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Christopher Marlowe pulled his cloak tighter around his torso and pushed himself back into the alcove as the wind gusted around him, kicking up the debris from his confines, the sounds of the street were magnified as they reverberated around the stone niche. He had been cramped in the limited space for more than an hour. A few yards away, there was a blazing fire; gathered around the warmth were men, women, and one or two children easing the chill in their bones over the inviting flames, every now and then the men would stamp their feet, to make the blood flow to chase the aching chill away. Christopher (Kit) longed to just step out and join them, but he needed the concealment as he was after the foulest form of treachery. A traitor! Someone who had not only betrayed his country but his own roots, his own heritage.
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