A Fine Madness by Alan Judd (best classic books TXT) 📕

years since I left Trinity College. There was new building, old halls extended, and alleys and footpaths widened into thoroughfares. Scholars were everywhere, of course, their gowns billowing, but the streets were also thronged with labourers and traders, a veritable little London. I knew the vice-chancellor’s lodge though not Dr Copcot himself. The servant who answered my knock was a woman, older than me, who mistook me for a menial despite my livery. I told her I had a letter for Dr Copcot. She asked for it, holding out her hand. I said I had to deliver it in person. That piqued her and she left me on the doorstep. I heard her call within, ‘A messenger from London, sir.’

‘Take his message,’ came the reply.

She came back and held out her hand again. ‘Give it to me and wait here for a reply.’

I own I am not a man of stature, though I have some standing in the secret world and have appeared with my master at Court. I am shorter than most men and my face is marked with the small pox. But I am no weakling, my hair and beard were fair and well-trimmed in those days, and a glance at my livery and at Prince tethered nearby should have told the woman that I was not the menial she thought. I was also, of course, a University man.

I spoke quietly, having found that quietness and control of tone carries more authority than bluster. ‘Tell Dr Copcot that the letter I bear is from the Privy Council, conveyed here with urgency by the wish of Mr Secretary Walsingham, whose man I am.’

That troubled her a little and she left without another word. There were hushed voices followed by heavy footsteps on floorboards. Dr Copcot was a stout man with a broad face which might have been forbidding but which creased and softened in welcome when he saw my blue coat and smart leather satchel. He bade me enter and took me to a parlour where I was served cake and sherry by the now obsequious woman. A groom was summoned to feed and stable Prince and a servant sent for Dr Norgate of Corpus Christi. It had been a long journey that day and I appreciated the refreshment.

Dr Norgate proved the opposite of Dr Copcot, a thin man with a long wrinkled turkey’s neck. He also wore that bird’s affronted expression as he shuffled across the floor, his hand shaking on his stick. I gave them the letter and they opened it together, sitting at the polished parlour table. Dr Copcot finished first and looked up. ‘You are familiar—?’

I nodded.

‘Well, it appears a mistake has been made, there is no question of that. Through the best of motives, I doubt not.’ He glanced at Dr Norgate, who was still reading, bent so far his nose almost touched the page. ‘And all shall soon be made good. The ceremony is on Tuesday and we must ensure—’

Dr Norgate looked up sharply. ‘Marlowe’s absences were noted by many in the college. He has been absent even more than other scholars, who are quite bad enough. It sets a poor example if he goes unpunished. There are far too many absences of late, some for nefarious reasons as was suspected of him. If we ignore them we encourage them.’

Dr Copcot’s broad face creased with concern. ‘But where matters of state are concerned—’

‘Others will not know that. They will know only that a prominent malefactor goes unpunished and indeed is treated with favour.’

I leaned forward and addressed Dr Norgate quietly and respectfully. ‘I am sure, sir, that Mr Secretary is sympathetic to the college’s concerns. But on matters touching the security of the state, of which it is his duty to inform Her Majesty, he is obliged to consider wider interests. He expects from me on my return a full account of your deliberations.’ I put my finger on the list of names at the top of the page. ‘Meanwhile, may I beg you, sir, to heed those who have put their names to this letter. That is a measure of its import.’

As well as Lord Burghley, the Lord Treasurer, they included the Lord Archbishop, the Lord Chancellor, the Lord Chamberlain and Mr Comptroller, Mr Secretary having been absent through his illness. Thus were the great cannon of the realm all trained at that moment upon Corpus Christi College. I suspected that Dr Norgate’s initial reaction was prompted partly by pride and irritation at being summoned to treat with what he took to be an inconsiderable person. He was not so proud, however, as to be immutable to self-interest; he understood full well what the letter entailed. He wiped a drip from the end of his nose and nodded. He could not bring himself to look at me but said, in little more than a whisper, ‘There is time. It can be arranged.’

‘And shall be,’ added Dr Copcot, emphatically.

The master of Corpus Christi took his leave, briefly and gruffly. Dr Copcot offered me supper and a room in his lodgings for the night, which I was pleased to accept. But first, I said, I wanted to find Christopher Marlowe to give him the good news.

‘Of course, of course, and I don’t doubt you will be first with the news because Dr Norgate will not hurry to break it.’ He smiled ingratiatingly. ‘Please assure Mr Secretary and my Lord Burghley that I personally vouch that young Master Marlowe will be treated as well as his good service deserves.’

I caught up with Dr Norgate as he crept like some ailing insect past the porter’s lodge at Corpus. I knew he would take little pleasure in speaking to me but I make it policy never to offend without good cause. The choppy seas of life throw us up against enough hard rocks without our running deliberately at them. When he saw me alongside him he nodded and would have continued, saying nothing, if I had not