of the verse on the wall, s t i l l closely entwined.
"Where do you think that document is now?" asks Anna.
"If you were Walsingham, where would you have hidden it?" a s k s Whitgift,
"Do you know?" she enquires o f h i m .
"I can only guess," he replies, ' I - where it couldn't be readily got at. I suppose its going to be a question of luck. I'
" A r e you going to tell me?" she pouts.
"Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest Chuck I till thou applaud the deed," he quotes.
She says, "The Scottish p lay?"
"Yes I
"You know you shouldn't quote it. Itls bad luck."
"We've had nothing but bad luck since we started this whole thing," he replies, " K n o w how it goes on? 'I
She shakes her head.
61.
"Light thickens and the crow Makes wing to the rooky wood Good things of day begin to droop and drowse Whiles night's black agents to their preys do rouse."
She shivers again.
"Christ that's creepy. I '
He puts his arm around her and they have another tender moment. Suddenly she breaks free and asks brightly,
"What do you make of the last line -
We A l l Make His Praise?''
Whitgift stares at it moodily for a long beat, then his face clears and he laughs delightedly.
"Well he could hardly sign his own name, could he? Good o l d Marlowe. It's the confirmatory clue we've been looking for."
Anna looks baffled.
"Don't you see," Whitgift goes on, "its an anagram and what's more a cognate anagram."
' 'A what?" she asks testily.
"A cognate anagram," he pontificates, " i s a special variety of anagram in which the letters of a word or phrase are transposed to form another word or phrase which redefines or is closely related in meaning to the original."
"Can you give me a for instance, oh sage?" she asks.
6 2 .
"The taming of the shrew. Her mate won the fights. The ten commandments. Can't mend m o s t men. Western Union. No wire unsent. Abandon hope all ye who enter here. Hear Dante!. Oh beware yon open hell."
"That's quite enough of that," she say, llItm not sure I'll be able to solve this, I'm not much good at anagrams. 'I
"You should be with a name like yours - dear Anna. J u s t study it for a moment. It's absolutely v i t a l you get it. You see it's the clincher."
t
The camera moves to an extreme close up of the words, We All Make H i s Praise.
A voice comes to us, shrill and excited.
''Ilve got it! Good God its.. ..."
We fade to Black.
END O F EPISODE 111
EPISODE IV
We resume in the entrance hall of the Alhambra with an extreme close up of the words: of the verse in the photograph in the brochure, and pull back to see Anna and Whitgift standing close together.
WE ALL MAKE HIS PRAISE at the foot
"Its Rumplestiltskin! I ' she exclaims.
"Close, 'I he says, "you 've got another guess. I'
She kisses him.
"You were right a11 along darling, of course. Its William Shakespeare!
"I'd say your search was over now," says Anna. "Are you really interested in finding the paper?"
"Certainly, I ' he says, "three people have died because of it and a couple of attempts made on my own life, I can't give up now. Who knows it might turn out to be a confession of the whole Deptford plot. Marlowe might wellhave been vain enough to consider that the concealment of his identity was an important enough event to "wound fair Albion perfidiously". What is certain is he was very bitter about it. Just read the sonnets if you don't believe me. I tried to persuade your father but he wouldn't listen.
"When in disgrace with fortune and mens eyes," she quotes, IrI alone beweep my outcast state and trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries and look upon myself and curse my fate': ... frankly I don't blame him. When do we start?"
He kisses her.
6 4 .
"Tomorrow. Tonight I suggest we devote to Spanish pleasures. To Paella - Rioja and Flamenco!"
In a moonlit moorish garden, Whitgift and Anna drink together and dance to the accompaniment of fierce and fiery guitars.
While they dance, a waiter delivers two plates of pael la
to the table, half a dozen pigeons fly onto the table and start to peck the food, three to a plate. Anna returns to the table a beat before Whitgift and passes her hands over Whitgift's plate ostensibly to shoo off the pigeons.
Whitgift joins her and is about to start eating when he notices the three Pigeons which had been pecking at his piate, keel over and die. The others seem unharmed.
The head waiter is summoned and interrogated, but a flood of Spanish regretful and indignant expostulation both from him and the chef fails either to explain the poisoned food or to locate the waiter who served it. A gringo or foreigner is mentioned as having been seen in the vicinity of the kitchen but noone can describe him. Whitgift describes Professor B e d e , and asks if they recognise the description, but only succeeds in antogonising Anna. her father is not a murderer.
Who again stoutly maintains
The evening ends in resentful chaos, with Whitgift pointing out that whether he is or not,someone yet again has tried to kill him.
O n the aeroplane back to England the next day the mood is sullen, with Lucinda and Anna sniping at each other, Professor Bede deriding the Marlowe verse and anagram being "far-fetched, factious and specious".
and
Whitgift loses his temper with him.
"I suppose you'll decry the fact that Marlowe was alive in 1603, next? And the murders as being specious. he storms.
My money is still on you Bede,"
6 5 .
It is an unhappy band of travellers that reaches Heathrow.
Later that day Whitgift makes his way to the office of Inspector Lovelace in Scotland Yard. He is stitting with Sergeant Bourne as he is shown in and greeted with a cup of tea. He tells the Inspector that his investigation of his theory that the Star Chamber had something on Marlowe of crucial significance go the modern world has drawn a blank.
"Heresy is not a contemporary obsession," he says, "AS Hobbes says - 'They that approve a private o p i n i o n call it opinion, but they that dislike it, heresy'. In an age of inflation, I'm afraid that heresy is one of the few important things to have been devalued," he concludes.
"I think the law has too," says the Inspector sourly.
"Why do you say that?" asks Whitgift.
"I have my reasons. I'
"TO do with this business?"
"Happen. Can you shed any light on the Teitlebaum murder at Deptford?"
"NO, nothing at all, we were closed down weren't we. 'I
"Closed down?"
"It w e r e taken out of o u r hands by the Home Office, I reckon its the last we'll hear of it."
"But why?"
"Search me. There's a damn sight too much closing down going on about the place if you ask me."
66 .
"will you give me your pr iva t e opinion, Inspec tor?"
"Maybe. 'I
"Is it Professor Bede?"
"In my book he's certainly the prime suspect. He's got the motive hasn't he. Bloody Shakespearean scholar!"
" S o ' s his daughter," says the Sergeant suddenly, "She's very protective-won't hear a word against him. He were on the spot in Rheims too weren't he when that priest got done, Father Whats-is-pame?"
"Mortimer. I'
"Aye, Mortimer. Poisoned in a ruddy chapel from what the Frogs tell u s . You're safe no-where these days. I '
"There have been other instances too," says Whitgift, "including several attempts on my life."
''1 told you to watch your step, Professor,"
"So you d i d Inspector, by the way is that offer of police protection still on?"
"1 can do nowt about that now si r I'm afraid," says the inspector, "the investigation is officially closed from a police point of view. if you want to make o l d bones, as they say."
Just be doubly careful
"1 I 11 certainly t r y , Inspector. I'
6 7 .
"There's one thing you can do Prof. I'
"What I s that then?"
"Give up on this Marlowe business, it's obviously got some nut all fired up. 'I
"Not j u s t yet, I've got a four hundred year-old piece of paper to find first."
"What's on it then"
"I suspect the secret Marlowe knew. The reason why he was spirited away by Walsingham so as not to face the torture of the Court of Star Chamber, under which he would have almost certainly have spilled the beans. The reason for the whole Marlowe Shakespeare masquerade. Where would you hide such a thing Inspector?"
'I1 wouldn't know where to begin sir," he replies, "as I say I'd leave it alone."
Back in his flat Whitgift is on the phone to Anna in Cambridge.
"Meet me," he says "at Victoria station at 11 o'clock at the booking o f f i c e . "
"Where are we going?" she asks
"On a treasure hunt," he answers, "in the garden of England. I t
can guess," she says.
"And f o r God's sake don't tell your father. I want to live a few days longer."
6 8 .
At Victoria Station Anna runs up at two minutes to eleven and they have to run for the train which they board at the last gasp with Anna pulling the less quick Whitgift up into the carriage at the last moment.
We zoom away to the gate at the end of the platform to see it slammed by a Porter in the face of the infuriated Professor Bede whose speed has not been able to match that of the younger couple. and smiles understandingly.
He looks up at the destination board over t h e gate
The train draws in at Chiselhurst station.
"I thought so, ' I says Anna, "We' re going to Scadbury, Walsingham's home. ( I
"What's left of it," Whitgift replies, "it was mostly demolished in 1727.
"Then why are we - ? "
"We might get lucky," he replies, "bits and pieces remain. You must be prepared to fossick."
I' F o s s i c k?
"An old Australian word, much used by gold prospectors for rummaging about in abandoned workings.
They jump out of the train and take a taxi.
We mix through to the overgrown ruins of Scadbury Castle. With the aid of a guidebook Whitgift goes first to the blasted Oak Tree, which he rescites "is reputed to have lent its shade to Queen Elizabeth when she visited Scadbury in 1597". Anything inside it?" he asks as Anna kneels to peer through a hole in the bowl of the tree.
6 9 .
"Like what?" she asks, with her head in the tree. "A box, a chest, a casket? A hornet's nest?" says she.
"You could always give it a poke with that stick to see if it is concealing anything," he jokes.
To his surprise she does as instructed.
"First the good news, there's no-one home in hornet hall, 'I she says rising, "The bad news is there's no box or chest or casket."
She is covered in dirt and cobwebs and brushes herself down. Whitqift consults the guide book.
''A partial re-construction of Scadbury," he reads, "was undertaken by Mr. Hugh Marsham-Townshend the father of the present owner in the 1920s in an attempt to restore something of its ancient glory. It w a s
at this time that the moat was restored to its former beauty. .. I don't suppose you brought a net did you? I'
"No , sorry. I'
"Or grappling hooks?''
" A l a s if only you had said."
They make their way to the moat.
"Well there is no help for it, b u t to dive down to see what we can find, off you g o , "
Without a pause, she strips off her dress and dives into the moat. She disappears for so l ong a time that he starts getting worried. Finally she emerges covered i n duck weed,
"Got some marvellous hidden treasure," she s a y s ,
and lifts up a broken bicycle. "Can't see a bloody thing, I'm afraid."
7 0 .
" P i t y . Want t o t r y a g a i n ? "
" I t ' s no u s e , " s h e s a y s . B u t a though t o c c u r s ,
"When t h e y w e r e r e s t o r i n g i t t o i t s former beau ty ,
t h e y must have d r a i n e d it.
box , c h e s t o r c a s k e t t h e n . " They'd have found t h e
" A v e r y t e n n a b l e p o i n t of v iew," he a g r e e s a s h e
g i v e s h e r hand o u t of t h e moat and o f f e r s h e r h i s sweater t o d r y h e r s e l f on.
He t h e n c o n s u l t s t h e g u i d e book a s s h e c l imbs back i n t o h e r
d r e s s .
s h e a s k s .
"The wooden b r i d g e , s t a n d i n g on t h e s i t e of t h e o l d
d r a w b r i d g e , " h e r e a d s , " I t s p o s i t i o n i s i n l i n e w i t h
t h e 1 1 t h c e n t u r y b r i c k archway g i v i n g access t o t h e
o u t e r c o u r t and moat ."
They go t o t h e h a l f r u i n e d wooden b r i d g e and Anna, o b e d i e n t
t o h i s d i r e c t i o n s c l i m b s unde r it and r o o t s about i n t h e
spooky h a l f - d a r k among t h e r a t s and s p i d e r s . She f i n d s n o t h i n g
and s p r e a d s h e r hands i n a g e s t u r e of d e f e a t .
''1 s u p p o s e t h e archway i s n e x t . "
P a i n s t a k i n g l y s h e c l i m b s up t h e archway t o s e a r c h t h e br ickwork
a t t h e t o p . A large one comes loose , behind t h e crest revealing
a s i z e a b l e c a c h e . For a moment t h e r e i s hope, b u t it proves
empty. W e a r i l y s h e c l i m b s down, t e a r i n g h e r s t o c k i n g and
b r e a k i n g a n a i l . They s e a r c h i n v a i n a r u i n e d b r i c k s ta i rcase
l e a d i n g down t o t h e k i t c h e n s .
The e x t e r i o r o f t h e modern r e c o n s t r u c t i o n c o v e r i n g t h e o r i g i n a l
t imbers of Scadbury G r e a t H a l l gets a c u r s o r y su rvey b e f o r e
t h e y e n t e r t h e G r e a t H a l l .
71.
In it Anna scrambles all over the ancient timbers searching the king post and musicians gallery for the casket.
Whitgift reads from his guide book:
"These timbers were re-erected in 1921 having been removed at the time of the general dernoljtion to Foots Cray. I'
"In which case they're scarcely worth searching," says Anna, "any casket or paper would already have been found.
An old beam suddenly gives way plummeting Anna through the floor of the gallery. She hangs on by her fingertips.
"Anything in there?" asks Whitgift insouciantly, and pointing into the gaping hole now created.
"NO, just a few vampire bats and a tarantula."
Whitgift buries his nose in the book again.
"Rooms and parts of the house listed were the great Brown Parlour, The Queen Elizabeth R o o m . The Chamber of the Maids of Honour. The Andrew-Gentlemens Valets Room. The Plod Room."
"Would you care to plod over here and help me down?" Anna interrupts.
Whitgift saunters over and she drops into his arms. her an encouraging kiss which mollifies her.
He gives
"Let's not give up," he says, leading the way to a huge Beech Tree.
"What's so special about this tree?" asks Anna.
7 2 .
"Look at the left hand side of the trunk, I' says Whitgift, studying the book.
Anna does as she is told and exclaims, as the camera zooms into an extreme close up of the initials C . M . deeply incised on the front.
"1 wonder if it also says secret paper in casket hidden in w e l l , " she says, pointing to an old well not far distant.
"Better look," says Whitgift, "it would be just the place.
And they move over to the w e l l . He lowers her downunsteadily in a rusty bucket on a frayed rope at which she cocks a suspicious eye.
'I1 expect it'll hold. Just as well I've been doing a little banting."
At the bottom of the well, half covered in mud and dead leaves, her foot strikes against a small medieval casket.
"Bingo! 'I she calls up excitedly, "I've found it - a box, chest or casket."
Whitgift quickly hauls her up to the surface and takes the box from her.
"Well done," he says, helping her from the bucket, ''1 was sure it was here somewhere. What great secret will it contain? Surely this is the end of the trail!"
The chest is locked and Whitgift after vainly struggling with it has to hunt about for some instrument to free the hasp. and proceeds to hammer at the lock.
After much impatient delay he finally finds a stone Anna takes it from him
7 3 .
and inserts a hairpin from her hair and it suddenly springs open.
"It's not so difficult when you know how," she tells the open-mouthed Whitgift, ''a pre-teen career in burglary helps. "
They open the chest and find an old parchment inside. is written in a medieval hand. camera follows the lines:
It Anna reads it out as the
"This day 30th Mai in the year of grace 1593 was murthered my goode friende Christopher Marlbwe stabbed dead at Deptford. I'
This is followed by some lines of verse.
"Marlowe admired whose honey flowing vaine No English writer can as yet attaine Whose name in fame's immortal treasurie Truth shall record to endless memory Live still in heaven thy soule Thy fame on earth Thou dead, of Marlowe's Hero findes a dearth 0 had that king of poets breathed longer Then had fair beauties fort been much more stronger! His gaulden pen had closed her so about No bastard aeglet's quill the world throughout Had been of force to m a r r e what he had made For why they were not expert in that trade What mortal1 soule with Marlowe mighk contend That could 'gainst reason force him stoop or bend Where silver - shining tongue moves such delight That men would shun their sleepe in still dark night To meditate upon his goulden lynes His rare conceits and sweete - according rymes But Marlowe still admired Marlowe's gone To live with beauty in Elyzium There ever live the prince of poetrie Live with the living in Eternitie
(Continued)
7 4 I
"And cursed be Frizer and his treacherous knife Who so before times ended Marlowe's life Henceforth only can I cry unto the skies And beweep the man with mouth of gauld And morning in his eyes At St Nicholas Church I will make his grave And for times long course sad tears my cheeks will lave.
At the bottom is written Thomas Walsingham Knight mentor and best begotten friend to mightie Marlowe."
She finishes reading. There is a long silence between them and both realise what it means. Whitgift's theory is in ruins.
A figure moves out from behind a tree. It is Professor Bed@ he is grinning delightedly.
"Very moving. But I'm sure you know what it means Whitgift - your theory is a dead duck. By his patrons own hand condemned. Clearly Marlowe died on the 30th May 1593. Vale Marlowe! Salve Shakespeare!"
Very nicely phrased Anna.
"1 'm sorry darling," says Anna, "perhaps the Inspector was right. and saved twenty wasted years."
You should have discontinued the search
"No, 'I says Whitgif t , "the truth s important. Sooner or later, like murder it will out. You know I always did wonder why the lover was so content to be apart. Of course if he'd buried him ....'I
He walks away slowly, his progress followed by the sorrowing eyes of Anna and the gloating ones of her Father.
"Strange there's no headstone," he murmurs, thinking
deeply.
"Time of the plague, a lot were buried like that," says Professor Bede, cheerfully. "Anyway I shouldn't worry about it any more, it's a dead letter."
7 5 .
"It still doesn't explain the murders though does it." Whitgift adds thoughtfully.
"Obviously the murderer didn't know of this paper," says Bede, "No-one did - you've just found it haven't you? It's been hidden away for nearly four hundred years. I'
"Yes," says Whitgift, "but I think you're wrong. I think the murderer did know of this letter," and then he adds with growing excitement, "I think he knew of it because he forqed it!"
"How do you know that?" asks Bede furiously.
"Because Marlowe never spelt his name like that. Marlowe - M-a-r-1-0, yes, or M-a-r-1-o-e, or M-a-r-l-e-y, or M-e-r-1-i-n, but not Marlowe M-a-r-l-o-w-e - not 'till some time later. It's the same with Christopher. Even his own signature shows its spelt C-h-r-i-s-t-o-f-e-r M-a-r-l-o-y.
"Spellings changed all the time in those days, that proves nothing," says Bede angrilly.
"1'11 tell you what does though. Read me the last few lines Anna again, beginning henceforth only can I cry unto the skies.''
She takes out the paper and reads:
"Henceforth on ly can I cry unto the skies A n d beweep the man with mouth of gauld A n d morning in his eyes ....I1
"That's enough thank you. You overreached yourself this time Bede. In an effort to write blank verse
(Continued)
7 6 .
llyoulve plagerised Swinburne nearly three hundred years later. He wrote: The star that Marlowe sang into our skies With mouth of gold and morning in his eyes ... Really! It
"Swinburne could have taken it from Walsingham."
"HOW?" asks Whitgift, "You just said no-one knew of this paper,.it's been hidden away for nearly four hundred years.
"You've got a point," says Anna.
"You keep out of this! snarls Bede.
"You know what I think, Professor Bede," says Whitgift, ''1 think that since I've failed to heed your warning to give up my search to prove that Marlowe was Shakespeare, neither your murders nor the clumsy attempts on my life - I think you decided to take a less homicidal way to clbsing me down. A more profesorial one. You decided that I should find a contemporary medieval proof that my theory was wrong and that Marlowe was actually dead when he was believed to be. Quite sound thinking. It would have worked if you hadn't made those silly mistakes."
"Nonsense," the Professor blusters, "I've got nothing to do with this, any more than I have with the murders. And I still believe it to be a true document."
"It's the plainest rubbish," says Whitgift. "But let's not argue about it, I've got plenty of Walsingham's handwriting to compare it with."
Bcde's face falls.
7 7 .
"Coming back t o London Anna?" a s k s W h i t g i f t .
They go o f f t o g e t h e r a r m i n a r m , l e a v i n g P r o f e s s o r Bede fuming.
I t i s n i g h t t i m e i n S i r P e r e g r i n e P l u n k e t ' s smart London
f l a t on t h e Embankment. Anna i s having d i n n e r w i t h him
and having some d i f f i c u l t y i n f e n d i n g o f f h i s o i l y a t t e n t i o n s .
T o keep h im a t bay s h e r e c o u n t s t h e adventure of Scadbury
w i t h W h i t g i f t and h e r f a t h e r .
"He ' s g o i n g t o e x t r a o r d i n a r y l e n g t h s t o s t o p W h i t g i f t , "
h e s a y s , "1 remember you say ing a t t h e R i t z he w a s n ' t q u i t e r i g h t i n t h e head ."
" I t w a s n ' t my s u g g e s t i o n , " s h e s a y s h o t l y .
"All t h e same,'' s a y s P e r e g r i n e , "he c a n ' t be a l l t h e r e , r u n n i n g around t h e p l a c e t e a r i n g pages o u t
of h i s t o r i c a l r e c o r d s i n museums, and p l a n t i n g phoney
m a n u s c r i p t s i n w e l l s . Q u i t e a p a r t from more homic ida l
a d v e n t u r e s . F r a n k l y I c a n ' t t h i n k why h e ' s s t i l l a t l a r g e . . . I mean look a t h im t h e r e , " a n d he p o i n t s
t o some f l a s h l i g h t p h o t o s among o t h e r s on t h e coffee
t a b l e which show P r o f e s s o r Bede i n t h e wings w i t h
t h e b e a r and h i s t r a i n e r Sam a t t h e performance of
The W i n t e r ' s T a l e . ''I mean t o s a y , " conc ludes P e r e g r i n e
" t h a t b e a r s t u n t was a b s o l u t e c r a z i n e s s . "
"Good g r i e f ! s a y s Anna, "Sam t h e b e a r ' s t r a i n e r
said h e n e v e r m e t t h e man who r e n t e d t h e bear.
Y e t t h e r e h e i s t a l k i n g t o my dad!"
"Peop le l i e , It s a y s P e r e g r i n e , "he was p robab ly
a l r e a d y i n t r o u b l e w i t h t h e po l i ce . ' '
"May I k e e p t h i s pho to?" s a y s Anna.
And he a s s e n t s , s l i p p i n g it i n t o h e r pocket and h i s a r m a r o u n d h e r . She s t r u g g l e s f r e e , t e l l i n g him she has formed an a t t a c h m e n t
t o W h i t g i f t .
7 8 . He backs off sourly and in the debris of the evening she takes her leave.
We now move to Whitgift's apartment. Lucinda is serving Whitgift dinner and hovering about him flirtatiously as he compares the Scadbury paper with some writing of Sir Thomas Walsingham.
"Would you say they were anything alike?" she bends over seductively to compare them, her breasts resting on his head. "Not the remotest bit, poor old Edmund, what a nasty hoax. 'I
She smoothes his cheek. The doorbell sounds and sh,e is reluctantly forced to admit Anna and leave herself. She listens however to the conversation from behind the door.
"Sorry to invade you," she says, "but Peregrine sometimes comes on a little too strong."
He shows her the handwriting comparison.
"Quite ridiculous," she says, "not even an attempt made. Why don't we compare it with my father's since he claims he is innocent."
"Good idea, I' he agrees,
and turns to a contemplation of the real motive of the murders and where Marlowe's secret document can actually be, if it exists.
"There's only one place it can be you know," says Whitgift, "If it's this important - enough to 'wound fair Albion perfidiously' - you couldn't trust it to anybody, you'd have to take it to the grave with you, wouldn t you?''
"Good grief ! 'I exclaims Anna, "you mean. . . 'I
"Yes. We've got to open Walsingham's tomb in t h e
family vault in the Scadbury Chapel in St Nicholas' Church, Chislehurst." .
7 9 .
"Won't we have to get permission?"
"Yes," he says, "from the Consistory Court of the Diocese. (I
"Well then?"
"It will probably take about six months and they will probably refuse."
" S o we go in illegally-tomorrow night for choice. Pick axes, crowbars, spades, torches, rope..''
"Chocky , 'I she says.
"Certainly, it's going to be a long night."
"Goody. Two dozen Mars bars then!"
Outside the door, Lucinda steals away s m i l i n g t o herself. I .
< I '
In Whitgift's car he and Anna drive towards Chislehurst is about seven o'clock in the evening. The back seat is full of the excavating equipment previously described. Anna is already working her way through the Mars B a r s .
Once at St Nicholas' churchyard, they transfer the equipment quickly into the Walsingham family vault in the church and this area now becomes the site of considerable activity. Anna and Whitgift work by flashlight to open the .altar tomb.
In a longish montage, they succeed in their task, stopping once to let the vicar pass by outside and crouching down out of sight behind the tomb as he does so. get the lid off the tomb o n l y to find sand. dig it out - vast quantities of it, o n l y to find nothing.
Finally they Frenziedly t h e y
The tomb which is three and a half feet above floor level is completely empty.
Anna looks at Whitgift disconsolately.
"It may well be," he says, "that Sir Thomas himself and any manuscrips buried with him are in the vault below this altar tomb - let's take a look."
Ne takes an electric drill and they climb into the altar tomb and he dKills through the old bricks on the base of it. Suddenly the note of drilling changes as the bit bites air. Whitgift takes a periscope and inserts it into the hole and squints through it.
f
In the vault below we plainly see a man-sized leaden casket.
"Eureka! 'I whoops Whitqif t , "He I s down there! Lapped in l ead , Come on!" he shouts, as he starts
in with pick and crowbar to widen the aperture in the f loo r
of the altar tomb.
A further montage sees them achieve this, and with the aid of the rope they lower themselves into the depths of the vault.
They then set themselves to open the ornate Elizabethan casket they find there, with Sir Thomas Walsingham's name intagliated on it.
After a few hammer and chisel blows it creaks open to reveal a shrouded skeleton and at its feet two small chests. suddenly hear the sound of footsteps overhead and freeze.
They
In the semi-darkness a figure agilely descends the rope and a drawling voice says,
"You should have brought your bucket and spade to that party upstairs my children."
81.
It is Sir Peregrine Plunket.
"Can't we go anywhere without you showing up?" asks Whitgift nastily. "Didn't they ever tell you
three's a crowd."
"But four's a hand of bridge," says Peregrine, come down my dear."
And Lucinda climbs down the rope under the contemptuous eyes of her mentor.
''Yes," says Peregrine, "the little minx told me what you were going to do. Grave robbers eh? Quite t h e
modern Burke and Hares. But surely you won't be offering Sir Thomas' corpse for dissection? He's far too decrepit for that."
"NO we won't be distrubing him," says Whitgift.
"Might I ask what you have come here for?"
"The same thing as you have," says Anna, "we've led you here haven I t we?"
"Quite right my dear but how did you guess?"
"We11 you've been following us about right from t h e
beginning - that wretch Lucinda has been betraying our plans to you, hasn't she?"
"A few pointers, 'I agrees Plunket, "It s been helpful to know your movements."
"Why?" asks Whitgift of his pupil, "did you betray us to this man. the Marlowe theory as I was."
I thought you were as excited about
82.
"Rubbish," she s a y s , "it was you I fancied not bloody Marlowe - and what did I get for my pains - zilch - rejection! Well you know us women scorned are vessels of wrath, so I thought I'd teach you a l e s son . I didn't want you to succeed and be all famous and everything.
She starts to c r y .
"Christ I've been slow," says Anna, ''1 should have guessed you shitty old Peregrine were at the bottom of things from that flashlight photograph of dad."
I
She drags it out of her pocket to show to Whitgift.
"See it shows dad in the wings at The Winter's Tale with Sam and his bear. So he wasn't in the auditorium taking flashlight photos - that was Peregrine. Therefore he was the one told not to take them by Sam, and must have been the mystery man who hired the bear. I'
-
"Curses , curses , " camps Peregrine, "All is discovered run for your life!"
"And did the forgery at Scadbury," says Whitgift.
"And did everything else , including t h e murders," adds Anna, "and attempted murders. 'I
I 1 I 1 r n glad it wasn't your dad," says Whitgift, "I'm sorry I accused h i m . "
"Well he did look pretty suspicious, poor dear popping up out of the woodwork every time someone got deaded."
Whitgift turns to face Peregrine and says to h i m ,
8 3
"That anchor was pretty clumsy at Bankside and so was the tape recorder at the Bargello."
"They were meant as warnings, as much as serious murder attempts," drawls Peregrine, "You were meant to be discouraged from continuing your Marlowe Shakespeare theory."
"1 cannot believe that anyone cared that much whether Marlowe was Shakespeare or not," says Anha.
"They don't, I' says Peregrine, "no-one really gives a damn about that."
"We11 what is it they really give a damn about the government I mean? I presume it is the government?" asks Anna, ' I - your bosses."
"Oh yes, no question of that," answers Peregrine, "and what we give a damn about is in that small chest there. I'
And he points to the chest in Walsingham's tomb.
"You see we knew your Marlowe Shakespeare researches would eventually lead you here to this tomb of Sir Thomas's and we didnlt want that, because of what we knew you would almost certainly find in that little chest. I'
"And what is that?" asks Whitgift.
''A paper to wound fair Albion perfidiously I I' Plunkett replies, "a secret so virulent that it will deliver England into the hands of its enemies."
84.
"HOW do you know what's in there?"
"Ready for a little history lesson, are we?" Plunket asks, "Well recently we discovered the translation of a cipher effected by the great tudor cryptologist Thomas Phelippes who deciphered Mary Queen of S c o t s '
letters to Babington encouraging him to start a Spanish revolution against Queen Elizabeth, murder her and make her Queen instead. Babington was promised help from Philip 11 of Spain to start a Catholic uprising in England, to occupy what was by rights theirs. Anyway, this cipher referred to an event of thirty years earlier to in fact the marriage of another Mary - Mary Tudor, Henry VIIIth's daughter and Queen of England to this same Philip I1 of Spain in 1555. She did this in flat disregard of her subjects wishes, making, as George Trevelyan puts it: "England the cockboat tied to the stern of the great Spanish Galleon." With Philip of Spain husband to a doting Queen, England was for three years vassal of the great Spanish monarchy. The terms of the royal marriage were most injurious to England and the Venetian Envoy declared that "Mary
was bent on nothing but making the Spaniards masters of her kingdom". Actually, she had done more than that, as Marlowe had discovered on a spying mission for Walsingham in Spain in the early 1 5 9 0 ' s
- much, much more. If you open that chest you will see exactly how much more, and why it was necessary for Walsingham to ensure that it didn't come out under torture at the behest of the Court of Star Chamber. ' I
Whitgift opens the smaller of the two chests. In it is an old parchment. He unfolds it and reads:
"Dated this new year's day 1555 as a gift outright in contemplation of marriage to my best beloved
(Continued)
85.
"royal liege, King Philip I1 of Spain and to be part of that same marriage settlement I cede all the lands of my kingdom to the dominance and rule of Spain, signed Mary Tudor Regina."
Whitgift whistles in surprise.
"Wow!" says Anna. "You mean Britain belongs to Spain?"
"Precisely," says Peregrine, "The country of course never knew of it because Mary knew it would never stand f o r it, but you can see why Marlowe called it 'la paper to wound fair Albion perfidiously", and why Walsingham thought it best to take it'to the grave with him. 'I
"Why didn't Mary finally publish it, or Philip for that matter?" asks Whitgift.
"1 think they feared a revolution, if they did, and remember Mary was dead three years later and Philip's eye had already turned to her sister Elizabeth who must succeed her as Queen. Elizabeth certainly would not have recognised that cessession, and knowledge of it would have damned Philips' chances with her."
''1 suppose that makes sense," says Whitgift.
"Nonetheless," says Peregrine, "it doesn't alter the fact and Her Majesty's government is obviously very concerned that knowledge of it doesn't come to the attention of the Spanish government."
"Because of the Common Market?" asks Anna shrewdly.
"Exactly. no right for a seperate currency or for example to opt out of the social charter. us to do what she wanted. Years of delicate negotiations would be in ruins."
With Britain being Spanish we would have
Spain could force
8 6 .
"So what will you do with this document?" asks Whitgift.
"What document?" asks Peregrine as he snaches it from Whitgift and sets alight to it with his cigarette lighter.
"1 think I'll j u s t open the other chest," says Whitgift, "it would certainly confirm my theory, if it were to contain for example the manuscripts of the first Folio plays placed there by a survivor under Walsingham's direction, before he died in 1630."
Under the taut gaze of Anna, Lucinda and Peregrine,fWhitgift
lifts the chest out of the coffin and opens .it. a great whoop of triumph as he sees the chest contains a great pile of manuscripts. We zoom in to see various frontispieces as his hands shuffle through them: 1593 Venus and Adonis by Christopher Marloe, 1594 The Rape of L u c r e c e by Christopher Marloe, 1 5 9 4 Titus Andronicus hy Christopher Marlowe, 1597 Richard I1 by Christopher Marlowe, 1597 Richard I11 by Christopher Marlowe, 1 5 9 7 Romeo and Juliet by Christopher Marlowe, 1598 Loves Labours Lost by Christopher Marlowe, 1598 Henry VIth Part 1 by Christopher Marleo, 1600 The Merchant of Venice by Christopher Marlowe, 1600 Henry Vth by Christopher Marlowe, 1600 Much To Do About Nothing by Christopher Marlowe, 1600 Henry IVth Part I1 by Christopher Marlowe, 1600 A Midsummer Nigh t s Dream by Christopher Marlowe, 1 6 0 2 The Merry Wives of Windsor by Christopher Marlowe, 1603 Hamlet by Christopher Marlowe, 1608 King Lear by Christopher Marlowe, 1 6 0 9 Troilus and Cressida by Christopher Marlowe, 1622 Othello by Christopher Mar lowe.
He gives
Anna runs up excitedly and kisses him.
"So you were right, darling he wrote them all."
"And here they are," he says.
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