Captain Arcadia Ep 1 Part 3

(We cut to a ship leaving the docks of Rotterdam, and the camera follows a candle-light at one window in the bridge. Within this cabin, small but comfortably appointed, Norton, dressed only in a long dirty white shirt, slumps on a stool. Sidney stands looking out to sea, his back to his servant.)

NORTON: I still can’t believe she let me be took advantage of like that.

(Sidney smiles mirthlessly but offers no comment.)

NORTON: I mean, master Philip, I’ve seen my fair share, I can handle myself, you know I can, I mean to say, how old must this little leddy have been?

(Sidney turns, holding a silver bracelet towards the lone candle.)

SIDNEY: It is a strange kind of lady robber who steals only rags but leaves valuable trinkets in her wake, Norton.

NORTON: Oh, she dropped it whilst she was changing, accident that was, sure as winking. I know these women, master Philip, in debt, need to get away, so they do anything to get into men’s clothes. She’s be livid she dropped the bauble while she were at it. A harlot’s trick.

(Sidney draws a dagger and places it at Norton’s throat, while with his other hand he dangles the bracelet before the servant’s face.)

SIDNEY: That girl was not a harlot, fool. Don’t you know this ensign?

NORTON: Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but it’s been long enough since I were in England, and even when my stay were regular like, I didn’t spent it in overmuch study o’ books o’ heraldry.

(Sidney switches the dagger around and raps Norton with the hilt.)

SIDNEY: Essex, idiot, Essex! This woman was wearing a silver bracelet enscribed with the arms of Devereux.

NORTON: So she were the Earl of Essex’s fancy-girl, then?

SIDNEY: Once again, Norton, I am reminded that you serve me because of chance rather than merit. This is obviously a piece of baptismal jewellery, a christening-ring. (He sighs.) Describe her again.

NORTON: Didn’t see much of her, she came at me from behind and when she left she was kind of covered up in the best o’ my wardrobe. (Pause) But yeah, she seemed kinda pretty good-looking, far as a man could see, lots of yellow hair, nice duckies…

(Sidney places the blade at Norton’s throat again.)

SIDNEY: Eyes?

NORTON: (squawking out in panic) Black!

(pause)

Or as close to it as a man could…

(Sidney ignores Norton’s trailing sentence, looks out over the sea and bawls a name.)

SIDNEY: STEEEELLLLLLLLLLLAAAAA!

(Back in Frau Geritzoon’s lodging house. Stella is now in a white dress of simple but costly material, drinking warm sack from a wooden tumbler at a table, and weaving a needle through a piece of yarn; Greville and Marlowe sit at its other ends, eying her suspiciously.)

GREVILLE: What cause should we have, I ask again, to believe a word of your story, mistress? Certainly your English is decent, but the same can hardly be said of your habit…or...by your own account…your conduct.

MARLOWE: An Earl’s daughter of England dressing up tranny-like after robbing a manservant? Have things got that more exciting at home since I left Cambridge?

STELLA: I care nothing for your account, sirrah. I address myself solely to Master Greville. Now, Fulke dear, is this not growing ridiculous?

GREVILLE: (spluttering) What…

STELLA: We have seen each other as bare children, in the gardens of Hampton-Court. Am I then so changed?

GREVILLE: If what you say is true…immeasurably, yes. This is scandalous behaviour, madam. Quite outrage…

MARLOWE: Lemme see the letter again. (He snatches for a bit of parchment over which all three have apparently been pouring.)

‘My well-beloved W., Tell Burghley I died outside Mainz.’

Well, forgive me for spelling out the obvious, but your friend Sidney does not want to be found. Faking and broadcasting one’s own death is, well, an extreme measure…

GREVILLE: (rising) Marlowe, if you do not fall silent and remember your station there will be nothing faked about your death. (He draws his dagger.)

MARLOWE: Time for me to start flashing things about too, right? (He leaps up and produces not a weapon but a tightly furled slip of paper, which he hands coldly.)

GREVILLE: A letter of service and warrantage from Sir Francis Walsingham…

MARLOWE: Yeah, yeah, I’m a spy, an informer, an eye of the bloody government, okay. Don’t judge me Master Greville; they offer very reasonable travel expenses and the Cambridge degree is complementary…anyway. Something tells me your bloke wants the likes of me to think he’s dead. Until Penny here turned up, that little ploy had succeeded…

(Stella leaps up and pricks Marlowe in the neck with her needle. He collapses.)

STELLA: If Philip wants to travel unobserved by the Queen’s council, I intend to help him do so.

GREVILLE: Did you kill him?

STELLA: I hadn’t the heart; just a sleeping-philtre. Tie him up tight and we’ll take him with us.

GREVILLE: Where are we going, my lady?

STELLA: After Philip, of course.