Chapter Seven: In which Truces are Made
The next day was Marlowe's service. A few of the actors went, though most didn't. Ellen decided to go. Even if she had met Marlowe but once. She had found him to be a nice fellow that one time, and that was all that mattered to her. At the service, Ellen stood to the side, with the rest of the mourners. Young boys in bright red robes and skull caps came walking reverently down the asiles, singing in latin. Everywhere there was the sound of sniffling or crying. After the boys came a young woman and her nurse, mourners who were late. Another, slightly older man watched them coldly, while he stood on the other side, a smirk upon his face. There was something strange about the young woman, something familiar that Ellen couldn't quite place. The man however, smirked only for a short time. His face grew long and ashen, and he began to shout.
"Spare me, dear ghost! Spare me!" he yelled, and ran out of the church. Ellen didn't understand why, for it was only Will Shakespeare that stood behind her, where the man had been staring, and not Marlowe. True, Will did look a bit pale, but certainly not ghostly. The young woman that Ellen had been watching tore away from the crowd and moved softly behind everyone, to where Will had been standing, and she, too, left the church. This was getting to be too curious for Ellen to take. She quietly said a quick prayer for Marlowe's soul, and then she left as well, being as quiet as humanly possible, so as not to be noticed.
Ellen found them standing off to the side of the sanctuary, in the hallway reserved for confessions. Both Will and the young woman embraced. "Oh, Will," said the young woman, "I thought you were dead!" As soon as the young woman spoke, Ellen knew where she'd known this woman from. She was Thomas Kent.
" 'Tis worse," Will replied, looking absolutely and deadly serious, "I've killed a man." Ellen didn't wait to hear anything more. She turned from the scene and went back into the sanctuary, where a priest had begun chanting. This was a mystery indeed. What on earth did Will mean by saying that he'd killed a man? He couldn't possibly have killed Marlowe, since he'd been at the Boar's Head with them all night long. Besides, though he'd always been envious, Will wasn't one to kill a fellow playwright. It simply wasn't done. And why was the young woman dressing as Thomas Kent at the playhouse? Many questions ran through Ellen's mind as the service continued. But right now she needed to talk to Ned. She'd made a decision the night before that she needed to discuss with him. Sure enough, Ellen found her man standing near the edge of the mourning group. She edged over to him.
"Ellen,"
"Ned,"
"Do you have a reason for coming over here?"
"Yes. There's something that I've been meaning to talk to you about."
"Oh?"
"Aye. I've been thinking it over for a while, and I've decided that we shouldn't fight like this anymore."
"You mean call a truce?"
"That's right. No more name calling and insulting unless it's meant as a joke. In light of recent circumstances, it only seems right." Ned pondered this for a moment.
"I will agree."
"Good."
"On one condition."
"And what is that?" Ellen asked. It was never enough for him. He always had to have something more.
" That you completely forget anything that was said or done last night. We were all drunk, none of us knew what we were doing."
"That includes what happened in the tavern with the women?"
"Including the women, yes."
"I can agree to that."
"Good." Ned stuck out his hand, and Ellen shook it. And that was that. They were fighting no longer.
But Ellen found it tempting not to bring up the subject, especially around Margaret, who still refused to talk of anyone or anything else besides Ned. It had been getting harder and harder to tune her out lately. Ellen just wanted to see if Margaret might give up on him if she told her that Ned was a womanizer. But she remembered the truce, and kept silent.
The next day was Marlowe's service. A few of the actors went, though most didn't. Ellen decided to go. Even if she had met Marlowe but once. She had found him to be a nice fellow that one time, and that was all that mattered to her. At the service, Ellen stood to the side, with the rest of the mourners. Young boys in bright red robes and skull caps came walking reverently down the asiles, singing in latin. Everywhere there was the sound of sniffling or crying. After the boys came a young woman and her nurse, mourners who were late. Another, slightly older man watched them coldly, while he stood on the other side, a smirk upon his face. There was something strange about the young woman, something familiar that Ellen couldn't quite place. The man however, smirked only for a short time. His face grew long and ashen, and he began to shout.
"Spare me, dear ghost! Spare me!" he yelled, and ran out of the church. Ellen didn't understand why, for it was only Will Shakespeare that stood behind her, where the man had been staring, and not Marlowe. True, Will did look a bit pale, but certainly not ghostly. The young woman that Ellen had been watching tore away from the crowd and moved softly behind everyone, to where Will had been standing, and she, too, left the church. This was getting to be too curious for Ellen to take. She quietly said a quick prayer for Marlowe's soul, and then she left as well, being as quiet as humanly possible, so as not to be noticed.
Ellen found them standing off to the side of the sanctuary, in the hallway reserved for confessions. Both Will and the young woman embraced. "Oh, Will," said the young woman, "I thought you were dead!" As soon as the young woman spoke, Ellen knew where she'd known this woman from. She was Thomas Kent.
" 'Tis worse," Will replied, looking absolutely and deadly serious, "I've killed a man." Ellen didn't wait to hear anything more. She turned from the scene and went back into the sanctuary, where a priest had begun chanting. This was a mystery indeed. What on earth did Will mean by saying that he'd killed a man? He couldn't possibly have killed Marlowe, since he'd been at the Boar's Head with them all night long. Besides, though he'd always been envious, Will wasn't one to kill a fellow playwright. It simply wasn't done. And why was the young woman dressing as Thomas Kent at the playhouse? Many questions ran through Ellen's mind as the service continued. But right now she needed to talk to Ned. She'd made a decision the night before that she needed to discuss with him. Sure enough, Ellen found her man standing near the edge of the mourning group. She edged over to him.
"Ellen,"
"Ned,"
"Do you have a reason for coming over here?"
"Yes. There's something that I've been meaning to talk to you about."
"Oh?"
"Aye. I've been thinking it over for a while, and I've decided that we shouldn't fight like this anymore."
"You mean call a truce?"
"That's right. No more name calling and insulting unless it's meant as a joke. In light of recent circumstances, it only seems right." Ned pondered this for a moment.
"I will agree."
"Good."
"On one condition."
"And what is that?" Ellen asked. It was never enough for him. He always had to have something more.
" That you completely forget anything that was said or done last night. We were all drunk, none of us knew what we were doing."
"That includes what happened in the tavern with the women?"
"Including the women, yes."
"I can agree to that."
"Good." Ned stuck out his hand, and Ellen shook it. And that was that. They were fighting no longer.
But Ellen found it tempting not to bring up the subject, especially around Margaret, who still refused to talk of anyone or anything else besides Ned. It had been getting harder and harder to tune her out lately. Ellen just wanted to see if Margaret might give up on him if she told her that Ned was a womanizer. But she remembered the truce, and kept silent.