Martin Stephen - The Conscience of the King

The boat was rocking up and down in a river that was frantically busy with the preparations for tonight's mock battle. This vessel was decked, with hatches cut into the planking to access the hold. The focs'le, at the bow and where the anchor chain was kept, was unusually large. A single lantern swung there, showing crude, straw-filled mattresses that had been nailed to the floor and halfway up the rough-timbered side of the hull. Set into the planking were three iron ring bolts, each with a short chain through them. At the end of each chain was an iron neck collar. Splinters of wood, lighter than the surrounding areas, showed where the ring bolts had only recently been screwed home.

Lady Gresham had been flung on the rough straw mattress, half-soaked through with river water. Her mouth was gagged, her hands tied behind her back with twine, her feet similarly imprisoned. The great, clumsy and half-rusted neck chain clasped her, rough against the smooth length of her skin. She was conscious now, eyes flickering wildly about the dim room. Her children had been similarly secured to the great ring bolts. The girl was crying quietly; the boy too, but trying desperately not to.

'Welcome to my royal barge, Lady Gresham,' said Marlowe. 'It is a pleasure to meet you, at long last.'

Jane shook her head back and forth, trying to speak through the filthy cloth rammed into her mouth.

'Take off the gag, Your Ladyship? I think not, really I do.' He was enjoying this more than he could ever have imagined, the old sense of power flowing through him. He felt the swelling in his groin. 'You see, you might shriek and draw attention to this poor and humble boat. I hope these precautions — ' he motioned to the canvas sacking — 'will make this little patch of heaven almost soundproof, but why take an extra risk? You might cry out now, Lady Jane. You will certainly want to cry out, I hope, in a moment or so. I want you to feel everythinghe leaned his loathsome face close to Jane's. The teeth had almost all gone, and what were left were blackened and decayed — 'but the noise I make will be sufficient.'

Those huge dark eyes pleaded with him. There was a shout from on deck and the boat lurched. The rowers muttered curses and one shouted abuse at another craft that had come too close.

'What am I going to do?' asked Marlowe. 'Is that the question you would ask, were you free to do so?' The hold stank offish and tar, and creaked with every sharp movement of the boat. Take my revenge. My revenge for your husband, who pretended that he wanted to help me, and who all the time intended to sell me into slavery as a spy for Cecil!'

He ignored the frantic shaking of Jane's head. Her hands were heaving on the twine so hard that blood was flowing from her wrists; a sharp, bright red against the pure white linen tracery on the dark of her gown.

Marlowe noted her breasts, their proud swell under her gown; the sculptured, chiselled perfection of her face. Very carefully, he leaned forward and delicately lifted the hem of her dress, strewn around her ankles, until it rested just over her knees. The slim, stockinged legs, pressed sideways down on the rough deck, were smooth yet muscled like an athlete. They were trembling, Marlowe noted with pleasure. He yanked the dress upwards, hearing it tear. Those delicious legs were now revealed in all their length, tapering into her hips.

'Yes, Lady Jane, proud Lady Jane, beautiful Lady Jane. I intend to rape you. There is a long history, you know, of conquerors expressing their power over the conquered by using their women.' Even through the cruel gagging some sound managed to emerge, a strangled cry of… hopelessness? Of anger? She was bucking and writhing against her bonds. Good, thought Marlowe. It would make it better when he had her. 'Your children? Oh, I would not rape them. But I think it will be good for them to watch their mother meeting her real master, don't you? And, oh, just one more thing. I have the pox. A dreadful shame. Yet in my temporary distressed state, the best gift I can find to give to you and your dear husband.'

She kicked then, as hard as she could with both legs tied together. Marlowe was expecting it, had moved to her side, forcing her to twist even more of her body. Yet still she caught a glancing blow to his wrist. It was bandaged, seeping a yellow and green puss. He screamed, and bent double, holding his wrist to his side. When he finally gazed up, it was with a look of pure and sustained evil that Jane nor no other human had expected to see this side of hell. It was to haunt her for the rest of her life.

He stumbled towards her, grabbed her with surprising strength, and flipped her over on to her stomach. The neck collar caught and held her cruelly. Half strangled, she was kicking with her legs, flailing, but there was a great weight on her back. He cut the bonds tying her legs together and hit the back of her legs hard, forcing them apart. Using a knife, he slit her undergarments. She was exposed, defenceless. Marlowe was gasping now, sweat on his face, lips drawn back, hands tearing at his own breeches.

There was a crash so great as to topple him over, and a series of yells, footfalls on the deck. The boat lurched and lurched again. High, imperious voices were speaking to the rowers.

'By the King's command!' a voice was roaring. 'We're ten boats short from Chatham and the King has need of this vessel! Shut your mouth! You'll get paid for your pains!'

There was a thud, more yells, feet hitting the deck. His ruffians had decided to make a fight of it. With an obscenity, Marlowe bound himself up, grabbed Jane's legs and tied them again, and went to the hatch.

The fight was taking place at the rear of the boat. Marlowe slipped out on to the deck and snapped the padlock shut over the hatch before he was seen. His men were losing the fight, outnumbered. The leader of the King's men was a serjeant-at-arms. The Palace must be desperate indeed if a man of such standing was sent out to scour the river for extra craft. Then, to his horror, the serjeant-at-arms called out, 'Hey! You there! Ain't you that Cornelius Wagner?'

In the hope that Marlowe might be lured into attending The Tempest, a full description of him, under the name he had chosen, had been circulated to all the Court.

Marlowe took one look around him and leaped into the river. Other boats had gathered as the King's boat had smashed up alongside. There were catcalls, whistles, shouts of support for the defenders. No one believed the owner of a boat so commandeered would ever see a penny this side of Armageddon. There was no love lost between the King's men and those who worked the river. Rough hands hauled Marlowe out of the water almost as soon as he landed in it.

The serjeant-at-arms wasted no time. Who cared about a man who had jumped overboard and been rescued? They were desperately short of craft for the King's display and desperately short of time to prepare the craft they had. As if in answer to his prayers, a. sudden wind got up after the fitful spasms they had had all day. He roared at his men to unfold the primitive sail, put four of his best rowers on the oars and set off to find more vessels. The river had emptied around him as word spread.

In the forward hold Jane and her two children lay half-crippled with the chains around them, eyes staring, the cloth cutting terribly into their mouths. An agonised grunt was the only noise they could manage. Jane had wriggled and squirmed so that her dress had fallen over the triangle between her legs, covering her shame from her children.

Young Tom had seen the encounter and his heart had lifted. He had yelled and screamed at the men in the distance but to no avail. He was too far away. Frantic, Young Tom saw the sail drop, bellow and fill with wind, and the boat holding his mistress turn upstream to join the gathering masses at Lambeth. With the wind in its favour, it picked up speed and was soon lost in the mess of traffic on the river.