The Black Sheep's Bride
Chapter One
"Sing it again, Maister, sing it again!"
Martin Chancellor, buccaneer, merchant and poet, was roistering in a tavern in Deptford known
as the Bull, not far from the lodging-house where Christopher Marlowe had so mysteriously died.
He had not shaved for days and was wearing the well-worn clothes of an ordinary seaman. The
only valuable thing about him was the lute which he had been playing to entertain the grimy and
crowded room.
He was lying back in the room's one armchair, his booted feet on a stool. He had a tankard of ale
in one hand, and the other was busily waving acknowledgements to his audience. When at last it
fell silent, he said, "I usually make it a habit, gentlemen, never to repeat myself, so, in a moment
or two, after I have wet my whistle, I will favour you with another song, this time one of my own
invention."
His hearers particularly liked being addressed as gentlemen, seeing that they were so patently
nothing of the sort, and allowed themselves to fall silent on being promised further amusement.
For the moment Martin occupied himself by drinking h ... read full excerpt from The Black Sheep's Bride ebook
