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diff --git a/9959-h/9959-h.htm b/9959-h/9959-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..14950eb --- /dev/null +++ b/9959-h/9959-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,15604 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Armourer's Prentices, by Charlotte M. Yonge</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.right {text-align: right; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +p.caption {font-weight: bold; + text-align: center; } + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> +</head> +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Armourer’s Prentices, by Charlotte M. Yonge</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Armourer’s Prentices</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Charlotte M. Yonge</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: November 5, 2003 [eBook #9959]<br /> +[Most recently updated: June 23, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: David Price</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ARMOURER’S PRENTICES ***</div> + +<h1><small>THE</small><br /> +ARMOURER’S PRENTICES</h1> + +<p class="center"> +<small>BY</small> +</p> + +<h2 class="no-break"> +CHARLOTTE M. YONGE +</h2> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a href="images/tpb.jpg"> +<img src="images/tpb.jpg" width="445" height="500" alt="The two prentices" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +<small><i>ILLUSTRATED BY W. J. HENNESSY</i></small> +</p> + +<p class="center"> +London<br /> +MACMILLAN AND CO.<br /> +AND NEW YORK<br /> +1889 +</p> + +<p class="center"> +<i>The Right of Translation is Reserved</i> +</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap00">PREFACE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I. THE VERDURER’S LODGE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II. THE GRANGE OF SILKSTEDE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III. KINSMEN AND STRANGERS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV. A HERO’S FALL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V. THE DRAGON COURT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI. A SUNDAY IN THE CITY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII. YORK HOUSE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII. QUIPSOME HAL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX. ARMS SPIRITUAL AND TEMPORAL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X. TWO VOCATIONS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI. AY DI ME GRENADA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII. A KING IN A QUAGMIRE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII. A LONDON HOLIDAY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV. THE KNIGHT OF THE BADGER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV. HEAVE HALF A BRICK AT HIM</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI. MAY EVE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII. ILL MAY DAY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII. PARDON</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX. AT THE ANTELOPE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER XX. CLOTH OF GOLD ON THE SEAMY SIDE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI. SWORD OR SMITHY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII. AN INVASION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII. UNWELCOME PREFERMENT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV. THE SOLDIER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">CHAPTER XXV. OLD HAUNTS</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus01">“Ha! Ha!” laughed Henry, “hast found him out, lads?”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus02">“And see here, your Grace!”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus03">“See there, Master Alderman”</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap00"></a>PREFACE</h2> + +<p> +I <span class="smcap">have</span> attempted here to sketch citizen life in the +early Tudor days, aided therein by Stowe’s <i>Survey of London</i>, +supplemented by Mr. Loftie’s excellent history, and Dr. Burton’s +<i>English Merchants</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Stowe gives a full account of the relations of apprentices to their masters; +though I confess that I do not know whether Edmund Burgess could have become a +citizen of York after serving an apprenticeship in London. Evil May Day is +closely described in Hall’s <i>Chronicle</i>. The ballad, said to be by +Churchill, a contemporary, does not agree with it in all respects; but the +story-teller may surely have license to follow whatever is most suitable to the +purpose. The sermon is exactly as given by Hall, who is also responsible for +the description of the King’s sports and of the Field of the Cloth of +Gold and of Ardres. Knight’s admirable <i>Pictorial History of +</i><i>England</i> tells of Barlow, the archer, dubbed by Henry VIII. the King +of Shoreditch. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Historic Winchester</i> describes both St. Elizabeth College and the Archer +Monks of Hyde Abbey. The tales mentioned as told by Ambrose to Dennet are +really New Forest legends. +</p> + +<p> +The Moresco’s Arabic Gospel and Breviary are mentioned in Lady +Calcott’s <i>History of Spain</i>, but she does not give her authority. +Nor can I go further than Knight’s <i>Pictorial History</i> for the +King’s adventure in the marsh. He does not say where it happened, but as +in Stowe’s map “Dead Man’s Hole” appears in what is now +Regent’s Park, the marsh was probably deep enough in places for the +adventure there. Brand’s <i>Popular Antiquities</i> are the authority for +the nutting in St. John’s Wood on Holy Cross Day. Indeed, in some country +parishes I have heard that boys still think they have a license to crack nuts +at church on the ensuing Sunday. +</p> + +<p> +Seebohm’s <i>Oxford Reformers</i> and the <i>Life of Sir Thomas More</i>, +written by William Roper, are my other authorities, though I touched somewhat +unwillingly on ground already lighted up by Miss Manning in her <i>Household of +Sir Thomas More</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Galt’s <i>Life of Cardinal Wolsey</i> afforded the description of his +household taken from his faithful Cavendish, and likewise the story of Patch +the Fool. In fact, a large portion of the whole book was built on that +anecdote. +</p> + +<p> +I mention all this because I have so often been asked my authorities in +historical tales, that I think people prefer to have what the French +appropriately call <i>pièces justificatives</i>. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +C. M. <span class="smcap">Yonge</span>. +</p> + +<p> +<i>August</i> 1<i>st</i>, 1884 +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.<br /> +THE VERDURER’S LODGE</h2> + +<p class="letter"> +“Give me the poor allottery my father left me by testament, with that I +will go buy me fortunes.”<br /> +“Get you with him, you old dog.” +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<i>As You Like It</i>. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">The</span> officials of the New Forest have ever since the +days of the Conqueror enjoyed some of the pleasantest dwellings that southern +England can boast. +</p> + +<p> +The home of the Birkenholt family was not one of the least delightful. It stood +at the foot of a rising ground, on which grew a grove of magnificent beeches, +their large silvery boles rising majestically like columns into a lofty +vaulting of branches, covered above with tender green foliage. Here and there +the shade beneath was broken by the gilding of a ray of sunshine on a lower +twig, or on a white trunk, but the floor of the vast arcades was almost +entirely of the russet brown of the fallen leaves, save where a fern or holly +bush made a spot of green. At the foot of the slope lay a stretch of pasture +ground, some parts covered by “lady-smocks, all silver white,” with +the course of the little stream through the midst indicated by a perfect golden +river of shining kingcups interspersed with ferns. Beyond lay tracts of brown +heath and brilliant gorse and broom, which stretched for miles and miles along +the flats, while the dry ground was covered with holly brake, and here and +there woods of oak and beech made a sea of verdure, purpling in the distance. +</p> + +<p> +Cultivation was not attempted, but hardy little ponies, cows, goats, sheep, and +pigs were feeding, and picking their way about in the marshy mead below, and a +small garden of pot-herbs, inclosed by a strong fence of timber, lay on the +sunny side of a spacious rambling forest lodge, only one story high, built of +solid timber and roofed with shingle. It was not without strong pretensions to +beauty, as well as to picturesqueness, for the posts of the door, the +architecture of the deep porch, the frames of the latticed windows, and the +verge boards were all richly carved in grotesque devices. Over the door was the +royal shield, between a pair of magnificent antlers, the spoils of a deer +reported to have been slain by King Edward IV., as was denoted by the +“glorious sun of York” carved beneath the shield. +</p> + +<p> +In the background among the trees were ranges of stables and kennels, and on +the grass-plat in front of the windows was a row of beehives. A tame doe lay on +the little green sward, not far from a large rough deer-hound, both close +friends who could be trusted at large. There was a mournful dispirited look +about the hound, evidently an aged animal, for the once black muzzle was +touched with grey, and there was a film over one of the keen beautiful eyes, +which opened eagerly as he pricked his ears and lifted his head at the rattle +of the door latch. Then, as two boys came out, he rose, and with a slowly +waving tail, and a wistful appealing air, came and laid his head against one of +the pair who had appeared in the porch. They were lads of fourteen and fifteen, +clad in suits of new mourning, with the short belted doublet, puffed hose, +small ruffs and little round caps of early Tudor times. They had dark eyes and +hair, and honest open faces, the younger ruddy and sunburnt, the elder thinner +and more intellectual—and they were so much the same size that the +advantage of age was always supposed to be on the side of Stephen, though he +was really the junior by nearly a year. Both were sad and grave, and the eyes +and cheeks of Stephen showed traces of recent floods of tears, though there was +more settled dejection on the countenance of his brother. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, Spring,” said the lad, “’tis winter with thee now. +A poor old rogue! Did the new housewife talk of a halter because he showed his +teeth when her ill-nurtured brat wanted to ride on him? Nay, old Spring, thou +shalt share thy master’s fortunes, changed though they be. Oh, father! +father! didst thou guess how it would be with thy boys!” And throwing +himself on the grass, he hid his face against the dog and sobbed. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Stephen, Stephen; ’tis time to play the man! What are we to +do out in the world if you weep and wail?” +</p> + +<p> +“She might have let us stay for the month’s mind,” was heard +from Stephen. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, and though we might be more glad to go, we might carry bitterer +thoughts along with us. Better be done with it at once, say I.” +</p> + +<p> +“There would still be the Forest! And I saw the moorhen sitting yester +eve! And the wild ducklings are out on the pool, and the woods are full of +song. Oh! Ambrose! I never knew how hard it is to part—” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, now, Steve, where be all your plots for bravery? You always meant +to seek your fortune—not bide here like an acorn for ever.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never thought to be thrust forth the very day of our poor +father’s burial, by a shrewish town-bred vixen, and a base +narrow-souled—” +</p> + +<p> +“Hist! hist!” said the more prudent Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“Let him hear who will! He cannot do worse for us than he has done! All +the Forest will cry shame on him for a mean-hearted skinflint to turn his +brothers from their home, ere their father and his, be cold in his +grave,” cried Stephen, clenching the grass with his hands, in his +passionate sense of wrong. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s womanish,” said Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“Who’ll be the woman when the time comes for drawing cold +steel?” cried Stephen, sitting up. +</p> + +<p> +At that moment there came through the porch a man, a few years over thirty, +likewise in mourning, with a paler, sharper countenance than the brothers, and +an uncomfortable pleading expression of self-justification. +</p> + +<p> +“How now, lads!” he said, “what means this passion? You have +taken the matter too hastily. There was no thought that ye should part till you +had some purpose in view. Nay, we should be fain for Ambrose to bide on here, +so he would leave his portion for me to deal with, and teach little Will his +primer and accidence. You are a quiet lad, Ambrose, and can rule your tongue +better than Stephen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks, brother John,” said Ambrose, somewhat sarcastically, +“but where Stephen goes I go.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would—I would have found Stephen a place among the prickers or +rangers, if—” hesitated John. “In sooth, I would yet do it, +if he would make it up with the housewife.” +</p> + +<p> +“My father looked higher for his son than a pricker’s +office,” returned Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“That do I wot,” said John, “and therefore, ’tis for +his own good that I would send him forth. His godfather, our uncle Birkenholt, +he will assuredly provide for him, and set him forth—” +</p> + +<p> +The door of the house was opened, and a shrewish voice cried, “Mr. +Birkenholt—here, husband! You are wanted. Here’s little Kate crying +to have yonder smooth pouch to stroke, and I cannot reach it for her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Father set store by that otter-skin pouch, for poor Prince Arthur slew +the otter,” cried Stephen. “Surely, John, you’ll not let the +babes make a toy of that?” +</p> + +<p> +John made a helpless gesture, and at a renewed call, went indoors. +</p> + +<p> +“You are right, Ambrose,” said Stephen, “this is no place for +us. Why should we tarry any longer to see everything moiled and set at nought? +I have couched in the forest before, and ’tis summer time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said Ambrose, “we must make up our fardels and have +our money in our pouches before we can depart. We must tarry the night, and +call John to his reckoning, and so might we set forth early enough in the +morning to lie at Winchester that night and take counsel with our uncle +Birkenholt.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would not stop short at Winchester,” said Stephen. “London +for me, where uncle Randall will find us preferment!” +</p> + +<p> +“And what wilt do for Spring!” +</p> + +<p> +“Take him with me, of course!” exclaimed Stephen. “What! +would I leave him to be kicked and pinched by Will, and hanged belike by +Mistress Maud?” +</p> + +<p> +“I doubt me whether the poor old hound will brook the journey.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll carry him!” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose looked at the big dog as if he thought it would be a serious +undertaking, but he had known and loved Spring as his brother’s property +ever since his memory began, and he scarcely felt that they could be separable +for weal or woe. +</p> + +<p> +The verdurers of the New Forest were of gentle blood, and their office was +well-nigh hereditary. The Birkenholts had held it for many generations, and the +reversion passed as a matter of course to the eldest son of the late holder, +who had newly been laid in the burial ground of Beaulieu Abbey. John +Birkenholt, whose mother had been of knightly lineage, had resented his +father’s second marriage with the daughter of a yeoman on the verge of +the Forest, suspected of a strain of gipsy blood, and had lived little at home, +becoming a sort of agent at Southampton for business connected with the timber +which was yearly cut in the Forest to supply material for the shipping. He had +wedded the daughter of a person engaged in law business at Southampton, and had +only been an occasional visitor at home, ever after the death of his +stepmother. She had left these two boys, unwelcome appendages in his sight. +They had obtained a certain amount of education at Beaulieu Abbey, where a +school was kept, and where Ambrose daily studied, though for the last few +months Stephen had assisted his father in his forest duties. +</p> + +<p> +Death had come suddenly to break up the household in the early spring of 1515, +and John Birkenholt had returned as if to a patrimony, bringing his wife and +children with him. The funeral ceremonies had been conducted at Beaulieu Abbey +on the extensive scale of the sixteenth century, the requiem, the feast, and +the dole, all taking place there, leaving the Forest lodge in its ordinary +quiet. +</p> + +<p> +It had always been understood that on their father’s death the two +younger sons must make their own way in the world; but he had hoped to live +until they were a little older, when he might himself have started them in +life, or expressed his wishes respecting them to their elder brother. As it +was, however, there was no commendation of them, nothing but a strip of +parchment, drawn up by one of the monks of Beaulieu, leaving each of them +twenty crowns, with a few small jewels and properties left by their own mother, +while everything else went to their brother. +</p> + +<p> +There might have been some jealousy excited by the estimation in which +Stephen’s efficiency—boy as he was—was evidently held by the +plain-spoken underlings of the verdurer; and this added to Mistress +Birkenholt’s dislike to the presence of her husband’s +half-brothers, whom she regarded as interlopers without a right to exist. +Matters were brought to a climax by old Spring’s resentment at being +roughly teased by her spoilt children. He had done nothing worse than growl and +show his teeth, but the town-bred dame had taken alarm, and half in terror, +half in spite, had insisted on his instant execution, since he was too old to +be valuable. Stephen, who loved the dog only less than he loved his brother +Ambrose, had come to high words with her; and the end of the altercation had +been that she had declared that she would suffer no great lubbers of the +half-blood to devour her children’s inheritance, and teach them ill +manners, and that go they must, and that instantly. John had muttered a little +about “not so fast, dame,” and “for very shame,” but +she had turned on him, and rated him with a violence that demonstrated who was +ruler in the house, and took away all disposition to tarry long under the new +dynasty. +</p> + +<p> +The boys possessed two uncles, one on each side of the house. Their +father’s elder brother had been a man-at-arms, having preferred a +stirring life to the Forest, and had fought in the last surges of the Wars of +the Roses. Having become disabled and infirm, he had taken advantage of a +corrody, or right of maintenance, as being of kin to a benefactor of Hyde Abbey +at Winchester, to which Birkenholt some generations back had presented a few +roods of land, in right of which, one descendant at a time might be maintained +in the Abbey. Intelligence of his brother’s death had been sent to +Richard Birkenholt, but answer had been returned that he was too evil-disposed +with the gout to attend the burial. +</p> + +<p> +The other uncle, Harry Randall, had disappeared from the country under a cloud +connected with the king’s deer, leaving behind him the reputation of a +careless, thriftless, jovial fellow, the best company in all the Forest, and +capable of doing every one’s work save his own. +</p> + +<p> +The two brothers, who were about seven and six years old at the time of his +flight, had a lively recollection of his charms as a playmate, and of their +mother’s grief for him, and refusal to believe any ill of her Hal. +Rumours had come of his attainment to vague and unknown greatness at court, +under the patronage of the Lord Archbishop of York, which the Verdurer laughed +to scorn, though his wife gave credit to them. Gifts had come from time to +time, passed through a succession of servants and officials of the king, such +as a coral and silver rosary, a jewelled bodkin, an agate carved with St. +Catherine, an ivory pouncet box with a pierced gold coin as the lid; but no +letter with them, as indeed Hal Randall had never been induced to learn to read +or write. Master Birkenholt looked doubtfully at the tokens and hoped Hal had +come honestly by them; but his wife had thoroughly imbued her sons with the +belief that Uncle Hal was shining in his proper sphere, where he was better +appreciated than at home. Thus their one plan was to go to London to find Uncle +Hal, who was sure to put Stephen on the road to fortune, and enable Ambrose to +become a great scholar, his favourite ambition. +</p> + +<p> +His gifts would, as Ambrose observed, serve them as tokens, and with the +purpose of claiming them, they re-entered the hall, a long low room, with a +handsome open roof, and walls tapestried with dressed skins, interspersed with +antlers, hung with weapons of the chase. At one end of the hall was a small +polished barrel, always replenished with beer, at the other a hearth with a +wood fire constantly burning, and there was a table running the whole length of +the room; at one end of this was laid a cloth, with a few trenchers on it, and +horn cups, surrounding a barley loaf and a cheese, this meagre irregular supper +being considered as a sufficient supplement to the funeral baked meats which +had abounded at Beaulieu. John Birkenholt sat at the table with a trencher and +horn before him, uneasily using his knife to crumble, rather than cut, his +bread. His wife, a thin, pale, shrewish-looking woman, was warming her +child’s feet at the fire, before putting him to bed, and an old woman sat +spinning and nodding on a settle at a little distance. +</p> + +<p> +“Brother,” said Stephen, “we have thought on what you said. +We will put our stuff together, and if you will count us out our portions, we +will be afoot by sunrise to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay, lad, I said not there was such haste; did I, mistress +housewife?”—(she snorted); “only that thou art a well-grown +lusty fellow, and ’tis time thou wentest forth. For thee, Ambrose, thou +wottest I made thee a fair offer of bed and board.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is,” called out the wife, “if thou wilt make a fair +scholar of little Will. ’Tis a mighty good offer. There are not many who +would let their child be taught by a mere stripling like thee!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said Ambrose, who could not bring himself to thank her, +“I go with Stephen, mistress; I would mend my scholarship ere I +teach.” +</p> + +<p> +“As you please,” said Mistress Maud, shrugging her shoulders, +“only never say that a fair offer was not made to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“And,” said Stephen, “so please you, brother John, hand us +over our portions, and the jewels as bequeathed to us, and we will be +gone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Portions, quotha?” returned John. “Boy, they be not due to +you till you be come to years of discretion.” +</p> + +<p> +The brothers looked at one another, and Stephen said, “Nay, now, brother, +I know not how that may be, but I do know that you cannot drive us from our +father’s house without maintenance, and detain what belongs to us.” +</p> + +<p> +And Ambrose muttered something about “my Lord of Beaulieu.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look you, now,” said John, “did I ever speak of driving you +from home without maintenance? Hath not Ambrose had his choice of staying here, +and Stephen of waiting till some office be found for him? As for putting forty +crowns into the hands of striplings like you, it were mere throwing it to the +robbers.” +</p> + +<p> +“That being so,” said Ambrose turning to Stephen, “we will to +Beaulieu, and see what counsel my lord will give us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, do, like the vipers ye are, and embroil us with my Lord of +Beaulieu,” cried Maud from the fire. +</p> + +<p> +“See,” said John, in his more caressing fashion, “it is not +well to carry family tales to strangers, and—and—” +</p> + +<p> +He was disconcerted by a laugh from the old nurse, “Ho! John Birkenholt, +thou wast ever a lad of smooth tongue, but an thou, or madam here, think that +thy brothers can be put forth from thy father’s door without their due +before the good man be cold in his grave, and the Forest not ring with it, thou +art mightily out in thy reckoning!” +</p> + +<p> +“Peace, thou old hag; what matter is’t of thine?” began +Mistress Maud, but again came the harsh laugh. “Matter of mine! Why, +whose matter should it be but mine, that have nursed all three of the lads, ay, +and their father before them, besides four more that lie in the graveyard at +Beaulieu? Rest their sweet souls! And I tell thee, Master John, an thou do not +righteously by these thy brothers, thou mayst back to thy parchments at +Southampton, for not a man or beast in the Forest will give thee good +day.” +</p> + +<p> +They all felt the old woman’s authority. She was able and spirited in her +homely way, and more mistress of the house than Mrs. Birkenholt herself; and +such were the terms of domestic service, that there was no peril of losing her +place. Even Maud knew that to turn her out was an impossibility, and that she +must be accepted like the loneliness, damp, and other evils of Forest life. +John had been under her dominion, and proceeded to persuade her. “Good +now, Nurse Joan, what have I denied these rash striplings that my father would +have granted them? Wouldst thou have them carry all their portion in their +hands, to be cozened of it at the first ale-house, or robbed on the next +heath?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would have thee do a brother’s honest part, John Birkenholt. A +loving part I say not. Thou wert always like a very popple for hardness, and +smoothness, ay, and slipperiness. Heigh ho! But what is right by the lads, thou +<i>shalt</i> do.” +</p> + +<p> +John cowered under her eye as he had done at six years old, and faltered, +“I only seek to do them right, nurse.” +</p> + +<p> +Nurse Joan uttered an emphatic grunt, but Mistress Maud broke in, “They +are not to hang about here in idleness, eating my poor child’s substance, +and teaching him ill manners.” +</p> + +<p> +“We would not stay here if you paid us for it,” returned Stephen. +</p> + +<p> +“And whither would you go?” asked John. +</p> + +<p> +“To Winchester first, to seek counsel with our uncle Birkenholt. Then to +London, where uncle Randall will help us to our fortunes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gipsy Hal! He is more like to help you to a halter,” sneered John, +<i>sotto voce</i>, and Joan herself observed, “Their uncle at Winchester +will show them better than to run after that there go-by-chance.” +</p> + +<p> +However, as no one wished to keep the youths, and they were equally determined +to go, an accommodation was come to at last. John was induced to give them +three crowns apiece and to yield them up the five small trinkets specified, +though not without some murmurs from his wife. It was no doubt safer to leave +the rest of the money in his hands than to carry it with them, and he undertook +that it should be forthcoming, if needed for any fit purpose, such as the +purchase of an office, an apprentice’s fee, or an outfit as a squire. It +was a vague promise that cost him nothing just then, and thus could be readily +made, and John’s great desire was to get them away so that he could aver +that they had gone by their own free will, without any hardship, for he had +seen enough at his father’s obsequies to show him that the love and +sympathy of all the scanty dwellers in the Forest was with them. +</p> + +<p> +Nurse Joan had fought their battles, but with the sore heart of one who was +parting with her darlings never to see them again. She bade them doff their +suits of mourning that she might make up their fardels, as they would travel in +their Lincoln-green suits. To take these she repaired to the little rough +shed-like chamber where the two brothers lay for the last time on their pallet +bed, awake, and watching for her, with Spring at their feet. The poor old woman +stood over them, as over the motherless nurslings whom she had tended, and she +should probably never see more, but she was a woman of shrewd sense, and +perceived that “with the new madam in the hall” it was better that +they should be gone before worse ensued. +</p> + +<p> +She advised leaving their valuables sealed up in the hands of my Lord Abbot, +but they were averse to this—for they said their uncle Randall, who had +not seen them since they were little children, would not know them without some +pledge. +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. “The less you deal with Hal Randall the +better,” she said. “Come now, lads, be advised and go no farther +than Winchester, where Master Ambrose may get all the book-learning he is ever +craving for, and you, Master Steevie, may prentice yourself to some good +trade.” +</p> + +<p> +“Prentice!” cried Stephen, scornfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, ay. As good blood as thine has been prenticed,” returned Joan. +“Better so than be a cut-throat sword-and-buckler fellow, ever slaying +some one else or getting thyself slain—a terror to all peaceful folk. But +thine uncle will see to that—a steady-minded lad always was he—was +Master Dick.” +</p> + +<p> +Consoling herself with this hope, the old woman rolled up their new suits with +some linen into two neat knapsacks; sighing over the thought that unaccustomed +fingers would deal with the shirts she had spun, bleached, and sewn. But she +had confidence in “Master Dick,” and concluded that to send his +nephews to him at Winchester gave a far better chance of their being cared for, +than letting them be flouted into ill-doing by their grudging brother and his +wife. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.<br /> +THE GRANGE OF SILKSTEDE</h2> + +<p class="poem"> + “All Itchen’s valley lay,<br /> +St. Catherine’s breezy side and the woodlands far away,<br /> +The huge Cathedral sleeping in venerable gloom,<br /> +The modest College tower, and the bedesmen’s Norman home.” +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">Lord Selborne</span>. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Very</span> early in the morning, even according to the +habits of the time, were Stephen and Ambrose Birkenholt astir. They were full +of ardour to enter on the new and unknown world beyond the Forest, and much as +they loved it, any change that kept them still to their altered life would have +been distasteful. +</p> + +<p> +Nurse Joan, asking no questions, folded up their fardels on their backs, and +packed the wallets for their day’s journey with ample provision. She +charged them to be good lads, to say their Pater, Credo, and Ave daily, and +never omit Mass on a Sunday. They kissed her like their mother and promised +heartily—and Stephen took his crossbow. They had had some hope of setting +forth so early as to avoid all other human farewells, except that Ambrose +wished to begin by going to Beaulieu to take leave of the Father who had been +his kind master, and get his blessing and counsel. But Beaulieu was three miles +out of their way, and Stephen had not the same desire, being less attached to +his schoolmaster and more afraid of hindrances being thrown in their way. +</p> + +<p> +Moreover, contrary to their expectation, their elder brother came forth, and +declared his intention of setting them forth on their way, bestowing a great +amount of good advice, to the same purport as that of nurse Joan, namely, that +they should let their uncle Richard Birkenholt find them some employment at +Winchester, where they, or at least Ambrose, might even obtain admission into +the famous college of St. Mary. +</p> + +<p> +In fact, this excellent elder brother persuaded himself that it would be doing +them an absolute wrong to keep such promising youths hidden in the Forest. +</p> + +<p> +The purpose of his going thus far with them made itself evident. It was to see +them past the turning to Beaulieu. No doubt he wished to tell the story in his +own way, and that they should not present themselves there as orphans expelled +from their father’s house. It would sound much better that he had sent +them to ask counsel of their uncle at Winchester, the fit person to take charge +of them. And as he represented that to go to Beaulieu would lengthen their +day’s journey so much that they might hardly reach Winchester that night, +while all Stephen’s wishes were to go forward, Ambrose could only send +his greetings. There was another debate over Spring, who had followed his +master as usual. John uttered an exclamation of vexation at perceiving it, and +bade Stephen drive the dog back. “Or give me the leash to drag him. He +will never follow me.” +</p> + +<p> +“He goes with us,” said Stephen. +</p> + +<p> +“He! Thou’lt never have the folly! The old hound is half blind and +past use. No man will take thee in with him after thee.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then they shall not take me in,” said Stephen. “I’ll +not leave him to be hanged by thee.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who spoke of hanging him!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thy wife will soon, if she hath not already.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou wilt be for hanging him thyself ere thou have made a day’s +journey with him on the king’s highway, which is not like these forest +paths, I would have thee to know. Why, he limps already.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll carry him,” said Stephen, doggedly. +</p> + +<p> +“What hast thou to say to that device, Ambrose?” asked John, +appealing to the elder and wiser. +</p> + +<p> +But Ambrose only answered “I’ll help,” and as John had no +particular desire to retain the superannuated hound, and preferred on the whole +to be spared sentencing him, no more was said on the subject as they went +along, until all John’s stock of good counsel had been lavished on his +brothers’ impatient ears. He bade them farewell, and turned back to the +lodge, and they struck away along the woodland pathway which they had been told +led to Winchester, though they had never been thither, nor seen any town save +Southampton and Romsey at long intervals. On they went, sometimes through beech +and oak woods of noble, almost primeval, trees, but more often across tracts of +holly underwood, illuminated here and there with the snowy garlands of the wild +cherry, and beneath with wide spaces covered with young green bracken, whose +soft irregular masses on the undulating ground had somewhat the effect of the +waves of the sea. These alternated with stretches of yellow gorse and brown +heather, sheets of cotton-grass, and pools of white crowfoot, and all the +vegetation of a mountain side, only that the mountain was not there. +</p> + +<p> +The brothers looked with eyes untaught to care for beauty, but with a certain +love of the home scenes, tempered by youth’s impatience for something +new. The nightingales sang, the thrushes flew out before them, the wild duck +and moorhen glanced on the pools. Here and there they came on the furrows left +by the snout of the wild swine, and in the open tracts rose the graceful heads +of the deer, but of inhabitants or travellers they scarce saw any, save when +they halted at the little hamlet of Minestead, where a small alehouse was kept +by one Will Purkiss, who claimed descent from the charcoal-burner who had +carried William Rufus’s corpse to burial at Winchester—the one fact +in history known to all New Foresters, though perhaps Ambrose and John were the +only persons beyond the walls of Beaulieu who did not suppose the affair to +have taken place in the last generation. +</p> + +<p> +A draught of ale and a short rest were welcome as the heat of the day came on, +making the old dog plod wearily on with his tongue out, so that Stephen began +to consider whether he should indeed have to be his bearer—a serious +matter, for the creature at full length measured nearly as much as he did. They +met hardly any one, and they and Spring were alike too well known and trained, +for difficulties to arise as to leading a dog through the Forest. Should they +ever come to the term of the Forest? It was not easy to tell when they were +really beyond it, for the ground was much of the same kind. Only the smooth, +treeless hills, where they had always been told Winchester lay, seemed more +defined; and they saw no more deer, but here and there were inclosures where +wheat and barley were growing, and black timbered farm-houses began to show +themselves at intervals. Herd boys, as rough and unkempt as their charges, +could be seen looking after little tawny cows, black-faced sheep, or spotted +pigs, with curs which barked fiercely at poor weary Spring, even as their +masters were more disposed to throw stones than to answer questions. +</p> + +<p> +By and by, on the further side of a green valley, could be seen buildings with +an encircling wall of flint and mortar faced with ruddy brick, the dark +red-tiled roofs rising among walnut-trees, and an orchard in full bloom +spreading into a long green field. +</p> + +<p> +“Winchester must be nigh. The sun is getting low,” said Stephen. +</p> + +<p> +“We will ask. The good folk will at least give us an answer,” said +Ambrose wearily. +</p> + +<p> +As they reached the gate, a team of plough horses was passing in led by a +peasant lad, while a lay brother, with his gown tucked up, rode sideways on +one, whistling. An Augustinian monk, ruddy, burly, and sunburnt, stood in the +farm-yard, to receive an account of the day’s work, and doffing his cap, +Ambrose asked whether Winchester were near. +</p> + +<p> +“Three mile or thereaway, my good lad,” said the monk; +“thou’lt see the towers an ye mount the hill. Whence art +thou?” he added, looking at the two young strangers. “Scholars? The +College elects not yet a while.” +</p> + +<p> +“We be from the Forest, so please your reverence, and are bound for Hyde +Abbey, where our uncle, Master Richard Birkenholt, dwells.” +</p> + +<p> +“And oh, sir,” added Stephen, “may we crave a drop of water +for our dog?” +</p> + +<p> +The monk smiled as he looked at Spring, who had flung himself down to take +advantage of the halt, hanging out his tongue, and panting spasmodically. +“A noble beast,” he said, “of the Windsor breed, is’t +not?” Then laying his hand on the graceful head, “Poor old hound, +thou art o’er travelled. He is aged for such a journey, if you came from +the Forest since morn. Twelve years at the least, I should say, by his +muzzle.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your reverence is right,” said Stephen, “he is twelve years +old. He is two years younger than I am, and my father gave him to me when he +was a little whelp.” +</p> + +<p> +“So thou must needs take him to seek thy fortune with thee,” said +the good-natured Augustinian, not knowing how truly he spoke. “Come in, +my lads, here’s a drink for him. What said you was your uncle’s +name?” and as Ambrose repeated it, “Birkenholt! Living on a corrody +at Hyde! Ay! ay! My lads, I have a call to Winchester to-morrow, you’d +best tarry the night here at Silkstede Grange, and fare forward with me.” +</p> + +<p> +The tired boys were heartily glad to accept the invitation, more especially as +Spring, happy as he was with the trough of water before him, seemed almost too +tired to stand over it, and after the first, tried to lap, lying down. +Silkstede was not a regular convent, only a grange or farm-house, presided over +by one of the monks, with three or four lay brethren under him, and a little +colony of hinds, in the surrounding cottages, to cultivate the farm, and tend a +few cattle and numerous sheep, the special care of the Augustinians. +</p> + +<p> +Father Shoveller, as the good-natured monk who had received the travellers was +called, took them into the spacious but homely chamber which served as +refectory, kitchen, and hall. He called to the lay brother who was busy over +the open hearth to fry a few more rashers of bacon; and after they had washed +away the dust of their journey at the trough where Spring had slaked his +thirst, they sat down with him to a hearty supper, which smacked more of the +grange than of the monastery, spread on a large solid oak table, and washed +down with good ale. The repast was shared by the lay brethren and farm +servants, and also by two or three big sheep dogs, who had to be taught their +manners towards Spring. +</p> + +<p> +There was none of the formality that Ambrose was accustomed to at Beaulieu in +the great refectory, where no one spoke, but one of the brethren read aloud +some theological book from a stone pulpit in the wall. Here Brother Shoveller +conversed without stint, chiefly with the brother who seemed to be a kind of +bailiff, with whom he discussed the sheep that were to be taken into market the +next day, and the prices to be given for them by either the college, the +castle, or the butchers of Boucher Row. He however found time to talk to the +two guests, and being sprung from a family in the immediate neighbourhood, he +knew the verdurer’s name, and ere he was a monk, had joined in the chase +in the Forest. +</p> + +<p> +There was a little oratory attached to the hall, where he and the lay brethren +kept the hours, to a certain degree, putting two or three services into one, on +a liberal interpretation of <i>laborare est orare</i>. Ambrose’s +responses made their host observe as they went out, “Thou hast thy Latin +pat, my son, there’s the making of a scholar in thee.” +</p> + +<p> +Then they took their first night’s rest away from home, in a small +guest-chamber, with a good bed, though bare in all other respects. Brother +Shoveller likewise had a cell to himself, but the lay brethren slept +promiscuously among their sheep-dogs on the floor of the refectory. +</p> + +<p> +All were afoot in the early morning, and Stephen and Ambrose were awakened by +the tumultuous bleatings of the flock of sheep that were being driven from +their fold to meet their fate at Winchester market. They heard Brother +Shoveller shouting his orders to the shepherds in tones a great deal more like +those of a farmer than of a monk, and they made haste to dress themselves and +join him as he was muttering a morning abbreviation of his obligatory devotions +in the oratory, observing that they might be in time to hear mass at one of the +city churches, but the sheep might delay them, and they had best break their +fast ere starting. +</p> + +<p> +It was Wednesday, a day usually kept as a moderate fast, so the breakfast was +of oatmeal porridge, flavoured with honey, and washed down with mead, after +which Brother Shoveller mounted his mule, a sleek creature, whose long ears had +an air of great contentment, and rode off, accommodating his pace to that of +his young companions up a stony cart-track which soon led them to the top of a +chalk down, whence, as in a map, they could see Winchester, surrounded by its +walls, lying in a hollow between the smooth green hills. At one end rose the +castle, its fortifications covering its own hill, beneath, in the valley, the +long, low massive Cathedral, the college buildings and tower with its +pinnacles, and nearer at hand, among the trees, the Almshouse of Noble Poverty +at St. Cross, beneath the round hill of St. Catherine. Churches and monastic +buildings stood thickly in the town, and indeed, Brother Shoveller said, +shaking his head, that there were well-nigh as many churches as folk to go to +them; the place was decayed since the time he remembered when Prince Arthur was +born there. Hyde Abbey he could not show them, from where they stood, as it lay +further off by the river side, having been removed from the neighbourhood of +the Minster, because the brethren of St. Grimbald could not agree with those of +St. Swithun’s belonging to the Minster, as indeed their buildings were so +close together that it was hardly possible to pass between them, and their +bells jangled in each other’s ears. +</p> + +<p> +Brother Shoveller did not seem to entertain a very high opinion of the monks of +St. Grimbald, and he asked the boys whether they were expected there. +“No,” they said; “tidings of their father’s death had +been sent by one of the woodmen, and the only answer that had been returned was +that Master Richard Birkenholt was ill at ease, but would have masses said for +his brother’s soul.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hem!” said the Augustinian ominously; but at that moment they came +up with the sheep, and his attention was wholly absorbed by them, as he joined +the lay brothers in directing the shepherds who were driving them across the +downs, steering them over the high ground towards the arched West Gate close to +the royal castle. The street sloped rapidly down, and Brother Shoveller +conducted his young companions between the overhanging houses, with stalls +between serving as shops, till they reached the open space round the Market +Cross, on the steps of which women sat with baskets of eggs, butter, and +poultry, raised above the motley throng of cattle and sheep, with their dogs +and drivers, the various cries of man and beast forming an incongruous +accompaniment to the bells of the churches that surrounded the market-place. +</p> + +<p> +Citizens’ wives in hood and wimple were there, shrilly bargaining for +provision for their households, squires and grooms in quest of hay for their +masters’ stables, purveyors seeking food for the garrison, lay brethren +and sisters for their convents, and withal, the usual margin of begging friars, +wandering gleemen, jugglers and pedlars, though in no great numbers, as this +was only a Wednesday market-day, not a fair. Ambrose recognised one or two who +made part of the crowd at Beaulieu only two days previously, when he had +“seen through tears the juggler leap,” and the jingling tune one of +them was playing on a rebeck brought back associations of almost unbearable +pain. Happily, Father Shoveller, having seen his sheep safely bestowed in a +pen, bethought him of bidding the lay brother in attendance show the young +gentlemen the way to Hyde Abbey, and turning up a street at right angles to the +principal one, they were soon out of the throng. +</p> + +<p> +It was a lonely place, with a decayed uninhabited appearance, and Brother Peter +told them it had been the Jewry, whence good King Edward had banished all the +unbelieving dogs of Jews, and where no one chose to dwell after them. +</p> + +<p> +Soon they came in sight of a large extent of monastic buildings, partly of +stone, but the more domestic offices of flint and brick or mortar. Large +meadows stretched away to the banks of the Itchen, with cattle grazing in them, +but in one was a set of figures to whom the lay brother pointed with a laugh of +exulting censure. +</p> + +<p> +“Long bows!” exclaimed Stephen. “Who be they?” +</p> + +<p> +“Brethren of St. Grimbald, sir. Such rule doth my Lord of Hyde keep, +mitred abbot though he be. They say the good bishop hath called him to order, +but what recks he of bishops? Good-day, Brother Bulpett, here be two young +kinsmen of Master Birkenholt to visit him; and so <i>benedicite</i>, fair sirs. +St. Austin’s grace be with you!” +</p> + +<p> +Through a gate between two little red octagonal towers, Brother Bulpett led the +two visitors, and called to another of the monks, “<i>Benedicite</i>, +Father Segrim, here be two striplings wanting speech of old Birkenholt.” +</p> + +<p> +“Looking after dead men’s shoes, I trow,” muttered father +Segrim, with a sour look at the lads, as he led them through the outer court, +where some fine horses were being groomed, and then across a second court +surrounded with a beautiful cloister, with flower beds in front of it. Here, on +a stone bench, in the sun, clad in a gown furred with rabbit skin, sat a +decrepit old man, both his hands clasped over his staff. Into his deaf ears +their guide shouted, “These boys say they are your kindred, Master +Birkenholt.” +</p> + +<p> +“Anan?” said the old man, trembling with palsy. The lads knew him +to be older than their father, but they were taken by surprise at such +feebleness, and the monk did not aid them, only saying roughly, “There he +is. Tell your errand.” +</p> + +<p> +“How fares it with you, uncle?” ventured Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“Who be ye? I know none of you,” muttered the old man, shaking his +head still more. +</p> + +<p> +“We are Ambrose and Stephen from the Forest,” shouted Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! Steve! poor Stevie! The accursed boar has rent his goodly face so as +I would never have known him. Poor Steve! Best his soul!” +</p> + +<p> +The old man began to weep, while his nephews recollected that they had heard +that another uncle had been slain by the tusk of a wild boar in early manhood. +Then to their surprise, his eyes fell on Spring, and calling the hound by name, +he caressed the creature’s head—“Spring, poor Spring! +Stevie’s faithful old dog. Hast lost thy master? Wilt follow me +now?” +</p> + +<p> +He was thinking of a Spring as well as of a Stevie of sixty years ago, and he +babbled on of how many fawns were in the Queen’s Bower this summer, and +who had best shot at the butts at Lyndhurst, as if he were excited by the +breath of his native Forest, but there was no making him understand that he was +speaking with his nephews. The name of his brother John only set him repeating +that John loved the greenwood, and would be content to take poor Stevie’s +place and dwell in the verdurer’s lodge; but that he himself ought to be +abroad, he had seen brave Lord Talbot’s ships ready at Southampton, John +might stay at home, but he would win fame and honour in Gascony. +</p> + +<p> +And while he thus wandered, and the boys stood by perplexed and distressed, +Brother Segrim came back, and said, “So, young sirs, have you seen enough +of your doting kinsman? The sub-prior bids me say that we harbour no strange, +idling, lubber lads nor strange dogs here. ’Tis enough for us to be +saddled with dissolute old men-at-arms without all their idle kin making an +excuse to come and pay their devoirs. These corrodies are a heavy charge and a +weighty abuse, and if there be the visitation the king’s majesty speaks +of, they will be one of the first matters to be amended.” +</p> + +<p> +Wherewith Stephen and Ambrose found themselves walked out of the cloister of +St. Grimbald, and the gates shut behind them. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III.<br /> +KINSMEN AND STRANGERS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“The reul of St. Maure and of St. Beneit<br /> +Because that it was old and some deale streit<br /> +This ilke monk let old things pace;<br /> +He held ever of the new world the trace.” +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">Chaucer</span>. +</p> + +<p> +“<span class="smcap">The</span> churls!” exclaimed Stephen. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor old man!” said Ambrose; “I hope they are good to +him!” +</p> + +<p> +“To think that thus ends all that once was gallant talk of fighting under +Talbot’s banner,” sighed Stephen, thoughtful for a moment. +“However, there’s a good deal to come first.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, and what next?” said the elder brother. +</p> + +<p> +“On to uncle Hal. I ever looked most to him. He will purvey me to a +page’s place in some noble household, and get thee a clerk’s or +scholar’s place in my Lord of York’s house. Mayhap there will be +room for us both there, for my Lord of York hath a goodly following of armed +men.” +</p> + +<p> +“Which way lies the road to London?” +</p> + +<p> +“We must back into the town and ask, as well as fill our stomachs and our +wallets,” said Ambrose. “Talk of their rule! The entertaining of +strangers is better understood at Silkstede than at Hyde.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tush! A grudged crust sticks in the gullet,” returned Stephen. +“Come on, Ambrose, I marked the sign of the White Hart by the +market-place. There will be a welcome there for foresters.” +</p> + +<p> +They returned on their steps past the dilapidated buildings of the old Jewry, +and presently saw the market in full activity; but the sounds and sights of +busy life where they were utter strangers, gave Ambrose a sense of loneliness +and desertion, and his heart sank as the bolder Stephen threaded the way in the +direction of a broad entry over which stood a slender-bodied hart with gold +hoofs, horns, collar, and chain. +</p> + +<p> +“How now, my sons?” said a full cheery voice, and to their joy, +they found themselves pushed up against Father Shoveller. +</p> + +<p> +“Returned already! Did you get scant welcome at Hyde? Here, come where we +can get a free breath, and tell me.” +</p> + +<p> +They passed through the open gateway of the White Hart, into the court, but +before listening to them, the monk exchanged greetings with the hostess, who +stood at the door in a broad hat and velvet bodice, and demanded what cheer +there was for noon-meat. +</p> + +<p> +“A jack, reverend sir, eels and a grampus fresh sent up from Hampton; +also fresh-killed mutton for such lay folk as are not curious of the Wednesday +fast. They are laying the board even now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lay platters for me and these two young gentlemen,” said the +Augustinian. “Ye be my guests, ye wot,” he added, “since ye +tarried not for meat at Hyde.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor did they ask us,” exclaimed Stephen; “lubbers and idlers +were the best words they had for us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ho! ho! That’s the way with the brethren of St. Grimbald! And your +uncle?” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas, sir, he doteth with age,” said Ambrose. “He took +Stephen for his own brother, dead under King Harry of Windsor.” +</p> + +<p> +“So! I had heard somewhat of his age and sickness. Who was it who thrust +you out?” +</p> + +<p> +“A lean brother with a thin red beard, and a shrewd, puckered +visage.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! By that token ’twas Segrim the bursar. He wots how to drive a +bargain. St. Austin! but he deemed you came to look after your kinsman’s +corrody.” +</p> + +<p> +“He said the king spake of a visitation to abolish corrodies from +religious houses,” said Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll abolish the long bow from them first,” said Father +Shoveller. “Ay, and miniver from my Lord Abbot’s hood. I’d +admonish you, my good brethren of S. Grimbald, to be in no hurry for a +visitation which might scarce stop where you would fain have it. Well, my sons, +are ye bound for the Forest again? An ye be, we’ll wend back together, +and ye can lie at Silkstede to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alack, kind father, there’s no more home for us in the +Forest,” said Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“Methought ye had a brother?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea; but our brother hath a wife.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ho! ho! And the wife will none of you?” +</p> + +<p> +“She would have kept Ambrose to teach her boy his primer,” said +Stephen; “but she would none of Spring nor of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“We hoped to receive counsel from our uncle at Hyde,” added +Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“Have ye no purpose now?” inquired the Father, his jolly +good-humoured face showing much concern. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea,” manfully returned Stephen. “’Twas what I ever +hoped to do, to fare on and seek our fortune in London.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! To pick up gold and silver like Dick Whittington. Poor old Spring +here will scarce do you the part of his cat,” and the monk’s hearty +laugh angered Stephen into muttering, “We are no fools,” but Father +Shoveller only laughed the more, saying, “Fair and softly, my son, +ye’ll never pick up the gold if ye cannot brook a kindly quip. Have you +friends or kindred in London?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, that have we, sir,” cried Stephen; “our mother’s +own brother, Master Randall, hath come to preferment there in my Lord +Archbishop of York’s household, and hath sent us tokens from time to +time, which we will show you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not while we be feasting,” said Father Shoveller, hastily checking +Ambrose, who was feeling in his bosom. “See, the knaves be bringing their +grampus across the court. Here, we’ll clean our hands, and be ready for +the meal;” and he showed them, under a projecting gallery in the inn yard +a stone trough, through which flowed a stream of water, in which he proceeded +to wash his hands and face, and to wipe them in a coarse towel suspended nigh +at hand. Certainly after handling sheep freely there was need, though such +ablutions were a refinement not indulged in by all the company who assembled +round the well-spread board of the White Hart for the meal after the market. +They were a motley company. By the host’s side sat a knight on his way +home from pilgrimage to Compostella, or perhaps a mission to Spain, with a +couple of squires and other attendants, and converse of political import seemed +to be passing between him and a shrewd-looking man in a lawyer’s hood and +gown, the recorder of Winchester, who preferred being a daily guest at the +White Hart to keeping a table of his own. Country franklins and yeomen, +merchants and men-at-arms, palmers and craftsmen, friars and monks, black, +white, and grey, and with almost all, Father Shoveller had greeting or converse +to exchange. He knew everybody, and had friendly talk with all, on canons or +crops, on war or wool, on the prices of pigs or prisoners, on the news of the +country side, or on the perilous innovations in learning at Oxford, which +might, it was feared, even affect St. Mary’s College at Winchester. +</p> + +<p> +He did not affect outlandish fishes himself, and dined upon pike, but observing +the curiosity of his guests, he took good care to have them well supplied with +grampus; also in due time with varieties of the pudding and cake kind which had +never dawned on their forest-bred imagination, and with a due proportion of +good ale—the same over which the knight might be heard rejoicing, and +lauding far above the Spanish or French wines, on which he said he had been +half starved. +</p> + +<p> +Father Shoveller mused a good deal over his pike and its savoury stuffing. He +was not by any means an ideal monk, but he was equally far from being a +scandal. He was the shrewd man of business and manager of his fraternity, +conducting the farming operations and making all the bargains, following his +rule respectably according to the ordinary standard of his time, but not rising +to any spirituality, and while duly observing the fast day, as to the quality +of his food, eating with the appetite of a man who lived in the open fields. +</p> + +<p> +But when their hunger was appeased, with many a fragment given to Spring, the +young Birkenholts, wearied of the endless talk that was exchanged over the +tankard, began to grow restless, and after exchanging signs across Father +Shoveller’s solid person, they simultaneously rose, and began to thank +him and say they must pursue their journey. +</p> + +<p> +“How now, not so fast, my sons,” said the Father; “tarry a +bit, I have more to say to thee. Prayers and provender, thou +knowst—I’ll come anon. So, sir, didst say yonder beggarly Flemings +haggle at thy price for thy Southdown fleeces. Weight of dirt forsooth! Do not +we wash the sheep in the Poolhole stream, the purest water in the shire?” +</p> + +<p> +Manners withheld Ambrose from responding to Stephen’s hot impatience, +while the merchant in the sleek puce-coloured coat discussed the Flemish wool +market with the monk for a good half-hour longer. +</p> + +<p> +By this time the knight’s horses were brought into the yard, and the +merchant’s men had made ready his palfrey, his pack-horse being already +on the way; the host’s son came round with the reckoning, and there was a +general move. Stephen expected to escape, and hardly could brook the +good-natured authority with which Father Shoveller put Ambrose aside, when he +would have discharged their share of the reckoning, and took it upon himself. +“Said I not ye were my guests?” quoth he. “We missed our +morning mass, it will do us no harm to hear Nones in the Minster.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir, we thank you, but we should be on our way,” said Ambrose, +incited by Stephen’s impatient gestures. +</p> + +<p> +“Tut, tut. Fair and softly, my son, or more haste may be worse speed. +Methought ye had somewhat to show me.” +</p> + +<p> +Stephen’s youthful independence might chafe, but the habit of submission +to authorities made him obediently follow the monk out at the back entrance of +the inn, behind which lay the Minster yard, the grand western front rising in +front of them, and the buildings of St. Swithun’s Abbey extending far to +their right. The hour was nearly noon, and the space was deserted, except for +an old woman sitting at the great western doorway with a basket of rosaries +made of nuts and of snail shells, and a workman or two employed on the +bishop’s new reredos. +</p> + +<p> +“Now for thy tokens,” said Father Shoveller. “See my young +foresters, ye be new to the world. Take an old man’s counsel, and never +show, nor speak of such gear in an hostel. Mine host of the White Hart is an +old gossip of mine, and indifferent honest, but who shall say who might be +within earshot?” +</p> + +<p> +Stephen had a mind to say that he did not see why the meddling monk should wish +to see them at all, and Ambrose looked a little reluctant, but Father Shoveller +said in his good-humoured way, “As you please, young sirs. ’Tis but +an old man’s wish to see whether he can do aught to help you, that you be +not as lambs among wolves. Mayhap ye deem ye can walk into London town, and +that the first man you meet can point you to your uncle—Randall call ye +him?—as readily as I could show you my brother, Thomas Shoveller of +Granbury. But you are just as like to meet with some knave who might cozen you +of all you have, or mayhap a beadle might take you up for vagabonds, and thrust +you in the stocks, or ever you get to London town; so I would fain give you +some commendation, an I knew to whom to make it, and ye be not too proud to +take it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are but too good to us, sir,” said Ambrose, quite conquered, +though Stephen only half believed in the difficulties. The Father took them +within the west door of the Minster, and looking up and down the long arcade of +the southern aisle to see that no one was watching, he inspected the tokens, +and cross-examined them on their knowledge of their uncle. +</p> + +<p> +His latest gift, the rosary, had come by the hand of Friar Hurst, a begging +Minorite of Southampton, who had it from another of his order at Winchester, +who had received it from one of the king’s archers at the Castle, with a +message to Mistress Birkenholt that it came from her brother, Master Randall, +who had good preferment in London, in the house of my Lord Archbishop of York, +without whose counsel King Henry never stirred. As to the coming of the agate +and the pouncet box, the minds of the boys were very hazy. They knew that the +pouncet box had been conveyed through the attendants of the Abbot of Beaulieu, +but they were only sure that from that time the belief had prevailed with their +mother that her brother was prospering in the house of the all-powerful Wolsey. +The good Augustinian, examining the tokens, thought they gave colour to that +opinion. The rosary and agate might have been picked up in an ecclesiastical +household, and the lid of the pouncet box was made of a Spanish coin, likely to +have come through some of the attendants of Queen Katharine. +</p> + +<p> +“It hath an appearance,” he said. “I marvel whether there be +still at the Castle this archer who hath had speech with Master Randall, for if +ye know no more than ye do at present, ’tis seeking a needle in a bottle +of hay. But see, here come the brethren that be to sing Nones—sinner that +I am, to have said no Hours since the morn, being letted with lawful +business.” +</p> + +<p> +Again the unwilling Stephen had to submit. There was no feeling for the +incongruous in those days, and reverence took very different directions from +those in which it now shows itself, so that nobody had any objection to +Spring’s pacing gravely with the others towards the Lady Chapel, where +the Hours were sung, since the Choir was in the hands of workmen, and the sound +of chipping stone could be heard from it, where Bishop Fox’s elaborate +lace-work reredos was in course of erection. Passing the shrine of St. Swithun, +and the grand tomb of Cardinal Beaufort, where his life-coloured effigy filled +the boys with wonder, they followed their leader’s example, and knelt +within the Lady Chapel, while the brief Latin service for the ninth hour was +sung through by the canon, clerks, and boys. It really was the Sixth, but +cumulative easy-going treatment of the Breviary had made this the usual time +for it, as the name of noon still testifies. The boys’ attention, it must +be confessed, was chiefly expended on the wonderful miracles of the Blessed +Virgin in fresco on the walls of the chapel, all tending to prove that here was +hope for those who said their Ave in any extremity of fire or flood. +</p> + +<p> +Nones ended, Father Shoveller, with many a halt for greeting or for gossip, +took the lads up the hill towards the wide fortified space where the old Castle +and royal Hall of Henry of Winchester looked down on the city, and after some +friendly passages with the warder at the gate, Father Shoveller explained that +he was in quest of some one recently come from court, of whom the striplings in +his company could make inquiry concerning a kinsman in the household of my Lord +Archbishop of York. The warder scratched his head, and bethinking himself that +Eastcheap Jockey was the reverend. Father’s man, summoned a horse-boy to +call that worthy. +</p> + +<p> +“Where was he?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sitting over his pottle in the Hall,” was the reply, and the monk, +with a laugh savouring little of asceticism, said he would seek him there, and +accordingly crossed the court to the noble Hall, with its lofty dark marble +columns, and the Round Table of King Arthur suspended at the upper end. The +governor of the Castle had risen from his meal long ago, but the garrison in +the piping times of peace would make their ration of ale last as far into the +afternoon as their commanders would suffer. And half a dozen men still sat +there, one or two snoring, two playing at dice on a clear corner of the board, +and another, a smart well-dressed fellow in a bright scarlet jerkin, laying +down the law to a country bumpkin, who looked somewhat dazed. The first of +these was, as it appeared, Eastcheap Jockey, and there was something both of +the readiness and the impudence of the Londoner in his manner, when he turned +to answer the question. He knew many in my Lord of York’s house—as +many as a man was like to know where there was a matter of two hundred folk +between clerks and soldiers, he had often crushed a pottle with them. No; he +had never heard of one called Randall, neither in hat nor cowl, but he knew +more of them by face than by name, and more by byname than surname or +christened name. He was certainly not the archer who had brought a token for +Mistress Birkenholt, and his comrades all avouched equal ignorance on the +subject. Nothing could be gained there, and while Father Shoveller rubbed his +bald head in consideration, Stephen rose to take leave. +</p> + +<p> +“Look you here, my fair son,” said the monk. “Starting at +this hour, though the days be long, you will not reach any safe halting place +with daylight, whereas by lying a night in this good city, you might reach +Alton to-morrow, and there is a home where the name of Brother Shoveller will +win you free lodging and entertainment.” +</p> + +<p> +“And to-night, good Father?” inquired Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“That will I see to, if ye will follow me.” +</p> + +<p> +Stephen was devoured with impatience during the farewells in the Castle, but +Ambrose represented that the good man was giving them much of his time, and +that it would be unseemly and ungrateful to break from him. +</p> + +<p> +“What matter is it of his? And why should he make us lose a whole +day?” grumbled Stephen. +</p> + +<p> +“What special gain would a day be to us?” sighed Ambrose. “I +am thankful that any should take heed for us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, you love leading-strings,” returned Stephen. “Where is +he going now? All out of our way!” +</p> + +<p> +Father Shoveller, however, as he went down the Castle hill, explained that the +Warden of St. Elizabeth’s Hospital was his friend, and knowing him to +have acquaintance among the clergy of St. Paul’s, it would be well to +obtain a letter of commendation from him, which might serve them in good stead +in case they were disappointed of finding their uncle at once. +</p> + +<p> +“It would be better for Spring to have a little more rest,” thought +Stephen, thus mitigating his own longing to escape from the monks and friars, +of whom Winchester seemed to be full. +</p> + +<p> +They had a kindly welcome in the pretty little college of St. Elizabeth of +Hungary, lying in the meadows between William of Wykeham’s College and +the round hill of St. Catharine. The Warden was a more scholarly and +ecclesiastical-looking person than his friend, the good-natured Augustinian. +After commending them to his care, and partaking of a drink of mead, the monk +of Silkstede took leave of the youths, with a hearty blessing and advice to +husband their few crowns, not to tell every one of their tokens, and to follow +the counsel of the Warden of St. Elizabeth’s, assuring them that if they +turned back to the Forest, they should have a welcome at Silkstede. Moreover he +patted Spring pitifully, and wished him and his master well through the +journey. +</p> + +<p> +St. Elizabeth’s College was a hundred years older than its neighbour St. +Mary’s, as was evident to practised eyes by its arches and windows, but +it had been so entirely eclipsed by Wykeham’s foundation that the number +of priests, students, and choir-boys it was intended to maintain, had dwindled +away, so that it now contained merely the Warden, a superannuated priest, and a +couple of big lads who acted as servants. There was an air of great quietude +and coolness about the pointed arches of its tiny cloister on that +summer’s day, with the old monk dozing in his chair over the manuscript +he thought he was reading, not far from the little table where the Warden was +eagerly studying Erasmus’s <i>Praise of Folly</i>. But the Birkenholts +were of the age at which quiet means dulness, at least Stephen was, and the +Warden had pity both on them and on himself; and hearing joyous shouts outside, +he opened a little door in the cloister wall, and revealed a multitude of lads +with their black gowns tucked up “a playing at the +ball”—these being the scholars of St. Mary’s. Beckoning to a +pair of elder ones, who were walking up and down more quietly, he consigned the +strangers to their care, sweetening the introduction by an invitation to +supper, for which he would gain permission from their Warden. +</p> + +<p> +One of the young Wykehamists was shy and churlish, and sheered off from the +brothers, but the other catechised them on their views of becoming scholars in +the college. He pointed out the cloister where the studies took place in all +weathers, showed them the hall, the chapel, and the chambers, and expatiated on +the chances of attaining to New College. Being moreover a scholarly fellow, he +and Ambrose fell into a discussion over the passage of Virgil, copied out on a +bit of paper, which he was learning by heart. Some other scholars having +finished their game, and become aware of the presence of a strange dog and two +strange boys, proceeded to mob Stephen and Spring, whereupon the shy boy stood +forth and declared that the Warden of St. Elizabeth’s had brought them in +for an hour’s sport. +</p> + +<p> +Of course, in such close quarters, the rival Warden was esteemed a natural +enemy, and went by the name of “Old Bess,” so that his +recommendation went for worse than nothing, and a dash at Spring was made by +the inhospitable young savages. Stephen stood to the defence in act to box, and +the shy lad stood by him, calling for fair play and one at a time. Of course a +fight ensued, Stephen and his champion on the one side, and two assailants on +the other, till after a fall on either side, Ambrose’s friend interfered +with a voice as thundering as the manly crack would permit, peace was restored, +Stephen found himself free of the meads, and Spring was caressed instead of +being tormented. +</p> + +<p> +Stephen was examined on his past, present, and future, envied for his Forest +home, and beguiled into magnificent accounts, not only of the deer that had +fallen to his bow and the boars that had fallen to his father’s spear, +but of the honours to which his uncle in the Archbishop’s household would +prefer him—for he viewed it as an absolute certainty that his kinsman was +captain among the men-at-arms, whom he endowed on the spot with scarlet coats +faced with black velvet, and silver medals and chains. +</p> + +<p> +Whereat one of the other boys was not behind in telling how his father was +pursuivant to my Lord Duke of Norfolk, and never went abroad save with silver +lions broidered on back and breast, and trumpets going before; and another +dwelt on the splendours of the mayor and aldermen of Southampton with their +chains and cups of gold. Stephen felt bound to surpass this with the last +report that my Lord of York’s men rode Flemish steeds in crimson velvet +housings, passmented with gold and gems, and of course his uncle had the +leading of them. +</p> + +<p> +“Who be thine uncle?” demanded a thin, squeaky voice. “I have +brothers likewise in my Lord of York’s meimé.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mine uncle is Captain Harry Randall, of Shirley,” quoth Stephen +magnificently, scornfully surveying the small proportions of the speaker, +“What is thy brother?” +</p> + +<p> +“Head turnspit,” said a rude voice, provoking a general shout of +laughter; but the boy stood his ground, and said hotly: “He is page to +the comptroller of my lord’s household, and waits at the second table, +and I know every one of the captains.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll say next he knows every one of the Seven Worthies,” +cried another boy, for Stephen was becoming a popular character. +</p> + +<p> +“And all the paladins to boot. Come on, little Rowley!” was the +cry. +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you my brother is page to the comptroller of the household, and +my mother dwells beside the Gate House, and I know every man of them,” +insisted Rowley, waxing hot. “As for that Forest savage fellow’s +uncle being captain of the guard, ’tis more like that he is my +lord’s fool, Quipsome Hal!” +</p> + +<p> +Whereat there was a cry, in which were blended exultation at the hit, and +vituperation of the hitter. Stephen flew forward to avenge the insult, but a +big bell was beginning to ring, a whole wave of black gowns rushed to obey it, +sweeping little Rowley away with them; and Stephen found himself left alone +with his brother and the two lads who had been invited to St. +Elizabeth’s, and who now repaired thither with them. +</p> + +<p> +The supper party in the refectory was a small one, and the rule of the +foundation limited the meal to one dish and a pittance, but the dish was of +savoury eels, and the Warden’s good nature had added to it some cates and +comfits in consideration of his youthful guests. +</p> + +<p> +After some conversation with the elder Wykehamist, the Warden called Ambrose +and put him through an examination on his attainments, which proved so +satisfactory, that it ended in an invitation to the brothers to fill two of the +empty scholarships of the college of the dear St. Elizabeth. It was a good +offer, and one that Ambrose would fain have accepted, but Stephen had no mind +for the cloister or for learning. +</p> + +<p> +The Warden had no doubt that he could be apprenticed in the city of Winchester, +since the brother at home had in keeping a sum sufficient for the fee. Though +the trade of “capping” had fallen off, there were still good +substantial burgesses who would be willing to receive an active lad of good +parentage, some being themselves of gentle blood. Stephen, however, would not +brook the idea. “Out upon you, Ambrose!” said he, “to desire +to bind your own brother to base mechanical arts.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis what Nurse Joan held to be best for us both,” said +Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“Joan! Yea, like a woman, who deems a man safest when he is a tailor, or +a perfumer. An you be minded to stay here with a black gown and a shaven crown, +I shall on with Spring and come to preferment. Maybe thou’lt next hear of +me when I have got some fat canonry for thee.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, I quit thee not,” said Ambrose. “If thou fare forward, +so do I. But I would thou couldst have brought thy mind to rest there.” +</p> + +<p> +“What! wouldst thou be content with this worn-out place, with more +churches than houses, and more empty houses than full ones? No! let us on where +there is something doing! Thou wilt see that my Lord of York will have room for +the scholar as well as the man-at-arms.” +</p> + +<p> +So the kind offer was declined, but Ambrose was grieved to see that the Warden +thought him foolish, and perhaps ungrateful. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless the good man gave them a letter to the Reverend Master Alworthy, +singing clerk at St. Paul’s Cathedral, telling Ambrose it might serve +them in case they failed to find their uncle, or if my Lord of York’s +household should not be in town. He likewise gave them a recommendation which +would procure them a night’s lodging at the Grange, and after the +morning’s mass and meat, sped them on their way with his blessing, +muttering to himself, “That elder one might have been the staff of mine +age! Pity on him to be lost in the great and evil City! Yet ’tis a good +lad to follow that fiery spark his brother. <i>Tanquam agnus inter lupos</i>. +Alack!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br /> +A HERO’S FALL</h2> + +<p class="letter"> +“These four came all afront and mainly made at me. I made no more ado, +but took their seven points on my target—thus—” +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">Shakespeare</span>. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">The</span> journey to Alton was eventless. It was slow, for +the day was a broiling one, and the young foresters missed their oaks and +beeches, as they toiled over the chalk downs that rose and sank in endless +succession; though they would hardly have slackened their pace if it had not +been for poor old Spring, who was sorely distressed by the heat and the want of +water on the downs. Every now and then he lay down, panting distressfully, with +his tongue hanging out, and his young masters always waited for him, often +themselves not sorry to rest in the fragment of shade from a solitary thorn or +juniper. +</p> + +<p> +The track was plain enough, and there were hamlets at long intervals. Flocks of +sheep fed on the short grass, but there was no approaching the shepherds, as +they and their dogs regarded Spring as an enemy, to be received with clamour, +stones, and teeth, in spite of the dejected looks which might have acquitted +him of evil intentions. +</p> + +<p> +The travellers reached Alton in the cool of the evening, and were kindly +received by a monk, who had charge of a grange just outside the little town, +near one of the springs of the River Wey. +</p> + +<p> +The next day’s journey was a pleasanter one, for there was more of wood +and heather, and they had to skirt round the marshy borders of various bogs. +Spring was happier, being able to stop and lap whenever he would, and the whole +scene was less unfriendly to them. But they scarcely made speed enough, for +they were still among tall whins and stiff scrub of heather when the sun began +to get low, gorgeously lighting the tall plumes of golden broom, and they had +their doubts whether they might not be off the track; but in such weather, +there was nothing alarming in spending a night out of doors, if only they had +something for supper. Stephen took a bolt from the purse at his girdle, and +bent his crossbow, so as to be ready in case a rabbit sprang out, or a duck +flew up from the marshes. +</p> + +<p> +A small thicket of trees was in sight, and they were making for it, when sounds +of angry voices were heard, and Spring, bristling up the mane on his neck, and +giving a few premonitory fierce growls like thunder, bounded forward as though +he had been seven years younger. Stephen darted after him, Ambrose rushed after +Stephen, and breaking through the trees, they beheld the dog at the throat of +one of three men. As they came on the scene, the dog was torn down and hurled +aside, giving a howl of agony, which infuriated his master. Letting fly his +crossbow bolt full at the fellow’s face, he dashed on, reckless of odds, +waving his knotted stick, and shouting with rage. Ambrose, though more aware of +the madness of such an assault, still hurried to his support, and was amazed as +well as relieved to find the charge effectual. Without waiting to return a +blow, the miscreants took to their heels, and Stephen, seeing nothing but his +dog, dropped on his knees beside the quivering creature, from whose neck blood +was fast pouring. One glance of the faithful wistful eyes, one feeble movement +of the expressive tail, and Spring had made his last farewell! That was all +Stephen was conscious of; but Ambrose could hear the cry, “Good sirs, +good lads, set me free!” and was aware of a portly form bound to a tree. +As he cut the rope with his knife, the rescued traveller hurried out thanks and +demands—“Where are the rest of you?” and on the reply that +there were no more, proceeded, “Then we must on, on at once, or the +villains will return! They must have thought you had a band of hunters behind +you. Two furlongs hence, and we shall be safe in the hostel at Dogmersfield. +Come on, my boy,” to Stephen, “the brave hound is quite dead, +more’s the pity. Thou canst do no more for him, and we shall soon be in +his case if we dally here.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot, cannot leave him thus,” sobbed Stephen, who had the +loving old head on his knees. “Ambrose! stay, we must bring him. There, +his tail wagged! If the blood were staunched—” +</p> + +<p> +“Stephen! Indeed he is stone dead! Were he our brother we could not do +otherwise,” reasoned Ambrose, forcibly dragging his brother to his feet. +“Go on we must. Wouldst have us all slaughtered for his sake? Come! The +rogues will be upon us anon. Spring saved this good man’s life. Undo not +his work. See! Is yonder your horse, sir? This way, Stevie!” +</p> + +<p> +The instinct of catching the horse roused Stephen, and it was soon +accomplished, for the steed was a plump, docile, city-bred palfrey, with +dapple-grey flanks like well-stuffed satin pincushions, by no means resembling +the shaggy Forest ponies of the boys’ experience, but quite astray in the +heath, and ready to come at the master’s whistle, and call of “Soh! +Soh!—now Poppet!” Stephen caught the bridle, and Ambrose helped the +burgess into the saddle. “Now, good boys,” he said, “each of +you lay a hand on my pommel. We can make good speed ere the rascals find out +our scant numbers.” +</p> + +<p> +“You would make better speed without us, sir,” said Stephen, +hankering to remain beside poor Spring. +</p> + +<p> +“D’ye think Giles Headley the man to leave two children, that have +maybe saved my life as well as my purse, to bear the malice of the +robbers?” demanded the burgess angrily. “That were like those +fellows of mine who have shown their heels and left their master strapped to a +tree! Thou! thou! what’s thy name, that hast the most wit, bring thy +brother, unless thou wouldst have him laid by the side of his dog.” +</p> + +<p> +Stephen was forced to comply, and run by Poppet’s side, though his eyes +were so full of tears that he could not see his way, even when the pace +slackened, and in the twilight they found themselves among houses and gardens, +and thus in safety, the lights of an inn shining not far off. +</p> + +<p> +A figure came out in the road to meet them, crying, “Master! master! is +it you? and without scathe? Oh, the saints be praised!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, Tibble, ’tis I and no other, thanks to the saints and to these +brave lads! What, man, I blame thee not, I know thou canst not strike; but +where be the rest?” +</p> + +<p> +“In the inn, sir. I strove to call up the hue and cry to come to the +rescue, but the cowardly hinds were afraid of the thieves, and not one would +come forth.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish they may not be in league with them,” said Master Headley. +“See! I was delivered—ay, and in time to save my purse, by these +twain and their good dog. Are ye from these parts, my fair lads?” +</p> + +<p> +“We be journeying from the New Forest to London,” said Ambrose. +“The poor dog heard the tumult, and leapt to your aid, sir, and we made +after him.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Twas the saints sent him!” was the fervent answer. +“And” (with a lifting of the cap) “I hereby vow to St. Julian +a hound of solid bronze a foot in length, with a collar of silver, to his +shrine in St. Faith’s, in token of my deliverance in body and goods! To +London are ye bound? Then will we journey on together!” +</p> + +<p> +They were by this time near the porch of a large country hostel, from the doors +and large bay window of which light streamed out. And as the casement was open, +those without could both see and hear all that was passing within. +</p> + +<p> +The table was laid for supper, and in the place of honour sat a youth of some +seventeen or eighteen years, gaily dressed, with a little feather curling over +his crimson cap, and thus discoursing:— +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, my good host, two of the rogues bear my tokens, besides him whom I +felled to the earth. He came on at me with his sword, but I had my point ready +for him; and down he went before me like an ox. Then came on another, but him I +dealt with by the back stroke as used in the tilt-yard at Clarendon.” +</p> + +<p> +“I trow we shall know him again, sir. Holy saints! to think such rascals +should haunt so nigh us,” the hostess was exclaiming. “Pity for the +poor goodman, Master Headley. A portly burgher was he, friendly of tongue and +free of purse. I well remember him when he went forth on his way to Salisbury, +little thinking, poor soul, what was before him. And is he truly sped?” +</p> + +<p> +“I tell thee, good woman, I saw him go down before three of their pikes. +What more could I do but drive my horse over the nearest rogue who was rifling +him?” +</p> + +<p> +“If he were still alive—which Our Lady grant!—the knaves will +hold him to ransom,” quoth the host, as he placed a tankard on the table. +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid he is past ransom,” said the youth, shaking his head. +“But an if he be still in the rogues’ hands and living, I will get +me on to his house in Cheapside, and arrange with his mother to find the +needful sum, as befits me, I being his heir and about to wed his daughter. +However, I shall do all that in me lies to get the poor old seignior out of the +hands of the rogues. Saints defend me!” +</p> + +<p> +“The poor old seignior is much beholden to thee,” said Master +Headley, advancing amid a clamour of exclamations from three or four +serving-men or grooms, one protesting that he thought his master was with him, +another that his horse ran away with him, one showing an arm which was actually +being bound up, and the youth declaring that he rode off to bring help. +</p> + +<p> +“Well wast thou bringing it,” Master Headley answered. “I +might be still standing bound like an eagle displayed, against yonder tree, for +aught you fellows recked.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, sir, the odds—” began the youth. +</p> + +<p> +“Odds! such odds as were put to rout—by what, deem you? These two +striplings and one poor hound. Had but one of you had the heart of a sparrow, +ye had not furnished a tale to be the laugh of the Barbican and Cheapside. Look +well at them. How old be you, my brave lads?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be sixteen come Lammas day, and Stephen fifteen at Martinmas +day, sir,” said Ambrose; “but verily we did nought. We could have +done nought had not the thieves thought more were behind us.” +</p> + +<p> +“There are odds between going forward and backward,” said Master +Headley, dryly. “Ha! Art hurt? Thou bleedst,” he exclaimed, laying +his hand on Stephen’s shoulder, and drawing him to the light. +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis no blood of mine,” said Stephen, as Ambrose likewise +came to join in the examination. “It is my poor Spring’s. He took +the coward’s blow. His was all the honour, and we have left him there on +the heath!” And he covered his face with his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, come, my good child,” said Master Headley; “we will +back to the place by times to-morrow when rogues hide and honest men walk +abroad. Thou shalt bury thine hound, as befits a good warrior, on the +battle-field. I would fain mark his points for the effigy we will frame, honest +Tibble, for St. Julian. And mark ye, fellows, thou godson Giles, above all, who +’tis that boast of their valour, and who ’tis that be modest of +speech. Yea, thanks, mine host. Let us to a chamber, and give us water to wash +away soil of travel and of fray, and then to supper. Young masters, ye are my +guests. Shame were it that Giles Headley let go farther them that have, under +Heaven and St. Julian, saved him in life, limb, and purse.” +</p> + +<p> +The inn was large, being the resort of many travellers from the south, often of +nobles and knights riding to Parliament, and thus the brothers found themselves +accommodated with a chamber, where they could prepare for the meal, while +Ambrose tried to console his brother by representing that, after all, poor +Spring had died gallantly, and with far less pain than if he had suffered a +wasting old age, besides being honoured for ever by his effigy in St. +Faith’s, wherever that might be, the idea which chiefly contributed to +console his master. +</p> + +<p> +The two boys appeared in the room of the inn looking so unlike the dusty, +blood-stained pair who had entered, that Master Headley took a second glance to +convince himself that they were the same, before beckoning them to seats on +either side of him, saying that he must know more of them, and bidding the host +load their trenchers well from the grand fabric of beef-pasty which had been +set at the end of the board. The runaways, four or five in number, herded +together lower down, with a few travellers of lower degree, all except the +youth who had been boasting before their arrival, and who retained his seat at +the board, thumping it with the handle of his knife to show his impatience for +the commencement of supper; and not far off sat Tibble, the same who had hailed +their arrival, a thin, slight, one-sided looking person, with a terrible red +withered scar on one cheek, drawing the corner of his mouth awry. He, like +Master Headley himself, and the rest of his party were clad in red, guarded +with white, and wore the cross of St. George on the white border of their flat +crimson caps, being no doubt in the livery of their Company. The citizen +himself, having in the meantime drawn his conclusions from the air and gestures +of the brothers, and their mode of dealing with their food, asked the usual +question in an affirmative tone, “Ye be of gentle blood, young +sirs?” +</p> + +<p> +To which they replied by giving their names, and explaining that they were +journeying from the New Forest to find their uncle in the train of the +Archbishop of York. +</p> + +<p> +“Birkenholt,” said Tibble, meditatively. “He beareth vert, a +buck’s head proper, on a chief argent, two arrows in saltire. Crest, a +buck courant, pierced in the gorge by an arrow, all proper.” +</p> + +<p> +To which the brothers returned by displaying the handles of their knives, both +of which bore the pierced and courant buck. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, ay,” said the man. “’Twill be found in our books, +sir. We painted the shield and new-crested the morion the first year of my +prenticeship, when the Earl of Richmond, the late King Harry of blessed memory, +had newly landed at Milford Haven.” +</p> + +<p> +“Verily,” said Ambrose, “our uncle Richard Birkenholt fought +at Bosworth under Sir Richard Pole’s banner.” +</p> + +<p> +“A tall and stalwart esquire, methinks,” said Master Headley. +“Is he the kinsman you seek?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not so, sir. We visited him at Winchester, and found him sorely old and +with failing wits. We be on our way to our mother’s brother, Master Harry +Randall.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is he clerk or layman? My Lord of York entertaineth enow of both,” +said Master Headley. +</p> + +<p> +“Lay assuredly, sir,” returned Stephen; “I trust to him to +find me some preferment as page or the like.” +</p> + +<p> +“Know’st thou the man, Tibble?” inquired the master. +</p> + +<p> +“Not among the men-at-arms, sir,” was the answer; “but there +be a many of them whose right names we never hear. However, he will be easily +found if my Lord of York be returned from Windsor with his train.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then will we go forward together, my young Masters Birkenholt. I am not +going to part with my doughty champions!”—patting Stephen’s +shoulder. “Ye’d not think that these light-heeled knaves belonged +to the brave craft of armourers?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not,” thought the lads, whose notion of armourers was +derived from the brawny blacksmith of Lyndhurst, who sharpened their boar +spears and shod their horses. They made some kind of assent, and Master Headley +went on. “These be the times! This is what peace hath brought us to! I am +called down to Salisbury to take charge of the goods, chattels, and estate of +my kinsman, Robert Headley—Saints rest his soul!—and to bring home +yonder spark, my godson, whose indentures have been made over to me. And I may +not ride a mile after sunset without being set upon by a sort of robbers, who +must have guessed over-well what a pack of cowards they had to deal +with.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” cried the younger Giles, “I swear to you that I struck +right and left. I did all that man could do, but these rogues of serving-men, +they fled, and dragged me along with them, and I deemed you were of our company +till we dismounted.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you so? Methought anon you saw me go down with three pikes in my +breast. Come, come, godson Giles, speech will not mend it! Thou art but a +green, town-bred lad, a mother’s darling, and mayst be a brave man yet, +only don’t dread to tell the honest truth that you were afeard, as many a +better man might be.” +</p> + +<p> +The host chimed in with tales of the thieves and outlaws who then, and indeed +for many later generations, infested Bagshot heath, and the wild moorland +tracks around. He seemed to think that the travellers had had a +hair’s-breadth escape, and that a few seconds’ more delay might +have revealed the weakness of the rescuers and have been fatal to them. +</p> + +<p> +However there was no danger so near the village in the morning, and, somewhat +to Stephen’s annoyance, the whole place turned out to inspect the spot, +and behold the burial of poor Spring, who was found stretched on the heather, +just as he had been left the night before. He was interred under the stunted +oak where Master Headley had been tied. While the grave was dug with a spade +borrowed at the inn, Ambrose undertook to cut out the dog’s name on the +bark, but he had hardly made the first incision when Tibble, the singed +foreman, offered to do it for him, and made a much more sightly inscription +than he could have done. Master Headley’s sword was found honourably +broken under the tree, and was reserved to form a base for his intended <i>ex +voto</i>. He uttered the vow in due form like a funeral oration, when Stephen, +with a swelling heart, had laid the companion of his life in the little grave, +which was speedily covered in. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.<br /> +THE DRAGON COURT</h2> + +<p class="poem"> + “A citizen<br /> + Of credit and renown;<br /> +A trainband captain eke was he<br /> + Of famous London town.” +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">Cowper</span>. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">In</span> spite of his satisfaction at the honourable +obsequies of his dog, Stephen Birkenholt would fain have been independent, and +thought it provoking and strange that every one should want to direct his +movements, and assume the charge of one so well able to take care of himself; +but he could not escape as he had done before from the Warden of St. Elizabeth, +for Ambrose had readily accepted the proposal that they should travel in Master +Headley’s company, only objecting that they were on foot; on which the +good citizen hired a couple of hackneys for them. +</p> + +<p> +Besides the two Giles Headleys, the party consisted of Tibble, the scarred and +withered foreman, two grooms, and two serving-men, all armed with the swords +and bucklers of which they had made so little use. It appeared in process of +time that the two namesakes, besides being godfather and godson, were cousins, +and that Robert, the father of the younger one, had, after his apprenticeship +in the paternal establishment at Salisbury, served for a couple of years in the +London workshop of his kinsman to learn the latest improvements in weapons. +This had laid the foundation of a friendship which had lasted through life, +though the London cousin had been as prosperous as the country one had been the +reverse. The provincial trade in arms declined with the close of the York and +Lancaster wars. Men were not permitted to turn from one handicraft to another, +and Robert Headley had neither aptitude nor resources. His wife was vain and +thriftless, and he finally broke down under his difficulties, appointing by +will his cousin to act as his executor, and to take charge of his only son, who +had served out half his time as apprentice to himself. There had been delay +until the peace with France had given the armourer some leisure for an +expedition to Salisbury, a serious undertaking for a London burgess, who had +little about him of the ancient northern weapon-smith, and had wanted to avail +himself of the protection of the suite of the Bishop of Salisbury, returning +from Parliament. He had spent some weeks in disposing of his cousin’s +stock in trade, which was far too antiquated for the London market; also of the +premises, which were bought by an adjoining convent to extend its garden; and +he had divided the proceeds between the widow and children. He had presided at +the wedding of the last daughter, with whom the mother was to reside, and was +on his way back to London with his godson, who had now become his apprentice. +</p> + +<p> +Giles Headley the younger was a fine tall youth, but clumsy and untrained in +the use of his limbs, and he rode a large, powerful brown horse, which brooked +no companionship, lashing out with its shaggy hoofs at any of its kind that +approached it, more especially at poor, plump, mottled Poppet. The men said he +had insisted on retaining that, and no other, for his journey to London, +contrary to all advice, and he was obliged to ride foremost, alone in the +middle of the road; while Master Headley seemed to have an immense quantity of +consultation to carry on with his foreman, Tibble, whose quiet-looking brown +animal was evidently on the best of terms with Poppet. By daylight Tibble +looked even more sallow, lean, and sickly, and Stephen could not help saying to +the serving-man nearest to him, “Can such a weakling verily be an +armourer?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, sir. Wry-mouthed Tibble, as they call him, was a sturdy fellow till +he got a fell against the mouth of a furnace, and lay ten months in St. +Bartholomew’s Spital, scarce moving hand or foot. He cannot wield a +hammer, but he has a cunning hand for gilding, and coloured devices, and is as +good as Garter-king-at-arms himself for all bearings of knights and +nobles.” +</p> + +<p> +“As we heard last night,” said Stephen. +</p> + +<p> +“Moreover in the spital he learnt to write and cast accompts like a very +scrivener, and the master trusts him more than any, except maybe Kit +Smallbones, the head smith.” +</p> + +<p> +“What will Smallbones think of the new prentice!” said one of the +other men. +</p> + +<p> +“Prentice! ’Tis plain enough what sort of prentice the youth is +like to be who beareth the name of a master with one only daughter.” +</p> + +<p> +An emphatic grunt was the only answer, while Ambrose pondered on the good luck +of some people, who had their futures cut out for them with no trouble on their +own part. +</p> + +<p> +This day’s ride was through more inhabited parts, and was esteemed less +perilous. They came in sight of the Thames at Lambeth, but Master Headley, +remembering how ill his beloved Poppet had brooked the ferry, decided to keep +to the south of the river by a causeway across Lambeth marsh, which was just +passable in high and dry summers, and which conducted them to a raised road +called Bankside, where they looked across to the towers of Westminster, and the +Abbey in its beauty dawned on the imagination of Stephen and Ambrose. The royal +standard floated over the palace, whence Master Headley perceived that the King +was there, and augured that my Lord of York’s meiné would not be +far to seek. Then came broad green fields with young corn growing, or hay +waving for the scythe, the tents and booths of May Fair, and the beautiful +Market Cross in the midst of the village of Charing, while the Strand, +immediately opposite, began to be fringed with great monasteries within their +ample gardens, with here and there a nobleman’s castellated house and +terraced garden, with broad stone stairs leading to the Thames. +</p> + +<p> +Barges and wherries plied up and down, the former often gaily canopied and +propelled by liveried oarsmen, all plying their arms in unison, so that the +vessel looked like some brilliant many-limbed creature treading the water. +Presently appeared the heavy walls inclosing the City itself, dominated by the +tall openwork timber spire of St. Paul’s, with the foursquare, +four-turreted Tower acting, as it has been well said, as a padlock to a chain, +and the river’s breadth spanned by London bridge, a very street of houses +built on the abutments. Now, Bankside had houses on each side of the road, and +Wry-mouthed Tibble showed evident satisfaction when they turned to cross the +bridge, where they had to ride in single file, not without some refractoriness +on the part of young Headley’s steed. +</p> + +<p> +On they went, now along streets where each story of the tall houses projected +over the last, so that the gables seemed ready to meet; now beside walls of +convent gardens, now past churches, while the country lads felt bewildered with +the numbers passing to and fro, and the air was full of bells. +</p> + +<p> +Cap after cap was lifted in greeting to Master Headley by burgess, artisan, or +apprentice, and many times did he draw Poppet’s rein to exchange +greetings and receive congratulations on his return. On reaching St. +Paul’s Minster, he halted and bade the servants take home the horses, and +tell the mistress, with his dutiful greetings, that he should be at home anon, +and with guests. +</p> + +<p> +“We must e’en return thanks for our safe journey and great +deliverance,” he said to his young companions, and thrusting his arm into +that of a russet-vested citizen, who met him at the door, he walked into the +cathedral, recounting his adventure. +</p> + +<p> +The youths followed with some difficulty through the stream of loiterers in the +nave, Giles the younger elbowing and pushing so that several of the crowd +turned to look at him, and it was well that his kinsman soon astonished him by +descending a stair into a crypt, with solid, short, clustered columns, and +high-pitched vaulting, fitted up as a separate church, namely that of the +parish of St. Faith. The great cathedral, having absorbed the site of the +original church, had given this crypt to the parishioners. Here all was quiet +and solemn, in marked contrast to the hubbub in “Paul’s +Walk,” above in the nave. Against the eastern pillar of one of the bays +was a little altar, and the decorations included St. Julian, the patron of +travellers, with his saltire doubly crossed, and his stag beside him. Little +ships, trees, and wonderful enamelled representations of perils by robbers, +field and flood, hung thickly on St. Julian’s pillar, and on the wall and +splay of the window beside it; and here, after crossing himself, Master Headley +rapidly repeated a Paternoster, and ratified his vow of presenting a bronze +image of the hound to whom he owed his rescue. One of the clergy came up to +register the vow, and the good armourer proceeded to bespeak a mass of +thanksgiving on the next morning, also ten for the soul of Master John +Birkenholt, late Verdurer of the New Forest in Hampshire—a mode of +showing his gratitude which the two sons highly appreciated. +</p> + +<p> +Then, climbing up the steps again, and emerging from the cathedral by the west +door, the boys beheld a scene for which their experiences of Romsey, and even +of Winchester, had by no means prepared them. It was five o’clock on a +summer evening, so that the place was full of stir. Old women sat with baskets +of rosaries and little crosses, or images of saints, on the steps of the +cathedral, while in the open space beyond, more than one horse was displaying +his paces for the benefit of some undecided purchaser, who had been chaffering +for hours in Paul’s Walk. Merchants in the costume of their countries, +Lombard, Spanish, Dutch, or French, were walking away in pairs, attended by +servants, from their Exchange, likewise in the nave. Women, some alone, some +protected by serving-men or apprentices, were returning from their orisons, or, +it might be, from their gossipings. Priests and friars, as usual, pervaded +everything, and round the open space were galleried buildings with stalls +beneath them, whence the holders were removing their wares for the night. The +great octagonal structure of Paul’s Cross stood in the centre, and just +beneath the stone pulpit, where the sermons were wont to be preached, stood a +man with a throng round him, declaiming a ballad at the top of his sing-song +voice, and causing much loud laughter by some ribaldry about monks and friars. +</p> + +<p> +Master Headley turned aside as quickly as he could, through Paternoster Row, +which was full of stalls, where little black books, and larger sheets printed +in black-letter, seemed the staple commodities, and thence the burgess, keeping +a heedful eye on his young companions among all his greetings, entered the +broader space of Cheapside, where numerous prentice lads seemed to be playing +at different sports after the labours of the day. +</p> + +<p> +Passing under an archway surmounted by a dragon with shining scales, Master +Headley entered a paved courtyard, where the lads started at the figures of two +knights in full armour, their lances in rest, and their horses with housings +down to their hoofs, apparently about to charge any intruder. But at that +moment there was a shriek of joy, and out from the scarlet and azure petticoats +of the nearest steed, there darted a little girl, crying, “Father! +father!” and in an instant she was lifted in Master Headley’s arms, +and was clinging round his neck, while he kissed and blessed her, and as he set +her on her feet, he said, “Here, Dennet, greet thy cousin Giles Headley, +and these two brave young gentlemen. Greet them like a courteous maiden, or +they will think thee a little town mouse.” +</p> + +<p> +In truth the child had a pointed little visage, and bright brown eyes, somewhat +like a mouse, but it was a very sweet face that she lifted obediently to be +kissed not only by the kinsman, but by the two guests. Her father meantime was +answering with nods to the respectful welcomes of the workmen, who thronged out +below, and their wives looking down from the galleries above; while Poppet and +the other horses were being rubbed down after their journey. +</p> + +<p> +The ground-floor of the buildings surrounding the oblong court seemed to be +entirely occupied by forges, workshops, warehouses and stables. Above, were +open railed galleries, with outside stairs at intervals, giving access to the +habitations of the workpeople on three sides. The fourth, opposite to the +entrance, had a much handsomer, broad, stone stair, adorned on one side with a +stone figure of the princess fleeing from the dragon, and on the other of St. +George piercing the monster’s open mouth with his lance, the scaly +convolutions of the two dragons forming the supports of the handrail on either +side. Here stood, cap in hand, showing his thick curly hair, and with open +front, displaying a huge hairy chest, a giant figure, whom his master greeted +as Kit Smallbones, inquiring whether all had gone well during his absence. +“’Tis time you were back, sir, for there’s a great tilting +match on hand for the Lady Mary’s wedding. Here have been half the +gentlemen in the Court after you, and my Lord of Buckingham sent twice for you +since Sunday, and once for Tibble Steelman, and his squire swore that if you +were not at his bidding before noon to-morrow, he would have his new suit of +Master Hillyer of the Eagle.” +</p> + +<p> +“He shall see me when it suiteth me,” said Mr. Headley coolly. +“He wotteth well that Hillyer hath none who can burnish plate armour like +Tibble here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Moreover the last iron we had from that knave Mepham is nought. It works +short under the hammer.” +</p> + +<p> +“That shall be seen to, Kit. The rest of the budget to-morrow. I must on +to my mother.” +</p> + +<p> +For at the doorway, at the head of the stairs, there stood the still trim and +active figure of an old woman, with something of the mouse likeness seen in her +grand-daughter, in the close cap, high hat, and cloth dress, that sumptuary +opinion, if not law, prescribed for the burgher matron, a white apron, silver +chain and bunch of keys at her girdle. Due and loving greetings passed between +mother and son, after the longest and most perilous absence of Master +Headley’s life, and he then presented Giles, to whom the kindly dame +offered hand and cheek, saying, “Welcome, my young kinsman, your good +father was well known and liked here. May you tread in his steps!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks, good mistress,” returned Giles. “I am thought to +have a pretty taste in the fancy part of the trade. My Lord of +Montagu—” +</p> + +<p> +Before he could get any farther, Mistress Headley was inquiring what was the +rumour she had heard of robbers and dangers that had beset her son, and he was +presenting the two young Birkenholts to her. “Brave boys! good +boys,” she said, holding out her hands and kissing each according to the +custom of welcome, “you have saved my son for me, and this little +one’s father for her. Kiss them, Dennet, and thank them.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was the poor dog,” said the child, in a clear little voice, +drawing back with a certain quaint coquetting shyness; “I would rather +kiss him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would that thou couldst, little mistress,” said Stephen. “My +poor brave Spring!” +</p> + +<p> +“Was he thine own? Tell me all about him,” said Dennet, somewhat +imperiously. +</p> + +<p> +She stood between the two strangers looking eagerly up with sorrowfully +interested eyes, while Stephen, out of his full heart, told of his faithful +comradeship with his hound from the infancy of both. Her father meanwhile was +exchanging serious converse with her grandmother, and Giles finding himself +left in the background, began: “Come hither, pretty coz, and I will tell +thee of my Lady of Salisbury’s dainty little hounds.” +</p> + +<p> +“I care not for dainty little hounds,” returned Dennet; “I +want to hear of the poor faithful dog that flew at the wicked robber.” +</p> + +<p> +“A mighty stir about a mere chance,” muttered Giles. +</p> + +<p> +“I know what <i>you</i> did,” said Dennet, turning her bright brown +eyes full upon him. “You took to your heels.” +</p> + +<p> +Her look and little nod were so irresistibly comical that the two brothers +could not help laughing; whereupon Giles Headley turned upon them in a passion. +</p> + +<p> +“What mean ye by this insolence, you beggars’ brats picked up on +the heath?” +</p> + +<p> +“Better born than thou, braggart and coward that thou art!” broke +forth Stephen, while Master Headley exclaimed, “How now, lads? No +brawling here!” +</p> + +<p> +Three voices spoke at once. +</p> + +<p> +“They were insolent.” +</p> + +<p> +“He reviled our birth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Father! they did but laugh when I told cousin Giles that he took to his +heels, and he must needs call them beggars’ brats picked up on the +heath.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! ha! wench, thou art woman enough already to set them together by the +ears,” said her father, laughing. “See here, Giles Headley, none +who bears my name shall insult a stranger on my hearth.” +</p> + +<p> +Stephen however had stepped forth holding out his small stock of coin, and +saying, “Sir, receive for our charges, and let us go to the tavern we +passed anon.” +</p> + +<p> +“How now, boy! Said I not ye were my guests?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, sir, and thanks; but we can give no cause for being called beggars +nor beggars’ brats.” +</p> + +<p> +“What beggary is there in being guests, my young gentlemen?” said +the master of the house. “If any one were picked up on the heath, it was +I. We owned you for gentlemen of blood and coat armour, and thy brother there +can tell thee that, ye have no right to put an affront on me, your host, +because a rude prentice from a country town hath not learnt to rule his +tongue.” +</p> + +<p> +Giles scowled, but the armourer spoke with an authority that imposed on all, +and Stephen submitted, while Ambrose spoke a few words of thanks, after which +the two brothers were conducted by an external stair and gallery to a +guest-chamber, in which to prepare for supper. +</p> + +<p> +The room was small, but luxuriously filled beyond all ideas of the young +foresters, for it was hung with tapestry, representing the history of Joseph; +the bed was curtained, there was a carved chest for clothes, a table and a ewer +and basin of bright brass with the armourer’s mark upon it, a twist in +which the letter H and the dragon’s tongue and tail were ingeniously +blended. The City was far in advance of the country in all the arts of life, +and only the more magnificent castles and abbeys, which the boys had never +seen, possessed the amount of comforts to be found in the dwellings of the +superior class of Londoners. Stephen was inclined to look with contempt upon +the effeminacy of a churl merchant. +</p> + +<p> +“No churl,” returned Ambrose, “if manners makyth man, as we +saw at Winchester.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then what do they make of that cowardly clown, his cousin?” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose laughed, but said, “Prove we our gentle blood at least by not +brawling with the fellow. Master Headley will soon teach him to know his +place.” +</p> + +<p> +“That will matter nought to us. To-morrow shall we be with our uncle Hal. +I only wish his lord was not of the ghostly sort, but perhaps he may prefer me +to some great knight’s service. But oh! Ambrose, come and look. See! The +fellow they call Smallbones is come out to the fountain in the middle of the +court with a bucket in each hand. Look! Didst ever see such a giant? He is as +big and brawny as Ascapart at the bar-gate at Southampton. See! he lifts that +big pail full and brimming as though it were an egg shell. See his arm! +’Twere good to see him wield a hammer! I must look into his smithy before +going forth to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +Stephen clenched his fist and examined his muscles ere donning his best +mourning jerkin, and could scarce be persuaded to complete his toilet, so much +was he entertained with the comings and goings in the court, a little world in +itself, like a college quadrangle. The day’s work was over, the forges +out, and the smiths were lounging about at ease, one or two sitting on a bench +under a large elm-tree beside the central well, enjoying each his tankard of +ale. A few more were watching Poppet being combed down, and conversing with the +newly-arrived grooms. One was carrying a little child in his arms, and a young +man and maid sitting on the low wall round the well, seemed to be carrying on a +courtship over the pitcher that stood waiting to be filled. Two lads were +playing at skittles, children were running up and down the stairs and along the +wooden galleries, and men and women went and came by the entrance gateway +between the two effigies of knights in armour. Some were servants bringing helm +or gauntlet for repair, or taking the like away. Some might be known by their +flat caps to be apprentices, and two substantial burgesses walked in together, +as if to greet Master Headley on his return. Immediately after, a man-cook +appeared with white cap and apron, bearing aloft a covered dish surrounded by a +steamy cloud, followed by other servants bearing other meats; a big bell began +to sound, the younger men and apprentices gathered together and the brothers +descended the stairs, and entered by the big door into the same large hall +where they had been received. The spacious hearth was full of green boughs, +with a beaupot of wild rose, honeysuckle, clove pinks and gilliflowers; the +lower parts of the walls were hung with tapestry representing the adventures of +St. George; the mullioned windows had their upper squares filled with glass, +bearing the shield of the City of London, that of the Armourers’ Company, +the rose and portcullis of the King, the pomegranate of Queen Catharine, and +other like devices. Others, belonging to the Lancastrian kings, adorned the +pendants from the handsome open roof and the front of a gallery for musicians +which crossed one end of the hall in the taste of the times of Henry V. and +Whittington. +</p> + +<p> +Far more interesting to the hungry travellers was it that the long table, +running the whole breadth of the apartment, was decked with snowy linen, +trenchers stood ready with horns or tankards beside them, and loaves of bread +at intervals, while the dishes were being placed on the table. The master and +his entire establishment took their meals together, except the married men, who +lived in the quadrangle with their families. There was no division by the +salt-cellar, as at the tables of the nobles and gentry, but the master, his +family and guests, occupied the centre, with the hearth behind them, where the +choicest of the viands were placed; next after them were the places of the +journeymen according to seniority, then those of the apprentices, household +servants, and stable-men, but the apprentices had to assist the serving-men in +waiting on the master and his party before sitting down themselves. There was a +dignity and regularity about the whole, which could not fail to impress Stephen +and Ambrose with the weight and importance of a London burgher, warden of the +Armourers’ Company, and alderman of the Ward of Cheap. There were carved +chairs for himself, his mother, and the guests, also a small Persian carpet +extending from the hearth beyond their seats. This article filled the two +foresters with amazement. To put one’s feet on what ought to be a +coverlet! They would not have stepped on it, had they not been kindly summoned +by old Mistress Headley to take their places among the company, which +consisted, besides the family, of the two citizens who had entered, and of a +priest who had likewise dropped in to welcome Master Headley’s return, +and had been invited to stay to supper. Young Giles, as a matter of course, +placed himself amongst them, at which there were black looks and whispers among +the apprentices, and even Mistress Headley wore an air of amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother,” said the head of the family, speaking loud enough for all +to hear, “you will permit our young kinsman to be placed as our guest +this evening. To-morrow he will act as an apprentice, as we all have done in +our time.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never did so at home!” cried Giles, in his loud, hasty voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I trow not,” dryly observed one of the guests. +</p> + +<p> +Giles, however, went on muttering while the priest was pronouncing a Latin +grace, and thereupon the same burgess observed, “Never did I see it +better proved that folk in the country give their sons no good breeding.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have patience with him, good Master Pepper,” returned Mr. Headley. +“He hath been an only son, greatly cockered by father, mother, and +sisters, but ere long he will learn what is befiting.” +</p> + +<p> +Giles glared round, but he met nothing encouraging. Little Dennet sat with open +mouth of astonishment, her grandmother looked shocked, the household which had +been aggrieved by his presumption laughed at his rebuke, for there was not much +delicacy in those days; but something generous in the gentle blood of Ambrose +moved him to some amount of pity for the lad, who thus suddenly became +conscious that the tie he had thought nominal at Salisbury, a mere preliminary +to municipal rank, was here absolute subjection, and a bondage whence there was +no escape. His was the only face that Giles met which had any friendliness in +it, but no one spoke, for manners imposed silence upon youth at table, except +when spoken to; and there was general hunger enough prevailing to make Mistress +Headley’s fat capon the most interesting contemplation for the present. +</p> + +<p> +The elders conversed, for there was much for Master Headley to hear of civic +affairs that had passed in his absence of two months, also of all the comings +and goings, and it was ascertained that my Lord Archbishop of York was at his +suburban abode, York House, now Whitehall. +</p> + +<p> +It was a very late supper for the times, not beginning till seven +o’clock, on account of the travellers; and as soon as it was finished, +and the priest and burghers had taken their leave, Master Headley dismissed the +household to their beds, although daylight was scarcely departed. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI.<br /> +A SUNDAY IN THE CITY</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“The rod of Heaven has touched them all,<br /> + The word from Heaven is spoken:<br /> +Rise, shine and sing, thou captive thrall,<br /> + Are not thy fetters broken?” +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">Keble</span>. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">On</span> Sunday morning, when the young Birkenholts awoke, +the whole air seemed full of bells from hundreds of Church and Minster +steeples. The Dragon Court wore a holiday air, and there was no ring of hammers +at the forges; but the men who stood about were in holiday attire: and the +brothers assumed their best clothes. +</p> + +<p> +Breakfast was not a meal much accounted of. It was reckoned effeminate to +require more than two meals a day, though, just as in the verdurer’s +lodge at home, there was a barrel of ale on tap with drinking horns beside it +in the hall, and on a small round table in the window a loaf of bread, to which +city luxury added a cheese, and a jug containing sack, with some silver cups +beside it, and a pitcher of fair water. Master Headley, with his mother and +daughter, was taking a morsel of these refections, standing, and in out-door +garments, when the brothers appeared at about seven o’clock in the +morning. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! that’s well,” quoth he, greeting them. “No +slugabeds, I see. Will ye come with us to hear mass at St. +Faith’s?” They agreed, and Master Headley then told them that if +they would tarry till the next day in searching out their uncle, they could +have the company of Tibble Steelman, who had to see one of the captains of the +guard about an alteration of his corslet, and thus would have every opportunity +of facilitating their inquiries for their uncle. +</p> + +<p> +The mass was an ornate one, though not more so than they were accustomed to at +Beaulieu. Ambrose had his book of devotions, supplied by the good monks who had +brought him up, and old Mrs. Headley carried something of the same kind; but +these did not necessarily follow the ritual, and neither quiet nor attention +was regarded as requisite in “hearing mass.” Dennet, unchecked, was +exchanging flowers from her Sunday posy with another little girl, and with +hooded fingers carrying on in all innocence the satirical pantomime of Father +Francis and Sister Catharine; and even Master Headley himself exchanged remarks +with his friends, and returned greetings from burgesses and their wives while +the celebrant priest’s voice droned on, and the choir responded—the +peals of the organ in the Minster above coming in at inappropriate moments, for +there they were in a different part of High Mass using the Liturgy peculiar to +St. Paul’s. +</p> + +<p> +Thinking of last week at Beaulieu, Ambrose knelt meantime with his head buried +in his hands, in an absorption of feeling that was not perhaps wholly devout, +but which at any rate looked more like devotion than the demeanour of any one +around. When the <i>Ite missa est</i> was pronounced, and all rose up, Stephen +touched him and he rose, looking about, bewildered. +</p> + +<p> +“So please you, young sir, I can show you another sort of thing by and +by,” said in his ear Tibble Steelman, who had come in late, and marked +his attitude. +</p> + +<p> +They went up from St. Faith’s in a flood of talk, with all manner of +people welcoming Master Headley after his journey, and thence came back to +dinner which was set out in the hall very soon after their return from church. +Quite guests enough were there on this occasion to fill all the chairs, and +Master Headley intimated to Giles that he must begin his duties at table as an +apprentice, under the tuition of the senior, a tall young fellow of nineteen, +by name Edmund Burgess. He looked greatly injured and discomfited, above all +when he saw his two travelling companions seated at the table—though far +lower than the night before; nor would he stir from where he was standing +against the wall to do the slightest service, although Edmund admonished him +sharply that unless he bestirred himself it would be the worse for him. +</p> + +<p> +When the meal was over, and grace had been said, the boards were removed from +their trestles, and the elders drew round the small table in the window with a +flagon of sack and a plate of wastel bread in their midst to continue their +discussion of weighty Town Council matters. Every one was free to make holiday, +and Edmund Burgess good-naturedly invited the strangers to come to Mile End, +where there was to be shooting at the butts, and a match at singlestick was to +come off between Kit Smallbones and another giant, who was regarded as the +champion of the brewer’s craft. +</p> + +<p> +Stephen was nothing loth, especially if he might take his own crossbow; but +Ambrose never had much turn for these pastimes and was in no mood for them. The +familiar associations of the mass had brought the grief of orphanhood, +homelessness, and uncertainty upon him with the more force. His spirit yearned +after his father, and his heart was sick for his forest home. Moreover, there +was the duty incumbent on a good son of saying his prayers for the repose of +his father’s soul. He hinted as much to Stephen, who, boy-like, answered, +“Oh, we’ll see to that when we get into my Lord of York’s +house. Masses must be plenty there. And I must see Smallbones floor the +brewer.” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose could trust his brother under the care of Edmund Burgess, and resolved +on a double amount of repetitions of the appointed intercessions for the +departed. +</p> + +<p> +He was watching the party of youths set off, all except Giles Headley, who +sulkily refused the invitations, betook himself to a window and sat drumming on +the glass, while Ambrose stood leaning on the dragon balustrade, with his eyes +dreamily following the merry lads out at the gateway. +</p> + +<p> +“You are not for such gear, sir,” said a voice at his ear, and he +saw the scathed face of Tibble Steelman beside him. +</p> + +<p> +“Never greatly so, Tibble,” answered Ambrose. “And my heart +is too heavy for it now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, ay, sir. So I thought when I saw you in St. Faith’s. I have +known what it was to lose a good father in my time.” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose held out his hand. It was the first really sympathetic word he had +heard since he had left Nurse Joan. +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis the week’s mind of his burial,” he said, half +choked with tears. “Where shall I find a quiet church where I may say his +<i>De profundis</i> in peace?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mayhap,” returned Tibble, “the chapel in the Pardon +churchyard would serve your turn. ’Tis not greatly resorted to when mass +time is over, when there’s no funeral in hand, and I oft go there to read +my book in quiet on a Sunday afternoon. And then, if ’tis your will, I +will take you to what to my mind is the best healing for a sore heart.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nurse Joan was wont to say the best for that was a sight of the true +Cross, as she once beheld it at Holy Rood church at Southampton,” said +Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“And so it is, lad, so it is,” said Tibble, with a strange light on +his distorted features. +</p> + +<p> +So they went forth together, while Giles again hugged himself in his doleful +conceit, marvelling how a youth of birth and nurture could walk the streets on +a Sunday with a scarecrow such as that! +</p> + +<p> +The hour was still early, there was a whole summer afternoon before them; and +Tibble, seeing how much his young companion was struck with the grand vista of +church towers and spires, gave him their names as they stood, though coupling +them with short dry comments on the way in which their priests too often +perverted them. +</p> + +<p> +The Cheap was then still in great part an open space, where boys were playing, +and a tumbler was attracting many spectators; while the ballad-singer of +yesterday had again a large audience, who laughed loudly at every coarse jest +broken upon mass-priests and friars. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose was horrified at the stave that met his ears, and asked how such +profanity could be allowed. Tibble shrugged his shoulders, and cited the old +saying, “The nearer the church”—adding, “Truth hath a +voice, and will out.” +</p> + +<p> +“But surely this is not the truth?” +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis mighty like it, sir, though it might be spoken in a more +seemly fashion.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s this?” demanded Ambrose. “’Tis a noble +house.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the Bishop’s palace, sir—a man that hath much +to answer for.” +</p> + +<p> +“Liveth he so ill a life then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not so. He is no scandalous liver, but he would fain stifle all the +voices that call for better things. Ay, you look back at yon ballad-monger! +Great folk despise the like of him, never guessing at the power there may be in +such ribald stuff; while they would fain silence that which might turn men from +their evil ways while yet there is time.” +</p> + +<p> +Tibble muttered this to himself, unheeded by Ambrose, and then presently +crossing the church-yard, where a grave was being filled up, with numerous idle +children around it, he conducted the youth into a curious little chapel, empty +now, but with the Host enthroned above the altar, and the trestles on which the +bier had rested still standing in the narrow nave. +</p> + +<p> +It was intensely still and cool, a fit place indeed for Ambrose’s filial +devotions, while Tibble settled himself on the step, took out a little black +book, and became absorbed. Ambrose’s Latin scholarship enabled him to +comprehend the language of the round of devotions he was rehearsing for the +benefit of his father’s soul; but there was much repetition in them, and +he had been so trained as to believe their correct recital was much more +important than attention to their spirit, and thus, while his hands held his +rosary, his eyes were fixed upon the walls where was depicted the Dance of +Death. In terrible repetition, the artist had aimed at depicting every rank or +class in life as alike the prey of the grisly phantom. Triple-crowned pope, +scarlet-hatted cardinal, mitred prelate, priests, monks, and friars of every +degree; emperors, kings, princes, nobles, knights, squires, yeomen, every sort +of trade, soldiers of all kinds, beggars, even thieves and murderers, and, in +like manner, ladies of every degree, from the queen and the abbess, down to the +starving beggar, were each represented as grappled with, and carried off by the +crowned skeleton. There was no truckling to greatness. The bishop and abbot +writhed and struggled in the grasp of Death, while the miser clutched at his +gold, and if there were some nuns, and some poor ploughmen who willingly +clasped his bony fingers and obeyed his summons joyfully, there were countesses +and prioresses who tried to beat him off, or implored him to wait. The infant +smiled in his arms, but the middle-aged fought against his scythe. +</p> + +<p> +The contemplation had a most depressing effect on the boy, whose heart was +still sore for his father. After the sudden shock of such a loss, the +monotonous repetition of the snatching away of all alike, in the midst of their +characteristic worldly employments, and the anguish and hopeless resistance of +most of them, struck him to the heart. He moved between each bead to a fresh +group; staring at it with fixed gaze, while his lips moved in the unconscious +hope of something consoling; till at last, hearing some uncontrollable sobs, +Tibble Steelman rose and found him crouching rather than kneeling before the +figure of an emaciated hermit, who was greeting the summons of the King of +Terrors, with crucifix pressed to his breast, rapt countenance and outstretched +arms, seeing only the Angel who hovered above. After some minutes of bitter +weeping, which choked his utterance, Ambrose, feeling a friendly hand on his +shoulder, exclaimed in a voice broken by sobs, “Oh, tell me, where may I +go to become an anchorite! There’s no other safety! I’ll give all +my portion, and spend all my time in prayer for my father and the other poor +souls in purgatory.” +</p> + +<p> +Two centuries earlier, nay, even one, Ambrose would have been encouraged to +follow out his purpose. As it was, Tibble gave a little dry cough and said, +“Come along with me, sir, and I’ll show you another sort of +way.” +</p> + +<p> +“I want no entertainment!” said Ambrose, “I should feel only +as if he,” pointing to the phantom, “were at hand, clutching me +with his deadly claw,” and he looked over his shoulder with a shudder. +</p> + +<p> +There was a box by the door to receive alms for masses on behalf of the souls +in purgatory, and here he halted and felt for the pouch at his girdle, to pour +in all the contents; but Steelman said, “Hold, sir, are you free to +dispose of your brother’s share, you who are purse-bearer for +both?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would fain hold my brother to the only path of safety.” +</p> + +<p> +Again Tibble gave his dry cough, but added, “He is not in the path of +safety who bestows that which is not his own but is held in trust. I were +foully to blame if I let this grim portrayal so work on you as to lead you to +beggar not only yourself, but your brother, with no consent of his.” +</p> + +<p> +For Tibble was no impulsive Italian, but a sober-minded Englishman of sturdy +good sense, and Ambrose was reasonable enough to listen and only drop in a few +groats which he knew to be his own. +</p> + +<p> +At the same moment, a church bell was heard, the tone of which Steelman +evidently distinguished from all the others, and he led the way out of the +Pardon churchyard, over the space in front of St. Paul’s. Many persons +were taking the same route; citizens in gowns and gold or silver chains, their +wives in tall pointed hats; craftsmen, black-gowned scholarly men with fur +caps, but there was a much more scanty proportion of priests, monks or friars, +than was usual in any popular assemblage. Many of the better class of women +carried folding stools, or had them carried by their servants, as if they +expected to sit and wait. +</p> + +<p> +“Is there a procession toward? or a relic to be displayed?” asked +Ambrose, trying to recollect whose feast-day it might be. +</p> + +<p> +Tibble screwed up his mouth in an extraordinary smile as he said, “Relic +quotha? yea, the soothest relic there be of the Lord and Master of us +all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Methought the true Cross was always displayed on the High Altar,” +said Ambrose, as all turned to a side aisle of the noble nave. +</p> + +<p> +“Rather say hidden,” muttered Tibble. “Thou shalt have it +displayed, young sir, but neither in wood nor gilded shrine. See, here he comes +who setteth it forth.” +</p> + +<p> +From the choir came, attended by half a dozen clergy, a small, pale man, in the +ordinary dress of a priest, with a square cap on his head. He looked spare, +sickly, and wrinkled, but the furrows traced lines of sweetness, his mouth was +wonderfully gentle, and there was a keen brightness about his clear grey eye. +Every one rose and made obeisance as he passed along to the stone stair leading +to a pulpit projecting from one of the columns. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose saw what was coming, though he had only twice before heard preaching. +The children of the ante-reformation were not called upon to hear sermons; and +the few exhortations given in Lent to the monks of Beaulieu were so exclusively +for the religious that seculars were not invited to them. So that Ambrose had +only once heard a weary and heavy discourse there plentifully garnished with +Latin; and once he had stood among the throng at a wake at Millbrook, and heard +a begging friar recommend the purchase of briefs of indulgence and the daily +repetition of the Ave Maria by a series of extraordinary miracles for the +rescue of desperate sinners, related so jocosely as to keep the crowd in a roar +of laughter. He had laughed with the rest, but he could not imagine his guide, +with the stern, grave eyebrows, writhen features and earnest, ironical tone, +covering—as even he could detect—the deepest feeling, enjoying such +broad sallies as tickled the slow merriment of village clowns and forest +deer-stealers. +</p> + +<p> +All stood for a moment while the Paternoster was repeated. Then the owners of +stools sat down on them, some leant on adjacent pillars, others curled +themselves on the floor, but most remained on their feet as unwilling to miss a +word, and of these were Tibble Steelman and his companion. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Omnis qui facit peccatum</i>, <i>servus est peccati</i>, followed by the +rendering in English, “Whosoever doeth sin is sin’s bond +thrall.” The words answered well to the ghastly delineations that seemed +stamped on Ambrose’s brain and which followed him about into the nave, so +that he felt himself in the grasp of the cruel fiend, and almost expected to +feel the skeleton claw of Death about to hand him over to torment. He expected +the consolation of hearing that a daily “Hail Mary,” persevered in +through the foulest life, would obtain that beams should be arrested in their +fall, ships fail to sink, cords to hang, till such confession had been made as +should insure ultimate salvation, after such a proportion of the flames of +purgatory as masses and prayers might not mitigate. +</p> + +<p> +But his attention was soon caught. Sinfulness stood before him not as the +liability to penalty for transgressing an arbitrary rule, but as a taint to the +entire being, mastering the will, perverting the senses, forging fetters out of +habit, so as to be a loathsome horror paralysing and enchaining the whole being +and making it into the likeness of him who brought sin and death into the +world. The horror seemed to grow on Ambrose, as his boyish faults and errors +rushed on his mind, and he felt pervaded by the contagion of the pestilence, +abhorrent even to himself. But behold, what was he hearing now? “The bond +thrall abideth not in the house for ever, but the Son abideth ever. <i>Si ergo +Filius liberavit, verè liberi eritis</i>.” “If the Son +should make you free, then are ye free indeed.” And for the first time +was the true liberty of the redeemed soul comprehensibly proclaimed to the +young spirit that had begun to yearn for something beyond the outside. Light +began to shine through the outward ordinances; the Church; the world, life, and +death, were revealed as something absolutely new; a redeeming, cleansing, +sanctifying power was made known, and seemed to inspire him with a new life, +joy, and hope. He was no longer feeling himself necessarily crushed by the +fetters of death, or only delivered from absolute peril by a mechanism that had +lost its heart, but he could enter into the glorious liberty of the sons of +God, in process of being saved, not in sin but <i>from</i> sin. +</p> + +<p> +It was an era in his life, and Tibble heard him sobbing, but with very +different sobs from those in the Pardon chapel. When it was over, and the +blessing given, Ambrose looked up from the hands which had covered his face +with a new radiance in his eyes, and drew a long breath. Tibble saw that he was +like one in another world, and gently led him away. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is he? What is he? Is he an angel from Heaven?” demanded the +boy, a little wildly, as they neared the southern door. +</p> + +<p> +“If an angel be a messenger of God, I trow he is one,” said Tibble. +“But men call him Dr. Colet. He is Dean of St. Paul’s Minster, and +dwelleth in the house you see below there.” +</p> + +<p> +“And are such words as these to be heard every Sunday?” +</p> + +<p> +“On most Sundays doth he preach here in the nave to all sorts of +folk.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must—I must hear it again!” exclaimed Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, ay,” said Tibble, regarding him with a well-pleased face. +“You are one with whom it works.” +</p> + +<p> +“Every Sunday!” repeated Ambrose. “Why do not all—your +master and all these,” pointing to the holiday crowds going to and +fro—“why do they not all come to listen?” +</p> + +<p> +“Master doth come by times,” said Tibble, in the tone of irony that +was hard to understand. “He owneth the dean as a rare preacher.” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose did not try to understand. He exclaimed again, panting as if his +thoughts were too strong for his words—“Lo you, that +preacher—dean call ye him?—putteth a soul into what hath hitherto +been to me but a dead and empty framework.” +</p> + +<p> +Tibble held out his hand almost unconsciously, and Ambrose pressed it. Man and +boy, alike they had felt the electric current of that truth, which, suppressed +and ignored among man’s inventions, was coming as a new revelation to +many, and was already beginning to convulse the Church and the world. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose’s mind was made up on one point. Whatever he did, and wherever he +went, he felt the doctrine he had just heard as needful to him as vital air, +and he must be within reach of it. This, and not the hermit’s cell, was +what his instinct craved. He had always been a studious, scholarly boy, +supposed to be marked out for a clerical life, because a book was more to him +than a bow, and he had been easily trained in good habits and practices of +devotion; but all in a childish manner, without going beyond simple +receptiveness, until the experiences of the last week had made a man of him, or +more truly, the Pardon chapel and Dean Colet’s sermon had made him a new +being, with the realities of the inner life opened before him. +</p> + +<p> +His present feeling was relief from the hideous load he had felt while dwelling +on the Dance of Death, and therewith general goodwill to all men, which found +its first issue in compassion for Giles Headley, whom he found on his return +seated on the steps—moody and miserable. +</p> + +<p> +“Would that you had been with us,” said Ambrose, sitting down +beside him on the step. “Never have I heard such words as to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would not be seen in the street with that scarecrow,” murmured +Giles. “If my mother could have guessed that he was to be set over me, I +had never come here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely you knew that he was foreman.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, but not that I should be under him—I whom old Giles vowed +should be as his own son—I that am to wed yon little brown moppet, and be +master here! So, forsooth,” he said, “now he treats me like any +common low-bred prentice.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said Ambrose, “an if you were his son, he would still +make you serve. It’s the way with all craftsmen—yea and with +gentlemen’s sons also. They must be pages and squires ere they can be +knights.” +</p> + +<p> +“It never was the way at home. I was only bound prentice to my father for +the name of the thing, that I might have the freedom of the city, and become +head of our house.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how could you be a wise master without learning the craft?” +</p> + +<p> +“What are journeymen for?” demanded the lad. “Had I known how +Giles Headley meant to serve me, he might have gone whistle for a husband for +his wench. I would have ridden in my Lady of Salisbury’s train.” +</p> + +<p> +“You might have had rougher usage there than here,” said Ambrose. +“Master Headley lays nothing on you but what he has himself proved. I +would I could see you make the best of so happy a home.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, that’s all very well for you, who are certain of a great +man’s house.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would that I were certified that my brother would be as well off as you, +if you did but know it,” said Ambrose. “Ha! here come the dishes! +’Tis supper time come on us unawares, and Stephen not returned from Mile +End!” +</p> + +<p> +Punctuality was not, however, exacted on these summer Sunday evenings, when +practice with the bow and other athletic sports were enjoined by Government, +and, moreover, the youths were with so trustworthy a member of the household as +Kit Smallbones. +</p> + +<p> +Sundry City magnates had come to supper with Master Headley, and whether it +were the effect of Ambrose’s counsel, or of the example of a handsome lad +who had come with his father, one of the worshipful guild of Merchant Taylors, +Giles did vouchsafe to bestir himself in waiting, and in consideration of the +effort it must have cost him, old Mrs. Headley and her son did not take notice +of his blunders, but only Dennet fell into a violent fit of laughter, when he +presented the stately alderman with a nutmeg under the impression that it was +an overgrown peppercorn. She suppressed her mirth as well as she could, poor +little thing, for it was a great offence in good manners, but she was detected, +and, only child as she was, the consequence was the being banished from the +table and sent to bed. +</p> + +<p> +But when, after supper was over, Ambrose went out to see if there were any +signs of the return of Stephen and the rest, he found the little maiden curled +up in the gallery with her kitten in her arms. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay!” she said, in a spoilt-child tone, “I’m not going +to bed before my time for laughing at that great oaf! Nurse Alice says he is to +wed me, but I won’t have him! I like the pretty boy who had the good dog +and saved father, and I like you, Master Ambrose. Sit down by me and tell me +the story over again, and we shall see Kit Smallbones come home. I know +he’ll have beaten the brewer’s fellow.” +</p> + +<p> +Before Ambrose had decided whether thus far to abet rebellion, she jumped up +and cried: “Oh, I see Kit! He’s got my ribbon! He has won the +match!” +</p> + +<p> +And down she rushed, quite oblivious of her disgrace, and Ambrose presently saw +her uplifted in Kit Smallbones’ brawny arms to utter her congratulations. +</p> + +<p> +Stephen was equally excited. His head was full of Kit Smallbones’ +exploits, and of the marvels of the sports he had witnessed and joined in with +fair success. He had thought Londoners poor effeminate creatures, but he found +that these youths preparing for the trained bands understood all sorts of +martial exercises far better than any of his forest acquaintance, save perhaps +the hitting of a mark. He was half wild with a boy’s enthusiasm for Kit +Smallbones and Edmund Burgess, and when, after eating the supper that had been +reserved for the late comers, he and his brother repaired to their own chamber, +his tongue ran on in description of the feats he had witnessed and his hopes of +emulating them, since he understood that Archbishop as was my Lord of York, +there was a tilt-yard at York House. Ambrose, equally full of his new feelings, +essayed to make his brother a sharer in them, but Stephen entirely failed to +understand more than that his book-worm brother had heard something that +delighted him in his own line of scholarship, from which Stephen had happily +escaped a year ago! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII.<br /> +YORK HOUSE</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“Then hath he servants five or six score,<br /> +Some behind and some before;<br /> +A marvellous great company<br /> +Of which are lords and gentlemen,<br /> +With many grooms and yeomen<br /> +And also knaves among them.” +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<i>Contemporary Poem on Wolsey</i>. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Early</span> were hammers ringing on anvils in the Dragon +Court, and all was activity. Master Headley was giving his orders to Kit +Smallbones before setting forth to take the Duke of Buckingham’s +commands; Giles Headley, very much disgusted, was being invested with a +leathern apron, and entrusted to Edmund Burgess to learn those primary arts of +furbishing which, but for his mother’s vanity and his father’s +weakness, he would have practised four years sooner. Tibble Steelman was +superintending the arrangement of half a dozen corslets, which were to be +carried by three stout porters, under his guidance, to what is now Whitehall, +then the residence of the Archbishop of York, the king’s prime adviser, +Thomas Wolsey. +</p> + +<p> +“Look you, Tib,” said the kind-hearted armourer, “if those +lads find not their kinsman, or find him not what they look for, bring them +back hither, I cannot have them cast adrift. They are good and brave youths, +and I owe a life to them.” +</p> + +<p> +Tibble nodded entire assent, but when the boys appeared in their mourning +suits, with their bundles on their backs, they were sent back again to put on +their forest green, Master Headley explaining that it was reckoned ill-omened, +if not insulting, to appear before any great personage in black, unless to +enhance some petition directly addressed to himself. He also bade them leave +their fardels behind, as, if they tarried at York House, these could be easily +sent after them. +</p> + +<p> +They obeyed—even Stephen doing so with more alacrity than he had hitherto +shown to Master Headley’s behests; for now that the time for departure +had come, he was really sorry to leave the armourer’s household. Edmund +Burgess had been very good-natured to the raw country lad, and Kit Smallbones +was, in his eyes, an Ascapart in strength, and a Bevis in prowess and +kindliness. Mistress Headley too had been kind to the orphan lads, and these +two days had given a feeling of being at home at the Dragon. When Giles wished +them a moody farewell, and wished he were going with them, Stephen returned, +“Ah! you don’t know when you are well off.” +</p> + +<p> +Little Dennet came running down after them with two pinks in her hands. +“Here’s a sop-in-wine for a token for each of you young +gentlemen,” she cried, “for you came to help father, and I would +you were going to stay and wed me instead of Giles.” +</p> + +<p> +“What, both of us, little maid?” said Ambrose, laughing, as he +stooped to receive the kiss her rosy lips tendered to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Not but what she would have royal example,” muttered Tibble aside. +</p> + +<p> +Dennet put her head on one side, as considering. “Nay, not both; but you +are gentle and courteous, and he is brave and gallant—and Giles there is +moody and glum, and can do nought.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! you will see what a gallant fellow Giles can be when thou hast cured +him of his home-sickness by being good to him,” said Ambrose, sorry for +the youth in the universal laughter at the child’s plain speaking. +</p> + +<p> +And thus the lads left the Dragon, amid friendly farewells. Ambrose looked up +at the tall spire of St. Paul’s with a strong determination that he would +never put himself out of reach of such words as he had there drunk in, and +which were indeed spirit and life to him. +</p> + +<p> +Tibble took them down to the St. Paul’s stairs on the river, where at his +whistle a wherry was instantly brought to transport them to York stairs, only +one of the smiths going any further in charge of the corslets. Very lovely was +their voyage in the brilliant summer morning, as the glittering water reflected +in broken ripples church spire, convent garden, and stately house. Here rows of +elm-trees made a cool walk by the river side, there strawberry beds sloped down +the Strand, and now and then the hooded figures of nuns might be seen gathering +the fruit. There, rose the round church of the Temple, and the beautiful +gardens surrounding the buildings, half monastic, half military, and already +inhabited by lawyers. From a barge at the Temple stairs a legal personage +descended, with a square beard, and open, benevolent, shrewd face, before whom +Tibble removed his cap with eagerness, saying to Ambrose, “Yonder is +Master More, a close friend of the dean’s, a good and wise man, and +forward in every good work.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus did they arrive at York House. Workmen were busy on some portions of it, +but it was inhabited by the great Archbishop, the king’s chief adviser. +The approach of the boat seemed to be instantly notified, as it drew near the +stone steps giving entrance to the gardens, with an avenue of trees leading up +to the principal entrance. +</p> + +<p> +Four or five yeomen ran down the steps, calling out to Tibble that their +corslets had tarried a long time, and that Sir Thomas Drury had been storming +for him to get his tilting armour into order. +</p> + +<p> +Tibble followed the man who had undertaken to conduct him through a path that +led to the offices of the great house, bidding the boys keep with him, and +asking for their uncle Master Harry Randall. +</p> + +<p> +The yeoman shook his head. He knew no such person in the household, and did not +think there ever had been such. Sir Thomas Drury was found in the stable court, +trying the paces of the horse he intended to use in the approaching joust. +“Ha! old Wry-mouth,” he cried, “welcome at last! I must have +my new device damasked on my shield. Come hither, and I’ll show it +thee.” +</p> + +<p> +Private rooms were seldom enjoyed, even by knights and gentlemen, in such a +household, and Sir Thomas could only conduct Tibble to the armoury, where +numerous suits of armour hung on blocks, presenting the semblance of armed men. +The knight, a good-looking personage, expatiated much on the device he wished +to dedicate to his lady-love, a pierced heart with a forget-me-not in the +midst, and it was not until the directions were finished that Tibble ventured +to mention the inquiry for Randall. +</p> + +<p> +“I wot of no such fellow,” returned Sir Thomas, “you had best +go to the comptroller, who keeps all the names.” Tibble had to go to this +functionary at any rate, to obtain an order for payment for the corslets he had +brought home. Ambrose and Stephen followed him across an enormous hall, where +three long tables were being laid for dinner. +</p> + +<p> +The comptroller of the household, an esquire of good birth, with a stiff little +ruff round his neck, sat in a sort of office inclosed by panels at the end of +the hall. He made an entry of Tibble’s account in a big book, and sent a +message to the cofferer to bring the amount. Then Tibble again put his question +on behalf of the two young foresters, and the comptroller shook his head. He +did not know the name. “Was the gentleman” (he chose that word as +he looked at the boys) “layman or clerk?” “Layman, +certainly,” said Ambrose, somewhat dismayed to find how little, on +interrogation, he really knew. +</p> + +<p> +“Was he a yeoman of the guard, or in attendance on one of my lord’s +nobles in waiting?” +</p> + +<p> +“We thought he had been a yeoman,” said Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“See,” said the comptroller, stimulated by a fee administered by +Tibble, “’tis just dinner time, and I must go to attend on my Lord +Archbishop; but do you, Tibble, sit down with these striplings to dinner, and +then I will cast my eye over the books, and see if I can find any such name. +What, hast not time? None ever quits my lord’s without breaking his +fast.” +</p> + +<p> +Tibble had no doubt that his master would be willing that he should give up his +time for this purpose, so he accepted the invitation. The tables were by this +time nearly covered, but all stood waiting, for there flowed in from the great +doorway of the hall a gorgeous train—first, a man bearing the double +archiepiscopal cross of York, fashioned in silver, and thick with +gems—then, with lofty mitre enriched with pearls and jewels, and with +flowing violet lace-covered robes came the sturdy square-faced ruddy prelate, +who was then the chief influence in England, and after him two glittering ranks +of priests in square caps and richly embroidered copes, all in accordant +colours. They were returning, as a yeoman told Tibble, from some great +ecclesiastical ceremony, and dinner would be served instantly. +</p> + +<p> +“That for which Ralf Bowyer lives!” said a voice close by, +“He would fain that the dial’s hands were Marie bones, the face +blancmange, wherein the figures should be grapes of Corinth!” +</p> + +<p> +Stephen looked round and saw a man close beside him in what he knew at once to +be the garb of a jester. A tall scarlet velvet cap, with three peaks, bound +with gold braid, and each surmounted with a little gilded bell, crowned his +head, a small crimson ridge to indicate the cock’s comb running along the +front. His jerkin and hose were of motley, the left arm and right leg being +blue, their opposites, orange tawny, while the nether stocks and shoes were in +like manner black and scarlet counterchanged. And yet, somehow, whether from +the way of wearing it, or from the effect of the gold embroidery meandering +over all, the effect was not distressing, but more like that of a gorgeous +bird. The figure was tall, lithe, and active, the brown ruddy face had none of +the blank stare of vacant idiocy, but was full of twinkling merriment, the +black eyes laughed gaily, and perhaps only so clearsighted and shrewd an +observer as Tibble would have detected a weakness of purpose about the mouth. +</p> + +<p> +There was a roar of laughter at the gibe, as indeed there was at whatever was +uttered by the man whose profession was to make mirth. +</p> + +<p> +“Thou likest thy food well enough thyself, quipsome one,” muttered +Ralf. +</p> + +<p> +“Hast found one who doth not, Ralf? Then should he have a free gift of my +bauble,” responded the jester, shaking on high that badge, surmounted +with the golden head of an ass, and jingling with bells. “How now, friend +Wry-mouth? ’Tis long since thou wert here! This house hath well-nigh been +forced to its ghostly weapons for lack of thy substantial ones. Where hast thou +been?” +</p> + +<p> +“At Salisbury, good Merryman.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have the Wilts men raked the moon yet out of the pond? Did they lend +thee their rake, Tib, that thou hast raked up a couple of green Forest palmer +worms, or be they the sons of the man in the moon, raked out and all +astray?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mayhap, for we met them with dog and bush,” said Tibble, +“and they dropped as from the moon to save my poor master from the +robbers on Bagshot heath! Come now, mine honest fellow, aid me to rake, as thou +sayest, this same household. They are come up from the Forest, to seek out +their uncle, one Randall, who they have heard to be in this meiné. +Knowest thou such a fellow?” +</p> + +<p> +“To seek a spider in a stubble-field! Truly he needs my bauble who sent +them on such an errand,” said the jester, rather slowly, as if to take +time for consideration. “What’s your name, my Forest flies?” +</p> + +<p> +“Birkenholt, sir,” answered Ambrose, “but our uncle is Harry +Randall.” +</p> + +<p> +“Here’s fools enow to take away mine office,” was the reply. +“Here’s a couple of lads would leave the greenwood and the free +oaks and beeches, for this stinking, plague-smitten London.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’d not have quitted it could we have tarried at home,” +began Ambrose; but at that moment there was a sudden commotion, a trampling of +horses was heard outside, a loud imperious voice demanded, “Is my Lord +Archbishop within?” a whisper ran round, “the King,” and +there entered the hall with hasty steps, a figure never to be forgotten, clad +in a hunting dress of green velvet embroidered with gold, with a golden hunting +horn slung round his neck. +</p> + +<p> +Henry VIII. was then in the splendid prime of his youth, in his twenty-seventh +year, and in the eyes, not only of his own subjects, but of all others, the +very type of a true king of men. Tall, and as yet of perfect form for strength, +agility, and grace; his features were of the beautiful straight Plantagenet +type, and his complexion of purely fair rosiness, his large well-opened blue +eyes full at once of frankness and keenness, and the short golden beard that +fringed his square chin giving the manly air that otherwise might have seemed +wanting to the feminine tinting of his regular lineaments. All caps were +instantly doffed save the little bonnet with one drooping feather that covered +his short, curled, yellow hair; and the Earl of Derby, who was at the head of +Wolsey’s retainers, made haste, bowing to the ground, to assure him that +my Lord Archbishop was but doffing his robes, and would be with his Grace +instantly. Would his Grace vouchsafe to come on to the privy chamber where the +dinner was spread? +</p> + +<p> +At the same moment Quipsome Hal sprang forward, exclaiming, “How now, +brother and namesake? Wherefore this coil? Hath cloth of gold wearied yet of +cloth of frieze? Is she willing to own her right to this?” as he held out +his bauble. +</p> + +<p> +“Holla, old Blister! art thou there?” said the King, +good-humouredly. “What! knowest not that we are to have such a wedding as +will be a sight for sore eyes!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sore! that’s well said, friend Hal. Thou art making progress in +mine art! Sore be the eyes wherein thou wouldst throw dust.” +</p> + +<p> +Again the King laughed, for every one knew that his sister Mary had secretly +been married to the Duke of Suffolk for the last two months, and that this +public marriage and the tournament that was to follow were only for the sake of +appearances. He laid his hand good-naturedly on the jester’s shoulder as +he walked up the hall towards the Archbishop’s private apartments, but +the voices of both were loud pitched, and bits of the further conversation +could be picked up. “Weddings are rife in your family,” said the +jester, “none of you get weary of fitting on the noose. What, thou +thyself, Hal? Ay, thou hast not caught the contagion yet! Now ye gods forefend! +If thou hast the chance, thou’lt have it strong.” +</p> + +<p> +Therewith the Archbishop, in his purple robes, appeared in the archway at the +other end of the hall, the King joined him, and still followed by the jester, +they both vanished. It was presently made known that the King was about to dine +there, and that all were to sit down to eat. The King dined alone with the +Archbishop as his host; the two noblemen who had formed his suite joined the +first table in the higher hall; the knights that of the steward of the +household, who was of knightly degree, and with whom the superior clergy of the +household ate; and the grooms found their places among the vast array of yeomen +and serving-men of all kinds with whom Tibble and his two young companions had +to eat. A week ago, Stephen would have contemned the idea of being classed with +serving-men and grooms, but by this time he was quite bewildered, and anxious +enough to be thankful to keep near a familiar face on any terms, and to feel as +if Tibble were an old friend, though he had only known him for five days. +</p> + +<p> +Why the King had come had not transpired, but there was a whisper that +despatches from Scotland were concerned in it. The meal was a lengthy one, but +at last the King’s horses were ordered, and presently Henry came forth, +with his arm familiarly linked in that of the Archbishop, whose horse had +likewise been made ready that he might accompany the King back to Westminster. +The jester was close at hand, and as a parting shaft he observed, while the +King mounted his horse, “Friend Hal! give my brotherly commendations to +our Madge, and tell her that one who weds Anguish cannot choose but cry +out.” +</p> + +<p> +Wherewith, affecting to expect a stroke from the King’s whip, he doubled +himself up, performed the contortion now called turning a coachwheel, then, +recovering himself, put his hands on his hips and danced wildly on the steps; +while Henry, shaking his whip at him, laughed at the only too obvious pun, for +Anguish was the English version of Angus, the title of Queen Margaret’s +second husband, and it was her complaints that had brought him to his +counsellor. +</p> + +<p> +The jester then, much to the annoyance of the two boys, thought proper to +follow them to the office of the comptroller, and as that dignitary read out +from his books the name of every Henry, and of all the varieties of Ralf and +Randolf among the hundred and eighty persons composing the household, he kept +on making comments. “Harry Hempseed, clerk to the kitchen; ay, Hempseed +will serve his turn one of these days. Walter Randall, groom of the chamber; +ah, ha! my lads, if you want a generous uncle who will look after you well, +there is your man! He’ll give you the shakings of the napery for +largesse, and when he is in an open-handed mood, will let you lie on the rushes +that have served the hall. Harry of Lambeth, yeoman of the stable. He will make +you free of all the taverns in Eastchepe.” +</p> + +<p> +And so on, accompanying each remark with a pantomime mimicry of the air and +gesture of the individual. He showed in a second the contortions of Harry +Weston in drawing the bow, and in another the grimaces of Henry Hope, the choir +man, in producing bass notes, or the swelling majesty of Randall Porcher, the +cross-bearer, till it really seemed as if he had shown off the humours of at +least a third of the enormous household. Stephen had laughed at first, but as +failure after failure occurred, the antics began to weary even him, and seem +unkind and ridiculous as hope ebbed away, and the appalling idea began to grow +on him of being cast loose on London without a friend or protector. Ambrose +felt almost despairing as he heard in vain the last name. He would almost have +been willing to own Hal the scullion, and his hopes rose when he heard of Hodge +Randolph, the falconer, but alas, that same Hodge came from Yorkshire. +</p> + +<p> +“And mine uncle was from the New Forest in Hampshire,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe he went by the name of Shirley,” added Stephen, +“’tis where his home was.” +</p> + +<p> +But the comptroller, unwilling to begin a fresh search, replied at once that +the only Shirley in the household was a noble esquire of the Warwickshire +family. +</p> + +<p> +“You must e’en come back with me, young masters,” said +Tibble, “and see what my master can do for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stay a bit,” said the fool. “Harry of Shirley! Harry of +Shirley! Methinks I could help you to the man, if so be as you will deem him +worth the finding,” he added, suddenly turning upside down, and looking +at them standing on the palms of his hands, with an indescribable leer of +drollery, which in a moment dashed all the hopes with which they had turned to +him. “Should you know this minks of yours?” he added. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I should,” said Ambrose. “I remember best how he +used to carry me on his shoulder to cull mistletoe for Christmas.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, ha! A proper fellow of his inches now, with yellow hair?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said Ambrose, “I mind that his hair was black, and his +eyes as black as sloes—or as thine own, Master Jester.” +</p> + +<p> +The jester tumbled over into a more extraordinary attitude than before, while +Stephen said— +</p> + +<p> +“John was wont to twit us with being akin to Gipsy Hal.” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean a man sad and grave as the monks of Beaulieu,” said the +jester. +</p> + +<p> +“He!” they both cried. “No, indeed! He was foremost in all +sports.” “Ah!” cried Stephen, “mind you not, Ambrose, +his teaching us leap-frog, and aye leaping over one of us himself, with the +other in his arms?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! sadly changed, sadly changed,” said the jester, standing +upright, with a most mournful countenance. “Maybe you’d not thank +me if I showed him to you, young sirs, that is, if he be the man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay! is he in need, or distress?” cried the brothers. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor Hal!” returned the fool, shaking his head with mournfulness +in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, take us to him, good—good jester,” cried Ambrose. +“We are young and strong. We will work for him.” +</p> + +<p> +“What, a couple of lads like you, that have come to London seeking for +him to befriend you—deserving well my cap for that matter. Will ye be +guided to him, broken and soured—no more gamesome, but a sickly old +runagate?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” cried Ambrose. “He is our mother’s +brother. We must care for him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Master Headley will give us work, mayhap,” said Stephen, turning +to Tibble. “I could clean the furnaces.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, ha! I see fools’ caps must hang thick as beech masts in the +Forest,” cried the fool, but his voice was husky, and he turned suddenly +round with his back to them, then cut three or four extraordinary capers, after +which he observed—“Well, young gentlemen, I will see the man I +mean, and if he be the same, and be willing to own you for his nephews, he will +meet you in the Temple Gardens at six of the clock this evening, close to the +rose-bush with the flowers in my livery—motley red and white.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how shall we know him?” +</p> + +<p> +“D’ye think a pair of green caterpillars like you can’t be +marked—unless indeed the gardener crushes you for blighting his +roses.” Wherewith the jester quitted the scene, walking on his hands, +with his legs in the air. +</p> + +<p> +“Is he to be trusted?” asked Tibble of the comptroller. +</p> + +<p> +“Assuredly,” was the answer; “none hath better wit than +Quipsome Hal, when he chooseth to be in earnest. In very deed, as I have heard +Sir Thomas More say, it needeth a wise man to be fool to my Lord of +York.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<br /> +QUIPSOME HAL</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“The sweet and bitter fool<br /> + Will presently appear,<br /> +The one in motley here<br /> + The other found out there.” +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">Shakespeare</span>. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">There</span> lay the quiet Temple Gardens, on the Thames +bank, cut out in formal walks, with flowers growing in the beds of the homely +kinds beloved by the English. Musk roses, honeysuckle and virgin’s bower, +climbed on the old grey walls; sops-in-wine, bluebottles, bachelor’s +buttons, stars of Bethlehem and the like, filled the borders; May thorns were +in full sweet blossom; and near one another were the two rose bushes, one +damask and one white Provence, whence Somerset and Warwick were said to have +plucked their fatal badges; while on the opposite side of a broad grass-plot +was another bush, looked on as a great curiosity of the best omen, where the +roses were streaked with alternate red and white, in honour, as it were, of the +union of York and Lancaster. +</p> + +<p> +By this rose-tree stood the two young Birkenholts. Edmund Burgess having, by +his master’s desire, shown them the way, and passed them in by a word and +sign from his master, then retired unseen to a distance to mark what became of +them, they having promised also to return and report of themselves to Master +Headley. +</p> + +<p> +They stood together earnestly watching for the coming of the uncle, feeling +quite uncertain whether to expect a frail old broken man, or to find themselves +absolutely deluded, and made game of by the jester. +</p> + +<p> +The gardens were nearly empty, for most people were sitting over their +supper-tables after the business of the day was over, and only one or two +figures in black gowns paced up and down in conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“Come away, Ambrose,” said Stephen at last. “He only meant to +make fools of us! Come, before he comes to gibe us for having heeded a moment. +Come, I say—here’s this man coming to ask us what we are doing +here.” +</p> + +<p> +For a tall, well-made, well-dressed personage in the black or sad colour of a +legal official, looking like a prosperous householder, or superior artisan, was +approaching them, some attendant, as the boys concluded belonging to the +Temple. They expected to be turned out, and Ambrose in an apologetic tone, +began, “Sir, we were bidden to meet a—a kinsman here.” +</p> + +<p> +“And even so am I,” was the answer, in a grave, quiet tone, +“or rather to meet twain.” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose looked up into a pair of dark eyes, and exclaimed “Stevie, +Stevie, ’tis he. ’Tis uncle Hal.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, ’tis all you’re like to have for him,” answered +Harry Randall, enfolding each in his embrace. “Lad, how like thou art to +my poor sister! And is she indeed gone—and your honest father +too—and none left at home but that hunks, little John? How and when died +she?” +</p> + +<p> +“Two years agone come Lammastide,” answered Stephen. “There +was a deadly creeping fever and ague through the Forest. We two sickened, and +Ambrose was so like to die that Diggory went to the abbey for the priest to +housel and anneal him, but by the time Father Simon came he was sound asleep, +and soon was whole again. But before we were on our legs, our blessed mother +took the disease, and she passed away ere many days were over. Then, though +poor father took not that sickness, he never was the same man again, and only +twelve days after last Pasch-tide he was taken with a fit and never spake +again.” +</p> + +<p> +Stephen was weeping by this time, and his uncle had a hand on his shoulder, and +with tears in his eyes, threw in ejaculations of pity and affection. Ambrose +finished the narrative with a broken voice indeed, but as one who had more +self-command than his brother, perhaps than his uncle, whose exclamations +became bitter and angry as he heard of the treatment the boys had experienced +from their half-brother, who, as he said, he had always known as a currish +mean-spirited churl, but scarce such as this. +</p> + +<p> +“Nor do I think he would have been, save for his wife, Maud Pratt of +Hampton,” said Ambrose. “Nay, truly also, he deemed that we were +only within a day’s journey of council from our uncle Richard at +Hyde.” +</p> + +<p> +“Richard Birkenholt was a sturdy old comrade! Methinks he would give +Master Jack a piece of his mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alack, good uncle, we found him in his dotage, and the bursar of Hyde +made quick work with us, for fear, good Father Shoveller said, that we were +come to look after his corrody.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shoveller—what, a Shoveller of Cranbury? How fell ye in with +him?” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose told the adventures of their journey, and Randall exclaimed “By +my bau—I mean by my faith—if ye have ill-luck in uncles, ye have +had good luck in friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“No ill-luck in thee, good, kind uncle,” said Stephen, catching at +his hand with the sense of comfort that kindred blood gives. +</p> + +<p> +“How wottest thou that, child? Did not I—I mean did not Merryman +tell you, that mayhap ye would not be willing to own your uncle?” +</p> + +<p> +“We deemed he was but jesting,” said Stephen. “Ah!” +</p> + +<p> +For a sudden twinkle in the black eyes, an involuntary twist of the muscles of +the face, were a sudden revelation to him. He clutched hold of Ambrose with a +sudden grasp; Ambrose too looked and recoiled for a moment, while the colour +spread over his face. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, lads. Can you brook the thought!—Harry Randall is the poor +fool!” +</p> + +<p> +Stephen, whose composure had already broken down, burst into tears again, +perhaps mostly at the downfall of all his own expectations and glorifications +of the kinsman about whom he had boasted. Ambrose only exclaimed “O +uncle, you must have been hard pressed.” For indeed the grave, almost +melancholy man, who stood before them, regarding them wistfully, had little in +common with the lithe tumbler full of absurdities whom they had left at York +House. +</p> + +<p> +“Even so, my good lad. Thou art right in that,” said he gravely. +“Harder than I trust will ever be the lot of you two, my sweet +Moll’s sons. She never guessed that I was come to this.” +</p> + +<p> +“O no,” said Stephen. “She always thought thou—thou +hadst some high preferment in—” +</p> + +<p> +“And so I have,” said Randall with something of his ordinary +humour. “There’s no man dares to speak such plain truth to my +lord—or for that matter to King Harry himself, save his own +Jack-a-Lee—and he, being a fool of nature’s own making, cannot use +his chances, poor rogue! And so the poor lads came up to London hoping to find +a gallant captain who could bring them to high preferment, and found nought +but—Tom Fool! I could find it in my heart to weep for them! And so thou +mindest clutching the mistletoe on nunk Hal’s shoulder. I warrant it +groweth still on the crooked May bush? And is old Bobbin alive?” +</p> + +<p> +They answered his questions, but still as if under a great shock, and presently +he said, as they paced up and down the garden walks, “Ay, I have been +sore bestead, and I’ll tell you how it came about, boys, and mayhap ye +will pardon the poor fool, who would not own you sooner, lest ye should come in +for mockery ye have not learnt to brook.” There was a sadness and +pleading in his tone that touched Ambrose, and he drew nearer to his uncle, who +laid a hand on his shoulder, and presently the other on that of Stephen, who +shrank a little at first, but submitted. “Lads, I need not tell you why I +left fair Shirley and the good greenwood. I was a worse fool then than ever I +have been since I wore the cap and bells, and if all had been brought home to +me, it might have brought your father and mother into trouble—my sweet +Moll who had done her best for me. I deemed, as you do now, that the way to +fortune was open, but I found no path before me, and I had tightened my belt +many a time, and was not much more than a bag of bones, when, by chance, I fell +in with a company of tumblers and gleemen. I sang them the old hunting-song, +and they said I did it tunably, and, whereas they saw I could already dance a +hornpipe and turn a somersault passably well, the leader of the troop, old Nat +Fire-eater, took me on, and methinks he did not repent—nor I +neither—save when I sprained my foot and had time to lie by and think. We +had plenty to fill our bellies and put on our backs; we had welcome wherever we +went, and the groats and pennies rained into our caps. I was Clown and Jack +Pudding and whatever served their turn, and the very name of Quipsome Hal drew +crowds. Yea, ’twas a merry life! Ay, I feel thee wince and shrink, my +lad; and so should I have shuddered when I was of thine age, and hoped to come +to better things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Methinks ’twere better than this present,” said Stephen +rather gruffly. +</p> + +<p> +“I had my reasons, boy,” said Randall, speaking as if he were +pleading his cause with their father and mother rather than with two such young +lads. “There was in our company an old man-at-arms who played the lute +and the rebeck, and sang ballads so long as hand and voice served him, and with +him went his grandchild, a fair and honest little maiden, whom he kept so +jealously apart that ’twas long ere I knew of her following the company. +He had been a franklin on my Lord of Warwick’s lands, and had once been +burnt out by Queen Margaret’s men, and just as things looked up again +with him, King Edward’s folk ruined all again, and slew his two sons. +When great folk play the fool, small folk pay the scot, as I din into his +Grace’s ears whenever I may. A minion of the Duke of Clarence got the +steading, and poor old Martin Fulford was turned out to shift as best he might. +One son he had left, and with him he went to the Low Countries, where they +would have done well had they not been bitten by faith in the fellow Perkin +Warbeck. You’ve heard of him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea,” said Ambrose; “the same who was taken out of sanctuary +at Beaulieu, and borne off to London. Father said he was marvellous like in the +face to all the kings he had ever seen hunting in the Forest.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know not; but to the day of his death old Martin swore that he was a +son of King Edward’s, and they came home again with the men the Duchess +of Burgundy gave Perkin—came bag and baggage, for young Fulford had +wedded a fair Flemish wife, poor soul! He left her with his father nigh to +Taunton ere the battle, and he was never heard of more, but as he was one of +the few men who knew how to fight, belike he was slain. Thus old Martin was +left with the Flemish wife and her little one on his hands, for whose sake he +did what went against him sorely, joined himself to this troop of jugglers and +players, so as to live by the minstrelsy he had learnt in better days, while +his daughter-in-law mended and made for the company and kept them in smart and +shining trim. By the time I fell in with them his voice was well-nigh gone, and +his hand sorely shaking, but Fire-eating Nat, the master of our troop, was not +an ill-natured fellow, and the glee-women’s feet were well used to his +rebeck. Moreover, the Fire-eater had an eye to little Perronel, though her +mother had never let him train her—scarce let him set an eye on her; and +when Mistress Fulford died, poor soul, of ague, caught when we showed off +before the merry Prior of Worcester, her last words were that Perronel should +never be a glee-maiden. Well, to make an end of my tale, we had one day a +mighty show at Windsor, when the King and Court were at the castle, and it was +whispered to me at the end that my Lord Archbishop’s household needed a +jester, and that Quipsome Hal had been thought to make excellent fooling. I +gave thanks at first, but said I would rather be a free man, not bound to be a +greater fool than Dame Nature made me all the hours of the day. But when I got +back to the Garter, what should I find but that poor old Martin had been +stricken with the dead palsy while he was playing his rebeck, and would never +twang a note more; and there was pretty Perronel weeping over him, and Nat +Fire-eater pledging his word to give the old man bed, board, and all that he +could need, if so be that Perronel should be trained to be one of his +glee-maidens, to dance and tumble and sing. And there was the poor old franklin +shaking his head more than the palsy made it shake already, and trying to frame +his lips to say, ‘rather they both should die.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, uncle, I wot now what thou didst!” cried Stephen. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, lad, there was nought else to be done. I asked Master Fulford to +give me Perronel, plighting my word that never should she sing or dance for any +one’s pleasure save her own and mine, and letting him know that I came of +a worthy family. We were wedded out of hand by the priest that had been sent +for to housel him, and in our true names. The Fire-eater was fiery enough, and +swore that, wedded or not, I was bound to him, that he would have both of us, +and would not drag about a helpless old man unless he might have the wench to +do his bidding. I verily believe that, but for my being on the watch and +speaking a word to two or three stout yeomen of the king’s guard that +chanced to be crushing a pot of sack at the Garter, he would have played some +villainous trick on us. They gave a hint to my Lord of York’s steward, +and he came down and declared that the Archbishop required Quipsome Hal, and +would—of his grace—send a purse of nobles to the Fire-eater, +wherewith he was to be off on the spot without more ado, or he might find it +the worse for him, and they, together with mine host’s good wife, took +care that the rogue did not carry away Perronel with him, as he was like to +have done. To end my story, here am I, getting showers of gold coins one day +and nought but kicks and gibes the next, while my good woman keeps house nigh +here on the banks of the Thames with Gaffer Martin. Her Flemish thrift has set +her to the washing and clear-starching of the lawyers’ ruffs, whereby she +makes enough to supply the defects of my scanty days, or when I have to follow +my lord’s grace out of her reach, sweet soul. There’s my tale, +nevoys. And now, have ye a hand for Quipsome Hal?” +</p> + +<p> +“O uncle! Father would have honoured thee!” cried Stephen. +</p> + +<p> +“Why didst thou not bring her down to the Forest?” said Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“I conned over the thought,” said Randall, “but there was no +way of living. I wist not whether the Ranger might not stir up old tales, and +moreover old Martin is ill to move. We brought him down by boat from Windsor, +and he has never quitted the house since, nor his bed for the last two years. +You’ll come and see the housewife? She hath a supper laying out for you, +and on the way we’ll speak of what ye are to do, my poor lads.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d forgotten that,” said Stephen. +</p> + +<p> +“So had not I,” returned his uncle; “I fear me I cannot aid +you to preferment as you expected. None know Quipsome Hal by any name but that +of Harry Merryman, and it were not well that ye should come in there as akin to +the poor fool.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Stephen, emphatically. +</p> + +<p> +“Your father left you twenty crowns apiece?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, but John hath all save four of them.” +</p> + +<p> +“For that there’s remedy. What saidst thou of the Cheapside +armourer? His fellow, the Wry-mouth, seemed to have a care of you. Ye made in +to the rescue with poor old Spring.” +</p> + +<p> +“Even so,” replied Ambrose, “and if Stevie would brook the +thought, I trow that Master Headley would be quite willing to have him bound as +his apprentice.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well said, my good lad!” cried Hal. “What sayest thou, +Stevie?” +</p> + +<p> +“I had liefer be a man-at-arms.” +</p> + +<p> +“That thou couldst only be after being sorely knocked about as horseboy +and as groom. I tried that once, but found it meant kicks, and oaths, and vile +company—such as I would not have for thy mother’s son, Steve. +Headley is a well-reported, God-fearing man, and will do well by thee. And thou +wilt learn the use of arms as well as handle them.” +</p> + +<p> +“I like Master Headley and Kit Smallbones well enough,” said +Stephen, rather gloomily, “and if a gentleman must be a prentice, weapons +are not so bad a craft for him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Whittington was a gentleman,” said Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“I am sick of Whittington,” muttered Stephen. +</p> + +<p> +“Nor is he the only one,” said Randall; “there’s +Middleton and Pole—ay, and many another who have risen from the flat cap +to the open helm, if not to the coronet. Nay, these London companies have rules +against taking any prentice not of gentle blood. Come in to supper with my good +woman, and then I’ll go with thee and hold converse with good Master +Headley, and if Master John doth not send the fee freely, why then I know of +them who shall make him disgorge it. But mark,” he added, as he led the +way out of the gardens, “not a breath of Quipsome Hal. Down here they +know me as a clerk of my lord’s chamber, sad and sober, and high in his +trust, and therein they are not far out.” +</p> + +<p> +In truth, though Harry Randall had been a wild and frolicsome youth in his +Hampshire home, the effect of being a professional buffoon had actually made it +a relaxation of effort to him to be grave, quiet, and slow in movement; and +this was perhaps a more effectual disguise than the dark garments, and the +false brown hair, beard, and moustache, with which he concealed the shorn and +shaven condition required of the domestic jester. Having been a player, he was +well able to adapt himself to his part, and yet Ambrose had considerable doubts +whether Tibble had not suspected his identity from the first, more especially +as both the lads had inherited the same dark eyes from their mother, and +Ambrose for the first time perceived a considerable resemblance between him and +Stephen, not only in feature but in unconscious gesture. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose was considering whether he had better give his uncle a hint, lest +concealment should excite suspicion; when, niched as it were against an +abutment of the wall of the Temple courts, close to some steps going down to +the Thames, they came upon a tiny house, at whose open door stood a young woman +in the snowiest of caps and aprons over a short black gown, beneath which were +a trim pair of blue hosen and stout shoes; a suspicion of yellow hair was +allowed to appear framing the honest, fresh, Flemish face, which beamed a +good-humoured welcome. +</p> + +<p> +“Here they be! here be the poor lads, Pernel mine.” She held out +her hand, and offered a round comfortable cheek to each, saying, “Welcome +to London, young gentlemen.” +</p> + +<p> +Good Mistress Perronel did not look exactly the stuff to make a glee-maiden of, +nor even the beauty for whom to sacrifice everything, even liberty and respect. +She was substantial in form, and broad in face and mouth, without much nose, +and with large almost colourless eyes. But there was a wonderful look of +heartiness and friendliness about her person and her house; the boys had never +in their lives seen anything so amazingly and spotlessly clean and shining. In +a corner stood an erection like a dark oaken cupboard or wardrobe, but in the +middle was an opening about a yard square through which could be seen the +night-capped face of a white-headed, white-bearded old man, propped against +snowy pillows. To him Randall went at once, saying, “So, gaffer, how goes +it? You see I have brought company, my poor sister’s sons—rest her +soul!” +</p> + +<p> +Gaffer Martin mumbled something to them incomprehensible, but which the jester +comprehended, for he called them up and named them to him, and Martin put out a +bony hand, and gave them a greeting. Though his speech and limbs had failed +him, his intelligence was evidently still intact, and there was a +tenderly-cared-for look about him, rendering his condition far less pitiable +than that of Richard Birkenholt, who was so palpably treated as an incumbrance. +</p> + +<p> +The table was already covered with a cloth, and Perronel quickly placed on it a +yellow bowl of excellent beef broth, savoury with vegetables and pot-herbs, and +with meat and dumplings floating in it. A lesser bowl was provided for each of +the company, with horn spoons, and a loaf of good wheaten bread, and a tankard +of excellent ale. Randall declared that his Perronel made far daintier dishes +than my Lord Archbishop’s cook, who went every day in silk and velvet. +</p> + +<p> +He explained to her his views on the armourer, to which she agreed with all her +might, the old gentleman in bed adding something which the boys began to +understand, that there was no worthier nor more honourable condition than that +of an English burgess, specially in the good town of London, where the kings +knew better than to be ever at enmity with their good towns. +</p> + +<p> +“Will the armourer take both of you?” asked Mistress Randall. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, it was only for Stephen we devised it,” said Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“And what wilt thou do?” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish to be a scholar,” said Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“A lean trade,” quoth the jester; “a monk now or a friar may +be a right jolly fellow, but I never yet saw a man who throve upon +books!” +</p> + +<p> +“I had rather study than thrive,” said Ambrose rather dreamily. +</p> + +<p> +“He wotteth not what he saith,” cried Stephen. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh ho! so thou art of that sort!” rejoined his uncle. “I +know them! A crabbed black and white page is meat and drink to them! +There’s that Dutch fellow, with a long Latin name, thin and weazen as +never was Dutchman before; they say he has read all the books in the world, and +can talk in all the tongues, and yet when he and Sir Thomas More and the Dean +of St. Paul’s get together at my lord’s table one would think they +were bidding for my bauble. Such excellent fooling do they make, that my lord +sits holding his sides.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Dean of St. Paul’s!” said Ambrose, experiencing a shock. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay! He’s another of your lean scholars, and yet he was born a +wealthy man, son to a Lord Mayor, who, they say, reared him alone out of a +round score of children.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alack! poor souls,” sighed Mistress Randall under her breath, for, +as Ambrose afterwards learnt, her two babes had scarce seen the light. Her +husband, while giving her a look of affection, went on—“Not that he +can keep his wealth. He has bestowed the most of it on Stepney church, and on +the school he hath founded for poor children, nigh to St. Paul’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“Could I get admittance to that school?” exclaimed Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“Thou art a big fellow for a school,” said his uncle, looking him +over. “However, faint heart never won fair lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have a letter from the Warden of St. Elizabeth’s to one of the +clerks of St. Paul’s,” added Ambrose. “Alworthy is his +name.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s well. We’ll prove that same,” said his uncle. +“Meantime, if ye have eaten your fill, we must be on our way to thine +armourer, nevoy Stephen, or I shall be called for.” +</p> + +<p> +And after a private colloquy between the husband and wife, Ambrose was by both +of them desired to make the little house his home until he could find +admittance into St. Paul’s School, or some other. He demurred somewhat +from a mixture of feelings, in which there was a certain amount of +Stephen’s longing for freedom of action, and likewise a doubt whether he +should not thus be a great inconvenience in the tiny household—a burden +he was resolved not to be. But his uncle now took a more serious tone. +</p> + +<p> +“Look thou, Ambrose, thou art my sister’s son, and fool though I +be, thou art bound in duty to me, and I to have charge of thee, nor will +I—for the sake of thy father and mother—have thee lying I know not +where, among gulls, and cutpurses, and beguilers of youth here in this city of +London. So, till better befals thee, and I wot of it, thou must be here no +later than curfew, or I will know the reason why.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I hope the young gentleman will find it no sore grievance,” +said Perronel, so good-humouredly that Ambrose could only protest that he had +feared to be troublesome to her, and promise to bring his bundle the next day. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX.<br /> +ARMS SPIRITUAL AND TEMPORAL</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“For him was leifer to have at his bedde’s hedde<br /> +Twenty books clothed in blacke or redde<br /> +Of Aristotle and his philosophie<br /> +Than robes riche or fiddle or psalterie.” +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">Chaucer</span>. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Master Headley</span> was found spending the summer evening +in the bay window of the hall. Tibble sat on a three-legged stool by him, +writing in a crabbed hand, in a big ledger, and Kit Smallbones towered above +both, holding in his hand a bundle of tally-sticks. By the help of these, and +of that accuracy of memory which writing has destroyed, he was unfolding, down +to the very last farthing, the entire account of payments and receipts during +his master’s absence, the debtor and creditor account being preserved as +perfectly as if he had always had a pen in his huge fingers, and studied +book-keeping by double or single entry. +</p> + +<p> +On the return of the two boys with such an apparently respectable member of +society as the handsome well-dressed personage who accompanied them, little +Dennet, who had been set to sew her sampler on a stool by her grandmother, +under penalty of being sent off to bed if she disturbed her father, sprang up +with a little cry of gladness, and running up to Ambrose, entreated for the +tales of his good greenwood Forest, and the pucks and pixies, and the girl who +daily shared her breakfast with a snake and said, “Eat your own side, +Speckleback.” Somehow, on Sunday night she had gathered that Ambrose had +a store of such tales, and she dragged him off to the gallery, there to revel +in them, while his brother remained with her father. +</p> + +<p> +Though Master Stephen had begun by being high and mighty about mechanical +crafts, and thought it a great condescension to consent to be bound apprentice, +yet when once again in the Dragon court, it looked so friendly and felt so much +like a home that he found himself very anxious that Master Headley should not +say that he could take no more apprentices at present, and that he should be +satisfied with the terms uncle Hal would propose. And oh! suppose Tibble should +recognise Quipsome Hal! +</p> + +<p> +However, Tibble was at this moment entirely engrossed by the accounts, and his +master left him and his big companion to unravel them, while he himself held +speech with his guest at some distance—sending for a cup of sack, +wherewith to enliven the conversation. +</p> + +<p> +He showed himself quite satisfied with what Randall chose to tell of himself as +a well known “housekeeper” close to the Temple, his wife a +“lavender” there, while he himself was attached to the suite of the +Archbishop of York. Here alone was there any approach to shuffling, for Master +Headley was left to suppose that Randall attended Wolsey in his capacity of +king’s counsellor, and therefore, having a house of his own, had not been +found in the roll of the domestic retainers and servants. He did not think of +inquiring further, the more so as Randall was perfectly candid as to his own +inferiority of birth to the Birkenholt family, and the circumstances under +which he had left the Forest. +</p> + +<p> +Master Headley professed to be quite willing to accept Stephen as an +apprentice, with or without a fee; but he agreed with Randall that it would be +much better not to expose him to having it cast in his teeth that he was +accepted out of charity; and Randall undertook to get a letter so written and +conveyed to John Birkenholt that he should not dare to withhold the needful +sum, in earnest of which Master Headley would accept the two crowns that +Stephen had in hand, as soon as the indentures could be drawn out by one of the +many scriveners who lived about St. Paul’s. +</p> + +<p> +This settled, Randall could stay no longer, but he called both nephews into the +court with him. “Ye can write a letter?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, sure, both of us; but Ambrose is the best scribe,” said +Stephen. +</p> + +<p> +“One of you had best write then. Let that cur John know that I have my +Lord of York’s ear, and there will be no fear but he will give it. +I’ll find a safe hand among the clerks, when the judges ride to hold the +assize. Mayhap Ambrose might also write to the Father at Beaulieu. The thing +had best be bruited.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wished to do so,” said Ambrose. “It irked me to have taken +no leave of the good Fathers.” +</p> + +<p> +Randall then took his leave, having little more than time to return to York +House, where the Archbishop might perchance come home wearied and chafed from +the King, and the jester might be missed if not there to put him in good +humour. +</p> + +<p> +The curfew sounded, and though attention to its notes was not compulsory by +law, it was regarded as the break-up of the evening and the note of recall in +all well-ordered establishments. The apprentices and journeymen came into the +court, among them Giles Headley, who had been taken out by one of the men to be +provided with a working dress, much to his disgust; the grandmother summoned +little Dennet and carried her off to bed. Stephen and Ambrose bade good-night, +but Master Headley and his two confidential men remained somewhat longer to +wind up their accounts. Doors were not, as a rule, locked within the court, for +though it contained from forty to fifty persons, they were all regarded as a +single family, and it was enough to fasten the heavily bolted, iron-studded +folding doors of the great gateway leading into Cheapside, the key being +brought to the master like that of a castle, seven minutes, measured by the +glass, after the last note of the curfew in the belfry outside St. +Paul’s. +</p> + +<p> +The summer twilight, however, lasted long after this time of grace, and when +Tibble had completed his accountant’s work, and Smallbones’ deep +voiced “Goodnight, comrade,” had resounded over the court, he +beheld a figure rise up from the steps of the gallery, and Ambrose’s +voice said: “May I speak to thee, Tibble? I need thy counsel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come hither, sir,” said the foreman, muttering to himself, +“Methought ’twas working in him! The leaven! the leaven!” +</p> + +<p> +Tibble led the way up one of the side stairs into the open gallery, where he +presently opened a door, admitting to a small, though high chamber, the walls +of bare brick, and containing a low bed, a small table, a three-legged stool, a +big chest, and two cupboards, also a cross over the head of the bed. A private +room was a luxury neither possessed nor desired by most persons of any degree, +and only enjoyed by Tibble in consideration of his great value to his master, +his peculiar tastes, and the injuries he had received. In point of fact, his +fall had been owing to a hasty blow, given in a passion by the master himself +when a young man. Dismay and repentance had made Giles Headley a cooler and +more self-controlled man ever since, and even if Tibble had not been a superior +workman, he might still have been free to do almost anything he chose. Tibble +gave his visitor the stool, and himself sat down on the chest, saying: +“So you have found your uncle, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” said Ambrose, pausing in some expectation that Tibble would +mention some suspicion of his identity; but if the foreman had his ideas on the +subject he did not disclose them, and waited for more communications. +</p> + +<p> +“Tibble!” said Ambrose, with a long gasp, “I must find means +to hear more of him thou tookedst me to on Sunday.” +</p> + +<p> +“None ever truly tasted of that well without longing to come back to +it,” quoth Tibble. “But hath not thy kinsman done aught for +thee?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said Ambrose, “save to offer me a lodging with his +wife, a good and kindly lavender at the Temple.” +</p> + +<p> +Tibble nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“So far am I free,” said Ambrose, “and I am glad of it. I +have a letter here to one of the canons, one Master Alworthy, but ere I seek +him I would know somewhat from thee, Tibble. What like is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot tell, sir,” said Tibble. “The canons are rich and +many, and a poor smith like me wots little of their fashions.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it true,” again asked Ambrose, “that the Dean—he +who spake those words yesterday—hath a school here for young boys?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay. And a good and mild school it be, bringing them up in the name and +nurture of the Holy Child Jesus, to whom it is dedicated.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then they are taught this same doctrine?” +</p> + +<p> +“I trow they be. They say the Dean loves them like the children of his +old age, and declares that they shall be made in love with holy lore by +gentleness rather than severity.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it likely that this same Alworthy could obtain me entrance +there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Alack, sir, I fear me thou art too old. I see none but little lads among +them. Didst thou come to London with that intent?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, for I only wist to-day that there was such a school. I came with I +scarce know what purpose, save to see Stephen safely bestowed, and then to find +some way of learning myself. Moreover, a change seems to have come on me, as +though I had hitherto been walking in a dream.” +</p> + +<p> +Tibble nodded, and Ambrose, sitting there in the dark, was moved to pour forth +all his heart, the experience of many an ardent soul in those spirit searching +days. Growing up happily under the care of the simple monks of Beaulieu he had +never looked beyond their somewhat mechanical routine, accepted everything +implicitly, and gone on acquiring knowledge with the receptive spirit but +dormant thought of studious boyhood as yet unawakened, thinking that the +studious clerical life to which every one destined him would only be a +continuation of the same, as indeed it had been to his master, Father Simon. +Not that Ambrose expressed this, beyond saying, “They are good and holy +men, and I thought all were like them, and fear that was all!” +</p> + +<p> +Then came death, for the first time nearly touching and affecting the youth, +and making his soul yearn after further depths, which he might yet have found +in the peace of the good old men, and the holy rites and doctrine that they +preserved; but before there was time for these things to find their way into +the wounds of his spirit, his expulsion from home had sent him forth to see +another side of monkish and clerkly life. +</p> + +<p> +Father Shoveller, kindly as he was, was a mere yeoman with nothing spiritual +about him; the monks of Hyde were, the younger, gay comrades, only trying how +loosely they could sit to their vows; the elder, churlish and avaricious; even +the Warden of Elizabeth College was little more than a student. And in London, +fresh phases had revealed themselves; the pomp, state, splendour and luxury of +Archbishop Wolsey’s house had been a shock to the lad’s ideal of a +bishop drawn from the saintly biographies he had studied at Beaulieu; and he +had but to keep his ears open to hear endless scandals about the mass priests, +as they were called, since they were at this time very unpopular in London, and +in many cases deservedly so. Everything that the boy had hitherto thought the +way of holiness and salvation seemed invaded by evil and danger, and under the +bondage of death, whose terrible dance continued to haunt him. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw it, I saw it;” he said, “all over those halls at York +House. I seemed to behold the grisly shape standing behind one and another, as +they ate and laughed; and when the Archbishop and his priests and the King came +in it seemed only to make the pageant complete! Only now and then could I +recall those blessed words, ‘Ye are free indeed.’ Did he say from +the bondage of death?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea,” said Tibble, “into the glorious freedom of God’s +children.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou knowst it. Thou knowst it, Tibble. It seems to me that life is no +life, but living death, without that freedom! And I <i>must</i> hear of it, and +know whether it is mine, yea, and Stephen’s, and all whom I love. O +Tibble, I would beg my bread rather than not have that freedom ever before mine +eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hold it fast! hold it fast, dear sir,” said Tibble, holding out +his hands with tears in his eyes, and his face working in a manner that happily +Ambrose could not see. +</p> + +<p> +“But how—how? The barefoot friar said that for an <i>Ave</i> a day, +our Blessed Lady will drag us back from purgatory. I saw her on the wall of her +chapel at Winchester saving a robber knight from the sea, yea and a thief from +the gallows; but that is not being free.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fond inventions of pardon-mongers,” muttered Tibble. +</p> + +<p> +“And is one not free when the priest hath assoilsied him?” added +Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“If, and if—” said Tibble. “But bone shall make me trow +that shrift in words, without heart-sorrow for sin, and the Latin heard with no +thought of Him that bore the guilt, can set the sinner free. ’Tis none +other that the Dean sets forth, ay, and the book that I have here. I thank my +God,” he stood up and took off his cap reverently, “that He hath +opened the eyes of another!” +</p> + +<p> +His tone was such that Ambrose could have believed him some devout almost +inspired hermit rather than the acute skilful artisan he appeared at other +times; and in fact, Tibble Steelman, like many another craftsman of those days, +led a double life, the outer one that of the ordinary workman, the inner one +devoted to those lights that were shining unveiled and new to many; and +especially here in the heart of the City, partly from the influence of Dean +Colet’s sermons and catechisings at St. Paul’s, but also from +remnants of Lollardism, which had never been entirely quenched. The ordinary +clergy looked at it with horror, but the intelligent and thoughtful of the +burgher and craftsman classes studied it with a passionate fervour which might +have sooner broken out and in more perilous forms save for the guidance it +received in the truly Catholic and open-spirited public teachings of Colet, in +which he persisted in spite of the opposition of his brother clergy. +</p> + +<p> +Not that as yet the inquirers had in the slightest degree broken with the +system of the Church, or with her old traditions. They were only beginning to +see the light that had been veiled from them, and to endeavour to clear the +fountain from the mire that had fouled it; and there was as yet no reason to +believe that the aspersions continually made against the mass priests and the +friars were more than the chronic grumblings of Englishmen, who had found the +same faults in them for the last two hundred years. +</p> + +<p> +“And what wouldst thou do, young sir?” presently inquired Tibble. +</p> + +<p> +“That I came to ask thee, good Tibble. I would work to the best of my +power in any craft so I may hear those words and gain the key to all I have +hitherto learnt, unheeding as one in a dream. My purpose had been to be a +scholar and a clerk, but I must see mine own way, and know whither I am being +carried, ere I can go farther.” +</p> + +<p> +Tibble writhed and wriggled himself about in consideration. “I would I +wist how to take thee to the Dean himself,” he said, “but I am but +a poor man, and his doctrine is ‘new wine in old bottles’ to the +master, though he be a right good man after his lights. See now, Master +Ambrose, meseemeth that thou hadst best take thy letter first to this same +priest. It may be that he can prefer thee to some post about the minster. Canst +sing?” +</p> + +<p> +“I could once, but my voice is nought at this present. If I could but be +a servitor at St. Paul’s School!” +</p> + +<p> +“It might be that the will which hath led thee so far hath that post in +store for thee, so bear the letter to Master Alworthy. And if he fail thee, +wouldst thou think scorn of aiding a friend of mine who worketh a +printing-press in Warwick Inner Yard? Thou wilt find him at his place in +Paternoster Row, hard by St. Paul’s. He needeth one who is clerk enough +to read the Latin, and the craft being a new one ’tis fenced by none of +those prentice laws that would bar the way to thee elsewhere, at thy +years.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should dwell among books!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, and holy books, that bear on the one matter dear to the true heart. +Thou might serve Lucas Hansen at the sign of the Winged Staff till thou hast +settled thine heart, and then it may be the way would be opened to study at +Oxford or at Cambridge, so that thou couldst expound the faith to +others.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good Tibble, kind Tibble, I knew thou couldst aid me! Wilt thou speak to +this Master Hansen for me?” +</p> + +<p> +Tibble, however, held that it was more seemly that Ambrose should first try his +fate with Master Alworthy, but in case of this not succeeding, he promised to +write a billet that would secure attention from Lucas Hansen. +</p> + +<p> +“I warn thee, however, that he is Low Dutch,” he added, +“though he speaketh English well.” He would gladly have gone with +the youth, and at any other time might have been sent by his master, but the +whole energies of the Dragon would be taken up for the next week by +preparations for the tilting-match at court, and Tibble could not be spared for +another working hour. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose, as he rose to bid his friend good-night, could not help saying that he +marvelled that one such as he could turn his mind to such vanities as the +tilt-yard required. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said Tibble, “’twas the craft I was bred +to—yea, and I have a good master; and the Apostle Paul himself—as +I’ve heard a preacher say—bade men continue in the state wherein +they were, and not be curious to chop and change. Who knoweth whether in +God’s sight, all our wars and policies be no more than the games of the +tilt-yard. Moreover, Paul himself made these very weapons read as good a sermon +as the Dean himself. Didst never hear of the shield of faith, and helmet of +salvation, and breastplate of righteousness? So, if thou comest to Master +Hansen, and provest worthy of his trust, thou wilt hear more, ay, and maybe +read too thyself, and send forth the good seed to others,” he murmured to +himself, as he guided his visitor across the moonlit court up the stairs to the +chamber where Stephen lay fast asleep. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X.<br /> +TWO VOCATIONS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“The smith, a mighty man is he<br /> + With large and sinewy hands;<br /> +And the muscles of his brawny arms<br /> + Are strong as iron bands.” +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">Longfellow</span>. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Stephen’s</span> first thought in the morning was +whether the <i>ex voto</i> effigy of poor Spring was put in hand, while Ambrose +thought of Tibble’s promised commendation to the printer. They both, +however, found their affairs must needs wait. Orders for weapons for the +tilting-match had come in so thickly the day before that every hand must be +employed on executing them, and the Dragon court was ringing again with the +clang of hammers and screech of grind-stones. +</p> + +<p> +Stephen, though not yet formally bound, was to enter on his apprentice life at +once; and Ambrose was assured by Master Headley that it was of no use to repair +to any of the dignified clergy of St. Paul’s before mid-day, and that he +had better employ the time in writing to his elder brother respecting the fee. +Materials were supplied to him, and he used them so as to do credit to the +monks of Beaulieu, in spite of little Dennet spending every spare moment in +watching his pen as if he were performing some cabalistic operation. +</p> + +<p> +He was a long time about it. There were two letters to write, and the wording +of them needed to be very careful, besides that the old court hand took more +time to frame than the Italian current hand, and even thus, when dinner-time +came, at ten o’clock, the household was astonished to find that he had +finished all that regarded Stephen, though he had left the letters open, until +his own venture should have been made. +</p> + +<p> +Stephen flung himself down beside his brother hot and panting, shaking his +shoulder-blades and declaring that his arms felt ready to drop out. He had been +turning a grindstone ever since six o’clock. The two new apprentices had +been set on to sharpening the weapon points as all that they were capable of, +and had been bidden by Smallbones to turn and hold alternately, but “that +oaf Giles Headley,” said Stephen, “never ground but one lance, and +made me go on turning, threatening to lay the butt about mine ears if I +slacked.” +</p> + +<p> +“The lazy lubber!” cried Ambrose. “But did none see thee, or +couldst not call out for redress?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou art half a wench thyself, Ambrose, to think I’d complain. +Besides, he stood on his rights as a master, and he is a big fellow.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s true,” said Ambrose, “and he might make it the +worse for thee.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would I were as big as he,” sighed Stephen, “I would soon +show him which was the better man.” +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps the grinding match had not been as unobserved as Stephen fancied, for +on returning to work, Smallbones, who presided over all the rougher parts of +the business, claimed them both. He set Stephen to stand by him, sort out and +hand him all the rivets needed for a suit of proof armour that hung on a frame, +while he required Giles to straighten bars of iron heated to a white heat. Ere +long Giles called out for Stephen to change places, to which Smallbones coolly +replied, “Turnabout is the rule here, master.” +</p> + +<p> +“Even so,” replied Giles, “and I have been at work like this +long enough, ay, and too long!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thy turn was a matter of three hours this morning,” replied +Kit—not coolly, for nobody was cool in his den, but with a brevity which +provoked a laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall see what my cousin the master saith!” cried Giles in great +wrath. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, that thou wilt,” returned Kit, “if thou dost loiter over +thy business, and hast not those bars ready when called for.” +</p> + +<p> +“He never meant me to be put on work like this, with a hammer that breaks +mine arm.” +</p> + +<p> +“What! crying out for <i>that</i>!” said Edmund Burgess, who had +just come in to ask for a pair of tongs. “What wouldst say to the big +hammer that none can wield save Kit himself?” +</p> + +<p> +Giles felt there was no redress, and panted on, feeling as if he were melting +away, and with a dumb, wild rage in his heart, that could get no outlet, for +Smallbones was at least as much bigger than he as he was than Stephen. Tibble +was meanwhile busy over the gilding and enamelling of Buckingham’s +magnificent plate armour in Italian fashion, but he had found time to thrust +into Ambrose’s hand an exceedingly small and curiously folded billet for +Lucas Hansen, the printer, in case of need. “He would be found at the +sign of the Winged Staff, in Paternoster Row,” said Tibble, “or if +not there himself, there would be his servant who would direct Ambrose to the +place where the Dutch printer lived and worked.” No one was at leisure to +show the lad the way, and he set out with a strange feeling of solitude, as his +path began decisively to be away from that of his brother. +</p> + +<p> +He did not find much difficulty in discovering the quadrangle on the south side +of the minster where the minor canons lived near the deanery; and the porter, a +stout lay brother, pointed out to him the doorway belonging to Master Alworthy. +He knocked, and a young man with a tonsured head but a bloated face opened it. +Ambrose explained that he had brought a letter from the Warden of St. +Elizabeth’s College at Winchester. +</p> + +<p> +“Give it here,” said the young man. +</p> + +<p> +“I would give it to his reverence himself,” said Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“His reverence is taking his after-dinner nap and may not be +disturbed,” said the man. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I will wait,” said Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +The door was shut in his face, but it was the shady side of the court, and he +sat down on a bench and waited. After full an hour the door was opened, and the +canon, a good-natured looking man, in a square cap, and gown and cassock of the +finest cloth, came slowly out. He had evidently heard nothing of the message, +and was taken by surprise when Ambrose, doffing his cap and bowing low, gave +him the greeting of the Warden of St. Elizabeth’s and the letter. +</p> + +<p> +“Hum! Ha! My good friend—Fielder—I remember him. He was +always a scholar. So he hath sent thee here with his commendations. What should +I do with all the idle country lads that come up to choke London and feed the +plague? Yet stay—that lurdane Bolt is getting intolerably lazy and +insolent, and methinks he robs me! What canst do, thou stripling?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can read Latin, sir, and know the Greek alphabeta.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tush! I want no scholar more than enough to serve my mass. Canst +sing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not now; but I hope to do so again.” +</p> + +<p> +“When I rid me of Bolt there—and there’s an office under the +sacristan that he might fill as well as another knave—the fellow might do +for me well enow as a body servant,” said Mr. Alworthy, speaking to +himself. “He would brush my gowns and make my bed, and I might perchance +trust him with my marketings, and by and by there might be some office for him +when he grew saucy and idle. I’ll prove him on mine old comrade’s +word.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” said Ambrose, respectfully, “what I seek for is +occasion for study. I had hoped you could speak to the Dean, Dr. John Colet, +for some post at his school.” +</p> + +<p> +“Boy,” said Alworthy, “I thought thee no such fool! Why crack +thy brains with study when I can show thee a surer path to ease and preferment? +But I see thou art too proud to do an old man a service. Thou writst thyself +gentleman, forsooth, and high blood will not stoop.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not so, sir,” returned Ambrose, “I would work in any way so +I could study the humanities, and hear the Dean preach. Cannot you commend me +to his school?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha!” exclaimed the canon, “this is your sort, is it? +I’ll have nought to do with it! Preaching, preaching! Every idle +child’s head is agog on preaching nowadays! A plague on it! Why +can’t Master Dean leave it to the black friars, whose vocation +’tis, and not cumber us with his sermons for ever, and set every lazy lad +thinking he must needs run after them? No, no, my good boy, take my advice. +Thou shalt have two good bellyfuls a day, all my cast gowns, and a pair of +shoes by the year, with a groat a month if thou wilt keep mine house, bring in +my meals, and the like, and by and by, so thou art a good lad, and runst not +after these new-fangled preachments which lead but to heresy, and set folk +racking their brains about sin and such trash, we’ll get thee shorn and +into minor orders, and who knows what good preferment thou mayst not win in due +time!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir, I am beholden to you, but my mind is set on study.” +</p> + +<p> +“What kin art thou to a fool?” cried the minor canon, so startling +Ambrose that he had almost answered, and turning to another ecclesiastic whose +siesta seemed to have ended about the same time, “Look at this varlet, +Brother Cloudesley! Would you believe it? He comes to me with a letter from +mine old friend, in consideration of which I offer him that saucy lubber +Bolt’s place, a gown of mine own a year, meat and preferment, and, lo +you, he tells me all he wants is to study Greek, forsooth, and hear the +Dean’s sermons!” +</p> + +<p> +The other canon shook his head in dismay at such arrant folly. “Young +stripling, be warned,” he said. “Know what is good for thee. Greek +is the tongue of heresy.” +</p> + +<p> +“How may that be, reverend sir,” said Ambrose, “when the holy +Apostles and the Fathers spake and wrote in the Greek?” +</p> + +<p> +“Waste not thy time on him, brother,” said Mr. Alworthy. “He +will find out his error when his pride and his Greek forsooth have brought him +to fire and faggot.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay! ay!” added Cloudesley. “The Dean with his Dutch friend +and his sermons, and his new grammar and accidence, is sowing heretics as thick +as groundsel.” +</p> + +<p> +Wherewith the two canons of the old school waddled away, arm in arm, and Bolt +put out his head, leered at Ambrose, and bade him shog off, and not come +sneaking after other folk’s shoes. +</p> + +<p> +Sooth to say, Ambrose was relieved by his rejection. If he were not to obtain +admission in any capacity to St. Paul’s School, he felt more drawn to +Tibble’s friend the printer; for the self-seeking luxurious habits into +which so many of the beneficed clergy had fallen were repulsive to him, and his +whole soul thirsted after that new revelation, as it were, which Colet’s +sermon had made to him. Yet the word heresy was terrible and confusing, and a +doubt came over him whether he might not be forsaking the right path, and be +lured aside by false lights. +</p> + +<p> +He would think it out before he committed himself. Where should he do so in +peace? He thought of the great Minster, but the nave was full of a surging +multitude, and there was a loud hum of voices proceeding from it, which took +from him all inclination to find his way to the quieter and inner portions of +the sanctuary. +</p> + +<p> +Then he recollected the little Pardon Church, where he had seen the <i>Dance of +Death</i> on the walls; and crossing the burial-ground he entered, and, as he +expected, found it empty, since the hours for masses for the dead were now +past. He knelt down on a step, repeated the sext office, in warning for which +the bells were chiming all round, covering his face with his hands, and +thinking himself back to Beaulieu; then, seating himself on a step, leaning +against the wall, he tried to think out whether to give himself up to the +leadings of the new light that had broken on him, or whether to wrench himself +from it. Was this, which seemed to him truth and deliverance, verily the heresy +respecting which rumours had come to horrify the country convents? If he had +only heard of it from Tibble Wry-mouth, he would have doubted, in spite of its +power over him, but he had heard it from a man, wise, good, and high in place, +like Dean Colet. Yet to his further perplexity, his uncle had spoken of Colet +as jesting at Wolsey’s table. What course should he take? Could he bear +to turn away from that which drew his soul so powerfully, and return to the +bounds which seem to him to be grown so narrow, but which he was told were +safe? Now that Stephen was settled, it was open to him to return to St. +Elizabeth’s College, but the young soul within him revolted against the +repetition of what had become to him unsatisfying, unless illumined by the +brightness he seemed to have glimpsed at. +</p> + +<p> +But Ambrose had gone through much unwonted fatigue of late, and while thus +musing he fell asleep, with his head against the wall. He was half wakened by +the sound of voices, and presently became aware that two persons were examining +the walls, and comparing the paintings with some others, which one of them had +evidently seen. If he had known it, it was with the <i>Dance of Death</i> on +the bridge of Lucerne. +</p> + +<p> +“I question,” said a voice that Ambrose had heard before, +“whether these terrors be wholesome for men’s souls.” +</p> + +<p> +“For priests’ pouches, they be,” said the other, with +something of a foreign accent. +</p> + +<p> +“Alack, when shall we see the day when the hope of paradise and dread of +purgatory shall be no longer made the tools of priestly gain; and hatred of sin +taught to these poor folk, instead of servile dread of punishment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have a care, my Colet,” answered the yellow bearded foreigner; +“thou art already in ill odour with those same men in authority; and +though a Dean’s stall be fenced from the episcopal crook, yet there is a +rod at Rome which can reach even thither.” +</p> + +<p> +“I tell thee, dear Erasmus, thou art too timid; I were well content to +leave house and goods, yea, to go to prison or to death, could I but bring home +to one soul, for which Christ died, the truth and hope in every one of those +prayers and creeds that our poor folk are taught to patter as a senseless +charm.” +</p> + +<p> +“These are strange times,” returned Erasmus. “Methinks yonder +phantom, be he skeleton or angel, will have snatched both of us away ere we +behold the full issue either of thy preachings, or my Greek Testament, or of +our More’s Utopian images. Dost thou not feel as though we were like +children who have set some mighty engine in motion, like the great water-wheels +in my native home, which, whirled by the flowing streams of time and opinion, +may break up the whole foundations, and destroy the oneness of the +edifice?” +</p> + +<p> +“It may be so,” returned Colet. “What read we? ‘The net +brake’ even in the Master’s sight, while still afloat on the sea. +It was only on the shore that the hundred and fifty-three, all good and sound, +were drawn to His feet.” +</p> + +<p> +“And,” returned Erasmus, “I see wherefore thou hast made thy +children at St. Paul’s one hundred and fifty and three.” +</p> + +<p> +The two friends were passing out. Their latter speeches had scarce been +understood by Ambrose, even if he heard them, so full was he of conflicting +feelings, now ready to cast himself before their feet, and entreat the Dean to +help him to guidance, now withheld by bashfulness, unwillingness to interrupt, +and ingenuous shame at appearing like an eavesdropper towards such dignified +and venerable personages. Had he obeyed his first impulse, mayhap his career +had been made safer and easier for him, but it was while shyness chained his +limbs and tongue that the Dean and Erasmus quitted the chapel, and the +opportunity of accosting them had slipped away. +</p> + +<p> +Their half comprehended words had however decided him in the part he should +take, making him sure that Colet was not controverting the formularies of the +Church, but drawing out those meanings which in repetition by rote were +well-nigh forgotten. It was as if his course were made clear to him. +</p> + +<p> +He was determined to take the means which most readily presented themselves of +hearing Colet; and leaving the chapel, he bent his steps to the Row which his +book-loving eye had already marked. Flanking the great Cathedral on the north, +was the row of small open stalls devoted to the sale of books, or +“objects of devotion,” all so arranged that the open portion might +be cleared, and the stock-in-trade locked up if not carried away. Each stall +had its own sign, most of them sacred, such as the Lamb and Flag, the Scallop +Shell, or some patron saint, but classical emblems were oddly intermixed, such +as Minerva’s Ægis, Pegasus, and the Lyre of Apollo. The sellers, +some middle-aged men, some lads, stretched out their arms with their wares to +attract the passengers in the street, and did not fail to beset Ambrose. The +more lively looked at his Lincoln green and shouted verses of ballads at him, +fluttering broad sheets with verses on the lamentable fate of Jane Shore, or +Fair Rosamond, the same woodcut doing duty for both ladies, without mercy to +their beauty. The scholastic judged by his face and step that he was a student, +and they flourished at him black-bound copies of Virgilius Maro, and of +Tully’s Offices, while others, hoping that he was an incipient clerk, +offered breviaries, missals or portuaries, with the Use of St. Paul’s, or +of Sarum, or mayhap St. Austin’s Confessions. He made his way along, with +his eye diligently heedful of the signs, and at last recognised the Winged +Staff, or caduceus of Hermes, over a stall where a couple of boys in blue caps +and gowns and yellow stockings were making a purchase of a small, +grave-looking, elderly but bright cheeked man, whose yellow hair and beard were +getting intermingled with grey. They were evidently those St. Paul’s +School boys whom Ambrose envied so much, and as they finished their bargaining +and ran away together, Ambrose advanced with a salutation, asked if he did not +see Master Lucas Hansen, and gave him the note with the commendations of Tibble +Steelman the armourer. +</p> + +<p> +He was answered with a ready nod and “yea, yea,” as the old man +opened the billet and cast his eyes over it; then scanning Ambrose from head to +foot, said with some amazement, “But you are of gentle blood, young +sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am,” said Ambrose; “but gentle blood needs at times to +work for bread, and Tibble let me hope that I might find both livelihood for +the body and for the soul with you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it so?” asked the printer, his face lighting up. “Art +thou willing to labour and toil, and give up hope of fee and honour, if so thou +mayst win the truth?” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose folded his hands with a gesture of earnestness, and Lucas Hansen said, +“Bless thee, my son! Methinks I can aid thee in thy quest, so thou canst +lay aside,” and here his voice grew sharper and more peremptory, +“all thy gentleman’s airs and follies, and serve—ay, serve +and obey.” +</p> + +<p> +“I trust so,” returned Ambrose; “my brother is even now +becoming prentice to Master Giles Headley, and we hope to live as honest men by +the work of our hands and brains.” +</p> + +<p> +“I forgot that you English herren are not so puffed up with pride and +scorn like our Dutch nobles,” returned the printer. “Canst live +sparingly, and lie hard, and see that thou keepst the house clean, not like +these English swine?” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so,” said Ambrose, smiling; “but I have an uncle and +aunt, and they would have me lie every night at their house beside the Temple +gardens.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is thine uncle?” +</p> + +<p> +“He hath a post in the meiné of my Lord Archbishop of York,” +said Ambrose, blushing and hesitating a little. “He cometh to and fro to +his wife, who dwells with her old father, doing fine lavender’s work for +the lawyer folk therein.” +</p> + +<p> +It was somewhat galling that this should be the most respectable occupation +that could be put forward, but Lucas Hansen was evidently reassured by it. He +next asked whether Ambrose could read Latin, putting a book into his hand as he +did so; Ambrose read and construed readily, explaining that he had been trained +at Beaulieu. +</p> + +<p> +“That is well!” said the printer; “and hast thou any +Greek?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only the alphabeta,” said Ambrose, “I made that out from a +book at Beaulieu, but Father Simon knew no more, and there was nought to study +from.” +</p> + +<p> +“Even so,” replied Hansen, “but little as thou knowst +’tis as much as I can hope for from any who will aid me in my craft. +’Tis I that, as thou hast seen, furnish for the use of the children at +the Dean’s school of St. Paul’s. The best and foremost scholars of +them are grounded in their Greek, that being the tongue wherein the Holy +Gospels were first writ. Hitherto I have had to get me books for their use from +Holland, whither they are brought from Basle, but I have had sent me from +Hamburg a fount of type of the Greek character, whereby I hope to print at +home, the accidence, and mayhap the <i>Dialogues</i> of Plato, and it might +even be the sacred Gospel itself, which the great Doctor, Master Erasmus, is +even now collating from the best authorities in the universities.” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose’s eyes kindled with unmistakable delight. “You have the +accidence!” he exclaimed. “Then could I study the tongue even while +working for you! Sir, I would do my best! It is the very opportunity I +seek.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fair and softly,” said the printer with something of a smile. +“Thou art new to cheapening and bargaining, my fair lad. Thou hast spoken +not one word of the wage.” +</p> + +<p> +“I recked not of that,” said Ambrose. “’Tis true, I may +not burthen mine uncle and aunt, but verily, sir, I would live on the humblest +fare that will keep body and soul together so that I may have such an +opportunity.” +</p> + +<p> +“How knowst thou what the opportunity may be?” returned Lucas, +drily. “Thou art but a babe! Some one should have a care of thee. If I +set thee to stand here all day and cry what d’ye lack? or to carry bales +of books twixt this and Warwick Inner Yard, thou wouldst have no ground to +complain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, sir,” returned Ambrose, “I wot that Tibble Steelman +would never send me to one who would not truly give me what I need.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tibble Steelman is verily one of the few who are both called and +chosen,” replied Lucas, “and I think thou art the same so far as +green youth may be judged, since thou art one who will follow the word into the +desert, and never ask for the loaves and fishes. Nevertheless, I will take none +advantage of thy youth and zeal, but thou shalt first behold what thou shalt +have to do for me, and then if it still likes thee, I will see thy kindred. +Hast no father?” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose explained, and at that moment Master Hansen’s boy made his +appearance, returning from an errand; the stall was left in his charge, while +the master took Ambrose with him into the precincts of what had once been the +splendid and hospitable mansion of the great king-maker, Warwick, but was now +broken up into endless little tenements with their courts and streets, though +the baronial ornaments and the arrangement still showed what the place had +been. +</p> + +<p> +Entering beneath a wide archway, still bearing the sign of the Bear and Ragged +Staff, Lucas led the way into what must have been one of the courts of offices, +for it was surrounded with buildings and sheds of different heights and sizes, +and had on one side a deep trough of stone, fed by a series of water-taps, +intended for the use of the stables. The doors of one of these buildings was +unlocked by Master Hansen, and Ambrose found himself in what had once perhaps +been part of a stable, but had been partitioned off from the rest. There were +two stalls, one serving the Dutchman for his living room, the other for his +workshop. In one corner stood a white earthenware stove—so new a +spectacle to the young forester that he supposed it to be the printing press. A +table, shiny with rubbing, a wooden chair, a couple of stools, a few vessels, +mirrors for brightness, some chests and corner cupboards, a bed shutting up +like a box and likewise highly polished, completed the furniture, all arranged +with the marvellous orderliness and neatness of the nation. A curtain shut off +the opening to the other stall, where stood a machine with a huge screw, turned +by leverage. Boxes of type and piles of paper surrounded it, and Ambrose stood +and looked at it with a sort of awe-struck wonder and respect as the great +fount of wisdom. Hansen showed him what his work would be, in setting up type, +and by and by correcting after the first proof. The machine could only print +four pages at a time, and for this operation the whole strength of the +establishment was required. Moreover, Master Hansen bound, as well as printed +his books. Ambrose was by no means daunted. As long as he might read as well as +print, and while he had Sundays at St. Paul’s to look to, he asked no +more—except indeed that his gentle blood stirred at the notion of acting +salesman in the book-stall, and Master Hansen assured him with a smile that +Will Wherry, the other boy, would do that better than either of them, and that +he would be entirely employed here. +</p> + +<p> +The methodical master insisted however on making terms with the boy’s +relations; and with some misgivings on Ambrose’s part, the +two—since business hours were almost over—walked together to the +Temple and to the little house, where Perronel was ironing under her window. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose need not have doubted. The Dutch blood on either side was stirred; and +the good housewife commanded the little printer’s respect as he looked +round on a kitchen as tidy as if it were in his own country. And the bargain +was struck that Ambrose Birkenholt should serve Master Hansen for his meals and +two pence a week, while he was to sleep at the little house of Mistress +Randall, who would keep his clothes and linen in order. +</p> + +<p> +And thus it was that both Ambrose and Stephen Birkenholt had found their +vocations for the present, and both were fervent in them. Master Headley +pshawed a little when he heard that Ambrose had engaged himself to a printer +and a foreigner; and when he was told it was to a friend of Tibble’s, +only shook his head, saying that Tib’s only fault was dabbling in matters +of divinity, as if a plain man could not be saved without them! However, he +respected the lad for having known his own mind and not hung about in idleness, +and he had no opinion of clerks, whether monks or priests. Indeed, the low +esteem in which the clergy as a class were held in London was one of the very +evil signs of the times. Ambrose was invited to dine and sup at the Dragon +court every Sunday and holiday, and he was glad to accept, since the +hospitality was so free, and he thus was able to see his brother and Tibble; +besides that, it prevented him from burthening Mistress Randall, whom he really +liked, though he could not see her husband, either in his motley or his plain +garments, without a shudder of repulsion. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose found that setting up type had not much more to do with the study of +new books than Stephen’s turning the grindstone had with fighting in the +lists; and the mistakes he made in spelling from right to left, and in +confounding the letters, made him despair, and prepare for any amount of just +indignation from his master; but he found on the contrary that Master Hansen +had never had a pupil who made so few blunders on the first trial, and augured +well of him from such a beginning. Paper was too costly, and pressure too +difficult, for many proofs to be struck off, but Hansen could read and correct +his type as it stood, and assured Ambrose that practice would soon give him the +same power; and the correction was thus completed, when Will Wherry, a big, +stout fellow, came in to dinner—the stall being left during that time, as +nobody came for books during the dinner-hour, and Hansen, having an +understanding with his next neighbour, by which they took turns to keep guard +against thieves. +</p> + +<p> +The master and the two lads dined together on the contents of a cauldron, where +pease and pork had been simmering together on the stove all the morning. Their +strength was then united to work the press and strike off a sheet, which the +master scanned, finding only one error in it. It was a portion of Lilly’s +<i>Grammar</i>, and Ambrose regarded it with mingled pride and delight, though +he longed to go further into those deeper revelations for the sake of which he +had come here. +</p> + +<p> +Master Hansen then left the youths to strike off a couple of hundred sheets, +after which they were to wash the types and re-arrange the letters in the +compartments in order, whilst he returned to the stall. The customers requiring +his personal attention were generally late ones. When all this was +accomplished, and the pot put on again in preparation for supper, the lads +might use the short time that remained as they would, and Hansen himself showed +Ambrose a shelf of books concealed by a blue curtain, whence he might read. +</p> + +<p> +Will Wherry showed unconcealed amazement that this should be the taste of his +companion. He himself hated the whole business, and would never have adopted +it, but that he had too many brothers for all to take to the water on the +Thames, and their mother was too poor to apprentice them, and needed the small +weekly pay the Dutchman gave him. He seemed a good-natured, dull fellow, whom +no doubt Hansen had hired for the sake of the strong arms, developed by +generations of oarsmen upon the river. What he specially disliked was that his +master was a foreigner. The whole court swarmed with foreigners, he said, with +the utmost disgust, as if they were noxious insects. They made provisions dear, +and undersold honest men, and he wondered the Lord Mayor did not see to it and +drive them out. He did not <i>so</i> much object to the Dutch, but the +Spaniards—no words could express his horror of them. +</p> + +<p> +By and by, Ambrose going out to fetch some water from the conduit, found +standing by it a figure entirely new to him. It was a young girl of some twelve +or fourteen years old, in the round white cap worn by all of her age and sex; +but from beneath it hung down two thick plaits of the darkest hair he had ever +seen, and though the dress was of the ordinary dark serge with a coloured +apron, it was put on with an air that made it look like some strange and +beautiful costume on the slender, lithe, little form. The vermilion apron was +further trimmed with a narrow border of white, edged again with deep blue, and +it chimed in with the bright coral earrings and necklace. As Ambrose came +forward the creature tried to throw a crimson handkerchief over her head, and +ran into the shelter of another door, but not before Ambrose had seen a pair of +large dark eyes so like those of a terrified fawn that they seemed to carry him +back to the Forest. Going back amazed, he asked his companion who the girl he +had seen could have been. +</p> + +<p> +Will stared. “I trow you mean the old blackamoor sword-cutler’s +wench. He is one of those pestilent strangers. An ’Ebrew Jew who worships +Mahound and is too bad for the Spanish folk themselves.” +</p> + +<p> +This rather startled Ambrose, though he knew enough to see that the accusations +could not both be true, but he forgot it in the delight, when Will pronounced +the work done, of drawing back the curtain and feasting his eyes upon the black +backs of the books, and the black-letter brochures that lay by them. There were +scarcely thirty, yet he gloated on them as on an inexhaustible store, while +Will, whistling wonder at his taste, opined that since some one was there to +look after the stove, and the iron pot on it, he might go out and have a turn +at ball with Hob and Martin. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose was glad to be left to go over his coming feast. There was Latin, +English, and, alas! baffling Dutch. High or Low it was all the same to him. +What excited his curiosity most was the <i>Enchiridion Militis Christiani</i> +of Erasmus—in Latin of course, and that he could easily read—but +almost equally exciting was a Greek and Latin vocabulary; or again, a very thin +book in which he recognised the New Testament in the Vulgate. He had heard +chapters of it read from the graceful stone pulpit overhanging the refectory at +Beaulieu, and, of course, the Gospels and Epistles at mass, but they had been +read with little expression and no attention; and that Sunday’s discourse +had filled him with eagerness to look farther; but the mere reading the titles +of the books was pleasure enough for the day, and his master was at home before +he had fixed his mind on anything. Perhaps this was as well, for Lucas advised +him what to begin with, and how to divide his studies so as to gain a knowledge +of the Greek, his great ambition, and also to read the Scripture. +</p> + +<p> +The master was almost as much delighted as the scholar, and it was not till the +curfew was beginning to sound that Ambrose could tear himself away. It was +still daylight, and the door of the next dwelling was open. There, sitting on +the ground cross-legged, in an attitude such as Ambrose had never seen, was a +magnificent old man, with a huge long white beard, wearing, indeed, the usual +dress of a Londoner of the lower class, but the gown flowed round him in a +grand and patriarchal manner, corresponding with his noble, somewhat aquiline +features; and behind him Ambrose thought he caught a glimpse of the shy fawn he +had seen in the morning. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI.<br /> +AY DI ME GRENADA</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“In sooth it was a thing to weep<br /> + If then as now the level plain<br /> +Beneath was spreading like the deep,<br /> + The broad unruffled main.<br /> +If like a watch-tower of the sun<br /> + Above, the Alpuxarras rose,<br /> +Streaked, when the dying day was done,<br /> + With evening’s roseate snows.” +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">Archbishop Trench</span>. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">When</span> Mary Tudor, released by death from her first +dreary marriage, contracted for her brother’s pleasure, had appeased his +wrath at her second marriage made to please herself, Henry VIII. was only too +glad to mark his assent by all manner of festivities; and English chroniclers, +instead of recording battles and politics, had only to write of pageantries and +tournaments during the merry May of the year 1515—a May, be it +remembered, which, thanks to the old style, was at least ten days nearer to +Midsummer than our present month. +</p> + +<p> +How the two queens and all their court had gone a-maying on Shooter’s +Hill, ladies and horses poetically disguised and labelled with sweet summer +titles, was only a nine days’ wonder when the Birkenholts had come to +London, but the approaching tournament at Westminster on the Whitsun holiday +was the great excitement to the whole population, for, with all its faults, the +Court of bluff King Hal was thoroughly genial, and every one, gentle and +simple, might participate in his pleasures. +</p> + +<p> +Seats were reserved at the lists for the city dignitaries and their families, +and though old Mistress Headley professed that she ought to have done with such +vanities, she could not forbear from going to see that her son was not too much +encumbered with the care of little Dennet, and that the child herself ran into +no mischief. Master Headley himself grumbled and sighed, but he put himself +into his scarlet gown, holding that his presence was a befitting attention to +the king, glad to gratify his little daughter, and not without a desire to see +how his workmanship—good English ware—held out against “mail +and plate of Milan steel,” the fine armour brought home from France by +the new Duke of Suffolk. Giles donned his best in the expectation of sitting in +the places of honour as one of the family, and was greatly disgusted when Kit +Smallbones observed, “What’s all that bravery for? The tilting +match quotha? Ha! ha! my young springald, if thou see it at all, thou must be +content to gaze as thou canst from the armourers’ tent, if Tibble there +chooses to be cumbered with a useless lubber like thee.” +</p> + +<p> +“I always sat with my mother when there were matches at Clarendon,” +muttered Giles, who had learnt at least that it was of no use to complain of +Smallbones’ plain speaking. +</p> + +<p> +“If folks cocker malapert lads at Sarum we know better here,” was +the answer. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall ask the master, my kinsman,” returned the youth. +</p> + +<p> +But he got little by his move. Master Headley told him, not unkindly, for he +had some pity for the spoilt lad, that not the Lord Mayor himself would take +his own son with him while yet an apprentice. Tibble Steelman would indeed go +to one of the attendants’ tents at the further end of the lists, where +repairs to armour and weapons might be needed, and would take an assistant or +two, but who they might be must depend on his own choice, and if Giles had any +desire to go, he had better don his working dress. +</p> + +<p> +In fact, Tibble meant to take Edmund Burgess and one workman for use, and one +of the new apprentices for pleasure, letting them change in the middle of the +day. The swagger of Giles actually forfeited for him the first turn, +which—though he was no favourite with the men—would have been +granted to his elder years and his relationship to the master; but on his +overbearing demand to enter the boat which was to carry down a little anvil and +charcoal furnace, with a few tools, rivets, nails, and horse-shoes, Tibble +coolly returned that he needed no such gay birds; but if Giles chose to be +ready in his leathern coat when Stephen Birkenholt came home at midday, mayhap +he might change with him. +</p> + +<p> +Stephen went joyously in the plainest of attire, though Tibble in fur cap, +grimy jerkin, and leathern apron was no elegant steersman; and Edmund, who was +at the age of youthful foppery, shrugged his shoulders a little, and disguised +the garments of the smithy with his best flat cap and newest mantle. +</p> + +<p> +They kept in the wake of the handsome barge which Master Headley shared with +his friend and brother alderman, Master Hope the draper, whose young wife, in a +beautiful black velvet hood and shining blue satin kirtle, was evidently +petting Dennet to her heart’s content, though the little damsel never +lost an opportunity of nodding to her friends in the plainer barge in the rear. +</p> + +<p> +The Tudor tilting matches cost no lives, and seldom broke bones. They were +chiefly opportunities for the display of brilliant enamelled and gilt armour, +at the very acme of cumbrous magnificence; and of equally gorgeous embroidery +spread out over the vast expanse provided by elephantine Flemish horses. Even +if the weapons had not been purposely blunted, and if the champions had really +desired to slay one another, they would have found the task very difficult, as +in effect they did in the actual game of war. But the spectacle was a splendid +one, and all the apparatus was ready in the armourers’ tent, marked by +St. George and the Dragon. Tibble ensconced himself in the innermost corner +with a “tractate,” borrowed from his friend Lucas, and sent the +apprentices to gaze their fill at the rapidly filling circles of seats. They +saw King Harry, resplendent in gilded armour—“from their own anvil, +true English steel,” said Edmund, proudly—hand to her seat his +sister the bride, one of the most beautiful women then in existence, with a +lovely and delicate bloom on her fair face and exquisite Plantagenet features. +No more royally handsome creatures could the world have offered than that +brother and sister, and the English world appreciated them and made the lists +ring with applause at the fair lady who had disdained foreign princes to wed +her true love, an honest Englishman. +</p> + +<p> +He—the cloth of frieze—in blue Milanese armour, made to look as +classical as possible, and with clasps and medals engraven from antique +gems—handed in Queen Katharine, whose dark but glowing Spanish complexion +made a striking contrast to the dazzling fairness of her young sister-in-law. +Near them sat a stout burly figure in episcopal purple, and at his feet there +was a form which nearly took away all Stephen’s pleasure for the time. +For it was in motley, and he could hear the bells jingle, while the hot blood +rose in his cheeks in the dread lest Burgess should detect the connection, or +recognise in the jester the grave personage who had come to negotiate with Mr. +Headley for his indentures, or worse still, that the fool should see and claim +him. +</p> + +<p> +However, Quipsome Hal seemed to be exchanging drolleries with the young dowager +of France, who, sooth to say, giggled in a very unqueenly manner at jokes which +made the grave Spanish-born queen draw up her stately head, and converse with a +lady on her other hand—an equally stately lady, somewhat older, with the +straight Plantagenet features, and by her side a handsome boy, who, though only +eight or nine years was tonsured, and had a little scholar’s gown. +“That,” said Edmund, “is my Lady Countess of Salisbury, of +whom Giles Headley prates so much.” +</p> + +<p> +A tournament, which was merely a game between gorgeously equipped princes and +nobles, afforded little scope for adventure worthy of record, though it gave +great diversion to the spectators. Stephen gazed like one fascinated at the gay +panoply of horse and man with the huge plumes on the heads of both, as they +rushed against one another, and he shared with Edmund the triumph when the +lance from their armoury held good, the vexation if it were shivered. All would +have been perfect but for the sight of his uncle, playing off his drolleries in +a manner that gave him a sense of personal degradation. +</p> + +<p> +To escape from the sight almost consoled him when, in the pause after the first +courses had been run, Tibble told him and Burgess to return, and send Headley +and another workman with a fresh bundle of lances for the afternoon’s +tilting. Stephen further hoped to find his brother at the Dragon court, as it +was one of those holidays that set every one free, and separation began to make +the brothers value their meetings. +</p> + +<p> +But Ambrose was not at the Dragon court, and when Stephen went in quest of him +to the Temple, Perronel had not seen him since the early morning, but she said +he seemed so much bitten with the little old man’s scholarship that she +had small doubt that he would be found poring over a book in Warwick Inner +Yard. +</p> + +<p> +Thither therefore did Stephen repair. The place was nearly deserted, for the +inhabitants were mostly either artisans or that far too numerous race who lived +on the doles of convents, on the alms of churchgoers, and the largesses +scattered among the people on public occasions, and these were for the most +part pursuing their vocation both of gazing and looking out for gain among the +spectators outside the lists. The door that Stephen had been shown as that of +Ambrose’s master was, however, partly open, and close beside it sat in +the sun a figure that amazed him. On a small mat or rug, with a black and +yellow handkerchief over her head, and little scarlet legs crossed under a blue +dress, all lighted up by the gay May sun, there slept the little dark, glowing +maiden, with her head best as it leant against the wall, her rosy lips half +open, her long black plaits on her shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +Stepping up to the half-open door, whence he heard a voice reading, his +astonishment was increased. At the table were his brother and his master, +Ambrose with a black book in hand, Lucas Hansen with some papers, and on the +ground was seated a venerable, white-bearded old man, something between +Stephen’s notions of an apostle and of a magician, though the latter idea +predominated at sight of a long parchment scroll covered with characters such +as belonged to no alphabet that he had ever dreamt of. What were they doing to +his brother? He was absolutely in an enchanter’s den. Was it a pixy at +the door, guarding it? “Ambrose!” he cried aloud. +</p> + +<p> +Everybody started. Ambrose sprang to his feet, exclaiming, +“Stephen!” The pixy gave a little scream and jumped up, flying to +the old man, who quietly rolled up his scroll. +</p> + +<p> +Lucas rose up as Ambrose spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Thy brother?” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea—come in search of me,” said Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“Thou hadst best go forth with him,” said Lucas. +</p> + +<p> +“It is not well that youth should study over long,” said the old +man. “Thou hast aided us well, but do thou now unbend the bow. Peace be +with thee, my son.” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose complied, but scarcely willingly, and the instant they had made a few +steps from the door, Stephen exclaimed in dismay, “Who—what was it? +Have they bewitched thee, Ambrose?” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose laughed merrily. “Not so. It is holy lore that those good men are +reading.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay now, Ambrose. Stand still—if thou canst, poor fellow,” +he muttered, and then made the sign of the cross three times over his brother, +who stood smiling, and said, “Art satisfied Stevie? Or wilt have me +rehearse my <i>Credo</i>?” Which he did, Stephen listening critically, +and drawing a long breath as he recognised each word, pronounced without a +shudder at the critical points. “Thou art safe so far,” said +Stephen. “But sure he is a wizard. I even beheld his familiar +spirit—in a fair shape doubtless—like a pixy! Be not deceived, +brother. Sorcery reads backwards—and I saw him so read from that scroll +of his. Laughest thou! Nay! what shall I do to free thee? Enter here!” +</p> + +<p> +Stephen dragged his brother, still laughing, into the porch of the nearest +church, and deluged him with holy water with such good will, that Ambrose, +putting up his hands to shield his eyes, exclaimed, “Come now, have done +with this folly, Stephen—though it makes me laugh to think of thy scared +looks, and poor little Aldonza being taken for a familiar spirit.” And +Ambrose laughed as he had not laughed for weeks. +</p> + +<p> +“But what is it, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“The old man is of thy calling, or something like it, Stephen, being that +he maketh and tempereth sword-blades after the prime Damascene or Toledo +fashion, and the familiar spirit is his little daughter.” +</p> + +<p> +Stephen did not however look mollified. “Swordblades! None have a right +to make them save our craft. This is one of the rascaille Spaniards who have +poured into the city under favour of the queen to spoil and ruin the lawful +trade. Though could you but have seen, Ambrose, how our tough English ashwood +in King Harry’s hand—from our own armoury too—made all go +down before it, you would never uphold strangers and their false wares that +<i>can</i> only get the better by sorcery.” +</p> + +<p> +“How thou dost harp upon sorcery!” exclaimed Ambrose. “I must +tell thee the good old man’s story as ’twas told to me, and then +wilt thou own that he is as good a Christian as ourselves—ay, or +better—and hath little cause to love the Spaniards.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come on, then,” said Stephen. “Methought if we went towards +Westminster we might yet get where we could see the lists. Such a rare show, +Ambrose, to see the King in English armour, ay, and Master Headley’s, +every inch of it, glittering in the sun, so that one could scarce brook the +dazzling, on his horse like a rock shattering all that came against him! I +warrant you the lances cracked and shivered like faggots under old +Purkis’s bill-hook. And that you should liefer pore over crabbed monkish +stuff with yonder old men! My life on it, there must be some spell!” +</p> + +<p> +“No more than of old, when I was ever for book and thou for bow,” +said Ambrose; “but I’ll make thee rueful for old Michael yet. Hast +heard tell of the Moors in Spain?” +</p> + +<p> +“Moors—blackamoors who worship Mahound and Termagant. I saw a +blackamoor last week behind his master, a merchant of Genoa, in Paul’s +Walk. He looked like the devils in the Miracle Play at Christ Church, with +blubber lips and wool for hair. I marvelled that he did not writhe and flee +when he came within the Minster, but Ned Burgess said he was a christened +man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Moors be not all black, neither be they all worshippers of +Mahound,” replied Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +However, as Ambrose’s information, though a few degrees more correct and +intelligent than his brother’s, was not complete, it will be better not +to give the history of Lucas’s strange visitors in his words. +</p> + +<p> +They belonged to the race of Saracen Arabs who had brought the arts of life to +such perfection in Southern Spain, but who had received the general appellation +of Moors from those Africans who were continually reinforcing them, and, +bringing a certain Puritan strictness of Mohammedanism with them, had done much +towards destroying the highest cultivation among them before the Spanish +kingdoms became united, and finally triumphed over them. During the long +interval of two centuries, while Castille was occupied by internal wars, and +Aragon by Italian conquests, there had been little aggression on the Moorish +borderland, and a good deal of friendly intercourse both in the way of traffic +and of courtesy, nor had the bitter persecution and distrust of new converts +then set in, which followed the entire conquest of Granada. Thus, when Ronda +was one of the first Moorish cities to surrender, a great merchant of the +unrivalled sword-blades whose secret had been brought from Damascus, had, with +all his family, been accepted gladly when he declared himself ready to submit +and receive baptism. Miguel Abenali was one of the sons, and though his +conversion had at first been mere compliance with his father’s will and +the family interests, he had become sufficiently convinced of Christian truth +not to take part with his own people in the final struggle. Still, however, the +inbred abhorrence of idolatry had influenced his manner of worship, and when, +after half a life-time, Granada had fallen, and the Inquisition had begun to +take cognisance of new Christians from among the Moors as well as the Jews, +there were not lacking spies to report the absence of all sacred images or +symbols from the house of the wealthy merchant, and that neither he nor any of +his family had been seen kneeling before the shrine of Nuestra Señora. +The sons of Abenali did indeed feel strongly the power of the national +reaction, and revolted from the religion which they saw cruelly enforced on +their conquered countrymen. The Moor had been viewed as a gallant enemy, the +Morisco was only a being to be distrusted and persecuted; and the efforts of +the good Bishop of Granada, who had caused the Psalms, Gospels, and large +portions of the Breviary to be translated into Arabic, were frustrated by the +zeal of those who imagined that heresy lurked in the vernacular, and perhaps +that objections to popular practices might be strengthened. +</p> + +<p> +By order of Cardinal Ximenes, these Arabic versions were taken away and burnt; +but Miguel Abenali had secured his own copy, and it was what he there learnt +that withheld him from flying to his countrymen and resuming their faith when +he found that the Christianity he had professed for forty years was no longer a +protection to him. Having known the true Christ in the Gospel, he could not +turn back to Mohammed, even though Christians persecuted in the Name they so +little understood. +</p> + +<p> +The crisis came in 1507, when Ximenes, apparently impelled by the dread that +simulated conformity should corrupt the Church, quickened the persecution of +the doubtful “Nuevos Cristianos,” and the Abenali family, who had +made themselves loved and respected, received warning that they had been +denounced, and that their only hope lay in flight. +</p> + +<p> +The two sons, high-spirited young men, on whom religion had far less hold than +national feeling, fled to the Alpuxarra Mountains, and renouncing the faith of +the persecutors, joined their countrymen in their gallant and desperate +warfare. Their mother, who had long been dead, had never been more than an +outward Christian; but the second wife of Abenali shared his belief and +devotion with the intelligence and force of character sometimes found among the +Moorish ladies of Spain. She and her little ones fled with him in disguise to +Cadiz, with the precious Arabic Scriptures rolled round their waists, and took +shelter with an English merchant, who had had dealings in sword-blades with +Señor Miguel, and had been entertained by him in his beautiful Saracenic +house at Ronda with Eastern hospitality. This he requited by giving them the +opportunity of sailing for England in a vessel laden with Xeres sack; but the +misery of the voyage across the Bay of Biscay in a ship fit for nothing but +wine, was excessive, and creatures reared in the lovely climate and refined +luxury of the land of the palm and orange, exhausted too already by the toils +of the mountain journey, were incapable of enduring it, and Abenali’s +brave wife and one of her children were left beneath the waves of the Atlantic. +With the one little girl left to him, he arrived in London, and the +recommendation of his Cadiz friend obtained for him work from a dealer in +foreign weapons, who was not unwilling to procure them nearer home. Happily for +him, Moorish masters, however rich, were always required to be proficients in +their own trade; and thus Miguel, or Michael as he was known in England, was +able to maintain himself and his child by the fabrication of blades that no one +could distinguish from those of Damascus. Their perfection was a work of +infinite skill, labour, and industry, but they were so costly, that their +price, and an occasional job of inlaying gold in other metal, sufficed to +maintain the old man and his little daughter. The armourers themselves were +sometimes forced to have recourse to him, though unwillingly, for he was looked +on with distrust and dislike as an interloper of foreign birth, belonging to no +guild. A Biscayan or Castillian of the oldest Christian blood incurred exactly +the same obloquy from the mass of London craftsmen and apprentices, and Lucas +himself had small measure of favour, though Dutchmen were less alien to the +English mind than Spaniards, and his trade did not lead to so much rivalry and +competition. +</p> + +<p> +As much of this as Ambrose knew or understood he told to Stephen, who listened +in a good deal of bewilderment, understanding very little, but with a strong +instinct that his brother’s love of learning was leading him into +dangerous company. And what were they doing on this fine May holiday, when +every one ought to be out enjoying themselves? +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if thou wilt know,” said Ambrose, pushed hard, “there +is one Master William Tindal, who hath been doing part of the blessed Evangel +into English, and for better certainty of its correctness, Master Michael was +comparing it with his Arabic version, while I overlooked the Latin.” +</p> + +<p> +“O Ambrose, thou wilt surely run into trouble. Know you not how nurse +Joan used to tell us of the burning of the Lollard books?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay, Stevie, this is no heresy. ’Tis such work as the great +scholar, Master Erasmus, is busied on—ay, and he is loved and honoured by +both the Archbishops and the King’s grace! Ask Tibble Steelman what he +thinks thereof.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tibble Steelman would think nought of a beggarly stranger calling +himself a sword cutler, and practising the craft without prenticeship or +license,” said Stephen, swelling with indignation. “Come on, +Ambrose, and sweep the cobwebs from thy brain. If we cannot get into our own +tent again, we can mingle with the outskirts, and learn how the day is going, +and how our lances and breastplates have stood where the knaves’ at the +Eagle have gone like reeds and egg-shells—just as I threw George Bates, +the prentice at the Eagle yesterday, in a wrestling match at the butts with the +trick old Diggory taught me.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII.<br /> +A KING IN A QUAGMIRE</h2> + +<p class="poem"> + For my pastance<br /> +Hunt, sing, and dance,<br /> +My heart is set<br /> +All godly sport<br /> +To my comfort.<br /> +Who shall me let? +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">The King’s Balade</span>, <i>attributed to Henry +VIII.</i> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Life</span> was a rough, hearty thing in the early +sixteenth century, strangely divided between thought and folly, hardship and +splendour, misery and merriment, toil and sport. +</p> + +<p> +The youths in the armourer’s household had experienced little of this as +yet in their country life, but in London they could not but soon begin to taste +both sides of the matter. Master Headley himself was a good deal taken up with +city affairs, and left the details of his business to Tibble Steelman and Kit +Smallbones, though he might always appear on the scene, and he had a wonderful +knowledge of what was going on. +</p> + +<p> +The breaking-in and training of the two new country lads was entirely left to +them and to Edmund Burgess. Giles soon found that complaints were of no avail, +and only made matters harder for him, and that Tibble Steelman and Kit +Smallbones had no notion of favouring their master’s cousin. +</p> + +<p> +Poor fellow, he was very miserable in those first weeks. The actual toil, to +which he was an absolute novice, though nominally three years an apprentice, +made his hands raw, and his joints full of aches, while his groans met with +nothing but laughter; and he recognised with great displeasure, that more was +laid on him than on Stephen Birkenholt. This was partly in consideration of +Stephen’s youth, partly of his ready zeal and cheerfulness. His hands +might be sore too, but he was rather proud of it than otherwise, and his hero +worship of Kit Smallbones made him run on errands, tug at the bellows staff, or +fetch whatever was called for with a bright alacrity that won the +foremen’s hearts, and it was noted that he who was really a gentleman, +had none of the airs that Giles Headley showed. +</p> + +<p> +Giles began by some amount of bullying, by way of slaking his wrath at the +preference shown for one whom he continued to style a beggarly brat picked up +on the heath; but Stephen was good-humoured, and accustomed to give and take, +and they both found their level, as well in the Dragon court as among the world +outside, where the London prentices were a strong and redoubtable body, with +rude, not to say cruel, rites of initiation among themselves, plenty of +rivalries and enmities between house and house, guild and guild, but a united, +not to say ferocious, <i>esprit de corps</i> against every one else. Fisticuffs +and wrestlings were the amenities that passed between them, though always with +a love of fair play so long as no cowardice, or what was looked on as such, was +shown, for there was no mercy for the weak or weakly. Such had better betake +themselves at once to the cloister, or life was made intolerable by constant +jeers, blows, baiting and huntings, often, it must be owned, absolutely brutal. +</p> + +<p> +Stephen and Giles had however passed through this ordeal. The letter to John +Birkenholt had been despatched by a trusty clerk riding with the Judges of +Assize, whom Mistress Perronel knew might be safely trusted, and who actually +brought back a letter which might have emanated from the most affectionate of +brothers, giving his authority for the binding Stephen apprentice to the +worshipful Master Giles Headley, and sending the remainder of the boy’s +portion. +</p> + +<p> +Stephen was thereupon regularly bound apprentice to Master Headley. It was a +solemn affair, which took place in the Armourer’s Hall in Coleman Street, +before sundry witnesses. Harry Randall, in his soberest garb and demeanour, +acted as guardian to his nephew, and presented him, clad in the regulation +prentice garb—“flat round cap, close-cut hair, narrow falling +bands, coarse side coat, close hose, cloth stockings,” coat with the +badge of the Armourers’ Company, and Master Headley’s own +dragon’s tail on the sleeve, to which was added a blue cloak marked in +like manner. The instructions to apprentices were rehearsed, beginning, +“Ye shall constantly and devoutly on your knees every day serve God, +morning and evening”—pledging him to “avoid evil company, to +make speedy return when sent on his master’s business, to be fair, gentle +and lowly in speech and carriage with all men,” and the like. +</p> + +<p> +Mutual promises were interchanged between him and his master, Stephen on his +knees; the indentures were signed, for Quipsome Hal could with much ado produce +an autograph signature, though his penmanship went no further, and the occasion +was celebrated by a great dinner of the whole craft at the Armourers’ +Hall, to which the principal craftsmen who had been apprentices, such as Tibble +Steelman and Kit Smallbones, were invited, sitting at a lower table, while the +masters had the higher one on the daïs, and a third was reserved for the +apprentices after they should have waited on their masters—in fact it was +an imitation of the orders of chivalry, knights, squires, and pages, and the +gradation of rank was as strictly observed as by the nobility. Giles, +considering the feast to be entirely in his honour, though the transfer of his +indentures had been made at Salisbury, endeavoured to come out in some of his +bravery, but was admonished that such presumption might be punished, the first +time, at his master’s discretion, the second time, by a whipping at the +Hall of his Company, and the third time by six months being added to the term +of his apprenticeship. +</p> + +<p> +Master Randall was entertained in the place of honour, where he comported +himself with great gravity, though he could not resist alarming Stephen with an +occasional wink or gesture as the boy approached in the course of the duties of +waiting at the upper board—a splendid sight with cups and flagons of gold +and silver, with venison and capons and all that a City banquet could command +before the invention of the turtle. +</p> + +<p> +There was drinking of toasts, and among the foremost was that of Wolsey, who +had freshly received his nomination of cardinal, and whose hat was on its way +from Rome—and here the jester could not help betraying his knowledge of +the domestic policy of the household, and telling the company how it had become +known that the scarlet hat was actually on the way, but in a +“varlet’s budget—a mere Italian common knave, no better than +myself,” quoth Quipsome Hal, whereat his nephew trembled standing behind +his chair, forgetting that the decorous solid man in the sad-coloured gown and +well-crimped ruff, neatest of Perronel’s performances, was no such base +comparison for any varlet. Hal went on to describe, however, how my Lord of +York had instantly sent to stay the messenger on his handing at Dover, and +equip him with all manner of costly silks by way of apparel, and with +attendants, such as might do justice to his freight, “that so,” he +said, “men may not rate it but as a scarlet cock’s comb, since all +men be but fools, and the sole question is, who among them hath wit enough to +live by his folly.” Therewith he gave a wink that so disconcerted Stephen +as nearly to cause an upset of the bowl of perfumed water that he was bringing +for the washing of hands. +</p> + +<p> +Master Headley, however, suspected nothing, and invited the grave Master +Randall to attend the domestic festival on the presentation of poor +Spring’s effigy at the shrine of St. Julian. This was to take place early +in the morning of the 14th of September, Holy Cross Day, the last holiday in +the year that had any of the glory of summer about it, and on which the +apprentices claimed a prescriptive right to go out nutting in St. John’s +Wood, and to carry home their spoil to the lasses of their acquaintance. +</p> + +<p> +Tibble Steelman had completed the figure in bronze, with a silver collar and +chain, not quite without protest that the sum had better have been bestowed in +alms. But from his master’s point of view this would have been giving to +a pack of lying beggars and thieves what was due to the holy saint; no one save +Tibble, who could do and say what he chose, could have ventured on a word of +remonstrance on such a subject; and as the full tide of iconoclasm, consequent +on the discovery of the original wording of the second commandment, had not yet +set in, Tibble had no more conscientious scruple against making the figure, +than in moulding a little straight-tailed lion for Lord Harry Percy’s +helmet. +</p> + +<p> +So the party in early morning heard their mass, and then, repairing to St. +Julian’s pillar, while the rising sun came peeping through the low +eastern window of the vaulted Church of St. Faith, Master Headley on his knees +gave thanks for his preservation, and then put forward his little daughter, +holding on her joined hands the figure of poor Spring, couchant, and +beautifully modelled in bronze with all Tibble’s best skill. +</p> + +<p> +Hal Randall and Ambrose had both come up from the little home where Perronel +presided, for the hour was too early for the jester’s absence to be +remarked in the luxurious household of the Cardinal elect, and he even came to +break his fast afterwards at the Dragon court, and held such interesting +discourse with old Dame Headley on the farthingales and coifs of Queen +Katharine and her ladies, that she pronounced him a man wondrous wise and +understanding, and declared Stephen happy in the possession of such a kinsman. +</p> + +<p> +“And whither away now, youngsters?” he said, as he rose from table. +</p> + +<p> +“To St. John’s Wood! The good greenwood, uncle,” said +Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“Thou too, Ambrose?” said Stephen joyfully. “For once away +from thine ink and thy books!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” said Ambrose, “mine heart warms to the woodlands once +more. Uncle, would that thou couldst come.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would that I could, boy! We three would show these lads of Cockayne what +three foresters know of wood craft! But it may not be. Were I once there the +old blood might stir again and I might bring you into trouble, and ye have not +two faces under one hood as I have! So fare ye well, I wish you many a bagful +of nuts!” +</p> + +<p> +The four months of city life, albeit the City was little bigger than our +moderate sized country towns, and far from being an unbroken mass of houses, +had yet made the two young foresters delighted to enjoy a day of thorough +country in one another’s society. Little Dennet longed to go with them, +but the prentice world was far too rude for little maidens to be trusted in it, +and her father held out hopes of going one of these days to High Park as he +called it, while Edmund and Stephen promised her all their nuts, and as many +blackberries as could be held in their flat caps. +</p> + +<p> +“Giles has promised me none,” said Dennet, with a pouting lip, +“nor Ambrose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why sure, little mistress, thou’lt have enough to crack thy teeth +on!” said Edmund Burgess. +</p> + +<p> +“They <i>ought</i> to bring theirs to me,” returned the little +heiress of the Dragon court with an air of offended dignity that might have +suited the heiress of the kingdom. +</p> + +<p> +Giles, who looked on Dennet as a kind of needful appendage to the Dragon, a +piece of property of his own, about whom he need take no trouble, merely +laughed and said, “Want must be thy master then.” But Ambrose +treated her petulance in another fashion. “Look here, pretty +mistress,” said he, “there dwells by me a poor little maid nigh +about thine age, who never goeth further out than to St. Paul’s minster, +nor plucketh flower, nor hath sweet cake, nor manchet bread, nor sugar-stick, +nay, and scarce ever saw English hazel-nut nor blackberry. ’Tis for her +that I want to gather them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is she thy master’s daughter?” demanded Dennet, who could +admit the claims of another princess. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, my master hath no children, but she dwelleth near him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will send her some, and likewise of mine own comfits and cakes,” +said Mistress Dennet. “Only thou must bring all to me first.” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose laughed and said, “It’s a bargain then, little +mistress?” +</p> + +<p> +“I keep my word,” returned Dennet marching away, while Ambrose +obeyed a summons from good-natured Mistress Headley to have his wallet filled +with bread and cheese like those of her own prentices. +</p> + +<p> +Off went the lads under the guidance of Edmund Burgess, meeting parties of +their own kind at every turn, soon leaving behind them the City bounds, as they +passed under New Gate, and by and by skirting the fields of the great +Carthusian monastery, or Charter House, with the burial-ground given by Sir +Walter Manny at the time of the Black Death. Beyond came marshy ground through +which they had to pick their way carefully, over stepping-stones—this +being no other than what is now the Regent’s Park, not yet in any degree +drained by the New River, but all quaking ground, overgrown with rough grass +and marsh-plants, through which Stephen and Ambrose bounded by the help of +stout poles with feet and eyes well used to bogs, and knowing where to look for +a safe footing, while many a flat-capped London lad floundered about and sank +over his yellow ankles or left his shoes behind him, while lapwings shrieked +pee-wheet, and almost flapped him with their broad wings, and moorhens dived in +the dark pools, and wild ducks rose in long families. +</p> + +<p> +Stephen was able to turn the laugh against his chief adversary and rival, +George Bates of the Eagle, who proposed seeking for the lapwing’s nest in +hopes of a dainty dish of plovers’ eggs; being too great a cockney to +remember that in September the contents of the eggs were probably flying over +the heather, as well able to shift for themselves as their parents. +</p> + +<p> +Above all things the London prentices were pugnacious, but as every one joined +in the laugh against George, and he was, besides, stuck fast on a quaking +tussock of grass, afraid to proceed or advance, he could not have his revenge. +And when the slough was passed, and the slight rise leading to the copse of St. +John’s Wood was attained, behold, it was found to be in possession of the +lower sort of lads, the black guard as they were called. They were of course +quite as ready to fight with the prentices as the prentices were with them, and +a battle royal took place, all along the front of the hazel bushes—in +which Stephen of the Dragon and George of the Eagle fought side by side. Sticks +and fists were the weapons, and there were no very severe casualties before the +prentices, being the larger number as well as the stouter and better fed, had +routed their adversaries, and driven them off towards Harrow. +</p> + +<p> +There was crackling of boughs and filling of bags, and cracking of nuts, and +wild cries in pursuit of startled hare or rabbit, and though Ambrose and +Stephen indignantly repelled the idea of St. John’s Wood being named in +the same day with their native forest, it is doubtful whether they had ever +enjoyed themselves more; until just as they were about to turn homeward, +whether moved by his hostility to Stephen, or by envy at the capful of juicy +blackberries, carefully covered with green leaves, George Bates, rushing up +from behind, shouted out “Here’s a skulker! Here’s one of the +black guard! Off to thy fellows, varlet!” at the same time dealing a +dexterous blow under the cap, which sent the blackberries up into +Ambrose’s face. “Ha! ha!” shouted the ill-conditioned fellow. +“So much for a knave that serves rascally strangers! Here! hand over that +bag of nuts!” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose was no fighter, but in defence of the bag that was to purchase a treat +for little Aldonza, he clenched his fists, and bade George Bates come and take +them if he would. The quiet scholarly boy was, however, no match for the young +armourer, and made but poor reply to the buffets of his adversary, who had hold +of the bag, and was nearly choking him with the string round his neck. +</p> + +<p> +However, Stephen had already missed his brother, and turning round, shouted out +that the villain Bates was mauling him, and rushed back, falling on +Ambrose’s assailant with a sudden well-directed pounding that made him +hastily turn about, with cries of “Two against one!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” said Stephen. “Stand by, Ambrose; I’ll +give the coward his deserts.” +</p> + +<p> +In fact, though the boys were nearly of a size, George somewhat the biggest, +Stephen’s country activity, and perhaps the higher spirit of his gentle +blood, generally gave him the advantage, and on this occasion he soon reduced +Bates to roar for mercy. +</p> + +<p> +“Thou must purchase it!” said Stephen. “Thy bag of nuts, in +return for the berries thou hast wasted!” +</p> + +<p> +Peaceable Ambrose would have remonstrated, but Stephen was implacable. He cut +the string, and captured the bag, then with a parting kick bade Bates go after +his comrades, for his Eagle was nought but a thieving kite. +</p> + +<p> +Bates made off pretty quickly, but the two brothers tarried a little to see how +much damage the blackberries had suffered, and to repair the losses as they +descended into the bog by gathering some choice dewberries. +</p> + +<p> +“I marvel these fine fellows ’scaped our company,” said +Stephen presently. +</p> + +<p> +“Are we in the right track, thinkst thou? Here is a pool I marked not +before,” said Ambrose anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, we can’t be far astray while we see St. Paul’s spire +and the Tower full before us,” said Stephen. “Plainer marks than we +had at home.” +</p> + +<p> +“That may be. Only where is the safe footing?” said Ambrose. +“I wish we had not lost sight of the others!” +</p> + +<p> +“Pish! what good are a pack of City lubbers!” returned Stephen. +“Don’t we know a quagmire when we see one, better than they +do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hark, they are shouting for us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not they! That’s a falconer’s call. There’s another +whistle! See, there’s the hawk. She’s going down the wind, as +I’m alive,” and Stephen began to bound wildly along, making all the +sounds and calls by which falcons were recalled, and holding up as a lure a +lapwing which he had knocked down. Ambrose, by no means so confident in +bog-trotting as his brother, stood still to await him, hearing the calls and +shouts of the falconer coming nearer, and presently seeing a figure, flying by +the help of a pole over the pools and dykes that here made some attempt at +draining the waste. Suddenly, in mid career over one of these broad ditches, +there was a collapse, and a lusty shout for help as the form disappeared. +Ambrose instantly perceived what had happened, the leaping pole had broken to +the downfall of its owner. Forgetting all his doubts as to bogholes and +morasses, he grasped his own pole, and sprang from tussock to tussock, till he +had reached the bank of the ditch or water-course in which the unfortunate +sportsman was floundering. He was a large, powerful man, but this was of no +avail, for the slough afforded no foothold. The further side was a steep built +up of sods, the nearer sloped down gradually, and though it was not apparently +very deep, the efforts of the victim to struggle out had done nothing but churn +up a mass of black muddy water in which he sank deeper every moment, and it was +already nearly to his shoulders when with a cry of joy, half choked however, by +the mud, he cried, “Ha! my good lad! Are there any more of ye?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not nigh, I fear,” said Ambrose, beholding with some dismay the +breadth of the shoulders which were all that appeared above the turbid water. +</p> + +<p> +“Soh! Lie down, boy, behind that bunch of osier. Hold out thy pole. Let +me see thine hands. Thou art but a straw, but, our Lady be my speed! Now hangs +England on a pair of wrists!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a great struggle, an absolute effort for life, and but for the osier +stump Ambrose would certainly have been dragged into the water, when the man +had worked along the pole, and grasping his hands, pulled himself upwards. +Happily the sides of the dyke became harder higher up, and did not instantly +yield to the pressure of his knees, and by the time Ambrose’s hands and +shoulders felt nearly wrenched from their sockets, the stem of the osier had +been attained, and in another minute, the rescued man, bareheaded, plastered +with mud, and streaming with water, sat by him on the bank, panting, gasping, +and trying to gather breath and clear his throat from the mud he had swallowed. +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks, good lad, well done,” he articulated. “Those +fellows! where are they?” And feeling in his bosom, he brought out a gold +whistle suspended by a chain. “Blow it,” he said, taking off the +chain, “my mouth is too full of slime.” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose blew a loud shrill call, but it seemed to reach no one but Stephen, +whom he presently saw dashing towards them. +</p> + +<p> +“Here is my brother coming, sir,” he said, as he gave his +endeavours to help the stranger to free himself from the mud that clung to him, +and which was in some places thick enough to be scraped off with a knife. He +kept up a continual interchange of exclamations at his plight, whistles and +shouts for his people, and imprecations on their tardiness, until Stephen was +near enough to show that the hawk had been recovered, and then he joyfully +called out, “Ha! hast thou got her? Why, flat-caps as ye are, ye put all +my fellows to shame! How now, thou errant bird, dost know thy master, or take +him for a mud wall? Kite that thou art, to have led me such a dance! And +what’s your name, my brave lads? Ye must have been bred to +wood-craft.” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose explained both their parentage and their present occupation, but was +apparently heeded but little. “Wot ye how to get out of this +quagmire?” was the question. +</p> + +<p> +“I never was here before, sir,” said Stephen; “but yonder +lies the Tower, and if we keep along by this dyke, it must lead us out +somewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well said, boy, I must be moving, or the mud will dry on me, and I shall +stand here as though I were turned to stone by the Gorgon’s head! So have +with thee! Go on first, master hawk-tamer. What will bear thee will bear +me!” +</p> + +<p> +There was an imperative tone about him that surprised the brothers, and Ambrose +looking at him from head to foot, felt sure that it was some great man at the +least, whom it had been his hap to rescue. Indeed, he began to have further +suspicions when they came to a pool of clearer water, beyond which was firmer +ground, and the stranger with an exclamation of joy, borrowed Stephen’s +cap, and, scooping up the water with it, washed his face and head, disclosing +the golden hair and beard, fair complexion, and handsome square face he had +seen more than once before. +</p> + +<p> +He whispered to Stephen “’Tis the King!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! ha!” laughed Henry, “hast found him out, lads? Well, it +may not be the worse for ye. Pity thou shouldst not be in the Forest still, my +young falconer, but we know our good city of London to well to break thy +indentures. And thou—” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus01"></a> +<a href="images/p153b.jpg"> +<img src="images/p153b.jpg" width="405" height="600" alt="Illustration:" /></a> +<p class="caption">“Ha! ha!” laughed Henry, “hast found him out, lads?”</p> +</div> + +<p> +He was turning to Ambrose when further shouts were heard. The King hallooed, +and bade the boys do so, and in a few moments more they were surrounded by the +rest of the hawking party, full of dismay at the king’s condition, and +deprecating his anger for having lost him. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea,” said Henry; “an it had not been for this good lad, ye +would never have heard more of the majesty of England! Swallowed in a quagmire +had made a new end for a king, and ye would have to brook the little +Scot.” +</p> + +<p> +The gentlemen who had come up were profuse in lamentations. A horse was brought +up for the king’s use, and he prepared to mount, being in haste to get +into dry clothes. He turned round, however, to the boys, and said, +“I’ll not forget you, my lads. Keep that!” he added, as +Ambrose, on his knee, would have given him back the whistle, “’tis +a token that maybe will serve thee, for I shall know it again. And thou, my +black-eyed lad—My purse, Howard!” +</p> + +<p> +He handed the purse to Stephen—a velvet bag richly wrought with gold, and +containing ten gold angels, besides smaller money—bidding them divide, +like good brothers as he saw they were, and then galloped off with his train. +</p> + +<p> +Twilight was coming on, but following in the direction of the riders, the boys +were soon on the Islington road. The New Gate was shut by the time they reached +it, and their explanation that they were belated after a nutting expedition +would not have served them, had not Stephen produced the sum of twopence which +softened the surliness of the guard. +</p> + +<p> +It was already dark, and though curfew had not yet sounded, preparations were +making for lighting the watch-fires in the open spaces and throwing chains +across the streets, but the little door in the Dragon court was open, and +Ambrose went in with his brother to deliver up his nuts to Dennet and claim her +promise of sending a share to Aldonza. +</p> + +<p> +They found their uncle in his sober array sitting by Master Headley, who was +rating Edmund and Giles for having lost sight of them, the latter excusing +himself by grumbling out that he could not be marking all Stephen’s +brawls with George Bates. +</p> + +<p> +When the two wanderers appeared, relief took the form of anger, and there were +sharp demands why they had loitered. Their story was listened to with many +exclamations: Dennet jumped for joy, her grandmother advised that the angels +should be consigned to her own safe keeping, and when Master Headley heard of +Henry’s scruples about the indentures, he declared that it was a rare +wise king who knew that an honest craft was better than court favour. +</p> + +<p> +“Yet mayhap he might do something for thee, friend Ambrose,” added +the armourer. “Commend thee to some post in his chapel royal, or put thee +into some college, since such is thy turn. How sayst thou, Master Randall, +shall he send in this same token, and make his petition?” +</p> + +<p> +“If a foo—if a plain man may be heard where the wise hath +spoken,” said Randall, “he had best abstain. Kings love not to be +minded of mishaps, and our Hal’s humour is not to be reckoned on! Lay up +the toy in case of need, but an thou claim overmuch he may mind thee in a +fashion not to thy taste.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sure our King is of a more generous mould!” exclaimed Mrs. +Headley. +</p> + +<p> +“He is like other men, good mistress, just as you know how to have him, +and he is scarce like to be willing to be minded of the taste of mire, or of +floundering like a hog in a salt marsh. Ha! ha!” and Quipsome Hal went +off into such a laugh as might have betrayed his identity to any one more +accustomed to the grimaces of his professional character, but which only +infected the others with the same contagious merriment. “Come thou home +now,” he said to Ambrose; “my good woman hath been in a mortal +fright about thee, and would have me come out to seek after thee. Such are the +women folk, Master Headley. Let them have but a lad to look after, and +they’ll bleat after him like an old ewe that has lost her lamb.” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose only stayed for Dennet to divide the spoil, and though the blackberries +had all been lost or crushed, the little maiden kept her promise generously, +and filled the bag not only with nuts but with three red-checked apples, and a +handful of comfits, for the poor little maid who never tasted fruit or sweets. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII.<br /> +A LONDON HOLIDAY</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“Up then spoke the apprentices tall<br /> + Living in London, one and all.” +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<i>Old Ballad</i>. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Another</span> of the many holidays of the Londoners was +enjoyed on the occasion of the installation of Thomas Wolsey as Cardinal of St. +Cecilia, and Papal Legate. +</p> + +<p> +A whole assembly of prelates and “lusty gallant gentlemen” rode out +to Blackheath to meet the Roman envoy, who, robed in full splendour, with St. +Peter’s keys embroidered on back and breast and on the housings of his +mule, appeared at the head of a gallant train in the papal liveries, two of +whom carried the gilded pillars, the insignia of office, and two more, a +scarlet and gold-covered box or casket containing the Cardinal’s hat. +Probably no such reception of the dignity was ever prepared elsewhere, and all +was calculated to give magnificent ideas of the office of Cardinal and of the +power of the Pope to those who had not been let into the secret that the +messenger had been met at Dover; and thus magnificently fitted out to satisfy +the requirements of the butcher’s son of Ipswich, and of one of the most +ostentatious of courts. +</p> + +<p> +Old Gaffer Martin Fulford had muttered in his bed that such pomp had not been +the way in the time of the true old royal blood, and that display had come in +with the upstart slips of the Red Rose—as he still chose to style the +Tudors; and he maundered away about the beauty and affability of Edward IV. +till nobody could understand him, and Perronel only threw in her “ay, +grandad,” or “yea, gaffer,” when she thought it was expected +of her. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose had an unfailing appetite for the sermons of Dean Colet, who was to +preach on this occasion in Westminster Abbey, and his uncle had given him +counsel how to obtain standing ground there, entering before the procession. He +was alone, his friends Tibble and Lucas both had that part of the Lollard +temper which loathed the pride and wealth of the great political clergy, and in +spite of their admiration for the Dean they could not quite forgive his taking +part in the pomp of such a rare show. +</p> + +<p> +But Ambrose’s devotion to the Dean, to say nothing of youthful curiosity, +outweighed all those scruples, and as he listened, he was carried along by the +curious sermon in which the preacher likened the orders of the hierarchy below +to that of the nine orders of the Angels, making the rank of Cardinal +correspond to that of the Seraphim, aglow with love. Of that holy flame, the +scarlet robes were the type to the spiritualised mind of Colet, while others +saw in them only the relic of the imperial purple of old Rome; and some beheld +them as the token that Wolsey was one step nearer the supreme height that he +coveted so earnestly. But the great and successful man found himself personally +addressed, bidden not to be puffed up with his own greatness, and stringently +reminded of the highest Example of humility, shown that he that exalteth +himself shall be abased, and he that humbleth himself be exalted. The preacher +concluded with a strong personal exhortation to do righteousness and justice +alike to rich and poor, joined with truth and mercy, setting God always before +him. +</p> + +<p> +The sermon ended, Wolsey knelt at the altar, and Archbishop Wareham, who, like +his immediate predecessors, held legatine authority, performed the act of +investiture, placing the scarlet hat with its many hoops and tassels on his +brother primate’s head, after which a magnificent <i>Te Deum</i> rang +through the beautiful church, and the procession of prelates, peers, and +ecclesiastics of all ranks in their richest array formed to escort the new +Cardinal to banquet at his palace with the King and Queen. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose, stationed by a column, let the throng rush, tumble, and jostle one +another to behold the show, till the Abbey was nearly empty, while he tried to +work out the perplexing question whether all this pomp and splendour were truly +for the glory of God, or whether it were a delusion for the temptation of +men’s souls. It was a debate on which his old and his new guides seemed +to him at issue, and he was drawn in both directions—now by the beauty, +order, and deep symbolism of the Catholic ritual, now by the spirituality and +earnestness of the men among whom he lived. At one moment the worldly pomp, the +mechanical and irreverent worship, and the gross and vicious habits of many of +the clergy repelled him; at another the reverence and conservatism of his +nature held him fast. +</p> + +<p> +Presently he felt a hand on his shoulder, and started, “Lost in a stud, +as we say at home, boy,” said the jester, resplendent in a bran new +motley suit. “Wilt come in to the banquet? ’Tis open house, and I +can find thee a seat without disclosing the kinship that sits so sore on thy +brother. Where is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have not seen him this day.” +</p> + +<p> +“That did I,” returned Randall, “as I rode by on mine ass. He +was ruffling it so lustily that I could not but give him a wink, the which my +gentleman could by no means stomach! Poor lad! Yet there be times, Ambrose, +when I feel in sooth that mine office is the only honourable one, since who +besides can speak truth? I love my lord; he is a kind, open-handed master, and +there’s none I would so willingly serve, whether by jest or earnest, but +what is he but that which I oft call him in joke—the greater fool than I, +selling peace and ease, truth and hope, this life and the next, for yonder +scarlet hat, which is after all of no more worth than this jingling head-gear +of mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Deafening the spiritual ears far more, it may be,” said Ambrose, +“since <i>humiles exallaverint</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +It was no small shock that there, in the midst of the nave, the answer was a +bound, like a ball, almost as high as the capital of the column by which they +stood. “There’s exaltation!” said Randall in a low voice, and +Ambrose perceived that some strangers were in sight. “Come, seek thy +brother out, boy, and bring him to the banquet. I’ll speak a word to +Peter Porter, and he’ll let you in. There’ll be plenty of fooling +all the afternoon, before my namesake King Hal, who can afford to be an +honester man in his fooling than any about him, and whose laugh at a hearty +jest is goodly to hear.” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose thanked him and undertook the quest. They parted at the great west door +of the Abbey, where, by way of vindicating his own character for buffoonery, +Randall exclaimed, “Where be mine ass?” and not seeing the animal, +immediately declared, “There he is!” and at the same time sprang +upon the back and shoulders of a gaping and astonished clown who was gazing at +the rear of the procession. +</p> + +<p> +The crowd applauded with shouts of coarse laughter, but a man, who seemed to +belong to the victim, broke in with an angry oath, and “How now, +sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“I cry you mercy,” quoth the jester; “’twas mine own +ass I sought, and if I have fallen on thine, I will but ride him to York House +and then restore him. So ho! good jackass,” crossing his ankles on the +poor fellow’s chest so that he could not be shaken off. +</p> + +<p> +The comrade lifted a cudgel, but there was a general cry of “My Lord +Cardinal’s jester, lay not a finger on him!” +</p> + +<p> +But Harry Randall was not one to brook immunity on the score of his +master’s greatness. In another second he was on his feet, had wrested the +staff from the hands of his astounded beast of burden, flourished it round his +head after the most approved manner of Shirley champions at Lyndhurst fair, and +called to his adversary to “come on.” +</p> + +<p> +It did not take many rounds before Hal’s dexterity had floored his +adversary, and the shouts of “Well struck, merry fool!” “Well +played, Quipsome Hal!” were rising high when the Abbot of +Westminster’s yeomen were seen making way through the throng, which fell +back in terror on either side as they came to seize on the brawlers in their +sacred precincts. +</p> + +<p> +But here again my Lord Cardinal’s fool was a privileged person, and no +one laid a hand on him, though his blood being up, he would, spite of his gay +attire, have enjoyed a fight on equal terms. His quadruped donkey was brought +up to him amid general applause, but when he looked round for Ambrose, the boy +had disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +The better and finer the nature that displayed itself in Randall, the more +painful was the sight of his buffooneries to his nephew, and at the first leap, +Ambrose had hurried away in confusion. He sought his brother here, there, +everywhere, and at last came to the conclusion that Stephen must have gone home +to dinner. He walked quickly across the fields separating Westminster from the +City of London, hoping to reach Cheapside before the lads of the Dragon should +have gone out again; but just as he was near St. Paul’s, coming round +Amen Corner, he heard the sounds of a fray. “Have at the country lubbers! +Away with the moonrakers! Flat-caps, come on!” “Hey! lads of the +Eagle! Down with the Dragons! Adders Snakes—s-s s-s-s!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a kicking, struggling mass of blue backs and yellow legs before him, +from out of which came “Yah! Down with the Eagles! Cowards! Kites! +Cockneys!” There were plenty of boys, men, women with children in their +arms hallooing on, “Well done, Eagle!” “Go it, Dragon!” +</p> + +<p> +The word Dragon filled the quiet Ambrose with hot impulse to defend his +brother. All his gentle, scholarly habits gave way before that cry, and a shout +that he took to be Stephen’s voice in the midst of the +<i>mêlée</i>. +</p> + +<p> +He was fairly carried out of himself, and doubling his fists, fell on the back +of the nearest boys, intending to break through to his brother, and he found an +unexpected ally. Will Wherry’s voice called out, “Have with you, +comrade!”—and a pair of hands and arms considerably stouter and +more used to fighting than his own, began to pommel right and left with such +good will that they soon broke through to the aid of their friends; and not +before it was time, for Stephen, Giles, and Edmund, with their backs against +the wall, were defending themselves with all their might against tremendous +odds; and just as the new allies reached them, a sharp stone struck Giles in +the eye, and levelled him with the ground, his head striking against the wall. +Whether it were from alarm at his fall, or at the unexpected attack in the +rear, or probably from both causes, the assailants dispersed in all directions +without waiting to perceive how slender the succouring force really was. +</p> + +<p> +Edmund and Stephen were raising up the unlucky Giles, who lay quite insensible, +with blood pouring from his eye. Ambrose tried to wipe it away, and there were +anxious doubts whether the eye itself were safe. They were some way from home, +and Giles was the biggest and heaviest of them all. +</p> + +<p> +“Would that Kit Smallbones were here!” said Stephen, preparing to +take the feet, while Edmund took the shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” said Will Wherry, pulling Ambrose’s sleeve, +“our yard is much nearer, and the old Moor, Master Michael, is safe to +know what to do for him. That sort of cattle always are leeches. He wiled the +pain from my thumb when ’twas crushed in our printing press. Mayhap if he +put some salve to him, he might get home on his own feet.” +</p> + +<p> +Edmund listened. “There’s reason in that,” he said. +“Dost know this leech, Ambrose?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know him well. He is a good old man, and wondrous wise. Nay, no black +arts; but he saith his folk had great skill in herbs and the like, and though +he be no physician by trade, he hath much of their lore.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have with thee, then,” returned Edmund, “the rather that +Giles is no small weight, and the guard might come on us ere we reached the +Dragon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Or those cowardly rogues of the Eagle might set on us again,” +added Stephen; and as they went on their way to Warwick Inner Yard, he +explained that the cause of the encounter had been that Giles had thought fit +to prank himself in his father’s silver chain, and thus George Bates, +always owing the Dragon a grudge, and rendered specially malicious since the +encounter on Holy Rood Day, had raised the cry against him, and caused all the +flat-caps around to make a rush at the gaud as lawful prey. +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis clean against prentice statutes to wear one, is it +not?” asked Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” returned Stephen; “yet none of us but would stand up +for our own comrade against those meddling fellows of the Eagle.” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” added Edmund, “we must beware the guard, for if they +looked into the cause of the fray, our master might be called on to give Giles +a whipping in the Company’s hall, this being a second offence of going +abroad in these vanities.” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose went on before to prepare Miguel Abenali, and entreat his good offices, +explaining that the youth’s master, who was also his kinsman, would be +sure to give handsome payment for any good offices to him. He scarcely got out +half the words; the grand old Arab waved his hand and said, “When the +wounded is laid before the tent of Ben Ali, where is the question of +recompense? Peace be with thee, my son! Bring him hither. Aldonza, lay the +carpet yonder, and the cushions beneath the window, where I may have light to +look to his hurt.” +</p> + +<p> +Therewith he murmured a few words in an unknown tongue, which, as Ambrose +understood, were an invocation to the God of Abraham to bless his endeavours to +heal the stranger youth, but which happily were spoken before the arrival of +the others, who would certainly have believed them an incantation. +</p> + +<p> +The carpet though worn threadbare, was a beautiful old Moorish rug, once +glowing with brilliancy, and still rich in colouring, and the cushion was of +thick damask faded to a strange pale green. All in that double-stalled +partition, once belonging to the great earl’s war-horses, was +scrupulously clean, for the Christian Moor had retained some of the peculiar +virtues born of Mohammedanism and of high civilisation. The apprentice lads +tramped in much as if they had been entering a wizard’s cave, though +Stephen had taken care to assure Edmund of his application of the test of holy +water. +</p> + +<p> +Following the old man’s directions, Edmund and Stephen deposited their +burden on the rug. Aldonza brought some warm water, and Abenali washed and +examined the wound, Aldonza standing by and handing him whatever he needed, now +and then assisting with her slender brown hands in a manner astonishing to the +youths, who stood by anxious and helpless, while their companion began to show +signs of returning life. +</p> + +<p> +Abenali pronounced that the stone had missed the eyeball, but the cut and +bruise were such as to require constant bathing, and the blow on the head was +the more serious matter, for when the patient tried to raise himself he +instantly became sick and giddy, so that it would be wise to leave him where he +was. This was much against the will of Edmund Burgess, who shared all the +prejudices of the English prentice against the foreigner—perhaps a wizard +and rival in trade; but there was no help for it, and he could only insist that +Stephen should mount guard over the bed until he had reported to his master, +and returned with his orders. Therewith he departed, with such elaborate thanks +and courtesies to the host, as betrayed a little alarm in the tall apprentice, +who feared not quarter-staff, nor wrestler, and had even dauntlessly confronted +the masters of his guild! +</p> + +<p> +Stephen, sooth to say, was not very much at ease; everything around had such a +strange un-English aspect, and he imploringly muttered, “Bide with me, +Am!” to which his brother willingly assented, being quite as comfortable +in Master Michael’s abode as by his aunt’s own hearth. +</p> + +<p> +Giles meanwhile lay quiet, and then, as his senses became less confused, and he +could open one eye, he looked dreamily about him, and presently began to demand +where he was, and what had befallen him, grasping at the hand of Ambrose as if +to hold fast by something familiar; but he still seemed too much dazed to enter +into the explanation, and presently murmured something about thirst. Aldonza +came softly up with a cup of something cool. He looked very hard at her, and +when Ambrose would have taken it from her hand to give it to him, he said, +“Nay! <i>She</i>!” +</p> + +<p> +And <i>she</i>, with a sweet smile in her soft, dark, shady eyes, and on her +full lips, held the cup to his lips far more daintily and dexterously than +either of his boy companions could have done; then when he moaned and said his +head and eye pained him, the white-bearded elder came and bathed his brow with +the soft sponge. It seemed all to pass before him like a dream, and it was not +much otherwise with his unhurt companions, especially Stephen, who followed +with wonder the movements made by the slippered feet of father and daughter +upon the mats which covered the stone flooring of the old stable. The mats were +only of English rushes and flags, and had been woven by Abenali and the child; +but loose rushes strewing the floor were accounted a luxury in the Forest, and +even at the Dragon court the upper end of the hall alone had any covering. Then +the water was heated, and all such other operations carried on over a curious +round vessel placed over charcoal; the window and the door had dark heavy +curtains; and a matted partition cut off the further stall, no doubt to serve +as Aldonza’s chamber. Stephen looked about for something to assure him +that the place belonged to no wizard enchanter, and was glad to detect a large +white cross on the wall, with a holy-water stoup beneath it, but of images +there were none. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to him a long time before Master Headley’s ruddy face, full of +anxiety, appeared at the door. +</p> + +<p> +Blows were, of course, no uncommon matter; perhaps so long as no permanent +injury was inflicted, the master-armourer had no objection to anything that +might knock the folly out of his troublesome young inmate; but Edmund had made +him uneasy for the youth’s eye, and still more so about the quarters he +was in, and he had brought a mattress and a couple of men to carry the patient +home, as well as Steelman, his prime minister, to advise him. +</p> + +<p> +He had left all these outside, however, and advanced, civilly and +condescendingly thanking the sword-cutler, in perfect ignorance that the man +who stood before him had been born to a home that was an absolute palace +compared with the Dragon court. The two men were a curious contrast. There +stood the Englishman with his sturdy form inclining, with age, to corpulence, +his broad honest face telling of many a civic banquet, and his short stubbly +brown grizzled beard; his whole air giving a sense of worshipful authority and +weight; and opposite to him the sparely made, dark, thin, aquiline-faced, +white-bearded Moor, a far smaller man in stature, yet with a patriarchal +dignity, refinement, and grace in port and countenance, belonging as it were to +another sphere. +</p> + +<p> +Speaking English perfectly, though with a foreign accent, Abenali informed +Master Headley that his young kinsman would by Heaven’s blessing soon +recover without injury to the eye, though perhaps a scar might remain. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Headley thanked him heartily for his care, and said that he had brought men +to carry the youth home, if he could not walk; and then he went up to the couch +with a hearty “How now, Giles? So thou hast had hard measure to knock the +foolery out of thee, my poor lad. But come, we’ll have thee home, and my +mother will see to thee.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot walk,” said Giles, heavily, hardly raising his eyes, and +when he was told that two of the men waited to bear him home, he only entreated +to be let alone. Somewhat sharply, Mr. Headley ordered him to sit up and make +ready, but when he tried to do so, he sank back with a return of sickness and +dizziness. +</p> + +<p> +Abenali thereupon intreated that he might be left for that night, and stepping +out into the court so as to be unheard by the patient, explained that the brain +had had a shock, and that perfect quiet for some hours to come was the only way +to avert a serious illness, possibly dangerous. Master Headley did not like the +alternative at all, and was a good deal perplexed. He beckoned to Tibble +Steelman, who had all this time been talking to Lucas Hansen, and now came up +prepared with his testimony that this Michael was a good man and true, a godly +one to boot, who had been wealthy in his own land and was a rare artificer in +his own craft. +</p> + +<p> +“Though he hath no license to practise it here,” threw in Master +Headley, <i>sotto voce</i>; but he accepted the assurance that Michael was a +good Christian, and, with his daughter, regularly went to mass; and since +better might not be, he reluctantly consented to leave Giles under his +treatment, on Lucas reiterating the assurance that he need have no fears of +magic or foul play of any sort. He then took the purse that hung at his girdle, +and declared that Master Michael (the title of courtesy was wrung from him by +the stately appearance of the old man) must be at no charges for his cousin. +</p> + +<p> +But Abenali with a grace that removed all air of offence from his manner, +returned thanks for the intention, but declared that it never was the custom of +the sons of Ali to receive reward for the hospitality they exercised to the +stranger within their gates. And so it was that Master Headley, a good deal +puzzled, had to leave his apprentice under the roof of the old sword-cutler for +the night at least. +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis passing strange,” said he, as he walked back; “I +know not what my mother will say, but I wish all may be right. I feel—I +feel as if I had left the lad Giles with Abraham under the oak tree, as we saw +him in the miracle play!” +</p> + +<p> +This description did not satisfy Mrs. Headley, indeed she feared that her son +was likewise bewitched; and when, the next morning, Stephen, who had been sent +to inquire for the patient, reported him better, but still unable to be moved, +since he could not lift his head without sickness, she became very anxious. +Giles was transformed in her estimate from a cross-grained slip to poor Robin +Headley’s boy, the only son of a widow, and nothing would content her but +to make her son conduct her to Warwick Inner Yard to inspect matters, and carry +thither a precious relic warranted proof against all sorcery. +</p> + +<p> +It was with great trepidation that the good old dame ventured, but the result +was that she was fairly subdued by Abenali’s patriarchal dignity. She had +never seen any manners to equal his, not <i>even</i> when King Edward the +Fourth had come to her father’s house at the Barbican, chucked her under +the chin, and called her a dainty duck! +</p> + +<p> +It was Aldonza, however, who specially touched her feelings. Such a sweet +little wench, with the air of being bred in a kingly or knightly court, to be +living there close to the very dregs of the city was a scandal and a +danger—speaking so prettily too, and knowing how to treat her elders. She +would be a good example for Dennet, who, sooth to say, was getting too old for +spoilt-child sauciness to be always pleasing, while as to Giles, he could not +be in better quarters. Mrs. Headley, well used to the dressing of the burns and +bruises incurred in the weapon smiths’ business, could not but confess +that his eye had been dealt with as skilfully as she could have done it +herself. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV.<br /> +THE KNIGHT OF THE BADGER</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“I am a gentleman of a company.” +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">Shakespeare</span>. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Giles Headley’s</span> accident must have amounted to +concussion of the brain, for though he was able to return to the Dragon in a +couple of days, and the cut over his eye was healing fast, he was weak and +shaken, and did not for several weeks recover his usual health. The noise and +heat of the smithy were distressing to him, and there was no choice but to let +him lie on settles, sun himself on the steps, and attempt no work. +</p> + +<p> +It had tamed him a good deal. Smallbones said the letting out of malapert blood +was wholesome, and others thought him still under a spell; but he seemed to +have parted with much of his arrogance, either because he had not spirits for +self-assertion, or because something of the grand eastern courtesy of Abenali +had impressed him. For intercourse with the Morisco had by no means ceased. +Giles went, as long as the injury required it, to have the hurt dressed, and +loitered in the Inner Yard a long time every day, often securing some small +dainty for Aldonza—an apple, a honey cake, a bit of marchpane, a dried +plum, or a comfit. One day he took her a couple of oranges. To his surprise, as +he entered, Abenali looked up with a strange light in his eyes, and exclaimed, +“My son! thy scent is to my nostrils as the court of my father’s +house!” Then, as he beheld the orange, he clasped his hands, took it in +them, and held it to his breast, pouring out a chant in an unknown tongue, +while the tears flowed down his cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“Father, father!” Aldonza cried, terrified, while Giles marvelled +whether the orange worked on him like a spell. But he perceived their +amazement, and spoke again in English, “I thank thee, my son! Thou hast +borne me back for a moment to the fountain in my father’s house, where ye +grow, ye trees of the unfading leaf, the spotless blossom, and golden fruit! Ah +Ronda! Ronda! Land of the sunshine, the deep blue sky, and snow-topped hills! +Land where are the graves of my father and mother! How pines and sickens the +heart of the exile for thee! O happy they who died beneath the sword or flame, +for they knew not the lonely home-longing of the exile. Ah! ye golden fruits! +One fragrant breath of thee is as a waft of the joys of my youth! Are ye +foretastes of the fruits of Paradise, the true home to which I may yet come, +though I may never, never see the towers and hills of Ronda more?” +</p> + +<p> +Giles knew not what to make of this outburst. He kept it to himself as too +strange to be told. The heads of the family were willing that he should carry +these trifles to the young child of the man who would accept no reward for his +hospitality. Indeed, Master Headley spent much consideration on how to +recompense the care bestowed on his kinsman. +</p> + +<p> +Giles suggested that Master Michael had just finished the most beautiful sword +blade he had ever seen, and had not yet got a purchaser for it; it was far +superior to the sword Tibble had just completed for my Lord of Surrey. Thereat +the whole court broke into an outcry; that any workman should be supposed to +turn out any kind of work surpassing Steelman’s was rank heresy, and +Master Headley bluntly told Giles that he knew not what he was talking of! He +might perhaps purchase the blade by way of courtesy and return of kindness, +but—good English workmanship for him! +</p> + +<p> +However, Giles was allowed to go and ask the price of the blade, and bring it +to be looked at. When he returned to the court he found, in front of the +building where finished suits were kept for display, a tall, thin, wiry, +elderly man, deeply bronzed, and with a scar on his brow. Master Headley and +Tibble were both in attendance, Tib measuring the stranger, and Stephen, who +was standing at a respectful distance, gave Giles the information that this was +the famous Captain of Free-lances, Sir John Fulford, who had fought in all the +wars in Italy, and was going to fight in them again, but wanted a suit of +“our harness.” +</p> + +<p> +The information was hardly needed, for Sir John, in a voice loud enough to lead +his men to the battle-field, and with all manner of strong asseverations in all +sorts of languages, was explaining the dints and blows that had befallen the +mail he had had from Master Headley eighteen years ago, when he was but a +squire; how his helmet had endured tough blows, and saved his head at Novara, +but had been crushed like an egg shell by a stone from the walls at Barletta, +which had nearly been his own destruction: and how that which he at present +wore (beautifully chased and in a classical form) was taken from a dead Italian +Count on the field of Ravenna, but always sat amiss on him; and how he had +broken his good sword upon one of the rascally Swiss only a couple of months +ago at Marignano. Having likewise disabled his right arm, and being well off +through the payment of some ransoms, he had come home partly to look after his +family, and partly to provide himself with a full suit of English harness, his +present suit being a patchwork of relics of numerous battle-fields. Only one +thing he desired, a true Spanish sword, not only Toledo or Bilboa in name, but +nature. He had seen execution done by the weapons of the soldiers of the Great +Captain, and been witness to the endurance of their metal, and this made him +demand whether Master Headley could provide him with the like. +</p> + +<p> +Giles took the moment for stepping forward and putting Abenali’s work +into the master’s hand. The Condottiere was in raptures. He pronounced it +as perfect a weapon as Gonzalo de Cordova himself could possess; showed off its +temper and his own dexterity by piercing and cutting up an old cuirass, and +invited the bystanders to let him put it to further proof by letting him slice +through an apple placed on the open palm of the hand. +</p> + +<p> +Giles’s friendship could not carry him so far as to make the venture; Kit +Smallbones observed that he had a wife and children, and could not afford to +risk his good right hand on a wandering soldier’s bravado; Edmund was +heard saying, “Nay, nay, Steve, don’t be such a fool,” but +Stephen was declaring he would not have the fellow say that English lads hung +back from what rogues of France and Italy would dare. +</p> + +<p> +“No danger for him who winceth not,” said the knight. +</p> + +<p> +Master Headley, a very peaceful citizen in his composition in spite of his +trade, was much inclined to forbid Stephen from the experiment, but he +refrained, ashamed and unwilling to daunt a high spirit; and half the +household, eager for the excitement, rushed to the kitchen in quest of apples, +and brought out all the women to behold, and add a clamour of remonstrance. Sir +John, however, insisted that they should all be ordered back again. “Not +that the noise and clamour of women folk makes any odds to me,” said the +grim old warrior, “I’ve seen too many towns taken for that, but it +might make the lad queasy, and cost him a thumb or so.” +</p> + +<p> +Of course this renewed the dismay and excitement, and both Tibble and his +master entreated Stephen to give up the undertaking if he felt the least +misgiving as to his own steadiness, arguing that they should not think him any +more a craven than they did Kit Smallbones or Edmund Burgess. But +Stephen’s mind was made up, his spirit was high, and he was resolved to +go through with it. +</p> + +<p> +He held out his open hand, a rosy-checked apple was carefully laid on it. The +sword flashed through the air—divided in half the apple which remained on +Stephen’s palm. There was a sharp shriek from a window, drowned in the +acclamations of the whole court, while the Captain patted Stephen on the +shoulder, exclaiming, “Well done, my lad. There’s the making of a +tall fellow in thee! If ever thou art weary of making weapons and wouldst use +them instead, seek out John Fulford, of the Badger troop, and thou shalt have a +welcome. Our name is the Badger, because there’s no troop like us for +digging out mines beneath the walls.” +</p> + +<p> +A few months ago such an invitation would have been bliss to Stephen. Now he +was bound in all honour and duty to his master, and could only thank the knight +of the Badger, and cast a regretful eye at him, as he drank a cup of wine, and +flung a bag of gold and silver, supplemented by a heavy chain, to Master +Headley, who prudently declined working for Free Companions, unless he were +paid beforehand; and, at the knight’s request, took charge of a +sufficient amount to pay his fare back again to the Continent. Then mounting a +tall, lean, bony horse, the knight said he should call for his armour on +returning from Somerset, and rode off, while Stephen found himself exalted as a +hero in the eyes of his companions for an act common enough at feats of arms +among modern cavalry, but quite new to the London flat-caps. The only sufferer +was little Dennet, who had burst into an agony of crying at the sight, needed +that Stephen should spread out both hands before her, and show her the divided +apple, before she would believe that his thumb was in its right place, and at +night screamed out in her sleep that the ill-favoured man was cutting off +Stephen’s hands. +</p> + +<p> +The sword was left behind by Sir John in order that it might be fitted with a +scabbard and belt worthy of it; and on examination, Master Headley and Tibble +both confessed that they could produce nothing equal to it in workmanship, +though Kit looked with contempt at the slight weapon of deep blue steel, with +lines meandering on it like a watered silk, and the upper part inlaid with gold +wire in exquisite arabesque patterns. He called it a mere toy, and muttered +something about sorcery, and men who had been in foreign parts not thinking +honest weight of English steel good enough for them. +</p> + +<p> +Master Headley would not trust one of the boys with the good silver coins that +had been paid as the price of the sword—French crowns and Milanese +ducats, with a few Venetian gold bezants—but he bade them go as guards to +Tibble, for it was always a perilous thing to carry a sum of money through the +London streets. Tibble was not an unwilling messenger. He knew Master Michael +to be somewhat of his own way of thinking, and he was a naturally large-minded +man who could appreciate skill higher than his own without jealousy. Indeed, he +and his master held a private consultation on the mode of establishing a +connection with Michael and profiting by his ability. +</p> + +<p> +To have lodged him at the Dragon court and made him part of the establishment +might have seemed the most obvious way, but the dogged English hatred and +contempt of foreigners would have rendered this impossible, even if Abenali +himself would have consented to give up his comparative seclusion and live in a +crowd and turmoil. +</p> + +<p> +But he was thankful to receive and execute orders from Master Headley, since so +certain a connection would secure Aldonza from privation such as the child had +sometimes had to endure in the winter; when, though the abstemious Eastern +nature needed little food, there was great suffering from cold and lack of +fuel. And Tibble moreover asked questions and begged for instructions in some +of the secrets of the art. It was an effort to such a prime artificer as +Steelman to ask instruction from any man, especially a foreigner, but Tibble +had a nature of no common order, and set perfection far above class prejudice; +and moreover, he felt Abenali to be one of those men who had their inner eyes +devotedly fixed on the truth, though little knowing where the quest would lead +them. +</p> + +<p> +On his side Abenali underwent a struggle. “Woe is me!” he said. +“Wottest thou, my son, that the secrets of the sword of light and +swiftness are the heritage that Abdallah Ben Ali brought from Damascus in the +hundred and fifty-third year of the flight of him whom once I termed the +prophet; nor have they departed from our house, but have been handed on from +father to son. And shall they be used in the wars of the stranger and the +Christian?” +</p> + +<p> +“I feared it might be thus,” said Tibble. +</p> + +<p> +“And yet,” went on the old man, as if not hearing him, +“wherefore should I guard the secret any longer? My sons? Where are they? +They brooked not the scorn and hatred of the Castillian which poisoned to them +the new faith. They cast in their lot with their own people, and that their +bones may lie bleaching on the mountains is the best lot that can have befallen +the children of my youth and hope. The house of Miguel Abenali is desolate and +childless, save for the little maiden who sits by my hearth in the land of my +exile! Why should I guard it longer for him who may wed her, and whom I may +never behold? The will of Heaven be done! Young man, if I bestow this knowledge +on thee, wilt thou swear to be as a father to my daughter, and to care for her +as thine own?” +</p> + +<p> +It was a good while since Tibble had been called a young man, and as he +listened to the flowing Eastern periods in their foreign enunciation, he was +for a moment afraid that the price of the secret was that he should become the +old Moor’s son-in-law! His seared and scarred youth had precluded +marriage, and he entertained the low opinion of women frequent in men of +superior intellect among the uneducated. Besides, the possibilities of giving +umbrage to Church authorities were dawning on him, and he was not willing to +form any domestic ties, so that in every way such a proposition would have been +unwelcome to him. But he had no objection to pledge himself to fatherly +guardianship of the pretty child in case of a need that might never arise. So +he gave the promise, and became a pupil of Abenali, visiting Warwick Inner Yard +with his master’s consent whenever he could be spared, while the +workmanship at the Dragon began to profit thereby. +</p> + +<p> +The jealousy of the Eagle was proportionately increased. Alderman Itillyeo, the +head of the Eagle, was friendly enough to Mr. Headley, but it was undeniable +that they were the rival armourers of London, dividing the favours of the Court +equally between them, and the bitterness of the emulation increased the lower +it went in the establishment. The prentices especially could hardly meet +without gibes and sneers, if nothing worse, and Stephen’s exploit had a +peculiar flavour because it was averred that no one at the Eagle would have +done the like. +</p> + +<p> +But it was not till the Sunday that Ambrose chanced to hear of the feat, at +which he turned quite pale, but he was prouder of it than any one else, and +although he rejoiced that he had not seen it performed, he did not fail to +boast of it at home, though Perronel began by declaring that she did not care +for the mad pranks of roistering prentices; but presently she paused, as she +stirred her grandfather’s evening posset, and said, “What saidst +thou was the strange soldier’s name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fulford—Sir John Fulford” said Ambrose. “What? I +thought not of it, is not that Gaffer’s name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fulford, yea! Mayhap—” and Perronel sat down and gave an odd +sort of laugh of agitation—“mayhap ’tis mine own +father.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shouldst thou know him, good aunt?” cried Ambrose, much excited. +</p> + +<p> +“Scarce,” she said. “I was not seven years old when he went +to the wars—if so be he lived through the battle—and he reeked +little of me, being but a maid. I feared him greatly and so did my mother. +’Twas happier with only Gaffer! Where saidst thou he was gone?” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose could not tell, but he undertook to bring Stephen to answer all queries +on the subject. His replies that the Captain was gone in quest of his family to +Somersetshire settled the matter, since there had been old Martin +Fulford’s abode, and there John Fulford had parted with his wife and +father. They did not, however, tell the old man of the possibility of his +son’s being at home, he had little memory, and was easily thrown into a +state of agitation; besides, it was a doubtful matter how the Condottiere would +feel as to the present fortunes of the family. Stephen was to look out for his +return in quest of his suit of armour, inform him of his father’s being +alive, and show him the way to the little house by the Temple Gardens; but +Perronel gave the strictest injunctions that her husband’s profession +should not be explained. It would be quite enough to say that he was of the +Lord Cardinal’s household. +</p> + +<p> +Stephen watched, but the armour was finished and Christmas passed by before +anything was seen of the Captain. At last, however, he did descend on the +Dragon court, looking so dilapidated that Mr. Headley rejoiced in the having +received payment beforehand. He was louder voiced and fuller of strange oaths +than ever, and in the utmost haste, for he had heard tidings that “there +was to be a lusty game between the Emperor and the Italians, and he must have +his share.” +</p> + +<p> +Stephen made his way up to speak to him, and was received with “Ha, my +gallant lad! Art weary of hammer and anvil? Wouldst be a brave Badger, slip +thine indentures, and hear helm and lance ring in good earnest?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not so, sir,” said Stephen, “but I have been bidden to ask +if thou hast found thy father?” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that to thee, stripling? When thou hast cut thy wisdom +teeth, thou’lt know old fathers be not so easy found. ’Twas a wild +goose chase, and I wot not what moved me to run after it. I met jolly comrades +enough, bumpkins that could drink with an honest soldier when they saw him, but +not one that ever heard the name of Fulford.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” said Stephen, “I know an old man named Fulford. His +granddaughter is my uncle’s wife, and they dwell by the Temple.” +</p> + +<p> +The intelligence seemed more startling and less gratifying than Stephen had +expected. Sir John demanded whether they were poor, and declared that he had +better have heard of them when his purse was fuller. He had supposed that his +wife had given him up and found a fresh mate, and when he heard of her death, +he made an exclamation which might be pity, but had in it something of relief. +He showed more interest about his old father; but as to his daughter, if she +had been a lad now, a’ might have been a stout comrade by this time, +ready to do the Badger credit. Yea, his poor Kate was a good lass, but she was +only a Flemish woman and hadn’t the sense to rear aught but a whining +little wench, who was of no good except to turn fools’ heads, and she was +wedded and past all that by this time. +</p> + +<p> +Stephen explained that she was wedded to one of the Lord Cardinal’s +meiné. +</p> + +<p> +“Ho!” said the Condottiere, pausing, “be that the +butcher’s boy that is pouring out his gold to buy scarlet hats, if not +the three crowns. ’Tis no bad household wherein to have a footing. Saidst +thou I should find my wench and the old Gaffer there?” +</p> + +<p> +Stephen had to explain, somewhat to the disappointment of the Captain, who had, +as it appeared, in the company of three or four more adventurous spirits like +himself, taken a passage in a vessel lying off Gravesend, and had only turned +aside to take up his new armour and his deposit of passage-money. He demurred a +little, he had little time to spare, and though, of course, he could take boat +at the Temple Stairs, and drop down the river, he observed that it would have +been a very different thing to go home to the old man when he first came back +with a pouch full of ransoms and plunder, whereas now he had barely enough to +carry him to the place of meeting with his Badgers. And there was the wench +too—he had fairly forgotten her name. Women were like she wolves for +greed when they had a brood of whelps. +</p> + +<p> +Stephen satisfied him that there was no danger on that score, and heard him +muttering, that it was no harm to secure a safe harbour in case a man +hadn’t the luck to be knocked on the head ere he grew too old to trail a +pike. And he would fain see the old man. +</p> + +<p> +So permission was asked for Stephen to show the way to Master Randall’s, +and granted somewhat reluctantly, Master Headley saying, “I’ll have +thee back within an hour, Stephen Birkenholt, and look thou dost not let thy +brain be set afire with this fellow’s windy talk of battles and sieges, +and deeds only fit for pagans and wolves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay!” said Tibble, perhaps with a memory of the old fable, +“better be the trusty mastiff than the wolf.” +</p> + +<p> +And like the wolf twitting the mastiff with his chain, the soldier was no +sooner outside the door of the Dragon court before he began to express his +wonder how a lad of mettle could put up with a flat cap, a blue gown, and the +being at the beck and call of a greasy burgher, when a bold, handsome young +knave like him might have the world before him and his stout pike. +</p> + +<p> +Stephen was flattered, but scarcely tempted. The hard selfishness and want of +affection of the Condottiere shocked him, while he looked about, hoping some of +his acquaintance would see him in company with this tall figure clanking in +shining armour, and with a knightly helmet and gilt spurs. The armour, new and +brilliant, concealed the worn and shabby leathern dress beneath, and gave the +tall, spare figure a greater breadth, diminishing the look of a hungry wolf +which Sir John Fulford’s aspect suggested. However, as he passed some of +the wealthier stalls, where the apprentices, seeing the martial figure, +shouted, “What d’ye lack, sir knight?” and offered silk and +velvet robes and mantles, gay sword knots, or even rich chains, under all the +clamour, Stephen heard him swearing by St. George what a place this would be +for a sack, if his Badgers were behind him. +</p> + +<p> +“If that poor craven of a Warbeck had had a spark of valour in +him,” quoth he, as he passed a stall gay with bright tankards and +flagons, “we would have rattled some of that shining gear about the lazy +citizens’ ears! He, jolly King Edward’s son! I’ll never give +faith to it! To turn his back when there was such a booty to be had for the +plundering.” +</p> + +<p> +“He might not have found it so easy. Our trainbands are sturdy +enough,” said Stephen, whose <i>esprit de corps</i> was this time on the +Londoners’ side, but the knight of the Badger snapped his fingers, and +said, “So much for your burgher trainbands! All they be good for with +their show of fight is to give honest landsknechts a good reason to fall on to +the plunder, if so be one is hampered by a squeamish prince. But grammercy to +St. George, there be not many of that sort after they he once fleshed!” +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps a year ago, when fresh from the Forest, Stephen might have been more +captivated by the notion of adventure and conquest. Now that he had his place +in the community and looked on a civic position with wholesome ambition, +Fulford’s longings for havoc in these peaceful streets made his blood run +cold. He was glad when they reached their destination, and he saw Perronel with +bare arms, taking in some linen cuffs and bands from a line across to the +opposite wall. He could only call out, “Good naunt, here he be!” +</p> + +<p> +Perronel turned round, the colour rising in her cheeks, with an obeisance, but +trembling a good deal. “How now, wench? Thou art grown a buxom dame. Thou +makst an old man of me,” said the soldier with a laugh. +“Where’s my father? I have not the turning of a cup to stay, for +I’m come home poor as a cat in a plundered town, and am off to the wars +again; but hearing that the old man was nigh at hand, I came this way to see +him, and let thee know thou art a knight’s daughter. Thou art indifferent +comely, girl, what’s thy name? but not the peer of thy mother when I +wooed her as one of the bonny lasses of Bruges.” +</p> + +<p> +He gave a kind of embrace, while she gave a kind of gasp of “Welcome, +sir,” and glanced somewhat reproachfully at Stephen for not having given +her more warning. The cause of her dismay was plain as the Captain, giving her +no time to precede him, strode into the little chamber, where Hal Randall, +without his false beard or hair, and in his parti-coloured hose, was seated by +the cupboard-like bed, assisting old Martin Fulford to take his midday meal. +</p> + +<p> +“Be this thine husband, girl? Ha! ha! He’s more like a jolly friar +come in to make thee merry when the good man is out!” exclaimed the +visitor, laughing loudly at his own rude jest; but heeding little either +Hal’s appearance or his reply, as he caught the old man’s +bewildered eyes, and heard his efforts to utter his name. +</p> + +<p> +For eighteen years had altered John Fulford less than either his father or his +daughter, and old Martin recognised him instantly, and held out the only arm he +could use, while the knight, softened, touched, and really feeling more natural +affection than Stephen had given him credit for, dropped on his knee, breaking +into indistinct mutterings with rough but hearty greetings, regretting that he +had not found his father sooner, when his pouch was full, lamenting the change +in him, declaring that he must hurry away now, but promising to come back with +sacks of Italian ducats to provide for the old man. +</p> + +<p> +Those who could interpret the imperfect utterance, now further choked by tears +and agitation, knew that there was a medley of broken rejoicings, blessings, +and weepings, in the midst of which the soldier, glad perhaps to end a scene +where he became increasingly awkward and embarrassed, started up, hastily +kissed the old man on each of his withered cheeks, gave another kiss to his +daughter, threw her two Venetian ducats, bidding her spend them for the old +man, and he would bring a pouchful more next time, and striding to the door, +bade Stephen call a boat to take him down to Gravesend. +</p> + +<p> +Randall, who had in the meantime donned his sober black gown in the inner +chamber, together with a dark hood, accompanied his newly found father-in-law +down the river, and Stephen would fain have gone too, but for the injunction to +return within the hour. +</p> + +<p> +Perronel had hurried back to her grandfather’s side to endeavour to +compose him after the shock of gladness. But it had been too much for his +enfeebled powers. Another stroke came on before the day was over, and in two or +three days more old Martin Fulford was laid to rest, and his son’s ducats +were expended on masses for his soul’s welfare. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV.<br /> +HEAVE HALF A BRICK AT HIM</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“For strangers then did so increase,<br /> + By reason of King Henry’s queen,<br /> +And privileged in many a place<br /> + To dwell, as was in London seen.<br /> +Poor tradesmen had small dealing then<br /> + And who but strangers bore the bell,<br /> +Which was a grief to Englishmen<br /> + To see them here in London dwell.” +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<i>Ill May Day</i>, <i>by</i> <span class="smcap">Churchill</span>, <i>a +Contemporary Poet</i>. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Time</span> passed on, and Edmund Burgess, who had been +sent from York to learn the perfection of his craft, completed his term and +returned to his home, much regretted in the Dragon court, where his good humour +and good sense had generally kept the peace, both within and without. +</p> + +<p> +Giles Headley was now the eldest prentice. He was in every way greatly +improved, thoroughly accepting his position, and showing himself quite ready +both to learn and to work; but he had not the will or the power of avoiding +disputes with outsiders, or turning them aside with a merry jest; and rivalries +and quarrels with the armoury at the Eagle began to increase. The Dragon, no +doubt, turned out finer workmanship, and this the Eagle alleged was wholly +owing to nefarious traffic with the old Spanish or Moorish sorcerer in Warwick +Inner Yard, a thing unworthy of honest Englishmen. This made Giles furious, and +the cry never failed to end in a fight, in which Stephen supported the cause of +the one house, and George Bates and his comrades of the other. +</p> + +<p> +It was the same with even the archery at Mile End, where the butts were +erected, and the youth contended with the long bow, which was still considered +as the safeguard of England. King Henry often looked in on these matches, and +did honour to the winners. One match there was in especial, on Mothering +Sunday, when the champions of each guild shot against one another at such a +range that it needed a keen eye to see the popinjay—a stuffed bird at +which they shot. +</p> + +<p> +Stephen was one of these, his forest lore having always given him an advantage +over many of the others. He even was one of the last three who were to finish +the sport by shooting against one another. One was a butcher named Barlow. The +other was a Walloon, the best shot among six hundred foreigners of various +nations, all of whom, though with little encouragement, joined in the national +sport on these pleasant spring afternoons. The first contest threw out the +Walloon, at which there were cries of ecstasy; now the trial was between Barlow +and Stephen, and in this final effort, the distance of the pole to which the +popinjay was fastened was so much increased that strength of arm told as much +as accuracy of aim, and Stephen’s seventeen years’ old muscles +could not, after so long a strain, cope with those of Ralph Barlow, a butcher +of full thirty years old. His wrist and arm began to shake with weariness, and +only one of his three last arrows went straight to the mark, while Barlow was +as steady as ever, and never once failed. Stephen was bitterly disappointed, +his eyes filled with tears, and he flung himself down on the turf feeling as if +the shouts of “A Barlow! a Barlow!” which were led by the jovial +voice of King Harry himself, were all exulting over him. +</p> + +<p> +Barlow was led up to the king, who hailed him “King of Shoreditch,” +a title borne by the champion archer ever after, so long as bowmanship in +earnest lasted. A tankard which the king filled with silver pieces was his +prize, but Henry did not forget No. 2. “Where’s the other +fellow?” he said. “He was but a stripling, and to my mind, his feat +was a greater marvel than that of a stalwart fellow like Barlow.” +</p> + +<p> +Half a dozen of the spectators, among them the cardinal’s jester, hurried +in search of Stephen, who was roused from his fit of weariness and +disappointment by a shake of the shoulder as his uncle jingled his bells in his +ears, and exclaimed, “How now, here I own a cousin!” Stephen sat up +and stared with angry, astonished eyes, but only met a laugh. “Ay, ay, +’tis but striplings and fools that have tears to spend for such as this! +Up, boy! Dye hear? The other Hal is asking for thee.” +</p> + +<p> +And Stephen, hastily brushing away his tears, and holding his flat cap in his +hand, was marshalled across the mead, hot, shy, and indignant, as the jester +mopped and mowed, and cut all sorts of antics before him, turning round to +observe in an encouraging voice, “Pluck up a heart, man! One would think +Hal was going to cut oft thine head!” And then, on arriving where the +king sat on his horse, “Here he is, Hal, such as he is come humbly to +crave thy gracious pardon for hitting the mark no better! He’ll mend his +ways, good my lord, if your grace will pardon him this time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, marry, and that will I,” said the king. “The springald +bids fair to be King of Shoreditch by the time the other fellow abdicates. How +old art thou, my lad?” +</p> + +<p> +“Seventeen, an it please your grace,” said Stephen, in the gruff +voice of his age. +</p> + +<p> +“And thy name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Stephen Birkenholt, my liege,” and he wondered whether he would be +recognised; but Henry only said— +</p> + +<p> +“Methinks I’ve seen those sloe-black eyes before. Or is it only +that the lad is thy very marrow, quipsome one?” +</p> + +<p> +“The which,” returned the jester, gravely, while Stephen tingled +all over with dismay, “may account for the tears the lad was wasting at +not having the thews of the fellow double his age! But I envy him not! Not I! +He’ll never have wit for mine office, but will come in second there +likewise.” +</p> + +<p> +“I dare be sworn he will,” said the king. “Here, take this, +my good lad, and prank thee in it when thou art out of thy time, and goest +a-hunting in Epping!” +</p> + +<p> +It was a handsome belt with a broad silver clasp, engraven with the Tudor rose +and portcullis; and Stephen bowed low and made his acknowledgments as best he +might. +</p> + +<p> +He was hailed with rapturous acclamations by his own contemporaries, who held +that he had saved the credit of the English prentice world, and insisted on +carrying him enthroned on their shoulders back to Cheapside, in emulation of +the journeymen and all the butcher kind, who were thus bearing home the King of +Shoreditch. +</p> + +<p> +Shouts, halloos, whistles, every jubilant noise that youth and boyhood could +invent, were the triumphant music of Stephen on his surging and uneasy throne, +as he was shifted from one bearer to another when each in turn grew tired of +his weight. Just, however, as they were nearing their own neighbourhood, a +counter cry broke out, “Witchcraft! His arrows are bewitched by the old +Spanish sorcerer! Down with Dragons and Wizards!” And a handful of mud +came full in the face of the enthroned lad, aimed no doubt by George Bates. +There was a yell and rush of rage, but the enemy was in numbers too small to +attempt resistance, and dashed off before their pursuers, only pausing at safe +corners to shout Parthian darts of “Wizards!” “Magic!” +“Sorcerers!” “Heretics!” +</p> + +<p> +There was nothing to be done but to collect again, and escort Stephen, who had +wiped the mud off his face, to the Dragon court, where Dennet danced on the +steps for joy, and Master Headley, not a little gratified, promised Stephen a +supper for a dozen of his particular friends at Armourers’ Hall on the +ensuing Easter Sunday. +</p> + +<p> +Of course Stephen went in search of his brother, all the more eagerly because +he was conscious that they had of late drifted apart a good deal. Ambrose was +more and more absorbed by the studies to which Lucas Hansen led him, and took +less and less interest in his brother’s pursuits. He did indeed come to +the Sunday’s dinner according to the regular custom, but the moment it +was permissible to leave the board he was away with Tibble Steelman to meet +friends of Lucas, and pursue studies, as if, Stephen thought, he had not enough +of books as it was. When Dean Colet preached or catechised in St. Paul’s +in the afternoon they both attended and listened, but that good man was in +failing health, and his wise discourses were less frequent. +</p> + +<p> +Where they were at other times, Stephen did not know, and hardly cared, except +that he had a general dislike to, and jealousy of, anything that took his +brother’s sympathy away from him. Moreover Ambrose’s face was +thinner and paler, he had a strange absorbed look, and often even when they +were together seemed hardly to attend to what his brother was saying. +</p> + +<p> +“I will make him come,” said Stephen to himself, as he went with +swinging gait towards Warwick Inner Yard, where, sure enough, he found Ambrose +sitting at the door, frowning over some black letter which looked most +uninviting in the eyes of the apprentice, and he fell upon his brother with +half angry, half merry reproofs for wasting the fine spring afternoon over such +studies. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose looked up with a dreamy smile and greeted his brother; but all the time +Stephen was narrating the history of the match (and he <i>did</i> tell the fate +of each individual arrow of his own or Barlow’s) his eyes were wandering +back to the crabbed page in his hand, and when Stephen impatiently wound up his +history with the invitation to supper on Easter Sunday, the reply was, +“Nay, brother, thanks, but that I cannot do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Cannot!” exclaimed Stephen. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, there are other matters in hand that go deeper.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, I know whatever concerns musty books goes deeper with thee than thy +brother,” replied Stephen, turning away much mortified. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose’s warm nature was awakened. He held his brother by the arm and +declared himself anything but indifferent to him, but he owned that he did not +love noise and revelry, above all on Sunday. +</p> + +<p> +“Thou art addling thy brains with preachings!” said Stephen. +“Pray Heaven they make not a heretic of thee. But thou mightest for once +have come to mine own feast.” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose, much perplexed and grieved at thus vexing his brother, declared that +he would have done so with all his heart, but that this very Easter Sunday +there was coming a friend of Master Hansen’s from Holland; who was to +tell them much of the teaching in Germany, which was so enlightening +men’s eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, truly, making heretics of them, Mistress Headley saith,” +returned Stephen. “O Ambrose, if thou wilt run after these books and +parchments, canst not do it in right fashion, among holy monks, as of +old?” +</p> + +<p> +“Holy monks!” repeated Ambrose. “Holy monks! Where be +they?” +</p> + +<p> +Stephen stared at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Hear uncle Hal talk of monks whom he sees at my Lord Cardinal’s +table! What holiness is there among them? Men, that have vowed to renounce all +worldly and carnal things flaunt like peacocks and revel like swine—my +Lord Cardinal with his silver pillars foremost of them! He poor and mortified! +’Tis verily as our uncle saith, he plays the least false and shameful +part there!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ambrose, Ambrose, thou wilt be distraught, poring over these matters +that were never meant for lads like us! Do but come and drive them out for once +with mirth and good fellowship.” +</p> + +<p> +“I tell thee, Stephen, what thou callest mirth and good fellowship do but +drive the pain in deeper. Sin and guilt be everywhere. I seem to see the devils +putting foul words on the tongue and ill deeds in the hands of myself and all +around me, that they may accuse us before God. No, Stephen, I cannot, cannot +come, I must go where I can hear of a better way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said Stephen, “what better way can there be than to be +shriven—clean shriven—and then houselled, as I was ere Lent, and +trust to be again on next Low Sunday morn? That’s enough for a plain +lad.” He crossed himself reverently, “Mine own Lord pardoneth and +cometh to me.” +</p> + +<p> +But the two minds, one simple and practical, the other sensitive and +speculative, did not move in the same atmosphere, and could not understand one +another. Ambrose was in the condition of excitement and bewilderment produced +by the first stirrings of the Reformation upon enthusiastic minds. He had +studied the Vulgate, made out something of the Greek Testament, read all +fragments of the Fathers that came in his way, and also all the controversial +“tractates,” Latin or Dutch, that he could meet with, and attended +many a secret conference between Lucas and his friends, when men, coming from +Holland or Germany, communicated accounts of the lectures and sermons of Dr. +Martin Luther, which already were becoming widely known. +</p> + +<p> +He was wretched under the continual tossings of his mind. Was the entire +existing system a vast delusion, blinding the eyes and destroying the souls of +those who trusted to it; and was the only safety in the one point of faith that +Luther pressed on all, and ought all that he had hitherto revered to crumble +down to let that alone be upheld? Whatever he had once loved and honoured at +times seemed to him a lie, while at others real affection and veneration, and +dread of sacrilege, made him shudder at himself and his own doubts! It was his +one thought, and he passionately sought after all those secret conferences +which did but feed the flame that consumed him. +</p> + +<p> +The elder men who were with him were not thus agitated. Lucas’s +convictions had not long been fixed. He did not court observation nor do +anything unnecessarily to bring persecution on himself, but he quietly and +secretly acted as an agent in dispersing the Lollard books and those of +Erasmus, and lived in the conviction that there would one day be a great crash, +believing himself to be doing his part by undermining the structure, and +working on undoubtingly. Abenali was not aggressive. In fact, though he was +reckoned among Lucas’s party, because of his abstinence from all cult of +saints or images, and the persecution he had suffered, he did not join in their +general opinions, and held aloof from their meetings. And Tibble Steelman, as +has been before said, lived two lives, and that as foreman at the Dragon court, +being habitual to him, and requiring much thought and exertion, the +speculations of the reformers were to him more like an intellectual relaxation +than the business of life. He took them as a modern artisan would in this day +read his newspaper, and attend his club meeting. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose, however, had the enthusiastic practicalness of youth. On that which he +fully believed, he must act, and what did he fully believe? +</p> + +<p> +Boy as he was—scarcely yet eighteen—the toils and sports that +delighted his brother seemed to him like toys amusing infants on the verge of +an abyss, and he spent his leisure either in searching in the Vulgate for +something to give him absolute direction, or in going in search of preachers, +for, with the stirring of men’s minds, sermons were becoming more +frequent. +</p> + +<p> +There was much talk just now of the preaching of one Doctor Beale, to whom all +the tradesmen, journeymen, and apprentices were resorting, even those who were +of no special religious tendencies. Ambrose went on Easter Tuesday to hear him +preach at St. Mary’s Spitall. The place was crowded with artificers, and +Beale began by telling them that he had “a pitiful bill,” meaning a +letter, brought to him declaring how aliens and strangers were coming in to +inhabit the City and suburbs, to eat the bread from poor fatherless children, +and take the living from all artificers and the intercourse from merchants, +whereby poverty was so much increased that each bewaileth the misery of others. +Presently coming to his text, “<i>Cœlum cœli Domini</i>, +<i>terram autem dedit filiis hominis</i>” (the Heaven of Heavens is the +Lord’s, the earth hath He given to the children of men), the doctor +inculcated that England was given to Englishmen, and that as birds would defend +their nests, so ought Englishmen to defend themselves, <i>and to hurt and +grieve aliens for the common weal</i>! The corollary a good deal resembled that +of “hate thine enemy” which was foisted by “them of the old +time” upon “thou shalt love thy neighbour.” And the doctor +went on upon the text, “<i>Pugna pro patriâ</i>,” to +demonstrate that fighting for one’s country meant rising upon and +expelling all the strangers who dwelt and traded within it. Many of these +foreigners were from the Hanse towns which had special commercial privileges, +there were also numerous Venetians and Genoese, French and Spaniards, the last +of whom were, above all, the objects of dislike. Their imports of silks, cloth +of gold, stamped leather, wine and oil, and their superior skill in many +handicrafts, had put English wares out of fashion; and their exports of wool, +tin, and lead excited equal jealousy, which Dr. Beale, instigated as was well +known by a broker named John Lincoln, was thus stirring up into fierce passion. +His sermon was talked of all over London; blacker looks than ever were directed +at the aliens, stones and dirt were thrown at them, and even Ambrose, as he +walked along the street, was reviled as the Dutchkin’s knave. The insults +became each day more daring and outrageous. George Bates and a skinner’s +apprentice named Studley were caught in the act of tripping up a portly old +Flanderkin and forthwith sent to Newgate, and there were other arrests, which +did but inflame the smouldering rage of the mob. Some of the wealthier +foreigners, taking warning by the signs of danger, left the City, for there +could be no doubt that the whole of London and the suburbs were in a +combustible condition of discontent, needing only a spark to set it alight. +</p> + +<p> +It was just about this time that a disreputable clerk—a lewd priest, as +Hall calls him—a hanger-on of the house of Howard, was guilty of an +insult to a citizen’s wife as she was quietly walking home through the +Cheap. Her husband and brother, who were nearer at hand than he guessed, +avenged the outrage with such good wills that this disgrace to the priesthood +was left dead on the ground. When such things happened, and discourses like +Beale’s were heard, it was not surprising that Ambrose’s faith in +the clergy as guides received severe shocks. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER XVI.<br /> +MAY EVE</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“The rich, the poor, the old, the young,<br /> +Beyond the seas though born and bred,<br /> +By prentices they suffered wrong,<br /> +When armed thus, they gather’d head.” +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<i>Ill May Day</i>. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">May</span> Eve had come, and little Dennet Headley was full +of plans for going out early with her young playfellows to the meadow to gather +May dew in the early morning, but her grandmother, who was in bed under a heavy +attack of rheumatism, did not like the reports brought to her, and deferred her +consent to the expedition. +</p> + +<p> +In the afternoon there were tidings that the Lord Mayor, Sir Thomas Rest had +been sent for to my Lord Cardinal, who just at this time, during the building +at York House, was lodging in his house close to Temple Bar. Some hours later a +message came to Master Alderman Headley to meet the Lord Mayor and the rest of +the Council at the Guildhall. He shook himself into his scarlet gown, and went +off, puffing and blowing, and bidding Giles and Stephen take heed that they +kept close, and ran into no mischief. +</p> + +<p> +But they agreed, and Kit Smallbones with them, that there could be no harm in +going into the open space of Cheapside and playing out a match with bucklers +between Giles and Wat Ball, a draper’s prentice who had challenged him. +The bucklers were huge shields, and the weapons were wooden swords. It was an +exciting sport, and brought out all the youths of Cheapside in the summer +evening, bawling out encouragement, and laying wagers on either side. The +curfew rang, but there were special privileges on May Eve, and the game went on +louder than ever. +</p> + +<p> +There was far too much noise for any one to hear the town crier, who went along +jingling his bell, and shouting, “O yes! O yes! O yes! By order of the +Lord Mayor and Council, no householder shall allow any one of his household to +be abroad beyond his gate between the hours of nine o’clock at night and +seven in the morning,” or if any of the outermost heard it, as did +Ambrose who was on his way home to his night quarters, they were too much +excited not to turn a deaf ear to it. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, however, just as Giles was preparing for a master-stroke, he was +seized roughly by the shoulder and bidden to give over. He looked round. It was +an alderman, not his master, but Sir John Mundy, an unpopular, harsh man. +</p> + +<p> +“Wherefore?” demanded Giles. +</p> + +<p> +“Thou shalt know,” said the alderman, seizing his arm to drag him +to the Counter prison, but Giles resisted. Wat Ball struck at Sir John’s +arm with his wooden sword, and as the alderman shouted for the watch and +city-guard, the lads on their side raised their cry, “Prentices and +Clubs! Flat-caps and Clubs!” Master Headley, struggling along, met his +colleague, with his gown torn into shreds from his back, among a host of wildly +yelling lads, and panting, “Help, help, brother Headley!” With +great difficulty the two aldermen reached the door of the Dragon, whence +Smallbones sallied out to rescue them, and dragged them in. +</p> + +<p> +“The boys!—the boys!” was Master Headley’s first cry, +but he might as well have tried to detach two particular waves from a surging +ocean as his own especial boys from the multitude on that wild evening. There +was no moon, and the twilight still prevailed, but it was dark enough to make +the confusion greater, as the cries swelled and numbers flowed into the open +space of Cheapside. In the words of Hall, the chronicler, “Out came +serving-men, and watermen, and courtiers, and by XI of the chock there were VI +or VII hundreds in Cheap. And out of Pawle’s Churchyard came III hundred +which wist not of the others.” For the most part all was invoked in the +semi-darkness of the summer night, but here and there light came from an upper +window on some boyish face, perhaps full of mischief, perhaps somewhat +bewildered and appalled. Here and there were torches, which cast a red glare +round them, but whose smoke blurred everything, and seemed to render the +darkness deeper. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps if the tumult had only been of the apprentices, provoked by Alderman +Mundy’s interference, they would soon have dispersed, but the throng was +pervaded by men with much deeper design, and a cry arose—no one knew from +whence—that they would break into Newgate and set free Studley and Bates. +</p> + +<p> +By this time the torrent of young manhood was quite irresistible by any force +that had yet been opposed to it. The Mayor and Sheriffs stood at the Guildhall, +and read the royal proclamation by the light of a wax candle, held in the +trembling hand of one of the clerks; but no one heard or heeded them, and the +uproar was increased as the doors of Newgate fell, and all the felons rushed +out to join the rioters. +</p> + +<p> +At the same time another shout rose, “Down with the aliens!” and +there was a general rush towards St. Martin’s gate, in which direction +many lived. There was, however, a pause here, for Sir Thomas More, Recorder of +London, stood in the way before St. Martin’s gate, and with his full +sweet voice began calling out and entreating the lads to go home, before any +heads were broken more than could be mended again. He was always a favourite, +and his good humour seemed to be making some impression, when, either from the +determination of the more evil disposed, or because the inhabitants of St. +Martin’s Lane were beginning to pour down hot water, stones, and +brickbats on the dense mass of heads below them, a fresh access of fury seized +upon the mob. Yells of “Down with the strangers!” echoed through +the narrow streets, drowning Sir Thomas’s voice. A lawyer who stood with +him was knocked down and much hurt, the doors were battered down, and the +household stuff thrown from the windows. Here, Ambrose, who had hitherto been +pushed helplessly about, and knocked hither and thither, was driven up against +Giles, and, to avoid falling and being trampled down, clutched hold of him +breathless and panting. +</p> + +<p> +“Thou here!” exclaimed Giles. “Who would have thought of +sober Ambrose in the midst of the fray? See here, Stevie!” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor old Ambrose!” cried Stephen, “keep close to us! +We’ll see no harm comes to thee. ’Tis hot work, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Stephen! could I but get out of the throng to warn my master and +Master Michael!” +</p> + +<p> +Those words seemed to strike Giles Headley. He might have cared little for the +fate of the old printer, but as he heard the screams of the women in the houses +around, he exclaimed, “Ay! there’s the old man and the little maid! +We will have her to the Dragon!” +</p> + +<p> +“Or to mine aunt’s,” said Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“Have with thee then,” said Giles: “Take his other arm, +Steve;” and locking their arms together the three fought and forced their +way from among the plunderers in St. Martin’s with no worse mishap than a +shower of hot water, which did not hurt them much through their stout woollen +coats. They came at last to a place where they could breathe, and stood still a +moment to recover from the struggle, and vituperate the hot water. +</p> + +<p> +Then they heard fresh howls and yells in front as well as behind. +</p> + +<p> +“They are at it everywhere,” exclaimed Stephen. “I hear them +somewhere out by Cornhill.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, where the Frenchmen live that calender worsted,” returned +Giles. “Come on; who knows how it is with the old man and little +maid?” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a sort in our court that are ready for aught,” said +Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +On they hurried in the darkness, which was now at the very deepest of the +night; now and then a torch was borne across the street, and most of the houses +had lights in the upper windows, for few Londoners slept on that strange night. +The stained glass of the windows of the Churches beamed in bright colours from +the Altar lights seen through them, but the lads made slower progress than they +wished, for the streets were never easy to walk in the dark, and twice they +came on mobs assailing houses, from the windows of one of which, French shoes +and boots were being hailed down. Things were moderately quiet around St. +Paul’s, but as they came into Warwick Lane they heard fresh shouts and +wild cries, and at the archway heading to the inner yard they could see that +there was a huge bonfire in the midst of the court—of what composed they +could not see for the howling figures that exulted round it. +</p> + +<p> +“George Bates, the villain!” cried Stephen, as his enemy in +exulting ferocious delight was revealed for a moment throwing a book on the +fire, and shouting, “Hurrah! there’s for the old sorcerer, +there’s for the heretics!” +</p> + +<p> +That instant Giles was flying on Bates, and Stephen, with equal, if not greater +fury, at one of his comrades; but Ambrose dashed through the outskirts of the +wildly screaming and shouting fellows, many of whom were the miscreant +population of the mews, to the black yawning doorway of his master. He saw only +a fellow staggering out with the screw of the press to feed the flame, and +hurried on in the din to call “Master, art thou there?” +</p> + +<p> +There was no answer, and he moved on to the next door, calling again softly, +while all the spoilers seemed absorbed in the fire and the combat. +“Master Michael! ’Tis I, Ambrose!” +</p> + +<p> +“Here, my son,” cautiously answered a voice he knew for Lucas +Hansen’s. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, master! master!” was his low, heart-stricken cry, as by the +leaping light of a flame he saw the pale face of the old printer, who drew him +in. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea! ’tis ruin, my son,” said Lucas. “And would that +that were the worst.” +</p> + +<p> +The light flashed and flickered through the broken window so that Ambrose saw +that the hangings had been torn down and everything wrecked, and a low sound as +of stifled weeping directed his eyes to a corner where Aldonza sat with her +father’s head on her lap. “Lives he? Is he greatly hurt?” +asked Ambrose, awe-stricken. +</p> + +<p> +“The life is yet in him, but I fear me greatly it is passing fast,” +said Lucas, in a low voice. “One of those lads smote him on the back with +a club, and struck him down at the poor maid’s feet, nor hath he moved +since. It was that one young Headley is fighting with,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +“Bates! ah! Would that we had come sooner! What! more of this +work—” +</p> + +<p> +For just then a tremendous outcry broke forth, and there was a rush and panic +among those who had been leaping round the fire just before. “The +guard!—the King’s men!” was the sound they presently +distinguished. They could hear rough abusive voices, shrieks and trampling of +feet. A few seconds more and all was still, only the fire remained, and in the +stillness the suppressed sobs and moans of Aldonza were heard. +</p> + +<p> +“A light! Fetch a light from the fire!” said Lucas. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose ran out. The flame was lessening, but he could see the dark bindings, +and the blackened pages of the books he loved so well. A corner of a page of +St. Augustine’s Confessions was turned towards him and lay on a singed +fragment of Aldonza’s embroidered curtain, while a little red flame was +licking the spiral folds of the screw, trying, as it were, to gather energy to +do more than blacken it. Ambrose could have wept over it at any other moment, +but now he could only catch up a brand—it was the leg of his +master’s carved chair—and run back with it. Lucas ventured to light +a lamp, and they could then see the old man’s face pale, but calm and +still, with his long white beard flowing over his breast. There was no blood, +no look of pain, only a set look about the eyes; and Aldonza cried “Oh, +father, thou art better! Speak to me! Let Master Lucas lift thee up!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, my child. I cannot move hand or foot. Let me be thus till the Angel +of Death come for me. He is very near.” He spoke in short sentences. +“Water—nay—no pain,” he added then, and Ambrose ran for +some water in the first battered fragment of a tin pot he could find. They +bathed his face and he gathered strength after a time to say “A +priest!—oh for a priest to shrive and housel me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will find one,” said Ambrose, speeding out into the court over +fragments of the beautiful work for which Abenali was hated, and over the torn, +half-burnt leaves of the beloved store of Lucas. The fire had died down, but +morning twilight was beginning to dawn, and all was perfectly still after the +recent tumult, though for a moment or two Ambrose heard some distant cries. +</p> + +<p> +Where should he go? Priests indeed were plentiful, but both his friends were in +bad odour with the ordinary ones. Lucas had avoided both the Lenten shrift and +Easter Communion, and what Miguel might have done, Ambrose was uncertain. Some +young priests had actually been among the foremost in sacking the dwellings of +the unfortunate foreigners, and Ambrose was quite uncertain whether he might +not fall on one of that stamp—or on one who might vex the old man’s +soul—perhaps deny him the Sacraments altogether. As he saw the pale +lighted windows of St. Paul’s, it struck him to see whether any one were +within. The light might be only from some of the tapers burning perpetually, +but the pale light in the north-east, the morning chill, and the clock striking +three, reminded him that it must be the hour of Prime, and he said to himself, +“Sure, if a priest be worshipping at this hour, he will be a good and +merciful man. I can but try.” +</p> + +<p> +The door of the transept yielded to his hand. He came forward, lighted through +the darkness by the gleam of the candles, which cast a huge and awful shadow +from the crucifix of the rood-screen upon the pavement. Before it knelt a black +figure in prayer. Ambrose advanced in some awe and doubt how to break in on +these devotions, but the priest had heard his step, rose and said, “What +is it, my son? Dost thou seek sanctuary after these sad doings?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, reverend sir,” said Ambrose. “’Tis a priest for a +dying man I seek;” and in reply to the instant question, where it was, he +explained in haste who the sufferer was, and how he had received a fatal blow, +and was begging for the Sacraments. “And oh, sir!” he added, +“he is a holy and God-fearing man, if ever one lived, and hath been +cruelly and foully entreated by jealous and wicked folk, who hated him for his +skill and industry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alack for the unhappy lads; and alack for those who egged them +on,” said the priest. “Truly they knew not what they did. I will +come with thee, my good youth. Thou hast not been one of them?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, truly sir, save that I was carried along and could not break from +the throng. I work for Lucas Hansen, the Dutch printer, whom they have likewise +plundered in their savage rage.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis well. Thou canst then bear this,” said the priest, +taking a thick wax candle. Then reverently advancing to the Altar, whence he +took the pyx, or gold case in which the Host was reserved, he lighted the +candle, which he gave, together with his stole, to the youth to bear before +him. +</p> + +<p> +Then, when the light fell full on his features, Ambrose with a strange thrill +of joy and trust perceived that it was no other than Dean Colet, who had here +been praying against the fury of the people. He was very thankful, feeling +intuitively that there was no fear but that Abenali would be understood, and +for his own part, the very contact with the man whom he revered seemed to calm +and soothe him, though on that solemn errand no word could be spoken. Ambrose +went on slowly before, his dark head uncovered, the priestly stole hanging over +his arm, his hands holding aloft the tall candle of virgin wax, while the Dean +followed closely with feeble steps, looking frail and worn, but with a grave, +sweet solemnity on his face. It was a perfectly still morning, and as they +slowly paced along, the flame burnt steadily with little flickering, while the +pure, delicately-coloured sky overhead was becoming every moment lighter, and +only the larger stars were visible. The houses were absolutely still, and the +only person they met, a lad creeping homewards after the fray, fell on his +knees bareheaded as he perceived their errand. Once or twice again sounds came +up from the city beneath, like shrieks or wailing breaking strangely on that +fair peaceful May morn; but still that pair went on till Ambrose had guided the +Dean to the yard, where, except that the daylight was revealing more and more +of the wreck around, all was as he had left it. Aldonza, poor child, with her +black hair hanging loose like a veil, for she had been startled from her bed, +still sat on the ground making her lap a pillow for the white-bearded head, +nobler and more venerable than ever. On it lay, in the absolute immobility +produced by the paralysing blow, the fine features already in the solemn +grandeur of death, and only the movement of the lips under the white flowing +beard and of the dark eyes showing life. +</p> + +<p> +Dean Colet said afterwards that he felt as if he had been called to the +death-bed of Israel, or of Barzillai the Gileadite, especially when the old +man, in the Oriental phraseology he had never entirely lost, said, “I +thank Thee, my God, and the God of my fathers, that Thou hast granted me that +which I had prayed for.” +</p> + +<p> +The Dutch printer was already slightly known to the Dean, having sold him many +books. A few words were exchanged with him, but it was plain that the dying man +could not be moved, and that his confession must he made on the lap of the +young girl. Colet knelt over him so as to be able to hear, while Lucas and +Ambrose withdraw, but were soon called back for the remainder of the service +for the dying. The old man’s face showed perfect peace. All worldly +thought and care seemed to have been crushed out of him by the blow, and he did +not even appear to think of the unprotected state of his daughter, although he +blessed her with solemn fervour immediately after receiving the +Viaticum—then lay murmuring to himself sentences which Ambrose, who had +learnt much from him, knew to be from his Arabic breviary about palm-branches, +and the twelve manner of fruits of the Tree of Life. +</p> + +<p> +It was a strange scene—the grand, calm, patriarchal old man, so peaceful +on his dark-haired daughter’s lap in the midst of the shattered home in +the old feudal stable. All were silent a while in awe, but the Dean was the +first to move and speak, calling Lucas forward to ask sundry questions of him. +</p> + +<p> +“Is there no good woman,” he asked, “who could be with this +poor child and take her home, when her father shall have passed away?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mine uncle’s wife, sir,” said Ambrose, a little doubtfully. +“I trow she would come—since I can certify her that your reverence +holds him for a holy man.” +</p> + +<p> +“I had thy word for it,” said the Dean. “Ah! reply not, my +son, I see well how it may be with you here. But tell those who will take the +word of John Colet that never did I mark the passing away of one who had borne +more for the true holy Catholic faith, nor held it more to his soul’s +comfort.” +</p> + +<p> +For the Dean, a man of vivid intelligence, knew enough of the Moresco +persecutions to be able to gather from the words of Lucas and Ambrose, and the +confession of the old man himself, a far more correct estimate of +Abenali’s sufferings, and constancy to the truth, than any of the more +homebred wits could have divined. He knew, too, that his own orthodoxy was so +called in question by the narrower and more unspiritual section of the clergy +that only the appreciative friendship of the King and the Cardinal kept him +securely in his position. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose sped away, knowing that Perronel would be quite satisfied. He was sure +of her ready compassion and good-will, but she had so often bewailed his +running after learning and possibly heretical doctrine, that he had doubted +whether she would readily respond to a summons, on his own authority alone, to +one looked on with so much suspicion as Master Michael. Colet intimated his +intention of remaining a little longer to pray with the dying man, and further +wrote a few words on his tablets, telling Ambrose to leave them with one of the +porters at his house as he went past St. Paul’s. +</p> + +<p> +It was broad daylight now, a lovely May morning, such as generally called forth +the maidens, small and great, to the meadows to rub their fresh cheeks with the +silvery dew, and to bring home kingcups, cuckoo flowers, blue bottles, and +cowslips for the Maypoles that were to be decked. But all was silent now, not a +house was open, the rising sun made the eastern windows of the churches a blaze +of light, and from the west door of St. Paul’s the city beneath seemed +sleeping, only a wreath or two of smoke rising. Ambrose found the porter +looking out for his master in much perturbation. He groaned as he looked at the +tablets, and heard where the Dean was, and said that came of being a saint on +earth. It would be the death of him ere long! What would old Mistress Colet, +his mother, say? He would have detained the youth with his inquiries, but +Ambrose said he had to speed down to the Temple on an errand from the Dean, and +hurried away. All Ludgate Hill was now quiet, every house closed, but here and +there lay torn shreds of garments, or household vessels. +</p> + +<p> +As he reached Fleet Street, however, there was a sound of horses’ feet, +and a body of men-at-arms with helmets glancing in the sun were seen. There was +a cry, “There’s one! That’s one of the lewd younglings! At +him!” +</p> + +<p> +And Ambrose to his horror and surprise saw two horsemen begin to gallop towards +him, as if to ride him down. Happily he was close to a narrow archway leading +to an alley down which no war-horse could possibly make its way, and dashing +into it and round a corner, he eluded his pursuers, and reached the bank of the +river, whence, being by this time experienced in the by-ways of London, he +could easily reach Perronel’s house. +</p> + +<p> +She was standing at her door looking out anxiously, and as she saw him she +threw up her hands in thanksgiving to our Lady that here he was at last, and +then turned to scold him. “O lad, lad, what a night thou hast given me! I +trusted at least that thou hadst wit to keep out of a fray and to let the poor +aliens alone, thou that art always running after yonder old Spaniard. Hey! what +now? Did they fall on him! Fie! Shame on them!—a harmless old man like +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, good aunt, and what is more, they have slain him, I fear me, +outright.” +</p> + +<p> +Amidst many a “good lack” and exclamation of pity and indignation +from Perronel, Ambrose told his tale of that strange night, and entreated her +to come with him to do what was possible for Abenali and his daughter. She +hesitated a little; her kind heart was touched, but she hardly liked to leave +her house, in case her husband should come in, as he generally contrived to do +in the early morning, now that the Cardinal’s household was lodged so +near her. Sheltered as she was by the buildings of the Temple, she had heard +little or nothing of the noise of the riot, though she had been alarmed at her +nephew’s absence, and an officious neighbour had run in to tell her first +that the prentice lads were up and sacking the houses of the strangers, and +next that the Tower was firing on them, and the Lord Mayor’s guard and +the gentlemen of the Inns of Court were up in arms to put them down. She said +several times, “Poor soul!” and “Yea, it were a shame to +leave her to the old Dutchkin,” but with true Flemish deliberation she +continued her household arrangements, and insisted that the bowl of broth, +which she set on the table, should be partaken of by herself and Ambrose before +she would stir a step. “Not eat! Now out on thee, lad! what good dost +thou think thou or I can do if we come in faint and famished, where +there’s neither bite nor sup to be had? As for me, not a foot will I +budge, till I have seen thee empty that bowl. So to it, my lad! Thou hast been +afoot all night, and lookst so grimed and ill-favoured a varlet that no man +would think thou camest from an honest wife’s house. Wash thee at the +pail! Get thee into thy chamber and put on clean garments, or I’ll not +walk the street with thee! ’Tis not safe—thou wilt be put in ward +for one of the rioters.” +</p> + +<p> +Everybody who entered that little house obeyed Mistress Randall, and Ambrose +submitted, knowing it vain to resist, and remembering the pursuit he had +recently escaped; yet the very refreshment of food and cleanliness revealed to +him how stiff and weary were his limbs, though he was in no mood for rest. His +uncle appeared at the door just as he had hoped Perronel was ready. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! there’s one of you whole and safe!” he exclaimed. +“Where is the other?” +</p> + +<p> +“Stephen?” exclaimed Ambrose. “I saw him last in Warwick +Inner Yard.” And in a few words he explained. Hal Randall shook his head. +“May all be well,” he exclaimed, and then he told how Sir Thomas +Parr had come at midnight and roused the Cardinal’s household with +tidings that all the rabble of London were up, plundering and murdering all who +came in their way, and that he had then ridden on to Richmond to the King with +the news. The Cardinal had put his house into a state of defence, not knowing +against whom the riot might be directed—and the jester had not been +awakened till too late to get out to send after his wife, besides which, by +that time, intelligence had come in that the attack was directed entirely on +the French and Spanish merchants and artificers in distant parts of the city +and suburbs, and was only conducted by lads with no better weapons than sticks, +so that the Temple and its precincts were in no danger at all. +</p> + +<p> +The mob had dispersed of its own accord by about three or four o’clock, +but by that hour the Mayor had got together a force, the Gentlemen of the Inns +of Court and the Yeomen of the Tower were up in arms, and the Earl of +Shrewsbury had come in with a troop of horse. They had met the rioters, and had +driven them in herds like sheep to the different prisons, after which Lord +Shrewsbury had come to report to the Cardinal that all was quiet, and the +jester having gathered as much intelligence as he could, had contrived to slip +into the garments that concealed his motley, and to reach home. He gave ready +consent to Perronel’s going to the aid of the sufferers in Warwick Inner +Yard, especially at the summons of the Dean of St. Paul’s, and even to +her bringing home the little wench. Indeed, he would escort her thither himself +for he was very anxious about Stephen, and Ambrose was so dismayed by the +account he gave as to reproach himself extremely for having parted company with +his brother, and never having so much as thought of him as in peril, while +absorbed in care for Abenali. So the three set out together, when no doubt the +sober, solid appearance which Randall’s double suit of apparel and black +gown gave him, together with his wife’s matronly and respectable look, +were no small protection to Ambrose, for men-at-arms were prowling about the +streets, looking hungry to pick up straggling victims, and one actually stopped +Randall to interrogate him as to who the youth was, and what was his errand. +</p> + +<p> +Before St. Paul’s they parted, the husband and wife going towards Warwick +Inner Yard, whither Ambrose, fleeter of foot, would follow, so soon as he had +ascertained at the Dragon court whether Stephen was at home. +</p> + +<p> +Alas! at the gate he was hailed with the inquiry whether he had seen his +brother or Giles. The whole yard was disorganised, no work going on. The lads +had not been seen all night, and the master himself had in the midst of his +displeasure and anxiety been summoned to the Guildhall. The last that was known +was Giles’s rescue, and the assault on Alderman Mundy. Smallbones and +Steelman had both gone in different directions to search for the two +apprentices, and Dennet, who had flown down unheeded and unchecked at the first +hope of news, pulled Ambrose by the sleeve, and exclaimed, “Oh! Ambrose, +Ambrose! they can never hurt them! They can never do any harm to our lads, can +they?” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose hoped for the same security, but in his dismay, could only hurry after +his uncle and aunt. +</p> + +<p> +He found the former at the door of the old stable—whence issued wild +screams and cries. Several priests and attendants were there now, and the kind +Dean with Lucas was trying to induce Aldonza to relax the grasp with which she +embraced the body, whence a few moments before the brave and constant spirit +had departed. Her black hair hanging over like a veil, she held the inanimate +head to her bosom, sobbing and shrieking with the violence of her Eastern +nature. The priest who had been sent for to take care of the corpse, and bear +it to the mortuary of the Minster, wanted to move her by force; but the Dean +insisted on one more gentle experiment, and beckoned to the kindly woman, whom +he saw advancing with eyes full of tears. Perronel knelt down by her, +persevered when the poor girl stretched out her hand to beat her off, crying, +“Off! go! Leave me my father! O father, father, joy of my life! my one +only hope and stay, leave me not! Wake! wake, speak to thy child, O my +father!” +</p> + +<p> +Though the child had never seen or heard of Eastern wailings over the dead, yet +hereditary nature prompted her to the lamentations that scandalised the priests +and even Lucas, who broke in with “Fie, maid, thou mournest as one who +hath no hope.” But Dr. Colet still signed to them to have patience, and +Perronel somehow contrived to draw the girl’s head on her breast and give +her a motherly kiss, such as the poor child had never felt since she, when +almost a babe, had been lifted from her dying mother’s side in the dark +stifling hold of the vessel in the Bay of Biscay. And in sheer surprise and +sense of being soothed she ceased her cries, listened to the tender whispers +and persuasions about holy men who would care for her father, and his wishes +that she should be a good maid—till at last she yielded, let her hands be +loosed, allowed Perronel to lift the venerable head from her knee, and close +the eyes—then to gather her in her arms, and lead her to the door, taking +her, under Ambrose’s guidance, into Lucas’s abode, which was as +utterly and mournfully dismantled as their own, but where Perronel, accustomed +in her wandering days to all sorts of contrivances, managed to bind up the +streaming hair, and, by the help of her own cloak, to bring the poor girl into +a state in which she could be led through the streets. +</p> + +<p> +The Dean meantime had bidden Lucas to take shelter at his own house, and the +old Dutchman had given a sort of doubtful acceptance. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose, meanwhile, half distracted about his brother, craved counsel of the +jester where to seek him. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER XVII.<br /> +ILL MAY DAY</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“With two and two together tied,<br /> + Through Temple Bar and Strand they go,<br /> +To Westminster, there to be tried,<br /> + With ropes about their necks also.” +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<i>Ill May Day</i>. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">And</span> where was Stephen? Crouching, wretched with +hunger, cold, weariness, blows, and what was far worse, sense of humiliation +and disgrace, and terror for the future, in a corner of the yard of +Newgate—whither the whole set of lads, surprised in Warwick Inner Court +by the law students of the Inns of Court, had been driven like so many cattle, +at the sword’s point, with no attention or perception that he and Giles +had been struggling <i>against</i> the spoilers. +</p> + +<p> +Yet this fact made them all the more forlorn. The others, some forty in number, +their companions in misfortune, included most of the Barbican prentices, who +were of the Eagle faction, special enemies alike to Abenali and to the Dragon, +and these held aloof from Headley and Birkenholt, nay, reviled them for the +attack which they declared had caused the general capture. +</p> + +<p> +The two lads of the Dragon had, in no measured terms, denounced the cruelty to +the poor old inoffensive man, and were denounced in their turn as friends of +the sorcerer. But all were too much exhausted by the night’s work to have +spirit for more than a snarling encounter of words, and the only effect was +that Giles and Stephen were left isolated in their misery outside the shelter +of the handsome arched gateway under which the others congregated. +</p> + +<p> +Newgate had been rebuilt by Whittington out of pity to poor prisoners and +captives. It must have been unspeakably dreadful before, for the foulness of +the narrow paved court, shut in by strong walls, was something terrible. Tired, +spent, and aching all over, and with boyish callousness to dirt, still Giles +and Stephen hesitated to sit down, and when at last they could stand no longer, +they rested, leaning against one another. Stephen tried to keep up hope by +declaring that his master would soon get them released, and Giles alternated +between despair, and declarations that he would have justice on those who so +treated his father’s son. They dropped asleep—first one and then +the other—from sheer exhaustion, waking from time to time to realise that +it was no dream, and to feel all the colder and more camped. +</p> + +<p> +By and by there were voices at the gate. Friends were there asking after their +own Will, or John, or Thomas, as the case might be. The jailer opened a little +wicket-window in the heavy door, and, no doubt for a consideration, passed in +food to certain lads whom he called out, but it did not always reach its +destination. It was often torn away as by hungry wolves. For though the felons +had been let out, when the doors were opened; the new prisoners were not by any +means all apprentices. There were watermen, husbandmen, beggars, thieves, among +them, attracted by the scent of plunder; and even some of the elder lads had no +scruple in snatching the morsel from the younger ones. +</p> + +<p> +Poor little Jasper Hope, a mischievous little curly-headed idle fellow, only +thirteen, just apprenticed to his brother the draper, and rushing about with +the other youths in the pride of his flat cap, was one of the sufferers. A +servant had been at the door, promising that his brother would speedily have +him released, and handing in bread and meat, of which he was instantly robbed +by George Bates and three or four more big fellows, and sent away reeling and +sobbing, under a heavy blow, with all the mischief and play knocked out of him. +Stephen and Giles called “Shame!” but were unheeded, and they could +only draw the little fellow up to them, and assure him that his brother would +soon come for him. +</p> + +<p> +The next call at the gate was Headley and Birkenholt—“Master +Headley’s prentices—Be they here?” +</p> + +<p> +And at their answer, not only the window, but the door in the gate was opened, +and stooping low to enter, Kit Smallbones came in, and not empty-handed. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, ay, youngsters,” said he, “I knew how it would be, by +what I saw elsewhere, so I came with a fee to open locks. How came ye to get +into such plight as this? And poor little Hope too! A fine pass when they put +babes in jail.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m prenticed!” said Jasper, though in a very weak little +voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you had bite or sup?” asked Kit. +</p> + +<p> +And on their reply, telling how those who had had supplies from home had been +treated, Smallbones observed, “Let them try it,” and stood, at all +his breadth, guarding the two youths and little Jasper, as they ate, Stephen at +first with difficulty, in the faintness and foulness of the place, but then +ravenously. Smallbones lectured them on their folly all the time, and made them +give an account of the night. He said their master was at the Guildhall taking +counsel with the Lord Mayor, and there were reports that it would go hard with +the rioters, for murder and plunder had been done in many places, and he +especially looked at Giles with pity, and asked how he came to embroil himself +with Master Mundy? Still his good-natured face cheered them, and he promised +further supplies. He also relieved Stephen’s mind about his brother, +telling of his inquiry at the Dragon in the morning. All that day the condition +of such of the prisoners as had well-to-do friends was improving. Fathers, +brothers, masters, and servants, came in quest of them, bringing food and +bedding, and by exorbitant fees to the jailers obtained for them shelter in the +gloomy cells. Mothers could not come, for a proclamation had gone out that none +were to babble, and men were to keep their wives at home. And though there were +more material comforts, prospects were very gloomy. Ambrose came when Kit +Smallbones returned with what Mrs. Headley had sent the captives. He looked sad +and dazed, and clung to his brother, but said very little, except that they +ought to be locked up together, and he really would have been left in Newgate, +if Kit had not laid a great hand on his shoulder and almost forced him away. +</p> + +<p> +Master Headley himself arrived with Master Hope in the afternoon. Jasper sprang +to his brother, crying, “Simon! Simon! you are come to take me out of +this dismal, evil place?” But Master Hope—a tall, handsome, grave +young man, who had often been much disturbed by his little brother’s +pranks—could only shake his head with tears in his eyes, and, sitting +down on the roll of bedding, take him on his knee and try to console him with +the hope of liberty in a few days. +</p> + +<p> +He had tried to obtain the boy’s release on the plea of his extreme +youth, but the authorities were hotly exasperated, and would hear of no mercy. +The whole of the rioters were to be tried three days hence, and there was no +doubt that some would be made an example of, the only question was, how many? +</p> + +<p> +Master Headley closely interrogated his own two lads, and was evidently sorely +anxious about his namesake, who, he feared, might be recognised by Alderman +Mundy and brought forward as a ringleader of the disturbance; nor did he feel +at all secure that the plea that he had no enmity to the foreigners, but had +actually tried to defend Lucas and Abenali, would be attended to for a moment, +though Lucas Hansen had promised to bear witness of it. Giles looked perfectly +stunned at the time, unable to take in the idea, but at night Stephen was +wakened on the pallet that they shared with little Jasper, by hearing him +weeping and sobbing for his mother at Salisbury. +</p> + +<p> +Time lagged on till the 4th of May. Some of the poor boys whiled away their +time with dreary games in the yard, sometimes wrestling, but more often +gambling with the dice, that one or two happened to possess, for the dinners +that were provided for the wealthier, sometimes even betting on what the +sentences would be, and who would be hanged, or who escape. +</p> + +<p> +Poor lads, they did not, for the most part, realise their real danger, but +Stephen was more and more beset with home-sick longing for the glades and +thickets of his native forest, and would keep little Jasper and even Giles for +an hour together telling of the woodland adventures of those happy times, +shutting his eyes to the grim stone walls, and trying to think himself among +the beeches, hollies, cherries, and hawthorns, shining in the May sun! Giles +and he were chose friends now, and with little Jasper, said their Paters and +Aves together, that they might be delivered from their trouble. At last, on the +4th, the whole of the prisoners were summoned roughly into the court, where +harsh-hooking men-at-arms proceeded to bind them together in pairs to be +marched through the streets to the Guildhall. Giles and Stephen would naturally +have been put together, but poor little Jasper cried out so lamentably, when he +was about to be bound to a stranger, that Stephen stepped forward in his stead, +begging that the boy might go with Giles. The soldier made a contemptuous +sound, but consented, and Stephen found that his companion in misfortune, whose +left elbow was tied to his right was George Bates. +</p> + +<p> +The two lads looked at each other in a strange, rueful manner, and Stephen +said, “Shake hands, comrade. If we are to die, let us bear no +ill-will.” +</p> + +<p> +George gave a cold, limp, trembling hand. He looked wretched, subdued, tearful, +and nearly starved, for he had no kinsfolk at hand, and his master was too +angry with him, and too much afraid of compromising himself, to have sent him +any supplies. Stephen tried to unbutton his own pouch, but not succeeding with +his left hand, bade George try with his right. “There’s a cake of +bread there,” he said. “Eat that, and thou’lt be able better +to stand up like a man, come what will.” +</p> + +<p> +George devoured it eagerly. “Ah!” he said, in a stronger voice, +“Stephen Birkenholt, thou art an honest fellow. I did thee wrong. If ever +we get out of this plight!” +</p> + +<p> +Here they were ordered to march, and in a long and doleful procession they set +forth. The streets were lined with men-at-arms, for all the affections and +sympathies of the people were with the unfortunate boys, and a rescue was +apprehended. +</p> + +<p> +In point of fact, the Lord Mayor and aldermen were afraid of the King’s +supposing them to have organised the assault on their rivals, and each was +therefore desirous to show severity to any one’s apprentices save his +own; while the nobility were afraid of contumacy on the part of the citizens, +and were resolved to crush down every rioter among them, so that they had +filled the city with their armed retainers. Fathers and mothers, masters and +dames, sisters and fellow prentices, found their doors closely guarded, and +could only look with tearful, anxious eyes, at the processions of poor youths, +many of them mere children, who were driven from each of the jails to the +Guildhall. There when all collected the entire number amounted to two hundred +and seventy-eight, though a certain proportion of these were grown men, +priests, wherrymen and beggars, who had joined the rabble in search of plunder. +</p> + +<p> +It did not look well for them that the Duke of Norfolk and his son, the Earl of +Surrey, were joined in the commission with the Lord Mayor. The upper end of the +great hall was filled with aldermen in their robes and chains, with the +sheriffs of London and the whole imposing array, and the Lord Mayor with the +Duke sat enthroned above them in truly awful dignity. The Duke was a hard and +pitiless man, and bore the City a bitter grudge for the death of his retainer, +the priest killed in Cheapside, and in spite of all his poetical fame, it may +be feared that the Earl of Surrey was not of much more merciful mood, while +their men-at-arms spoke savagely of hanging, slaughtering, or setting the City +on fire. +</p> + +<p> +The arraignment was very long, as there were so large a number of names to be +read, and, to the horror of all, it was not for a mere riot, but for high +treason. The King, it was declared, being in amity with all Christian princes, +it was high treason to break the truce and league by attacking their subjects +resident in England. The terrible punishment of the traitor would thus be the +doom of all concerned, and in the temper of the Howards and their retainers, +there was little hope of mercy, nor, in times like those, was there even much +prospect that, out of such large numbers, some might escape. +</p> + +<p> +A few were more especially cited, fourteen in number, among them George Bates, +Walter Ball, and Giles Headley, who had certainly given cause for the beginning +of the affray. There was no attempt to defend George Bates, who seemed to be +stunned and bewildered beyond the power of speaking or even of understanding, +but as Giles cast his eyes round in wild, terrified appeal, Master Headley rose +up in his alderman’s gown, and prayed leave to be heard in his defence, +as he had witnesses to bring in his favour. +</p> + +<p> +“Is he thy son, good Armourer Headley?” demanded the Duke of +Norfolk, who held the work of the Dragon court in high esteem. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, my Lord Duke, but he is in the place of one, my near kinsman and +godson, and so soon as his time be up, bound to wed my only child! I pray you +to hear his cause, ere cutting off the heir of an old and honourable +house.” +</p> + +<p> +Norfolk and his sons murmured something about the Headley skill in armour, and +the Lord Mayor was willing enough for mercy, but Sir John Mundy here rose: +“My Lord Duke, this is the very young man who was first to lay hands on +me! Yea, my lords and sirs, ye have already heard how their rude sport, +contrary to proclamation, was the cause of the tumult. When I would have bidden +them go home, the one brawler asks me insolently, ‘Wherefore?’ the +other smote me with his sword, whereupon the whole rascaille set on me, and as +Master Alderman Headley can testify, I scarce reached his house alive. I ask +should favour overcome justice, and a ringleader, who hath assaulted the person +of an alderman, find favour above others?” +</p> + +<p> +“I ask not for favour,” returned Headley, “only that +witnesses be heard on his behalf, ere he be condemned.” +</p> + +<p> +Headley, as a favourite with the Duke, prevailed to have permission to call his +witnesses; Christopher Smallbones, who had actually rescued Alderman Mundy from +the mob, and helped him into the Dragon court, could testify that the +proclamation had been entirely unheard in the din of the youths looking on at +the game. And this was followed up by Lucas Hansen declaring that so far from +having attacked or plundered him and the others in Warwick Inner Yard, the two, +Giles Headley and Stephen Birkenholt, had come to their defence, and fallen on +those who were burning their goods. +</p> + +<p> +On this a discussion followed between the authorities seated at the upper end +of the hall. The poor anxious watchers below could only guess by the gestures +what was being agitated as to their fate, and Stephen was feeling it sorely +hard that Giles should be pleaded for as the master’s kinsman, and he +left to so cruel a fate, no one saying a word for him but unheeded Lucas. +Finally, without giving of judgment, the whole of the miserable prisoners, who +had been standing without food for hours, were marched back, still tied, to +their several prisons, while their guards pointed out the gibbets where they +were to suffer the next day. +</p> + +<p> +Master Headley was not quite so regardless of his younger apprentice as Stephen +imagined. There was a sort of little council held in his hall when he +returned—sad, dispirited, almost hopeless—to find Hal Randall +anxiously awaiting him. The alderman said he durst not plead for Stephen, lest +he should lose both by asking too much, and his young kinsman had the first +right, besides being in the most peril as having been singled out by name; +whereas Stephen might escape with the multitude if there were any mercy. He +added that the Duke of Norfolk was certainly inclined to save one who knew the +secret of Spanish sword-blades; but that he was fiercely resolved to be +revenged for the murder of his lewd priest in Cheapside, and that Sir John +Mundy was equally determined that Giles should not escape. +</p> + +<p> +“What am I to say to his mother? Have I brought him from her for +this?” mourned Master Headley. “Ay, and Master Randall, I grieve as +much for thy nephew, who to my mind hath done nought amiss. A brave lad! A good +lad, who hath saved mine own life. Would that I could do aught for him! It is a +shame!” +</p> + +<p> +“Father,” said Dennet, who had crept to the back of his chair, +“the King would save him! Mind you the golden whistle that the grandame +keepeth?” +</p> + +<p> +“The maid hath hit it!” exclaimed Randall. “Master alderman! +Let me but have the little wench and the whistle to-morrow morn, and it is +done. How sayest thou, pretty mistress? Wilt thou go with me and ask thy +cousin’s life, and poor Stephen’s, of the King?” +</p> + +<p> +“With all my heart, sir,” said Dennet, coming to him with +outstretched hands. “Oh! sir, canst thou save them? I have been vowing +all I could think of to our Lady and the saints, and now they are going to +grant it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Tarry a little,” said the alderman. “I must know more of +this. Where wouldst thou take my child? How obtain access to the King’s +Grace?” +</p> + +<p> +“Worshipful sir, trust me,” said Randall. “Thou know’st +I am sworn servant to my Lord Cardinal, and that his folk are as free of the +Court as the King’s own servants. If thine own folk will take us up the +river to Richmond, and there wait for us while I lead the maid to the King, I +can well-nigh swear to thee that she will prevail.” +</p> + +<p> +The alderman looked greatly distressed. Ambrose threw himself on his knees +before him, and in an agony entreated him to consent, assuring him that Master +Randall could do what he promised. The alderman was much perplexed. He knew +that his mother, who was confined to her bed by rheumatism, would be shocked at +the idea. He longed to accompany his daughter himself, but for him to be absent +from the sitting of the court might be fatal to Giles, and he could not bear to +lose any chance for the poor youths. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime an interrogative glance and a nod had passed between Tibble and +Randall, and when the alderman looked towards the former, always his prime +minister, the answer was, “Sir, meseemeth that it were well to do as +Master Randall counselleth. I will go with Mistress Dennet, if such be your +will. The lives of two such youths as our prentices may not lightly be thrown +away, while by God’s providence there is any means of striving to save +them.” +</p> + +<p> +Consent then was given, and it was further arranged that Dennet and her escort +should be ready at the early hour of half-past four, so as to elude the guards +who were placed in the streets; and also because King Henry in the summer went +very early to mass, and then to some out-of-door sport. Randall said he would +have taken his own good woman to have the care of the little mistress, but that +the poor little orphan Spanish wench had wept herself so sick, that she could +not be left to a stranger. +</p> + +<p> +Master Headley himself brought the child by back streets to the river, and +thence down to the Temple stairs, accompanied by Tibble Steelman, and a +maid-servant on whose presence her grandmother had insisted. Dennet had hardly +slept all night for excitement and perturbation, and she looked very white, +small, and insignificant for her thirteen years, when Randall and Ambrose met +her, and placed her carefully in the barge which was to take them to Richmond. +It was somewhat fresh in the very early morning, and no one was surprised that +Master Randall wore a large dark cloak as they rowed up the river. There was +very little speech between the passengers; Dennet sat between Ambrose and +Tibble. They kept their heads bowed. Ambrose’s brow was on one hand, his +elbow on his knee, but he spared the other to hold Dennet. He had been longing +for the old assurance he would once have had, that to vow himself to a life of +hard service in a convent would be the way to win his brother’s life; but +he had ceased to be able to feel that such bargains were the right course, or +that a convent necessarily afforded sure way of service, and he never felt mere +insecure of the way and means to prayer than in this hour of anguished +supplication. +</p> + +<p> +When they came beyond the City, within sight of the trees of Sheen, as Richmond +was still often called, Randall insisted that Dennet should eat some of the +bread and meat that Tibble had brought in a wallet for her. “She must +look her best,” he said aside to the foreman. “I would that she +were either more of a babe or better favoured! Our Hal hath a tender heart for +a babe and an eye for a buxom lass.” +</p> + +<p> +He bade the maid trim up the child’s cap and make the best of her array, +and presently reached some stairs leading up to the park. There he let Ambrose +lift her out of the boat. The maid would fain have followed, but he prevented +this, and when she spoke of her mistress having bidden her follow wherever the +child went, Tibble interfered, telling her that his master’s orders were +that Master Randall should do with her as he thought meet. Tibble himself +followed until they reached a thicket entirely concealing them from the river. +Halting here, Randall, with his nephew’s help, divested himself of his +long gown and cloak, his beard and wig, produced cockscomb and bauble from his +pouch, and stood before the astonished eyes of Dennet as the jester! +</p> + +<p> +She recoiled upon Tibble with a little cry, “Oh, why should he make sport +of us? Why disguise himself?” +</p> + +<p> +“Listen, pretty mistress,” said Randall. “’Tis no +disguise, Tibble there can tell you, or my nephew. My disguise lies +there,” pointing to his sober raiment. “Thus only can I bring thee +to the King’s presence! Didst think it was jest? Nay, verily, I am as +bound to try to save my sweet Stevie’s life, my sister’s own +gallant son, as thou canst be to plead for thy betrothed.” Dennet winced. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, Mistress Dennet,” said Tibble, “thou mayst trust him, +spite of his garb, and ’tis the sole hope. He could only thus bring thee +in. Go thou on, and the lad and I will fall to our prayers.” +</p> + +<p> +Dennet’s bosom heaved, but she looked up in the jesters dark eyes, saw +the tears in them, made an effort, put her hand in his, and said, “I will +go with him.” +</p> + +<p> +Hal led her away, and they saw Tibble and Ambrose both fall on their knees +behind the hawthorn bush, to speed them with their prayers, while all the +joyous birds singing their carols around seemed to protest against the cruel +captivity and dreadful doom of the young gladsome spirits pent up in the City +prisons. +</p> + +<p> +One full gush of a thrush’s song in especial made Dennet’s eyes +overflow, which the jester perceived and said, “Nay, sweet maid, no +tears. Kings brook not to be approached with blubbered faces. I marvel not that +it seems hard to thee to go along with such as I, but let me be what I will +outside, mine heart is heavy enough, and thou wilt learn sooner or later, that +fools are not the only folk who needs must smile when they have a load +within.” +</p> + +<p> +And then, as much to distract her thoughts and prevent tears as to reassure +her, he told her what he had before told his nephews of the inducements that +had made him Wolsey’s jester, and impressed on her the forms of address. +</p> + +<p> +“Thou’lt hear me make free with him, but that’s part of mine +office, like the kitten I’ve seen tickling the mane of the lion in the +Tower. Thou must say, ‘An it please your Grace,’ and thou needst +not speak of his rolling in the mire, thou wottest, or it may anger him.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl showed that her confidence became warmer by keeping nearer to his +side, and presently she said, “I must beg for Stephen first, for +’tis his whistle.” +</p> + +<p> +“Blessings on thee, fair wench, for that, yet seest thou, ’tis the +other springald who is in the greater peril, and he is closer to thy father and +to thee.” +</p> + +<p> +“He fled, when Stephen made in to the rescue of my father,” said +Dennet. +</p> + +<p> +“The saints grant we may so work with the King that he may spare them +both,” ejaculated Randall. +</p> + +<p> +By this time the strange pair were reaching the precincts of the great +dwelling-house, where about the wide-open door loitered gentlemen, grooms, +lacqueys, and attendants of all kinds. Randall reconnoitred. +</p> + +<p> +“An we go up among all these,” he said, “they might make +their sport of us both, so that we might have time. Let us see whether the +little garden postern be open.” +</p> + +<p> +Henry VIII. had no fears of his people, and kept his dwellings more accessible +than were the castles of many a subject. The door in the wall proved to be +open, and with an exclamation of joy, Randall pointed out two figures, one in a +white silken doublet and hose, with a short crimson cloak over his shoulder, +the other in scarlet and purple robes, pacing the walk under the +wall—Henry’s way of holding a cabinet council with his prime +minister on a summer’s morning. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on, mistress, put a brave face on it!” the jester encouraged +the girl, as he led her forward, while the king, catching sight of them, +exclaimed, “Ha! there’s old Patch. What doth he there?” +</p> + +<p> +But the Cardinal, impatient of interruption, spoke imperiously, “What +dost thou here, Merriman? Away, this is no time for thy fooleries and +frolics.” +</p> + +<p> +But the King, with some pleasure in teasing, and some of the enjoyment of a +schoolboy at a break in his tasks, called out, “Nay, come hither, +quipsome one! What new puppet hast brought hither to play off on us?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, brother Hal,” said the jester, “I have brought one to +let thee know how Tom of Norfolk and his crew are playing the fool in the +Guildhall, and to ask who will be the fool to let them wreak their spite on the +best blood in London, and leave a sore that will take many a day to +heal.” +</p> + +<p> +“How is this, my Lord Cardinal?” said Henry; “I bade them +make an example of a few worthless hinds, such as might teach the lusty +burghers to hold their lads in bounds and prove to our neighbours that their +churlishness was by no consent of ours.” +</p> + +<p> +“I trow,” returned the Cardinal, “that one of these same +hinds is a boon companion of the fool’s—<i>hinc illæ +lachrymæ</i>, and a speech that would have befitted a wise man’s +mouth.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is work that may well make even a fool grave, friend +Thomas,” replied the jester. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, but what hath this little wench to say?” asked the King, +looking down on the child from under his plumed cap with a face set in golden +hair, the fairest and sweetest, as it seemed to her, that she had ever seen, as +he smiled upon her. “Methinks she is too small to be thy love. Speak out, +little one. I love little maids, I have one of mine own. Hast thou a brother +among these misguided lads?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not so, an please your Grace,” said Dennet, who fortunately was +not in the least shy, and was still too young for a maiden’s +shamefastness. “He is to be my betrothed. I would say, one of them is, +but the other—he saved my father’s life once.” +</p> + +<p> +The latter words were lost in the laughter of the King and Cardinal at the +unblushing avowal of the small, prim-faced maiden. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh ho! So ’tis a case of true love, whereto a King’s face +must needs show grace. Who art thou, fair suppliant, and who may this swain of +thine be?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am Dennet Headley, so please your Grace; my father is Giles Headley +the armourer, Alderman of Cheap Ward,” said Dennet, doing her part +bravely, though puzzled by the King’s tone of banter; “and see +here, your Grace!” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus02"></a> +<a href="images/p224b.jpg"> +<img src="images/p224b.jpg" width="410" height="600" alt="Illustration:" /></a> +<p class="caption">“And see here, your Grace!”</p> +</div> + +<p> +“Ha! the hawk’s whistle that Archduke Philip gave me! What of that? +I gave it—ay, I gave it to a youth that came to mine aid, and reclaimed a +falcon for me! Is’t he, child?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, sir, ’tis he who came in second at the butts, next to Barlow, +’tis Stephen Birkenholt! And he did nought! They bore no ill-will to +strangers! No, they were falling on the wicked fellows who had robbed and slain +good old Master Michael, who taught our folk to make the only real true +Damascus blades welded in England. But the lawyers of the Inns of Court fell on +them all alike, and have driven them off to Newgate, and poor little Jasper +Hope too. And Alderman Mundy bears ill-will to Giles. And the cruel Duke of +Norfolk and his men swear they’ll have vengeance on the Cheap, and +there’ll be hanging and quartering this very morn. Oh! your Grace, your +Grace, save our lads! for Stephen saved my father.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thy tongue wags fast, little one,” said the King, good-naturedly, +“with thy Stephen and thy Giles. Is this same Stephen, the knight of the +whistle and the bow, thy betrothed, and Giles thy brother?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, your Grace,” said Dennet, hanging her head, “Giles +Headley is my betrothed—that is, when his time is served, he will +be—father sets great store by him, for he is the only one of our name to +keep up the armoury, and he has a mother, Sir, a mother at Salisbury. But oh, +Sir, Sir! Stephen is so good and brave a lad! He made in to save father from +the robbers, and he draws the best bow in Cheapside, and he can grave steel as +well as Tibble himself, and this is the whistle your Grace wots of.” +</p> + +<p> +Henry listened with an amused smile that grew broader as Dennet’s voice +all unconsciously became infinitely more animated and earnest, when she began +to plead Stephen’s cause. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, sweetheart,” he said, “I trow thou must have the +twain of them, though,” he added to the Cardinal, who smiled broadly, +“it might perchance be more for the maid’s peace than she wots of +now, were we to leave this same knight of the whistle to be strung up at once, +ere she have found her heart; but in sooth that I cannot do, owing well nigh a +life to him and his brother. Moreover, we may not have old Headley’s +skill in weapons lost!” +</p> + +<p> +Dennet held her hands close clasped while these words were spoken apart. She +felt as if her hope, half granted, were being snatched from her, as another +actor appeared on the scene, a gentleman in a lawyer’s gown, and square +cap, which he doffed as he advanced and put his knee to the ground before the +King, who greeted him with “Save you, good Sir Thomas, a fair morning to +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“They told me your Grace was in Council with my Lord Cardinal,” +said Sir Thomas More; “but seeing that there was likewise this merry +company, I durst venture to thrust in, since my business is urgent.” +</p> + +<p> +Dennet here forgot court manners enough to cry out, “O your Grace! your +Grace, be pleased for pity’s sake to let me have the pardon for them +first, or they’ll be hanged and dead. I saw the gallows in Cheapside, and +when they are dead, what good will your Grace’s mercy do them?” +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” said Sir Thomas. “This little maid’s errand +jumps with mine own, which was to tell your Grace that unless there be speedy +commands to the Howards to hold their hands, there will be wailing like that of +Egypt in the City. The poor boys, who were but shouting and brawling after the +nature of mettled youth—the most with nought of malice—are penned +up like sheep for the slaughter—ay, and worse than sheep, for we quarter +not our mutton alive, whereas these poor younglings—babes of thirteen, +some of them—be indicted for high treason! Will the parents, shut in from +coming to them by my Lord of Norfolk’s men, ever forget their agonies, I +ask your Grace?” +</p> + +<p> +Henry’s face grew red with passion. “If Norfolk thinks to act the +King, and turn the city into a shambles,”—with a mighty +oath—“he shall abye it. Here, Lord Cardinal—more, let the +free pardon be drawn up for the two lads. And we will ourselves write to the +Lord Mayor and to Norfolk that though they may work their will on the movers of +the riot—that pestilent Lincoln and his sort—not a prentice lad +shall be touched till our pleasure be known. There now, child, thou hast won +the lives of thy lads, as thou callest them. Wilt thou rue the day, I marvel? +Why cannot some of their mothers pluck up spirit and beg them off as thou hast +done?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea,” said Wolsey. “That were the right course. If the Queen +were moved to pray your Grace to pity the striplings then could the Spaniards +make no plaint of too much clemency being shown.” +</p> + +<p> +They were all this time getting nearer the palace, and being now at a door +opening into the hall, Henry turned round. “There, pretty maid, spread +the tidings among thy gossips, that they have a tender-hearted Queen, and a +gracious King. The Lord Cardinal will presently give thee the pardon for both +thy lads, and by and by thou wilt know whether thou thankest me for it!” +Then putting his hand under her chin, he turned up her face to him, kissed her +on each cheek, and touched his feathered cap to the others, saying, “See +that my bidding be done,” and disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +“It must be prompt, if it be to save any marked for death this +morn,” More in a how voice observed to the Cardinal. “Lord Edmund +Howard is keen as a blood-hound on his vengeance.” +</p> + +<p> +Wolsey was far from being a cruel man, and besides, there was a natural +antagonism between him and the old nobility, and he liked and valued his fool, +to whom he turned, saying, “And what stake hast thou in this, sirrah? +Is’t all pure charity?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m scarce such a fool as that, Cousin Red Hat,” replied +Randall, rallying his powers. “I leave that to Mr. More here, whom we all +know to be a good fool spoilt. But I’ll make a clean breast of it. This +same Stephen is my sister’s son, an orphan lad of good birth and +breeding—whom, my lord, I would die to save.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou shalt have the pardon instantly, Merriman,” said the +Cardinal, and beckoning to one of the attendants who clustered round the door, +he gave orders that a clerk should instantly, and very briefly, make out the +form. Sir Thomas More, hearing the name of Headley, added that for him indeed +the need of haste was great, since he was one of the fourteen sentenced to die +that morning. +</p> + +<p> +Quipsome Hal was interrogated as to how he had come, and the Cardinal and Sir +Thomas agreed that the river would be as speedy a way of returning as by land; +but they decided that a King’s pursuivant should accompany him, otherwise +there would be no chance of forcing his way in time through the streets, +guarded by the Howard retainers. +</p> + +<p> +As rapidly as was in the nature of a high officer’s clerk to produce a +dozen lines, the precious document was indicted, and it was carried at last to +Dennet, bearing Henry’s signature and seal. She held it to her bosom, +while, accompanied by the pursuivant, who—happily for them—was +interested in one of the unfortunate fourteen, and therefore did not wait to +stand on his dignity, they hurried across to the place where they had left the +barge—Tibble and Ambrose joining them on the way. Stephen was safe. Of +his life there could be no doubt, and Ambrose almost repented of feeling his +heart so light while Giles’s fate hung upon their speed. +</p> + +<p> +The oars were plied with hearty good-will, but the barge was somewhat heavy, +and by and by coming to a landing-place where two watermen had a much smaller +and lighter boat, the pursuivant advised that he should go forward with the +more necessary persons, leaving the others to follow. After a few words, the +light weights of Tibble and Dennet prevailed in their favour, and they shot +forward in the little boat. +</p> + +<p> +They passed the Temple—on to the stairs nearest Cheapside—up the +street. There was an awful stillness, only broken by heavy knells sounding at +intervals from the churches. The back streets were thronged by a trembling, +weeping people, who all eagerly made way for the pursuivant, as he called +“Make way, good people—a pardon!” +</p> + +<p> +They saw the broader space of Cheapside. Horsemen in armour guarded it, but +they too opened a passage for the pursuivant. There was to be seen above the +people’s heads a scaffold. A fire burnt on it—the gallows and +noosed rope hung above. +</p> + +<p> +A figure was mounting the ladder. A boy! Oh, Heavens! would it be too late? Who +was it? They were still too far off to see. They might only be cruelly holding +out hope to one of the doomed. +</p> + +<p> +The pursuivant shouted aloud—“In the King’s name, +Hold!” He lifted Dennet on his shoulder, and bade her wave her parchment. +An overpowering roar arose. “A pardon! a pardon! God save the +King!” +</p> + +<p> +Every hand seemed to be forwarding the pursuivant and the child, and it was +Giles Headley, who, loosed from the hold of the executioner, stared wildly +about him, like one distraught. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.<br /> +PARDON</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“What if;’ quoth she, ‘by Spanish blood<br /> +Have London’s stately streets been wet,<br /> +Yet will I seek this country’s good<br /> +And pardon for these young men get.’” +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">Churchill</span>. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">The</span> night and morning had been terrible to the poor +boys, who only had begun to understand what awaited them. The fourteen selected +had little hope, and indeed a priest came in early morning to hear the +confessions of Giles Headley and George Bates, the only two who were in +Newgate. +</p> + +<p> +George Bates was of the stolid, heavy disposition that seems armed by outward +indifference, or mayhap pride. He knew that his case was hopeless, and he would +not thaw even to the priest. But Giles had been quite unmanned, and when he +found that for the doleful procession to the Guildhall he was to be coupled +with George Bates, instead of either of his room-fellows, he flung himself on +Stephen’s neck, sobbing out messages for his mother, and entreaties that, +if Stephen survived, he would be good to Aldonza. “For you will wed +Dennet, and—” +</p> + +<p> +There the jailers roughly ordered him to hold his peace, and dragged him off to +be pinioned to his fellow-sufferer. Stephen was not called till some minutes +later, and had not seen him since. He himself was of course overshadowed by the +awful gloom of apprehension for himself, and pity for his comrades, and he was +grieved at not having seen or heard of his brother or master, but he had a very +present care in Jasper, who was sickening in the prison atmosphere, and when +fastened to his arm, seemed hardly able to walk. Leashed as they were, Stephen +could only help him by holding the free hand, and when they came to the hall, +supporting him as much as possible, as they stood in the miserable throng +during the conclusion of the formalities, which ended by the horrible sentence +of the traitor being pronounced on the whole two hundred and seventy-eight. +Poor little Jasper woke for an interval from the sense of present discomfort to +hear it, he seemed to stiffen all over with the shock of horror, and then hung +a dead weight on Stephen’s arm. It would have dragged him down, but there +was no room to fall, and the wretchedness of the lad against whom he staggered +found vent in a surly imprecation, which was lost among the cries and the +entreaties of some of the others. The London magistracy were some of them in +tears, but the indictment for high treason removed the poor lads from their +jurisdiction to that of the Earl Marshal, and thus they could do nothing to +save the fourteen foremost victims. The others were again driven out of the +hall to return to their prisons; the nearest pair of lads doing their best to +help Stephen drag his burthen along. In the halt outside, to arrange the sad +processions, one of the guards, of milder mood, cut the cord that bound the +lifeless weight to Stephen, and permitted the child to be laid on the stones of +the court, his collar unbuttoned, and water to be brought. Jasper was just +reviving when the word came to march, but still he could not stand, and Stephen +was therefore permitted the free use of his arms, in order to carry the poor +little fellow. Thirteen years made a considerable load for seventeen, though +Stephen’s arms were exercised in the smithy, and it was a sore pull from +the Guildhall. Jasper presently recovered enough to walk with a good deal of +support. When he was laid on the bed he fell unto an exhausted sleep, while +Stephen kneeling, as the strokes of the knell smote on his ear, prayed—as +he had never prayed before—for his comrade, for his enemy, and for all +the unhappy boys who were being led to their death wherever the outrages had +been committed. +</p> + +<p> +Once indeed there was a strange sound coming across that of the knell. It +almost sounded like an acclamation of joy. Could people be so cruel, thought +Stephen, as to mock poor Giles’s agonies? There were the knells still +sounding. How long he did not know, for a beneficent drowsiness stole over him +as he knelt, and he was only awakened, at the same time as Jasper, by the +opening of his door. +</p> + +<p> +He looked up to see three figures—his brother, his uncle, his master. +Were they come to take leave of him? But the one conviction that their faces +beamed with joy was all that he could gather, for little Jasper sprang up with +a scream of terror, “Stephen, Stephen, save me! They will cut out my +heart,” and clung trembling to his breast, with arms round his neck. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor child! poor child!” sighed Master Headley. “Would that +I brought him the same tidings as to thee!” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it so?” asked Stephen, reading confirmation as he looked from +the one to the other. Though he was unable to rise under the weight of the boy, +life and light were coming to his eye, while Ambrose clasped his hand tightly, +chocked by the swelling of his heart in almost an agony of joy and +thankfulness. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, my good lad,” said the alderman. “Thy good kinsman took +my little wench to bear to the King the token he gave thee.” +</p> + +<p> +“And Giles?” Stephen asked, “and the rest?” +</p> + +<p> +“Giles is safe. For the rest—may God have mercy on their +souls.” +</p> + +<p> +These words passed while Stephen rocked Jasper backwards and forwards, his face +hidden on his neck. +</p> + +<p> +“Come home,” added Master Headley. “My little Dennet and +Giles cannot yet rejoice till thou art with them. Giles would have come +himself, but he is sorely shaken, and could scarce stand.” +</p> + +<p> +Jasper caught the words, and loosing his friend’s neck, looked up. +“Oh! are we going home? Come, Stephen. Where’s brother Simon? I +want my good sister! I want nurse! Oh! take me home!” For as he tried to +sit up, he fell back sick and dizzy on the bed. +</p> + +<p> +“Alack! alack!” mourned Master Headley; and the jester, muttering +that it was not the little wench’s fault, turned to the window, and burst +into tears. Stephen understood it all, and though he felt a passionate longing +for freedom, he considered in one moment whether there were any one of his +fellow prisoners to whom Jasper could be left, or who would be of the least +comfort to him, but could find no one, and resolved to cling to him as once to +old Spring. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” he said, as he rose to his master, “I fear me he is +very sick. Will they—will your worship give me licence to bide with him +till this ends?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou art a good-hearted lad,” said the alderman with a hand on his +shoulder. “There is no further danger of life to the prentice lads. The +King hath sent to forbid all further dealing with them, and hath bidden my +little maid to set it about that if their mothers beg them grace from good +Queen Katherine, they shall have it. But this poor child! He can scarce be +left. His brother will take it well of thee if thou wilt stay with him till +some tendance can be had. We can see to that. Thanks be to St. George and our +good King, this good City is our own again!” +</p> + +<p> +The alderman turned away, and Ambrose and Stephen exchanged a passionate +embrace, feeling what it was to be still left to one another. The jester too +shook his nephew’s hand, saying, “Boy, boy, the blessing of such as +I is scarce worth the having, but I would thy mother could see thee this +day.” +</p> + +<p> +Stephen was left with these words and his brother’s look to bear him +through a trying time. +</p> + +<p> +For the “Captain of Newgate” was an autocrat, who looked on his +captives as compulsory lodgers, out of whom he was entitled to wring as much as +possible—as indeed he had no other salary, nor means of maintaining his +underlings, a state of things which lasted for two hundred years longer, until +the days of James Oglethorpe and John Howard. Even in the rare cases of +acquittals, the prisoner could not be released till he had paid his fees, and +that Giles Headley should have been borne off from the scaffold itself in debt +to him was an invasion of his privileges, which did not dispose him to be +favourable to any one connected with that affair; and he liked to show his +power and dignity even to an alderman. +</p> + +<p> +He was found sitting in a comfortable tapestried chamber, handsomely dressed in +orange and brown, and with a smooth sleek countenance and the appearance of a +good-natured substantial citizen. +</p> + +<p> +He only half rose from his big carved chair, and touched without removing his +cap, to greet the alderman, as he observed, without the accustomed prefix of +your worship—“So, you are come about your prentice’s fees and +dues. By St. Peter of the Fetters, ’tis an irksome matter to have such a +troop of idle, mischievous, dainty striplings thrust on one, giving more +trouble, and making more call and outcry than twice as many honest thieves and +pickpurses.” +</p> + +<p> +“Be assured, sir, they will scarce trouble you longer than they can +help,” said Master Headley. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, the Duke and my Lord Edmund are making brief work of them,” +quoth the jailer. “Ha!” with an oath, “what’s that? +Nought will daunt those lads till the hangman is at their throats.” +</p> + +<p> +For it was a real hurrah that reached his ears. The jester had got all the boys +round him in the court, and was bidding them keep up a good heart, for their +lives were safe, and their mothers would beg them off. Their shouts did not +tend to increase the captain’s good humour, and though he certainly would +not have let out Alderman Headley’s remaining apprentice without his fee, +he made as great a favour of permission, and charged as exorbitantly, for a +pardoned man to remain within his domains as if they had been the most costly +and delightful hostel in the kingdom. +</p> + +<p> +Master Hope, who presently arrived, had to pay a high fee for leave to bring +Master Todd, the barber-surgeon, with him to see his brother; but though he +offered a mark a day (a huge amount at that time) the captain was obdurate in +refusing to allow the patient to be attended by his own old nurse, declaring +that it was contrary to discipline, and (what probably affected him much more) +one such woman could cause more trouble than a dozen felons. No doubt it was +true, for she would have insisted on moderate cleanliness and comfort. No other +attendant whom Mr. Hope could find would endure the disgrace, the discomfort, +and alarm of a residence in Newgate for Jasper’s sake; so that the +drapers gratitude to Stephen Birkenholt, for voluntarily sharing the little +fellow’s captivity, was great, and he gave payment to one or two of the +officials to secure the two lads being civilly treated, and that the provisions +sent in reached them duly. +</p> + +<p> +Jasper did not in general seem very ill by day, only heavy, listless and dull, +unable to eat, too giddy to sit up, and unable to help crying like a babe, if +Stephen left him for a moment; but he never fell asleep without all the horror +and dread of the sentence coming over him. Like all the boys in London, he had +gazed at executions with the sort of curiosity that leads rustic lads to run to +see pigs killed, and now the details came over him in semi-delirium, as acted +out on himself, and he shrieked and struggled in an anguish which was only +mitigated by Stephen’s reassurances, caresses, even scoldings. The other +youths, relieved from the apprehension of death, agreed to regard their +detention as a holiday, and not being squeamish, turned the yard into a +playground, and there they certainly made uproar, and played pranks, enough to +justify the preference of the captain for full grown criminals. But Stephen +could not join them, for Jasper would not spare him for an instant, and he +himself, though at first sorely missing employment and exercise, was growing +drowsy and heavy limbed in his cramped life and the evil atmosphere, even the +sick longings for liberty were gradually passing away from him, so that +sometimes he felt as if he had lived here for ages and known no other life, +though no sooner did he lie down to rest, and shut his eyes, than the trees and +green glades of the New Forest rose before him, with all the hollies shining in +the summer light, or the gorse making a sheet of gold. +</p> + +<p> +The time was not in reality so very long. On the 7th of May, John Lincoln, the +broker, who had incited Canon Peale to preach against the foreigners, was led +forth with several others of the real promoters of the riot to the centre of +Cheapside, where Lincoln was put death, but orders were brought to respite the +rest; and, at the same time, all the armed men were withdrawn, the City began +to breathe, and the women who had been kept within doors to go abroad again. +</p> + +<p> +The Recorder of London and several aldermen were to meet the King at his manor +at Greenwich. This was the mothers’ opportunity. The civic dignitaries +rode in mourning robes, but the wives and mothers, sweethearts and sisters, +every woman who had a youth’s life at stake, came together, took boat, +and went down the river, a strange fleet of barges, all containing white caps, +and black gowns and hoods, for all were clad in the most correct and humble +citizen’s costume. +</p> + +<p> +“Never was such a sight,” said Jester Randall, who had taken care +to secure a view, and who had come with his report to the Dragon court. +“It might have been Ash Wednesday for the look of them, when they landed +and got into order. One would think every prentice lad had got at least three +mothers, and four or five aunts and sisters! I trow, verily, that half of them +came to look on at the other half, and get a sight of Greenwich and the three +queens. However, be that as it might, not one of them but knew how to open the +sluices. Queen Katharine noted well what was coming, and she and the Queens of +Scotland and France sat in the great chamber with the doors open. And +immediately there’s a knock at the door, and so soon as the usher opens +it, in they come, three and three, every good wife of them with her napkin to +her eyes, and working away with her sobs. Then Mistress Todd, the +barber-surgeon’s wife, she spoke for all, being thought to have the more +courtly tongue, having been tirewoman to Queen Mary ere she went to France. +Verily her husband must have penned the speech for her—for it began right +scholarly, and flowery, with a likening of themselves to the mothers of +Bethlehem (lusty innocents theirs, I trow!), but ere long the good woman +faltered and forgot her part, and broke out ‘Oh! madam, you that are a +mother yourself, for the sake of your own sweet babe, give us back our +sons.’ And therewith they all fell on their knees, weeping and wringing +their hands, and crying out, ‘Mercy, mercy! For our Blessed Lady’s +sake, have pity on our children!’ till the good Queen, with the tears +running down her cheeks for very ruth, told them that the power was not in her +hands, but the will was for them and their poor sons, and that she would strive +so to plead for them with the King as to win their freedom. Meantime, there +were the aldermen watching for the King in his chamber of presence, till forth +he came, when all fell on their knees, and the Recorder spake for them, casting +all the blame on the vain and light persons who had made that enormity. +Thereupon what does our Hal but make himself as stern as though he meant to +string them all up in a line. ‘Ye ought to wail and be sorry,’ said +he, ‘whereas ye say that substantial persons were not concerned, it +appeareth to the contrary. You did wink at the matter,’ quoth he, +‘and at this time we will grant you neither favour nor good-will.’ +However, none who knew Hal’s eye but could tell that ’twas all very +excellent fooling, when he bade them get to the Cardinal. Therewith, in came +the three queens, hand in hand, with tears in their eyes, so as they might have +been the three queens that bore away King Arthur, and down they went on their +knees, and cried aloud ‘Dear sir, we who are mothers ourselves, beseech +you to set the hearts at ease of all the poor mothers who are mourning for +their sons.’ Whereupon, the door being opened, came in so piteous a sound +of wailing and lamentation as our Harry’s name must have been Herod to +withstand! ‘Stand up, Kate,’ said he, ‘stand up, sisters, and +hark in your ear. Not a hair of the silly lads shall be touched, but they must +bide lock and key long enough to teach them and their masters to keep better +ward.’ And then when the queens came back with the good tidings, such a +storm of blessings was never heard, laughings and cryings, and the like, for +verily some of the women seemed as distraught for joy as ever they had been for +grief and fear. Moreover, Mistress Todd being instructed of her husband, led up +Mistress Hope to Queen Mary, and told her the tale of how her husband’s +little brother, a mere babe, lay sick in prison—a mere babe, a suckling +as it were—and was like to die there, unless the sooner delivered, and +how our Steve was fool enough to tarry with the poor child, pardoned though he +be. Then the good lady wept again, and ‘Good woman,’ saith she to +Mistress Hope, ‘the King will set thy brother free anon. His wrath is not +with babes, nor with lads like this other of whom thou speakest.’ +</p> + +<p> +“So off was she to the King again, and though he and his master pished +and pshawed, and said if one and another were to be set free privily in this +sort, there would be none to come and beg for mercy as a warming to all +malapert youngsters to keep within bounds, ‘Nay, verily,’ quoth I, +seeing the moment for shooting a fool’s bolt among them, ‘methinks +Master Death will have been a pick-lock before you are ready for them, and then +who will stand to cry mercy?’” +</p> + +<p> +The narrative was broken off short by a cry of jubilee in the court. Workmen, +boys, and all were thronging together, Kit Smallbones’ head towering in +the midst. Vehement welcomes seemed in progress. “Stephen! +Stephen!” shouted Dennet, and flew out of the hall and down the steps. +</p> + +<p> +“The lad himself!” exclaimed the jester, leaping down after her. +</p> + +<p> +“Stephen, the good boy!” said Master Headley, descending more +slowly, but not less joyfully. +</p> + +<p> +Yes, Stephen himself it was, who had quietly walked into the court. Master Hope +and Master Todd had brought the order for Jasper’s release, had paid the +captain’s exorbitant fees for both, and, while the sick boy was carried +home in a litter, Stephen had entered the Dragon court through the gates, as if +he were coming home from an errand; though the moment he was recognised by the +little four-year old Smallbones, there had been a general rush and shout of +ecstatic welcome, led by Giles Headley, who fairly threw himself on +Stephen’s neck, as they met like comrades after a desperate battle. Not +one was there who did not claim a grasp of the boy’s hand, and who did +not pour out welcomes and greetings, while in the midst, the released captive +looked, to say the truth, very spiritless, faded, dusty, nay dirty. The court +seemed spinning round with him, and the loud welcomes roared in his ears. He +was glad that Dennet took one hand, and Giles the other, declaring that he must +be led to the grandmother instantly. +</p> + +<p> +He muttered something about being in too foul trim to go near her, but Dennet +held him fast, and he was too dizzy to make much resistance. Old Mrs. Headley +was better again, though not able to do much but sit by the fire kept burning +to drive away the plague which was always smouldering in London. +</p> + +<p> +She held out her hands to Stephen, as he knelt down by her. “Take an old +woman’s blessing, my good youth,” she said. “Right glad am I +to see thee once more. Thou wilt not be the worse for the pains thou hast spent +on the little lad, though they have tried thee sorely.” +</p> + +<p> +Stephen, becoming somewhat less dazed, tried to fulfil his long cherished +intention of thanking Dennet for her intercession, but the instant he tried to +speak, to his dismay and indignation, tears choked his voice, and he could do +nothing but weep, as if, thought he, his manhood had been left behind in the +jail. +</p> + +<p> +“Vex not thyself,” said the old dame, as she saw him struggling +with his sobs. “Thou art worn out—Giles here was not half his own +man when he came out, nor is he yet. Nay, beset him not, children. He should go +to his chamber, change these garments, and rest ere supper-time.” +</p> + +<p> +Stephen was fain to obey, only murmuring an inquiry for his brother, to which +his uncle responded that if Ambrose were at home, the tidings would send him to +the Dragon instantly; but he was much with his old master, who was preparing to +leave England, his work here being ruined. +</p> + +<p> +The jester then took leave, accepting conditionally an invitation to supper. +Master Headley, Smallbones, and Tibble now knew who he was, but the secret was +kept from all the rest of the household, lest Stephen should be twitted with +the connection. +</p> + +<p> +Cold water was not much affected by the citizens of London, but smiths’ +and armourers’ work entailed a freer use of it than less grimy trades; +and a bath and Sunday garments made Stephen more like himself, though still he +felt so weary and depressed that he missed the buoyant joy of release to which +he had been looking forward. +</p> + +<p> +He was sitting on the steps, leaning against the rail, so much tired that he +hoped none of his comrades would notice that he had come out, when Ambrose +hurried into the court, having just heard tidings of his freedom, and was at +his side at once. The two brothers sat together, leaning against one another as +if they had all that they could wish or long for. They had not met for more +than a week, for Ambrose’s finances had not availed to fee the turnkeys +to give him entrance. +</p> + +<p> +“And what art thou doing, Ambrose?” asked Stephen, rousing a little +from his lethargy. “Methought I heard mine uncle say thine occupation was +gone?” +</p> + +<p> +“Even so,” replied Ambrose. “Master Lucas will sail in a +week’s time to join his brother at Rotterdam, bearing with him what he +hath been able to save out of the havoc. I wot not if I shall ever see the good +man more.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad thou dost not go with him,” said Stephen, with a hand on +his brother’s leather-covered knee. +</p> + +<p> +“I would not put seas between us,” returned Ambrose. +“Moreover, though I grieve to lose my good master, who hath been so +scurvily entreated here, yet, Stephen, this trouble and turmoil hath brought me +that which I longed for above all, even to have speech with the Dean of St. +Paul’s.” +</p> + +<p> +He then told Stephen how he had brought Dean Colet to administer the last rites +to Abenali, and how that good man had bidden Lucas to take shelter at the +Deanery, in the desolation of his own abode. This had led to conversation +between the Dean and the printer; Lucas, who distrusted all ecclesiastics, +would accept no patronage. He had a little hoard, buried in the corner of his +stall, which would suffice to carry him to his native home and he wanted no +more; but he had spoken of Ambrose, and the Dean was quite ready to be +interested in the youth who had led him to Abenali. +</p> + +<p> +“He had me to his privy chamber,” said Ambrose, “and spake to +me as no man hath yet spoken—no, not even Tibble. He let me utter all my +mind, nay, I never wist before even what mine own thoughts were till he set +them before me—as it were in a mirror.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou wast ever in a harl,” said Stephen, drowsily using the +Hampshire word for whirl or entanglement. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea. On the one side stood all that I had ever believed or learnt before +I came hither of the one true and glorious Mother-Church to whom the Blessed +Lord had committed the keys of His kingdom, through His holy martyrs and +priests to give us the blessed host and lead us in the way of salvation. And on +the other side, I cannot but see the lewd and sinful and worldly lives of the +most part, and hear the lies whereby they amass wealth and turn men from the +spirit of truth and holiness to delude them into believing that wilful sin can +be committed without harm, and that purchase of a parchment is as good as +repentance. That do I see and hear. And therewith my master Lucas and Dan +Tindall, and those of the new light, declare that all has been false even from +the very outset, and that all the pomp and beauty is but Satan’s bait, +and that to believe in Christ alone is all that needs to justify us, casting +all the rest aside. All seemed a mist, and I was swayed hither and thither till +the more I read and thought, the greater was the fog. And this—I know not +whether I told it to yonder good and holy doctor, or whether he knew it, for +his eyes seemed to see into me, and he told me that he had felt and thought +much the same. But on that one great truth, that faith in the Passion is +salvation, is the Church built, though sinful men have hidden it by their +errors and lies as befell before among the Israelites, whose law, like ours, +was divine. Whatever is entrusted to man, he said, will become stained, soiled, +and twisted, though the power of the Holy Spirit will strive to renew it. And +such an outpouring of cleansing and renewing power is, he saith, abroad in our +day. When he was a young man, this good father, so he said, hoped great things, +and did his best to set forth the truth, both at Oxford and here, as indeed he +hath ever done, he and the good Doctor Erasmus striving to turn men’s +eyes back to the simplicity of God’s Word rather than to the arguments +and deductions of the schoolmen. And for the abuses of evil priests that have +sprung up, my Lord Cardinal sought the Legatine Commission from our holy father +at Rome to deal with them. But Dr. Colet saith that there are other forces at +work, and he doubteth greatly whether this same cleansing can be done without +some great and terrible rending and upheaving, that may even split the Church +as it were asunder—since judgment surely awaiteth such as will not be +reformed. But, quoth he, ‘our Mother-Church is God’s own Church and +I will abide by her to the end, as the means of oneness with my Lord and Head, +and do thou the same, my son, for thou art like to be more sorely tried than +will a frail old elder like me, who would fain say his <i>Nunc Dimittis</i>, if +such be the Lord’s will, ere the foundations be cast down.’” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose had gone on rehearsing all these words with the absorption of one to +whom they were everything, till it occurred to him to wonder that Stephen had +listened to so much with patience and assent, and then, looking at the position +of head and hands, he perceived that his brother was asleep, and came to a +sudden halt. This roused Stephen to say, “Eh? What? The Dean, will he do +aught for thee?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea,” said Ambrose, recollecting that there was little use in +returning to the perplexities which Stephen could not enter into. “He +deemed that in this mood of mine, yea, and as matters now be at the +universities, I had best not as yet study there for the priesthood. But he said +he would commend me to a friend whose life would better show me how the new +gives life to the old than any man he wots of.” +</p> + +<p> +“One of thy old doctors in barnacles, I trow,” said Stephen. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, verily. We saw him t’other night perilling his life to stop +the poor crazy prentices, and save the foreigners. Dennet and our uncle saw him +pleading for them with the King.” +</p> + +<p> +“What! Sir Thomas More?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, no other. He needs a clerk for his law matters, and the Dean said he +would speak of me to him. He is to sup at the Deanery to-morrow, and I am to be +in waiting to see him. I shall go with a lighter heart now that thou art beyond +the clutches of the captain of Newgate.” +</p> + +<p> +“Speak no more of that!” said Stephen, with a shudder. “Would +that I could forget it!” +</p> + +<p> +In truth Stephen’s health had suffered enough to change the bold, +high-spirited, active lad, so that he hardly knew himself. He was quite +incapable of work all the next day, and Mistress Headley began to dread that he +had brought home jail fever, and insisted on his being inspected by the +barber-surgeon, Todd, who proceeded to bleed the patient, in order, as he said, +to carry off the humours contracted in the prison. He had done the same by +Jasper Hope, and by Giles, but he followed the treatment up with better +counsel, namely, that the lads should all be sent out of the City to some farm +where they might eat curds and whey, until their strength should be restored. +Thus they would be out of reach of the sweating sickness which was already in +some of the purlieus of St. Katharine’s Docks, and must be specially +dangerous in their lowered condition. +</p> + +<p> +Master Hope came in just after this counsel had been given. He had a sister +married to the host of a large prosperous inn near Windsor, and he proposed to +send not only Jasper but Stephen thither, feeling how great a debt of gratitude +he owed to the lad. Remembering well the good young Mistress Streatfield, and +knowing that the Antelope was a large old house of excellent repute, where she +often lodged persons of quality attending on the court or needing country air, +Master Headley added Giles to the party at his own expense, and wished also to +send Dennet for greater security, only neither her grandmother nor Mrs. Hope +could leave home. +</p> + +<p> +It ended, however, in Perronel Randall being asked to take charge of the whole +party, including Aldonza. That little damsel had been in a manner confided to +her both by the Dean of St. Paul’s and by Tibble Steelman—and +indeed the motherly woman, after nursing and soothing her through her first +despair at the loss of her father, was already loving her heartily, and was +glad to give her a place in the home which Ambrose was leaving on being made an +attendant on Sir Thomas More. +</p> + +<p> +For the interview at the Deanery was satisfactory. The young man, after a good +supper, enlivened by the sweet singing of some chosen pupils of St. +Paul’s school, was called up to where the Dean sat, and with him, the man +of the peculiarly sweet countenance, with the noble and deep expression, yet +withal, something both tender and humorous in it. +</p> + +<p> +They made him tell his whole life, and asked many questions about Abenali, +specially about the fragment of Arabic scroll which had been clutched in his +hand even as he lay dying. They much regretted never having known of his +existence till too late. “Jewels lie before the unheeding!” said +More. Then Ambrose was called on to show a specimen of his own penmanship, and +to write from Sir Thomas’s dictation in English and in Latin. The result +was that he was engaged to act as one of the clerks Sir Thomas employed in his +occupations alike as lawyer, statesman, and scholar. +</p> + +<p> +“Methinks I have seen thy face before,” said Sir Thomas, looking +keenly at him. “I have beheld those black eyes, though with a different +favour.” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose blushed deeply. “Sir, it is but honest to tell you that my +mother’s brother is jester to my Lord Cardinal.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quipsome Hal Merriman! Patch as the King calleth him!” exclaimed +Sir Thomas. “A man I have ever thought wore the motley rather from +excess, than infirmity, of wit.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, sir, so please you, it was his good heart that made him a +jester,” said Ambrose, explaining the story of Randall and his Perronel +in a few words, which touched the friends a good deal, and the Dean remembered +that she was in charge of the little Moresco girl. He lost nothing by dealing +thus openly with his new master, who promised to keep his secret for him, then +gave him handsel of his salary, and bade him collect his possessions, and come +to take up his abode in the house of the More family at Chelsea. +</p> + +<p> +He would still often see his brother in the intervals of attending Sir Thomas +to the courts of law, but the chief present care was to get the boys into purer +air, both to expedite their recovery and to ensure them against being dragged +into the penitential company who were to ask for their lives on the 22nd of +May, consisting of such of the prisoners who could still stand or go—for +jail-fever was making havoc among them, and some of the better-conditioned had +been released by private interest. The remainder, not more than half of the +original two hundred and seventy-eight, were stripped to their shirts, had +halters hung round their necks, and then, roped together as before, were driven +through the streets to Westminster, where the King sat enthroned. There, +looking utterly miserable, they fell on their knees before him, and received +his pardon for their misdemeanours. They returned to their masters, and so +ended that Ill May-day, which was the longer remembered because one Churchill, +a ballad-monger in St. Paul’s Churchyard, indited a poem on it, wherein +he swelled the number of prentices to two thousand, and of the victims to two +hundred. Will Wherry, who escaped from among the prisoners very forlorn, was +recommended by Ambrose to the work of a carter at the Dragon, which he much +preferred to printing. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a>CHAPTER XIX.<br /> +AT THE ANTELOPE</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen<br /> + Full many a sprightly race,<br /> +Disporting on thy margent green,<br /> + The paths of pleasure trace.” +</p> + +<p class="right"> +—<span class="smcap">Gray</span>. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Master Hope</span> took all the guests by boat to Windsor, +and very soon the little party at the Antelope was in a state of such perfect +felicity as became a proverb with them all their lives afterwards. It was an +inn wherein to take one’s ease, a large hostel full of accommodation for +man and horse, with a big tapestried room of entertainment below, where meals +were taken, with an oriel window with a view of the Round Tower, and above it a +still more charming one, known as the Red Rose, because one of the Dukes of +Somerset had been wont to lodge there. The walls were tapestried with the story +of St. Genoveva of Brabant, fresh and new on Mrs. Streatfield’s marriage; +there was a huge bed with green curtains of that dame’s own work, where +one might have said +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Above, below, the rose of snow,<br /> +Twined with her blushing foe we spread.” +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +so as to avoid all offence. There was also a cupboard or sideboard of the +choicer plate belonging to the establishment, and another awmry containing +appliances for chess and backgammon, likewise two large chairs, several stools, +and numerous chests. +</p> + +<p> +This apartment was given up to Mistress Randall and the two girls, subject +however to the chance of turning out for any very distinguished guests. The big +bed held all three, and the chamber was likewise their sitting-room, though +they took their meals down stairs, and joined the party in the common room in +the evening whenever they were not out of doors, unless there were guests whom +Perronel did not think desirable company for her charges. Stephen and Giles +were quartered in a small room known as the Feathers, smelling so sweet of +lavender and woodruff that Stephen declared it carried him back to the Forest. +Mrs. Streatfield would have taken Jasper to tend among her children, but the +boy could not bear to be without Stephen, and his brother advised her to let it +be so, and not try to make a babe of him again. +</p> + +<p> +The guest-chamber below stairs opened at one end into the innyard, a quadrangle +surrounded with stables, outhouses, and offices, with a gallery running round +to give access to the chambers above, where, when the Court was at Windsor, two +or three great men’s trains of retainers might be crowded together. +</p> + +<p> +One door, however, in the side of the guest-chamber had steps down to an +orchard, full of apple and pear trees in their glory of pink bud and white +blossom, borders of roses, gillyflowers, and lilies of the valley running along +under the grey walls. There was a broad space of grass near the houses, whence +could be seen the Round Tower of the Castle looking down in protection, while +the background of the view was filled up with a mass of the foliage of Windsor +forest, in the spring tints. +</p> + +<p> +Stephen never thought of its being beautiful, but he revelled in the +refreshment of anything so like home, and he had nothing to wish for but his +brother, and after all he was too contented and happy even to miss him much. +</p> + +<p> +Master Streatfield was an elderly man, fat and easygoing, to whom talking +seemed rather a trouble than otherwise, though he was very good-natured. His +wife was a merry, lively, active woman, who had been handed over to him by her +father like a piece of Flanders cambric, but who never seemed to regret her +position, managed men and maids, farm and guests, kept perfect order without +seeming to do so, and made great friends with Perronel, never guessing that she +had been one of the strolling company, who, nine or ten years before, had been +refused admission to the Antelope, then crowded with my Lord of Oxford’s +followers. +</p> + +<p> +At first, it was enough for the prentices to spend most of their time in lying +about on the grass under the trees. Giles, who was in the best condition, +exerted himself so far as to try to learn chess from Aldonza, who seemed to be +a proficient in the game, and even defeated the good-natured burly parson who +came every evening to the Antelope, to imbibe slowly a tankard of ale, and hear +any news there stirring. +</p> + +<p> +She and Giles were content to spend hours over her instructions in chess on +that pleasant balcony in the shade of the house. Though really only a year +older than Dennet Headley, she looked much more, and was so in all her ways. It +never occurred to her to run childishly wild with delight in the garden and +orchard as did Dennet, who, with little five-years-old Will Streatfield for her +guide and playfellow, rushed about hither and thither, making acquaintance with +hens and chickens, geese and goslings, seeing cows and goats milked, watching +butter churned, bringing all manner of animal and vegetable curiosities to +Stephen to be named and explained, and enjoying his delight in them, a delight +which after the first few days became more and more vigorous. +</p> + +<p> +By and by there was punting and fishing on the river, strawberry gathering in +the park, explorations of the forest, expeditions of all sorts and kinds, +Jasper being soon likewise well enough to share in them. The boys and girls +were in a kind of fairy land under Perronel’s kind wing, the wandering +habits of whose girlhood made the freedom of the country far more congenial to +her than it would have been to any regular Londoner. +</p> + +<p> +Stephen was the great oracle, of course, as to the deer respectfully peeped at +in the park, or the squirrels, the hares and rabbits, in the forest, and the +inhabitants of the stream above or below. It was he who secured and tamed the +memorials of their visit—two starlings for Dennet and Aldonza. The birds +were to be taught to speak, and to do wonders of all kinds, but Aldonza’s +bird was found one morning dead, and Giles consoled her by the promise of +something much bigger, and that would talk much better. Two days after he +brought her a young jackdaw. Aldonza clasped her hands and admired its glossy +back and queer blue eye, and was in transports when it uttered something +between “Jack” and “good lack.” But Dennet looked in +scorn at it, and said, “That’s a bird tamed already. He +didn’t catch it. He only bought it! I would have none such! An ugsome +great thieving bird!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay now, Mistress Dennet,” argued Perronel. “Thou hast thy +bird, and Alice has lost hers. It is not meet to grudge it to her.” +</p> + +<p> +“I! Grudge it to her!” said Dennet, with a toss of the head. +“I grudge her nought from Giles Headley, so long as I have my Goldspot +that Stephen climbed the wall for, his very self.” +</p> + +<p> +And Dennet turned majestically away with her bird—Goldspot only in the +future—perched on her finger; while Perronel shook her head bodingly. +</p> + +<p> +But they were all children still, and Aldonza was of a nature that was slow to +take offence, while it was quite true that Dennet had been free from jealousy +of the jackdaw, and only triumphant in Stephen’s prowess and her own +starling. +</p> + +<p> +The great pleasure of all was a grand stag-hunt, got up for the diversion of +the French ambassadors, who had come to treat for the espousals of the infant +Princess Mary with the baby “Dolphyne.” Probably these illustrious +personages did not get half the pleasure out of it that the Antelope party had. +Were they not, by special management of a yeoman pricker who had recognised in +Stephen a kindred spirit, and had a strong admiration for Mistress Randall, +placed where there was the best possible view of hunters, horses, and hounds, +lords and ladies, King and ambassadors, in their gorgeous hunting trim? Did not +Stephen, as a true verdurer’s son, interpret every note on the horn, and +predict just what was going to happen, to the edification of all his hearers? +And when the final rush took place, did not the prentices, with their gowns +rolled up, dart off headlong in pursuit? Dennet entertained some hope that +Stephen would again catch some runaway steed, or come to the King’s +rescue in some way or other, but such chances did not happen every day. Nay, +Stephen did not even follow up the chase to the death, but left Giles to do +that, turning back forsooth because that little Jasper thought fit to get tired +and out of breath, and could not find his way back alone. Dennet was quite +angry with Stephen and turned her back on him, when Giles came in all glorious, +at having followed up staunchly all day, having seen the fate of the poor stag, +and having even beheld the King politely hand the knife to Monsieur de +Montmorency to give the first stroke to the quarry! +</p> + +<p> +That was the last exploit. There was to be a great tilting match in honour of +the betrothal, and Master Alderman Headley wanted his apprentices back again, +and having been satisfied by a laborious letter from Dennet, sent per carrier, +that they were in good health, despatched orders by the same means, that they +were to hire horses at the Antelope and return—Jasper coming back at the +same time, though his aunt would fain have kept him longer. +</p> + +<p> +Women on a journey almost always rode double, and the arrangement came under +debate. Perronel, well accustomed to horse, ass, or foot, undertook to ride +behind the child, as she called Jasper, who—as a born Londoner—knew +nothing of horses, though both the other prentices did. Giles, who, in right of +his name, kindred, and expectations, always held himself a sort of master, +declared that “it was more fitting that Stephen should ride before +Mistiness Dennet.” And to this none of the party made any objection, +except that Perronel privately observed to him that she should have thought he +would have preferred the company of his betrothed. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall have quite enough of her by and by,” returned Giles; then +adding, “She is a good little wench, but it is more for her honour that +her father’s servant should ride before her.” +</p> + +<p> +Perronel held her tongue, and they rode merrily back to London, and astonished +their several homes by the growth and healthful looks of the young people. Even +Giles was grown, though he did not like to be told so, and was cherishing the +down on his chin. But the most rapid development had been in Aldonza, or Alice, +as Perronel insisted on calling her to suit the ears of her neighbours. The +girl was just reaching the borderland of maidenhood, which came all the sooner +to one of southern birth and extraction, when the great change took her from +being her father’s childish darling to be Perronel’s companion and +assistant. She had lain down on that fatal May Eve a child, she rose in the +little house by the Temple Gardens, a maiden, and a very lovely one, with +delicate, refined, beautifully cut features of a slightly aquiline cast, a +bloom on her soft brunette cheek, splendid dark liquid eyes shaded by long +black lashes, under brows as regular and well arched as her Eastern cousins +could have made them artificially, magnificent black hair, that could hardly be +contained in the close white cap, and a lithe beautiful figure on which the +plainest dress sat with an Eastern grace. Perronel’s neighbours did not +admire her. They were not sure whether she were most Saracen, gipsy, or Jew. In +fact, she was as like Rachel at the well as her father had been to a patriarch, +and her descent was of the purest Saracen lineage, but a Christian Saracen was +an anomaly the London mind could not comprehend, and her presence in the family +tended to cast suspicion that Master Randall himself, with his gipsy eyes, and +mysterious comings and goings, must have some strange connections. For this, +however, Perronel cared little. She had made her own way for many years past, +and had won respect and affection by many good offices to her neighbours, one +of whom had taken her laundry work in her absence. +</p> + +<p> +Aldonza was by no means indocile or incapable. She shared in Perronel’s +work without reluctance, making good use of her slender, dainty brown fingers, +whether in cooking, household work, washing, ironing, plaiting, making or +mending the stiff lawn collars and cuffs in which her hostess’s business +lay. There was nothing that she would not do when asked, or when she saw that +it would save trouble to good mother Perronel, of whom she was very fond, and +she seemed serene and contented, never wanting to go abroad; but she was very +silent, and Perronel declared herself never to have seen any living woman so +perfectly satisfied to do nothing. The good dame herself was industrious, not +only from thrift but from taste, and if not busy in her vocation or in +household business, was either using her distaff or her needle, or chatting +with her neighbours—often doing both at once; but though Aldonza could +spin, sew, and embroider admirably, and would do so at the least request from +her hostess, it was always a sort of task, and she never seemed so happy as +when seated on the floor, with her dark eyes dreamily fixed on the narrow +window, where hung her jackdaw’s cage, and the beads of her rosary +passing through her fingers. At first Mistress Randall thought she was praying, +but by and by came to the conviction that most of the time “the wench was +bemused.” There was nothing to complain of in one so perfectly gentle and +obedient, and withal, modest and devout; but the good woman, after having for +some time given her the benefit of the supposition that she was grieving for +her father, began to wonder at such want of activity and animation, and to +think that on the whole Jack was the more talkative companion. +</p> + +<p> +Aldonza had certainly not taught him the phrases he was so fond of repeating. +Giles Headley had undertaken his education, and made it a reason for stealing +down to the Temple many an evening after work was done, declaring that birds +never learnt so well as after dark. Moreover, he had possessed himself of a +chess board, and insisted that Aldonza should carry on her instructions in the +game; he brought her all his Holy Cross Day gain of nuts, and he used all his +blandishments to persuade Mrs. Randall to come and see the shooting at the +popinjay, at Mile End. +</p> + +<p> +All this made the good woman uneasy. Her husband was away, for the dread of +sweating sickness had driven the Court from London, and she could only take +counsel with Tibble Steelman. It was Hallowmas Eve, and Giles had been the +bearer of an urgent invitation from Dennet to her friend Aldonza to come and +join the diversions of the evening. There was a large number of young folk in +the hall—Jasper Hope among them—mostly contemporaries of Dennet, +and almost children, all keen upon the sports of the evening, namely, a sort of +indoor quintain, where the revolving beam was decorated with a lighted candle +at one end, and at the other an apple to be caught at by the players with their +mouths, their hands being tied behind them. +</p> + +<p> +Under all the uproarious merriment that each attempt occasioned, Tibble was +about to steal off to his own chamber and his beloved books, when, as he backed +out of the group of spectators, he was arrested by Mistress Randall, who had +made her way into the rear of the party at the same time. +</p> + +<p> +“Can I have a word with you, privily, Master Steelman?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +Unwillingly he muttered, “Yea, so please you;” and they retreated +to a window at the dark end of the hall, where Perronel began—“The +alderman’s daughter is contracted to young Giles, her kinsman, is she +not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not as yet in form, but by the will of the parents,” returned +Tibble, impatiently, as he thought of the half-hour’s reading which he +was sacrificing to woman’s gossip. +</p> + +<p> +“An it be so,” returned Perronel, “I would fain—were I +Master Headley—that he spent not so many nights in gazing at mine +Alice.” +</p> + +<p> +“Forbid him the house, good dame.” +</p> + +<p> +“Easier spoken than done,” returned Perronel. “Moreover, +’tis better to let the matter, such as it is, be open in my sight than to +teach them to run after one another stealthily, whereby worse might +ensue.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have they spoken then to one another?” asked Tibble, beginning to +take alarm. +</p> + +<p> +“I trow not. I deem they know not yet what draweth them together.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pish, they are mere babes!” quoth Tib, hoping he might cast it off +his mind. +</p> + +<p> +“Look!” said Perronel; and as they stood on the somewhat elevated +floor of the bay window, they could look over the heads of the other spectators +to the seats where the young girls sat. +</p> + +<p> +Aldonza’s beautiful and peculiar contour of head and face rose among the +round chubby English faces like a jessamine among daisies, and at that moment +she was undertaking, with an exquisite smile, the care of the gown that Giles +laid at her feet, ere making his venture. +</p> + +<p> +“There!” said Perronel. “Mark that look on her face! I never +see it save for that same youngster. The children are simple and guileless thus +far, it may be. I dare be sworn that she is, but they wot not where they will +be led on.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are right, dame; you know best, no doubt,” said Tib, in +helpless perplexity. “I wot nothing of such gear. What would you +do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Have the maid wedded at once, ere any harm come of it,” returned +Perronel promptly. “She will make a good wife—there will be no +complaining of her tongue, and she is well instructed in all good +housewifery.” +</p> + +<p> +“To whom then would you give her?” asked Tibble. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, that’s the question. Comely and good she is, but she is +outlandish, and I fear me ’twould take a handsome portion to get her dark +skin and Moorish blood o’erlooked. Nor hath she aught, poor maid, save +yonder gold and pearl earrings, and a cross of gold that she says her father +bade her never part with.” +</p> + +<p> +“I pledged my word to her father,” said Tibble, “that I would +have a care of her. I have not cared to hoard, having none to come after me, +but if a matter of twenty or five-and-twenty marks would avail—” +</p> + +<p> +“Wherefore not take her yourself?” said Perronel, as he stood +aghast. “She is a maid of sweet obedient conditions, trained by a scholar +even like yourself. She would make your chamber fair and comfortable, and tend +you dutifully.” +</p> + +<p> +“Whisht, good woman. ’Tis too dark to see, or you could not speak +of wedlock to such as I. Think of the poor maid!” +</p> + +<p> +“That is all folly! She would soon know you for a better husband than one +of those young feather-pates, who have no care but of themselves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, mistress,” said Tibble, gravely, “your advice will not +serve here. To bring that fair young wench hither, to this very court, mind +you, with a mate loathly to behold as I be, and with the lad there ever before +her, would be verily to give place to the devil.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you are the best sword-cutler in London. You could make a living +without service.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am bound by too many years of faithful kindness to quit my master or +my home at the Dragon,” said Tibble. “Nay, that will not serve, +good friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then what can be done?” asked Perronel, somewhat in despair. +“There are the young sparks at the Temple. One or two of them are already +beginning to cast eyes at her, so that I dare not let her help me carry home my +basket, far less go alone. ’Tis not the wench’s fault. She shrinks +from men’s eyes more than any maid I ever saw, but if she bide long with +me, I wot not what may come of it. There be rufflers there who would not stick +to carry her off!” +</p> + +<p> +Tibble stood considering, and presently said, “Mayhap the Dean might aid +thee in this matter. He is free of hand and kind of heart, and belike he would +dower the maid, and find an honest man to wed her.” +</p> + +<p> +Perronel thought well of the suggestion, and decided that after the mass on All +Soul’s Day, and the general visiting of the graves of kindred, she would +send Aldonza home with Dennet, whom they were sure to meet in the Pardon +Churchyard, since her mother, as well as Abenali and Martin Fulford lay there; +and herself endeavour to see Dean Colet, who was sure to be at home, as he was +hardly recovered from an attack of the prevalent disorder. +</p> + +<p> +Then Tibble escaped, and Perronel drew near to the party round the fire, where +the divination of the burning of nuts was going on, but not successfully, since +no pair hitherto put in would keep together. However, the next contribution was +a snail, which had been captured on the wall, and was solemnly set to crawl on +the hearth by Dennet, “to see whether it would trace a G or an H.” +</p> + +<p> +However, the creature proved sullen or sleepy, and no jogging of hands, no +enticing, would induce it to crawl an inch, and the alderman, taking his +daughter on his knee, declared that it was a wise beast, who knew her hap was +fixed. Moreover, it was time for the rere supper, for the serving-men with the +lanterns would be coming for the young folk. +</p> + +<p> +London entertainments for women or young people had to finish very early unless +they had a strong escort to go home with, for the streets were far from safe +after dark. Giles’s great desire to convoy her home, added to +Perronel’s determination, and on All Souls’ Day, while knells were +ringing from every church in London, she roused Aldonza from her weeping +devotions at her father’s grave, and led her to Dennet, who had just +finished her round of prayers at the grave of the mother she had never known, +under the protection of her nurse, and two or three of the servants. The child, +who had thought little of her mother, while her grandmother was alert and +supplied the tenderness and care she needed, was beginning to yearn after +counsel and sympathy, and to wonder, as she told her beads, what might have +been, had that mother lived. She took Aldonza’s hand, and the two girls +threaded their way out of the crowded churchyard together, while Perronel +betook herself to the Deanery of St. Paul’s. +</p> + +<p> +Good Colet was always accessible to the meanest, but he had been very ill, and +the porter had some doubts about troubling him respecting the substantial young +matron whose trim cap and bodice, and full petticoats, showed no tokens of +distress. However, when she begged him to take in her message, that she prayed +the Dean to listen to her touching the child of the old man who was slain on +May Eve, he consented; and she was at once admitted to an inner chamber, where +Colet, wrapped in a gown lined with lambskin, sat by the fire, looking so wan +and feeble that it went to the good woman’s heart and she began by an +apology for troubling him. +</p> + +<p> +“Heed not that, good dame,” said the Dean, courteously, “but +sit thee down and let me hear of the poor child.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, reverend sir, would that she were still a child—” and +Perronel proceeded to tell her difficulties, adding, that if the Dean could of +his goodness promise one of the dowries which were yearly given to poor maidens +of good character, she would inquire among her gossips for some one to marry +the girl. She secretly hoped he would take the hint, and immediately portion +Aldonza himself, perhaps likewise find the husband. And she was disappointed +that he only promised to consider the matter and let her hear from him. She +went back and told Tibble that his device was nought, an old scholar with one +foot in the grave knew less of women than even he did! +</p> + +<p> +However it was only four days later, that, as Mrs. Randall was hanging out her +collars to dry, there came up to her from the Temple stairs a figure whom for a +moment she hardly knew, so different was the long, black garb, and short gown +of the lawyer’s clerk from the shabby old green suit that all her +endeavours had not been able to save from many a stain of printer’s ink. +It was only as he exclaimed, “Good aunt, I am fain to see thee +here!” that she answered, “What, thou, Ambrose! What a fine fellow +thou art! Truly I knew not thou wast of such good mien! Thou thrivest at +Chelsea!” +</p> + +<p> +“Who would not thrive there?” said Ambrose. “Nay, aunt, tarry +a little, I have a message for thee that I would fain give before we go in to +Aldonza.” +</p> + +<p> +“From his reverence the Dean? Hath he bethought himself of her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, that hath he done,” said Ambrose. “He is not the man to +halt when good may be done. What doth he do, since it seems thou hadst speech +of him, but send for Sir Thomas More, then sitting at Westminster, to come and +see him as soon as the Court brake up, and I attended my master. They held +council together, and by and by they sent for me to ask me of what conditions +and breeding the maid was, and what I knew of her father?” +</p> + +<p> +“Will they wed her to thee? That were rarely good, so they gave thee some +good office!” cried his aunt. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay,” said Ambrose. “I have much to learn and +understand ere I think of a wife—if ever. Nay! But when they had heard +all I could tell them, they looked at one another, and the Dean said, +‘The maid is no doubt of high blood in her own land—scarce a mate +for a London butcher or currier.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘It were matching an Arab mare with a costard monger’s +colt,’ said my master, ‘or Angelica with Ralph +Roisterdoister.’” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to know what were better for the poor outlandish maid +than to give her to some honest man,” put in Perronel. +</p> + +<p> +“The end of it was,” said Ambrose, “that Sir Thomas said he +was to be at the palace the next day, and he would strive to move the Queen to +take her countrywoman into her service. Yea, and so he did, but though Queen +Katharine was moved by hearing of a fatherless maid of Spain, and at first +spake of taking her to wait on herself, yet when she heard the maid’s +name, and that she was of Moorish blood, she would none of her. She said that +heresy lurked in them all, and though Sir Thomas offered that the Dean or the +Queen’s own chaplain should question her on the faith, it was all lost +labour. I heard him tell the Dean as much, and thus it is that they bade me +come for thee, and for the maid, take boat, and bring you down to Chelsea, +where Sir Thomas will let her be bred up to wait on his little daughters till +he can see what best may be done for her. I trow his spirit was moved by the +Queen’s hardness! I heard the Dean mutter, ‘<i>Et venient ab +Oriente et Occidente</i>.’” +</p> + +<p> +Perronel hooked alarmed. “The Queen deemed her heretic in grain! Ah! She +is a good wench, and of kind conditions. I would have no ill befall her, but I +am glad to be rid of her. Sir Thomas—he is a wise man, ay, and a married +man, with maidens of his own, and he may have more wit in the business than the +rest of his kind. Be the matter instant?” +</p> + +<p> +“Methinks Sir Thomas would have it so, since this being a holy day, the +courts be not sitting, and he is himself at home, so that he can present the +maid to his lady. And that makes no small odds.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, but what the lady is makes the greater odds to the maid, I +trow,” said Perronel anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Fear not on that score. Dame Alice More is of kindly conditions, and +will be good to any whom her lord commends to her; and as to the young ladies, +never saw I any so sweet or so wise as the two elder ones, specially Mistress +Margaret.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well-a-day! What must be must!” philosophically observed Perronel. +“Now I have my wish, I could mourn over it. I am loth to part with the +wench; and my man, when he comes home, will make an outcry for his pretty Ally; +but ’tis best so. Come, Alice, girl, bestir thyself. Here’s +preferment for thee.” +</p> + +<p> +Aldonza raised her great soft eyes in slow wonder, and when she had heard what +was to befall her, declared that she wanted no advancement, and wished only to +remain with mother Perronel. Nay, she clung to the kind woman, beseeching that +she might not be sent away from the only motherly tenderness she had ever +known, and declaring that she would work all day and all night rather than +leave her; but the more reluctance she showed, the more determined was +Perronel, and she could not but submit to her fate, only adding one more +entreaty that she might take her jackdaw, which was now a spruce grey-headed +bird. Perronel said it would be presumption in a waiting-woman, but Ambrose +declared that at Chelsea there were all manner of beasts and birds, beloved by +the children and by their father himself, and that he believed the daw would be +welcome. At any rate, if the lady of the house objected to it, it could return +with Mistress Randall. +</p> + +<p> +Perronel hurried the few preparations, being afraid that Giles might take +advantage of the holiday to appear on the scene, and presently Aldonza was +seated in the boat, making no more lamentations after she found that her fate +was inevitable, but sitting silent, with downcast head, now and then brushing +away a stray tear as it stole down under her long eyelashes. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime Ambrose, hoping to raise her spirits, talked to his aunt of the +friendly ease and kindliness of the new home, where he was evidently as +thoroughly happy as it was in his nature to be. He was much, in the position of +a barrister’s clerk, superior to that of the mere servants, but inferior +to the young gentlemen of larger means, though not perhaps of better birth, who +had studied law regularly, and aspired to offices or to legal practice. +</p> + +<p> +But though Ambrose was ranked with the three or four other clerks, his +functions had more relation to Sir Thomas’s literary and diplomatic +avocations than his legal ones. From Lucas Hansen he had learnt Dutch and +French, and he was thus available for copying and translating foreign +correspondence. His knowledge of Latin and smattering of Greek enabled him to +be employed in copying into a book some of the inestimable letters of Erasmus +which arrived from time to time, and Sir Thomas promoted his desire to improve +himself, and had requested Mr. Clements, the tutor of the children of the +house, to give him weekly lessons in Latin and Greek. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Thomas had himself pointed out to him books calculated to settle his mind +on the truth and catholicity of the Church, and had warned him against meddling +with the fiery controversial tracts which, smuggled in often through +Lucas’s means, had set his mind in commotion. And for the present at +least beneath the shadow of the great man’s intelligent devotion, +Ambrose’s restless spirit was tranquil. +</p> + +<p> +Of course, he did not explain his state of mind to his aunt, but she gathered +enough to be well content, and tried to encourage Aldonza, when at length they +landed near Chelsea Church, and Ambrose led the way to an extensive pleasaunce +or park, full of elms and oaks, whose yellow leaves were floating like golden +rain in the sunshine. +</p> + +<p> +Presently children’s voices guided them to a large chestnut tree. +“Lo you now, I hear Mistress Meg’s voice, and where she is, his +honour will ever be,” said Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +And sure enough, among a group of five girls and one boy, all between fourteen +and nine years old, was the great lawyer, knocking down the chestnuts with a +long pole, while the young ones flew about picking up the burrs from the grass, +exclaiming joyously when they found a full one. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose explained that of the young ladies, one was Mistress Middleton, Lady +More’s daughter by a former marriage, another a kinswoman. Perronel was +for passing by unnoticed; but Ambrose knew better; and Sir Thomas, leaning on +the pole, called out, “Ha, my Birkenholt, a forester born, knowst thou +any mode of bringing down yonder chestnuts, which being the least within reach, +seem in course the meetest of all.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would I were my brother, your honour,” said Ambrose, “then +would I climb the thee.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou shouldst bring him one of these days,” said Sir Thomas. +“But thou hast instead brought in a fair maid. See, Meg, yonder is the +poor young girl who lost her father on Ill May day. Lead her on and make her +good cheer, while I speak to this good dame.” +</p> + +<p> +Margaret More, a slender, dark-eyed girl of thirteen, went forward with a +peculiar gentle grace to the stranger, saying, “Welcome, sweet maid! I +hope we shall make thee happy,” and seeing the mournful countenance, she +not only took Aldonza’s hand, but kissed her cheek. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Thomas had exchanged a word or two with Perronel, when there was a cry from +the younger children, who had detected the wicker cage which Perronel was +trying to keep in the background. +</p> + +<p> +“A daw! a daw!” was the cry. “Is’t for us?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, mistress,” faltered Aldonza, “’tis +mine—there was one who tamed it for me, and I promised ever to keep it, +but if the good knight and lady forbid it, we will send it back.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay now, John, Cicely,” was Margaret saying, “’tis her +own bird! Wot ye not our father will let us take nought of them that come to +him? Yea, Al-don-za—is not that thy name?—I am sure my father will +have thee keep it.” +</p> + +<p> +She led up Aldonza, making the request for her. Sir Thomas smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Keep thy bird? Nay, that thou shalt. Look at him, Meg, is he not in fit +livery for a lawyer’s house? Mark his trim legs, sable doublet and hose, +and grey hood—and see, he hath the very eye of a councillor seeking for +suits, as he looketh at the chestnuts John holdeth to him. I warrant he hath a +tongue likewise. Canst plead for thy dinner, bird?” +</p> + +<p> +“I love Giles!” uttered the black beak, to the confusion and +indignation of Perronel. +</p> + +<p> +The perverse bird had heard Giles often dictate this avowal, but had entirely +refused to repeat it, till, stimulated by the new surroundings, it had for the +first time uttered it. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! thou foolish daw! Crow that thou art! Had I known thou hadst such a +word in thy beak, I’d have wrung thy neck sooner than have brought +thee,” muttered Perronel. “I had best take thee home without more +ado.” +</p> + +<p> +It was too late, however, the children were delighted, and perfectly willing +that Aldonza should own the bird, so they might hear it speak, and thus the +introduction was over. Aldonza and her daw were conveyed to Dame Alice More, a +stout, good-tempered woman, who had too many dependents about her house to +concern herself greatly about the introduction of another. +</p> + +<p> +And thus Aldonza was installed in the long, low, two-storied red house which +was to be her place of home-like service. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a>CHAPTER XX.<br /> +CLOTH OF GOLD ON THE SEAMY SIDE</h2> + +<p class="poem"> + Then you lost<br /> +The view of earthly glory: men might say<br /> +Till this time pomp was single; but now married<br /> +To one above itself.” +</p> + +<p class="right"> +—<span class="smcap">Shakespeare</span>. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">If</span> Giles Headley murmured at Aldonza’s +removal, it was only to Perronel, and that discreet woman kept it to herself. +</p> + +<p> +In the summer of 1519 he was out of his apprenticeship, and though Dennet was +only fifteen, it was not uncommon for brides to be even younger. However, the +autumn of that year was signalised by a fresh outbreak of the sweating +sickness, apparently a sort of influenza, and no festivities could be thought +of. The King and Queen kept at a safe distance from London, and escaped, so did +the inmates of the pleasant house at Chelsea; but the Cardinal, who, as Lord +Chancellor, could not entirely absent himself from Westminster, was four times +attacked by it, and Dean Colet, a far less robust man, had it three times, and +sank at last under it. Sir Thomas More went to see his beloved old friend, and +knowing Ambrose’s devotion, let the young man be his attendant. Nor could +those who saw the good man ever forget his peaceful farewells, grieving only +for the old mother who had lived with him in the Deanery, and in the ninetieth +year of her age, thus was bereaved of the last of her twenty-one children. For +himself, he was thankful to be taken away from the evil times he already beheld +threatening his beloved St. Paul’s, as well as the entire Church both in +England and abroad; looking back with a sad sweet smile to the happy Oxford +days, when he, with More and Erasmus, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Strained the watchful eye<br /> +If chance the golden hours were nigh<br /> +By youthful hope seen gleaming round her walls.” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” said he, as he laid his hand in blessing for the last time +on Ambrose’s head, “let men say what they will, do thou cling fast +to the Church, nor let thyself be swept away. There are sure promises to her, +and grace is with her to purify herself, even though it be obscured for a time. +Be not of little faith, but believe that Christ is with us in the ship, though +He seem to be asleep.” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke as much to his friend as to the youth, and there can be no doubt that +this consideration was the restraining force with many who have been +stigmatised as half-hearted Reformers, because though they loved truth, they +feared to lose unity. +</p> + +<p> +He was a great loss at that especial time, as a restraining power, trusted by +the innovators, and a personal friend both of King and Cardinal, and his +preaching and catechising were sorely missed at St. Paul’s. +</p> + +<p> +Tibble Steelman, though thinking he did not go far enough, deplored him deeply; +but Tibble himself was laid by for many days. The epidemic went through the +Dragon court, though some had it lightly, and only two young children actually +died of it. It laid a heavy hand on Tibble, and as his distaste for women +rendered his den almost inaccessible to Bet Smallbones, who looked after most +of the patients, Stephen Birkenholt, whose nursing capacities had been +developed in Newgate, spent his spare hours in attending him, sat with him in +the evenings, slept on a pallet by his side, carried him his meals and often +administered them, and finally pulled him through the illness and its effects, +which left him much broken and never likely to be the same man again. +</p> + +<p> +Old Mistress Headley, who was already failing, did not have the actual disease +severely, but she never again left her bed, and died just after Christmas, +sinking slowly away with little pain, and her memory having failed from the +first. +</p> + +<p> +Household affairs had thus shipped so gradually into Dennet’s hands that +no change of government was perceptible, except that the keys hung at the +maiden’s girdle. She had grown out of the child during this winter of +trouble, and was here, there, and everywhere, the busy nurse and housewife, +seldom pausing to laugh or play except with her father, and now and then to +chat with her old friend and playfellow, Kit Smallbones. Her childish freedom +of manner had given way to grave discretion, not to say primness, in her +behaviour to her father’s guests, and even the apprentices. It was, of +course, the unconscious reaction of the maidenly spirit, aware that she had +nothing but her own modesty to protect her. She was on a small scale, with no +pretensions to beauty, but with a fresh, honest, sensible young face, a clear +skin, and dark eyes that could be very merry when she would let them, and her +whole air and dress were trimness itself, with an inclination to the choicest +materials permitted to an alderman’s daughter. +</p> + +<p> +Things were going on so smoothly that the alderman was taken by surprise when +all the good wives around began to press on him that it was incumbent on him to +lose no time in marrying his daughter to her cousin, if not before Lent, yet +certainly in the Easter holidays. +</p> + +<p> +Dennet looked very grave thereon. Was it not over soon after the loss of the +good grandmother? And when her father said, as the gossips had told him, that +she and Giles need only walk quietly down some morning to St. Faith’s and +plight their troth, she broke out into her girlish wilful manner, “Would +she be married at all without a merry wedding? No, indeed! She would not have +the thing done in a corner! What was the use of her being wedded, and having to +consort with the tedious old wives instead of the merry wenches? Could she not +guide the house, and rule the maids, and get in the stores, and hinder waste, +and make the pasties, and brew the possets? Had her father found the crust +hard, or missed his roasted crab, or had any one blamed her for want of +discretion? Nay, as to that, she was like to be more discreet as she was, with +only her good old father to please, than with a husband to plague her.” +</p> + +<p> +On the other hand, Giles’s demeanour was rather that of one prepared for +the inevitable than that of an eager bridegroom; and when orders began to pour +in for accoutrements of unrivalled magnificence for the King and the gentlemen +who were to accompany him to Ardres, there to meet the young King of France +just after Whitsuntide, Dennet was the first to assure her father that there +would be no time to think of weddings till all this was over, especially as +some of the establishment would have to be in attendance to repair casualties +at the jousts. +</p> + +<p> +At this juncture there arrived on business Master Tiptoff, husband to +Giles’s sister, bringing greetings from Mrs. Headley at Salisbury, and +inquiries whether the wedding was to take place at Whitsuntide, in which case +she would hasten to be present, and to take charge of the household, for which +her dear daughter was far too young. Master Tiptoff showed a suspicious +alacrity in undertaking the forwarding of his mother-in-law and her stuff. +</p> + +<p> +The faces of Master Headley and Tib Steelman were a sight, both having seen +only too much of what the housewifery at Salisbury had been. The alderman +decided on the spot that there could be no marriage till after the journey to +France, since Giles was certainly to go upon it; and lest Mrs. Headley should +be starting on her journey, he said he should despatch a special messenger to +stay her. Giles, who had of course been longing for the splendid pageant, +cheered up into great amiability, and volunteered to write to his mother, that +she had best not think of coming, till he sent word to her that matters were +forward. Even thus, Master Headley was somewhat insecure. He thought the dame +quite capable of coming and taking possession of his house in his absence, and +therefore resolved upon staying at home to garrison it; but there was then the +further difficulty that Tibble was in no condition to take his place on the +journey. If the rheumatism seized his right arm, as it had done in the winter, +he would be unable to drive a rivet, and there would be every danger of it, +high summer though it were; for though the party would carry their own tent and +bedding, the knights and gentlemen would be certain to take all the best +places, and they might be driven into a damp corner. Indeed it was not +impossible that their tent itself might be seized, for many a noble or his +attendants might think that beggarly artisans had no right to comforts which he +had been too improvident to afford, especially if the alderman himself were +absent. +</p> + +<p> +Not only did Master Headley really love his trusty foreman too well to expose +him to such chances, but Tibble knew too well that there were brutal young men +to whom his contorted-visage would be an incitement to contempt and outrage, +and that if racked with rheumatism, he would only be an incumbrance. There was +nothing for it but to put Kit Smallbones at the head of the party. His imposing +presence would keep off wanton insults, but on the other hand, he had not the +moral weight of authority possessed by Tibble, and though far from being a +drunkard, he was not proof against a carouse, especially when out of reach of +his Bet and of his master, and he was not by any means Tib’s equal in +fine and delicate workmanship. But on the other hand, Tib pronounced that +Stephen Birkenholt was already well skilled in chasing metal and the difficult +art of restoring inlaid work, and he showed some black and silver armour, that +was in hand for the King, which fully bore out his words. +</p> + +<p> +“And thou thinkst Kit can rule the lads!” said the alderman, scarce +willingly. +</p> + +<p> +“One of them at least can rule himself,” said Tibble. “They +have both been far more discreet since the fright they got on Ill May day; and, +as for Stephen, he hath seemed to me to have no eyes nor thought save for his +work of late.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have marked him,” said the master, “and have marvelled +what ailed the lad. His merry temper hath left him. I never hear him singing to +keep time with his hammer, nor keeping the court in a roar with his gibes. I +trust he is not running after the new doctrine of the hawkers and pedlars. His +brother was inclined that way.” +</p> + +<p> +“There be worse folk than they, your worship,” protested Tib, but +he did not pursue their defence, only adding, “but ’tis not that +which ails young Stephen. I would it were!” he sighed to himself, +inaudibly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the good-natured alderman, “it may be he misseth +his brother. The boys will care for this raree-show more than thou or I, Tib! +We’ve seen enough of them in our day, though verily they say this is to +surpass all that ever were beheld!” +</p> + +<p> +The question of who was to go had not been hitherto decided, and Giles and +Stephen were both so excited at being chosen that all low spirits and moodiness +were dispelled, and the work which went on almost all night was merrily got +through. The Dragon court was in a perpetual commotion with knights, squires, +and grooms, coming in with orders for new armour, or for old to be furbished, +and the tent-makers, lorimers, mercers, and tailors had their hands equally +full. These lengthening mornings heard the hammer ringing at sunrise, and in +the final rush, Smallbones never went to bed at all. He said he should make it +up in the waggon on the way to Dover. Some hinted that he preferred the clang +of his hammer to the good advice his Bet lavished on him at every leisure +moment to forewarn him against French wine-pots. +</p> + +<p> +The alderman might be content with the party he sent forth, for Kit had hardly +his equal in size, strength, and good humour. Giles had developed into a tall, +comely young man, who had got rid of his country slouch, and whose tall figure, +light locks, and ruddy cheeks looked well in the new suit which gratified his +love of finery, sober-hued as it needs must be. Stephen was still bound to the +old prentice garb, though it could not conceal his good mien, the bright +sparkling dark eyes, crisp black hair, healthy brown skin, and lithe active +figure. Giles had a stout roadster to ride on, the others were to travel in +their own waggon, furnished with four powerful horses, which, if possible, they +were to take to Calais, so as to be independent of hiring. Their needments, +clothes, and tools, were packed in the waggon, with store of lances, and other +appliances of the tourney. A carter and Will Wherry, who was selected as being +supposed to be conversant with foreign tongues, were to attend on them; +Smallbones, as senior journeyman, had the control of the party, and Giles had +sufficiently learnt subordination not to be likely to give himself dangerous +airs of mastership. +</p> + +<p> +Dennet was astir early to see them off, and she had a little gift for each. She +began with her oldest friend. “See here, Kit,” she said, +“here’s a wallet to hold thy nails and rivets. What wilt thou say +to me for such a piece of stitchery?” +</p> + +<p> +“Say, pretty mistress? Why this!” quoth the giant, and he picked +her up by the slim waist in his great hands, and kissed her on the forehead. He +had done the like many a time nine or ten years ago, and though Master Headley +laughed, Dennet was not one bit embarrassed, and turned to the next traveller. +“Thou art no more a prentice, Giles, and canst wear this in thy +bonnet,” she said, holding out to him a short silver chain and medal of +St. George and the Dragon. +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks, gentle maid,” said Giles, taking the handsome gift a +little sheepishly. “My bonnet will make a fair show,” and he bent +down as she stood on the step, and saluted her lips, then began eagerly +fastening the chain round his cap, as one delighted with the ornament. +</p> + +<p> +Stephen was some distance off. He had turned aside when she spoke to Giles, and +was asking of Tibble last instructions about the restoration of enamel, when he +felt a touch on his arm, and saw Dennet standing by him. She looked up in his +face, and held up a crimson silken purse, with S. B embroidered on it with a +wreath of oak and holly leaves. +</p> + +<p> +With the air that ever showed his gentle blood, Stephen put a knee to the +ground, and kissed the fingers that held it to him, whereupon Dennet, a sudden +burning blush overspreading her face under her little pointed hood, turned +suddenly round and ran into the house. She was out again on the steps when the +waggon finally got under weigh, and as her eyes met Stephen’s, he doffed +his flat cap with one hand, and laid the other on his heart, so that she knew +where her purse had taken up its abode. +</p> + +<p> +Of the Field of the Cloth of Gold not much need be said. To the end of the +lives of the spectators, it was a tale of wonder. Indeed without that, the very +sight of the pavilions was a marvel in itself, the blue dome of Francis +spangled in imitation of the sky, with sun, moon, and stars; and the feudal +castle of Henry, a three months’ work, each surrounded with tents of +every colour and pattern which fancy could devise, with the owners’ +banners or pennons floating from the summits, and every creature, man, and +horse, within the enchanted precincts, equally gorgeous. It was the brightest +and the last full display of magnificent pseudo chivalry, and to +Stephen’s dazzled eye, seeing it beneath the slant rays of the setting +sun of June, it was a fairy tale come to life. Hal Randall, who was in +attendance on the Cardinal, declared that it was a mere surfeit of jewels and +gold and silver, and that a frieze jerkin or leathern coat was an absolute +refreshment to the sight. He therefore spent all the time he was off duty in +the forge far in the rear, where Smallbones and his party had very little but +hard work, mending, whetting, furbishing, and even changing devices. Those six +days of tilting when “every man that stood, showed like a mine,” +kept the armourers in full occupation night and day, and only now and then +could the youths try to make their way to some spot whence they could see the +tournament. +</p> + +<p> +Smallbones was more excited by the report of fountains of good red and white +wines of all sorts, flowing perpetually in the court of King Henry’s +splended mock castle; but fortunately one gulp was enough for an English palate +nurtured on ale and mead, and he was disgusted at the heaps of country folk, +men-at-arms, beggars and vagabonds of all kinds, who swilled the liquor +continually, and, in loathsome contrast to the external splendours, lay +wallowing on the ground so thickly that it was sometimes hardly possible to +move without treading on them. +</p> + +<p> +“I stumbled over a dozen,” said the jester, as he strolled into the +little staked inclosure that the Dragon party had arranged round their tent for +the prosecution of their labours, which were too important to all the champions +not to be respected. “Lance and sword have not laid so many low in the +lists as have the doughty Baron Burgundy and the heady knight Messire Sherris +Sack.” +</p> + +<p> +“Villain Verjuice and Varlet Vinegar is what Kit there calls them,” +said Stephen, looking up from the work he was carrying on over a pan of glowing +charcoal. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea,” said Smallbones, intermitting his noisy operations, +“and the more of swine be they that gorge themselves on it. I told Jack +and Hob that ’twould be shame for English folk to drown themselves like +French frogs or Flemish hogs.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hogs!” returned Randall. “A decent Hampshire hog would scorn +to be lodged as many a knight and squire and lady too is now, pigging it in +styes and hovels and haylofts by night, and pranking it by day with the +best!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sooth enough,” said Smallbones. “Yea, we have had two +knights and their squires beseeching us for leave to sleep under our waggon! +Not an angel had they got among the four of them either, having all their +year’s income on their backs, and more too. I trow they and their heirs +will have good cause to remember this same Field of Gold.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what be’st thou doing, nevvy?” asked the jester. +“Thy trade seems as brisk as though red blood were flowing instead of red +wine.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am doing my part towards making the King into Hercules,” said +Stephen, “though verily the tailor hath more part therein than we have; +but he must needs have a breastplate of scales of gold, and that by +to-morrow’s morn. As Ambrose would say, ‘if he will be a pagan god, +he should have what’s-his-name, the smith of the gods, to work for +him.’” +</p> + +<p> +“I heard of that freak,” said the jester. “There be a dozen +tailors and all the Queen’s tirewomen frizzling up a good piece of cloth +of gold for the lion’s mane, covering a club with green damask with +pricks, cutting out green velvet and gummed silk for his garland! In sooth, +these graces have left me so far behind in foolery that I have not a jest left +in my pouch! So here I be, while my Lord Cardinal is shut up with Madame +d’Angoulême in the castle—the real old castle, mind +you—doing the work, leaving the kings and queens to do their own +fooling.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you spoken with the French King, Hal?” asked Smallbones, who +had become a great crony of his, since the anxieties of May Eve. +</p> + +<p> +“So far as I may when I have no French, and he no English! He is a comely +fellow, with a blithe tongue and a merry eye, I warrant you a chanticleer who +will lose nought for lack of crowing. He’ll crow louder than ever now he +hath given our Harry a fall.” +</p> + +<p> +“No! hath he?” and Giles, Stephen, and Smallbones, all suspended +their work to listen in concern. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay marry, hath he! The two took it into their royal noddles to try a +fall, and wrestled together on the grass, when by some ill hap, this same +Francis tripped up our Harry, so that he was on the sward for a moment. He was +up again forthwith, and in full heart for another round, when all the Frenchmen +burst in gabbling; and, though their King was willing to play the match out +fairly, they wouldn’t let him, and my Lord Cardinal said something about +making ill blood, whereat our King laughed and was content to leave it. As I +told him, we have given the French falls enough to let them make much of this +one.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope he will yet give the mounseer a good shaking,” muttered +Smallbones. +</p> + +<p> +“How now, Will! Who’s that at the door? We are on his grace’s +work and can touch none other man’s were it the King of France himself, +or his Constable, who is finer still.” +</p> + +<p> +By way of expressing “No admittance except on business,” Smallbones +kept Will Wherry in charge of the door of his little territory, which having a +mud wall on two sides, and a broad brook with quaking banks on a third, had +been easily fenced on the fourth, so as to protect tent, waggon, horses, and +work from the incursions of idlers. Will however answered, “The gentleman +saith he hath kindred here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay!” and there pushed in, past the lad a tall, lean form, with a +gay but soiled short cloak over one shoulder, a suit of worn buff, a cap +garnished with a dilapidated black and yellow feather, and a pair of gilt +spurs. “If this be as they told me, where Armourer Headley’s folk +lodge—I have here a sort of a cousin. Yea, yonder’s the brave lad +who had no qualms at the flash of a good Toledo in a knight’s fist. How +now, my nevvy! Is not my daughter’s nevvy—mine?” +</p> + +<p> +“Save your knighthood!” said Smallbones. “Who would have +looked to see you here, Sir John? Methought you were in the Emperor’s +service!” +</p> + +<p> +“A stout man-at-arms is of all services,” returned Fulford. +“I’m here with half Flanders to see this mighty show, and pick up a +few more lusty Badgers at this encounter of old comrades. Is old Headley +here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, he is safe at home, where I would I were,” sighed Kit. +</p> + +<p> +“And you are my young master his nephew, who knew where to purvey me of +good steel,” added Fulford, shaking Giles’s hand. “You are +fain, doubtless, you youngsters, to be forth without the old man. Ha! and +you’ve no lack of merry company.” +</p> + +<p> +Harry Randall’s first impulse had been to look to the right and left for +the means of avoiding this encounter, but there was no escape; and he was +moreover in most fantastic motley, arrayed in one of the many suits provided +for the occasion. It was in imitation of a parrot, brilliant grass-green +velvet, touched here and there with scarlet, yellow, or blue. He had been only +half disguised on the occasion of Fulford’s visit to his wife, and he +perceived the start of recognition in the eyes of the Condottiere, so that he +knew it would be vain to try to conceal his identity. +</p> + +<p> +“You sought Stephen Birkenholt,” he said. “And you’ve +lit on something nearer, if so be you’ll acknowledge the paraquito that +your Perronel hath mated with.” +</p> + +<p> +The Condottiere burst into a roar of laughter so violent that he had to lean +against the mud wall, and hold his sides. “Ha, ha! that I should be +father-in-law to a fool!” and then he set off again. “That the +sober, dainty little wench should have wedded a fool! Ha! ha! ha!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” cried Stephen hotly, “I would have you to know that +mine uncle here, Master Harry Randall, is a yeoman of good birth, and that he +undertook his present part to support your own father and child! Methinks you +are the last who should jeer at and insult him!” +</p> + +<p> +“Stephen is right,” said Giles. “This is my kinsman’s +tent, and no man shall say a word against Master Harry Randall therein.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well crowed, my young London gamebirds,” returned Fulford, coolly. +“I meant no disrespect to the gentleman in green. Nay, I am mightily +beholden to him for acting his part out and taking on himself that would scarce +befit a gentleman of a company—<i>impedimenta</i>, as we used to say in +the grammar school. How does the old man?—I must find some token to send +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is beyond the reach of all tokens from you save prayers and +masses,” returned Randall, gravely. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay? You say not so? Old gaffer dead?” And when the soldier was +told how the feeble thread of life had been snapped by the shock of joy on his +coming, a fit of compunction and sorrow seized him. He covered his face with +his hands and wept with a loudness of grief that surprised and touched his +hearers; and presently began to bemoan himself that he had hardly a mark in his +purse to pay for a mass; but therewith he proceeded to erect before him the +cross hilt of poor Abenali’s sword, and to vow thereupon that the first +spoil and the first ransom, that it should please the saints to send him, +should be entirely spent in masses for the soul of Martin Fulford. This tribute +apparently stilled both grief and remorse, for looking up at the grotesque +figure of Randall, he said, “Methought they told me, master son, that you +were in the right quarters for beads and masses and all that gear—a +varlet of Master Butcher-Cardinal’s, or the like—but mayhap +’twas part of your fooling.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not so,” replied Randall. “’Tis to the Cardinal that I +belong,” holding out his sleeve, where the scarlet hat was neatly worked, +“and I’ll brook no word against his honour.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ho! ho! Maybe you looked to have the hat on your own head,” quoth +Fulford, waxing familiar, “if your master comes to be Pope after his own +reckoning. Why, I’ve known a Cardinal get the scarlet because an ape had +danced on the roof with him in his arms!” +</p> + +<p> +“You forget! I’m a wedded man,” said Randall, who certainly, +in private life, had much less of the buffoon about him than his father-in-law. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Impedimentum</i> again,” whistled the knight. “Put a +halter round her neck, and sell her for a pot of beer.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d rather put a halter round my own neck for good and all,” +said Hal, his face reddening; but among other accomplishments of his position, +he had learnt to keep his temper, however indignant he felt. +</p> + +<p> +“Well—she’s a knight’s daughter, and preferments will +be plenty. Thou’lt make me captain of the Pope’s guard, fair +son—there’s no post I should like better. Or I might put up with an +Italian earldom or the like. Honour would befit me quite as well as that old +fellow, Prosper Colonna; and the Badgers would well become the Pope’s +scarlet and yellow liveries.” +</p> + +<p> +The Badgers, it appeared, were in camp not far from Gravelines, whence the +Emperor was watching the conference between his uncle-in-law and his chief +enemy; and thence Fulford, who had a good many French acquaintance, having once +served under Francis I., had come over to see the sport. Moreover, he contrived +to attach himself to the armourer’s party, in a manner that either +Alderman Headley himself, or Tibble Steelman, would effectually have prevented; +but which Kit Smallbones had not sufficient moral weight to hinder, even if he +had had a greater dislike to being treated as a boon companion by a knight who +had seen the world, could appreciate good ale, and tell all manner of tales of +his experiences. +</p> + +<p> +So the odd sort of kindred that the captain chose to claim with Stephen +Birkenholt was allowed, and in right of it, he was permitted to sleep in the +waggon; and thereupon his big raw-boned charger was found sharing the fodder of +the plump broad-backed cart horses, while he himself, whenever sport was not +going forward for him, or work for the armourers, sat discussing with Kit the +merits or demerits of the liquors of all nations, either in their own yard or +in some of the numerous drinking booths that had sprung up around. +</p> + +<p> +To no one was this arrangement so distasteful as to Quipsome Hal, who felt +himself in some sort the occasion of the intrusion, and yet was quite unable to +prevent it, while everything he said was treated as a joke by his unwelcome +father-in-law. It was a coarse time, and Wolsey’s was not a refined or +spiritual establishment, but it was decorous, and Randall had such an affection +and respect for the innocence of his sister’s young son, that he could +not bear to have him exposed to the company of one habituated to the +licentiousness of the mercenary soldier. At first the jester hoped to remove +the lads from the danger, for the brief remainder of their stay, by making +double exertion to obtain places for them at any diversion which might be going +on when their day’s work was ended, and of these, of course, there was a +wide choice, subordinate to the magnificent masquing of kings and queens. On +the last midsummer evening, while their majesties were taking leave of one +another, a company of strolling players were exhibiting in an extemporary +theatre, and here Hal incited both the youths to obtain seats. The drama was on +one of the ordinary and frequent topics of that, as of all other times, and the +dumb show and gestures were far more effective than the words, so that even +those who did not understand the language of the comedians, who seemed to be +Italians, could enter into it, especially as it was interspersed with very +expressive songs. +</p> + +<p> +An old baron insists on betrothing his daughter and heiress to her kinsman +freshly knighted. She is reluctant, weeps, and is threatened, singing +afterwards her despair (of course she really was a black-eyed boy). That song +was followed by a still more despairing one from the baron’s squire, and +a tender interview between them followed. +</p> + +<p> +Then came discovery, the baron descending as a thunderbolt, the banishment of +the squire, the lady driven at last to wed the young knight, her weeping and +bewailing herself under his ill-treatment, which extended to pulling her about +by the hair, the return of the lover, notified by a song behind the scenes, a +dangerously affectionate meeting, interrupted by the husband, a fierce clashing +of swords, mutual slaughter by the two gentlemen, and the lady dying of grief +on the top of her lover. +</p> + +<p> +Such was the argument of this tragedy, which Giles Headley pronounced to be +very dreary pastime, indeed he was amusing himself with an exchange of comfits +with a youth who sat next him all the time—for he had found Stephen +utterly deaf to aught but the tragedy, following every gesture with eager eyes, +lips quivering, and eyes filling at the strains of the love songs, though they +were in their native Italian, of which he understood not a word. He rose up +with a heavy groan when all was over, as if not yet disenchanted, and hardly +answered when his uncle spoke to him afterwards. It was to ask whether the +Dragon party were to return at once to London, or to accompany the Court to +Gravelines, where, it had just been announced, the King intended to pay a visit +to his nephew, the Emperor. +</p> + +<p> +Neither Stephen nor Giles knew, but when they reached their own quarters they +found that Smallbones had received an intimation that there might be jousts, +and that the offices of the armourers would be required. He was very busy +packing up his tools, but loudly hilarious, and Sir John Fulford, with a flask +of wine beside him, was swaggering and shouting orders to the men as though he +were the head of the expedition. +</p> + +<p> +Revelations come in strange ways. Perhaps that Italian play might be called +Galeotto to Stephen Birkenholt. It affected him all the more because he was not +distracted by the dialogue, but was only powerfully touched by the music, and, +in the gestures of the lovers, felt all the force of sympathy. It was to him +like a kind of prophetic mirror, revealing to him the true meaning of all he +had ever felt for Dennet Headley, and of his vexation and impatience at seeing +her bestowed upon a dull and indifferent lout like her kinsman, who not only +was not good enough for her, but did not even love her, or accept her as +anything but his title to the Dragon court. He now thrilled and tingled from +head to foot with the perceptions that all this meant love—love to +Dennet; and in every act of the drama he beheld only himself, Giles, and +Dennet. Watching at first with a sweet fascination, his feelings changed, now +to strong yearning, now to hot wrath, and then to horror and dismay. In his +troubled sleep after the spectacle, he identified himself with the lover, sang, +wooed, and struggled in his person, woke with a start of relief, to find Giles +snoring safely beside him, and the watch-dog on his chest instead of an +expiring lady. He had not made unholy love to sweet Dennet, nor imperilled her +good name, nor slain his comrade. Nor was she yet wedded to that oaf, Giles! +But she would be in a few weeks, and then! How was he to brook the sight, +chained as he was to the Dragon court—see Giles lord it over her, and all +of them, see her missing the love that was burning for her elsewhere. Stephen +lost his boyhood on that evening, and, though force of habit kept him like +himself outwardly, he never was alone, without feeling dazed, and torn in every +direction at once. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a>CHAPTER XXI.<br /> +SWORD OR SMITHY</h2> + +<p class="letter"> +“Darest thou be so valiant as to play the coward with thy indenture, and +to show it a fair pair of heels and run from it?” +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">Shakespeare</span>. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Tidings</span> came forth on the parting from the French +King that the English Court was about to move to Gravelines to pay a visit to +the Emperor and his aunt, the Duchess of Savoy. As it was hoped that jousts +might make part of the entertainment, the attendance of the Dragon party was +required. Giles was unfeignedly delighted at this extension of holiday, Stephen +felt that it deferred the day—would it be of strange joy or +pain?—of standing face to face with Dennet; and even Kit had come to +tolerate foreign parts more with Sir John Fulford to show him the way to the +best Flemish ale! +</p> + +<p> +The knight took upon himself the conduct of the Dragons. He understood how to +lead them by routes where all provisions and ale had not been consumed; and he +knew how to swagger and threaten so as to obtain the best of liquor and +provisions at each <i>kermesse</i>—at least so he said, though it might +be doubted whether the Flemings might not have been more willing to yield up +their stores to Kit’s open, honest face and free hand. +</p> + +<p> +However, Fulford seemed to consider himself one with the party; and he beguiled +the way by tales of the doings of the Badgers in Italy and Savoy, which were +listened to with avidity by the lads, distracting Stephen from the pain at his +heart, and filling both with excitement. They were to have the honour of seeing +the Badgers at Gravelines, where they were encamped outside the city to serve +as a guard to the great inclosure that was being made of canvas stretched on +the masts of ships to mark out the space for a great banquet and dance. +</p> + +<p> +The weather broke however just as Henry, his wife and his sister, entered +Gravelines; it rained pertinaciously, a tempestuous wind blew down the +erection, and as there was no time to set it up again, the sports necessarily +took place in the castle and town hall. There was no occasion for the exercise +of the armourer’s craft, and as Charles had forbidden the concourse of +all save invited guests, everything was comparatively quiet and dull, though +the entertainment was on the most liberal scale. Lodgings were provided in the +city at the Emperor’s expense, and wherever an Englishman was quartered +each night, the imperial officers brought a cast of fine manchet bread, two +great silver pots with wine, a pound of sugar, white and yellow candles, and a +torch. As Randall said, “Charles gave solid pudding where Francis gave +empty praise”! +</p> + +<p> +Smallbones and the two youths had very little to do, save to consume these +provisions and accept the hospitality freely offered to them at the camp of the +Badgers, where Smallbones and the Ancient of the troop sat fraternising over +big flagons of Flemish ale, which did not visibly intoxicate the honest smith, +but kept him in the dull and drowsy state, which was his idea of the <i>dolce +far niente</i> of a holiday. Meanwhile the two youths were made much of by the +warriors, Stephen’s dexterity with the bow and back-sword were shown off +and lauded, Giles’s strength was praised, and all manner of new feats +were taught them, all manner of stories told them; and the shrinking of +well-trained young citizens from these lawless men “full of strange oaths +and bearded like the pard,” and some very truculent-looking, had given +way to judicious flattery, and to the attractions of adventure and of a free +life, where wealth and honour awaited the bold. +</p> + +<p> +Stephen was told that the gentleman in him was visible, that he ought to +disdain the flat cap and blue gown, that here was his opportunity, and that +among the Badgers he would soon be so rich, famous, glorious, as to wonder that +he had ever tolerated the greasy mechanical life of a base burgher. Respect to +his oaths to his master—Sir John laughed the scruple to scorn; nay, if he +were so tender, he could buy his absolution the first time he had his pouch +full of gold. +</p> + +<p> +“What shall I do?” was the cry of Stephen’s heart. “My +honour and my oath. They bind me. <i>She</i> would weep. My master would deem +me ungrateful, Ambrose break his heart. And yet who knows but I should do worse +if I stayed, I shall break my own heart if I do. I shall not see—I may +forget. No, no, never! but at least I shall never know the moment when the +lubber takes the jewel he knows not how to prize! +Marches—sieges—there shall I quell this wild beating! I may die +there. At least they will allay this present frenzy of my blood.” +</p> + +<p> +And he listened when Fulford and Will Marden, a young English man-at-arms with +whom he had made friends, concerted how he should meet them at an inn—the +sign of the Seven Stars—in Gravelines, and there exchange his +prentice’s garb for the buff coat and corslet of a Badger, with the +Austrian black and yellow scarf. He listened, but he had not promised. The +sense of duty to his master, the honour to his word, always recurred like +“first thoughts,” though the longing to escape, the restlessness of +hopeless love, the youthful eagerness for adventure and freedom, swept it aside +again and again. +</p> + +<p> +He had not seen his uncle since the evening of the comedy, for Hal had +travelled in the Cardinal’s suite, and the amusements being all within +doors, jesters were much in request, as indeed Charles V. was curious in fools, +and generally had at least three in attendance. Stephen, moreover, always +shrank from his uncle when acting professionally. He had learnt to love and +esteem the man during his troubles, but this only rendered the sight of his +buffoonery more distressing, and as Randall had not provided himself with his +home suit, they were the more cut off from one another. Thus there was all the +less to counteract or show the fallacy of Fulford’s recruiting +blandishments. +</p> + +<p> +The day had come on the evening of which Stephen was to meet Fulford and Marden +at the Seven Stars and give them his final answer, in time to allow of their +smuggling him out of the city, and sending him away into the country, since +Smallbones would certainly suspect him to be in the camp, and as he was still +an apprentice, it was possible, though not probable, that the town magistrates +might be incited to make search on inquiry, as they were very jealous of the +luring away of their apprentices by the Free Companies, and moreover his uncle +might move the Cardinal and the King to cause measures to be taken for his +recovery. +</p> + +<p> +Ill at ease, Stephen wandered away from the hostel where Smallbones was +entertaining his friend, the Ancient. He had not gone far down the street when +a familiar figure met his eye, no other than that of Lucas Hansen, his +brother’s old master, walking along with a pack on his back. Grown as +Stephen was, the old man’s recognition was as rapid as his own, and there +was a clasp of the hand, an exchange of greeting, while Lucas eagerly asked +after his dear pupil, Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in hither, and we can speak more at ease,” said Lucas, +leading the way up the common staircase of a tall house, whose upper stories +overhung the street. Up and up, Lucas led the way to a room in the high peaked +roof, looking out at the back. Here Stephen recognised a press, but it was not +at work, only a young friar was sitting there engaged in sewing up sheets so as +to form a pamphlet. Lucas spoke to him in Flemish to explain his own return +with the English prentice. +</p> + +<p> +“Dost thou dwell here, sir?” asked Stephen. “I thought +Rotterdam was thine home.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea,” said Lucas, “so it be, but I am sojourning here to aid +in bearing about the seed of the Gospel, for which I walk through these lands +of ours. But tell me of thy brother, and of the little Moorish maiden?” +</p> + +<p> +Stephen replied with an account of both Ambrose and Aldonza, and likewise of +Tibble Steelman, explaining how ill the last had been in the winter, and that +therefore he could not be with the party. +</p> + +<p> +“I would I had a token to send him,” said Lucas; “but I have +nought here that is not either in the Dutch or the French, and neither of those +tongues doth he understand. But thy brother, the good Ambrose, can read the +Dutch. Wilt thou carry him from me this fresh tractate, showing how many there +be that make light of the Apostle Paul’s words not to do evil that good +may come?” +</p> + +<p> +Stephen had been hearing rather listlessly, thinking how little the good man +suspected how doubtful it was that he should bear messages to Ambrose. Now, on +that sore spot in his conscience, that sentence darted like an arrow, the shaft +finding “mark the archer little meant,” and with a start, not lost +on Lucas, he exclaimed “Saith the holy Saint Paul that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Assuredly, my son. Brother Cornelis, who is one whose eyes have been +opened, can show you the very words, if thou hast any Latin.” +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps to gain time, Stephen assented, and the young friar, with a somewhat +inquisitive look, presently brought him the sentence “<i>Et non faciamus +mala ut veniant bona</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +Stephen’s Latin was not very fresh, and he hardly comprehended the words, +but he stood gazing with a frown of distress on his brow, which made Lucas say, +“My son, thou art sorely bestead. Is there aught in which a plain old man +can help thee, for thy brother’s sake? Speak freely. Brother Cornelis +knows not a word of English. Dost thou owe aught to any man?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay—not that,” said Stephen, drawn in his trouble and +perplexity to open his heart to this incongruous confidant, “but, sir, +sir, which be the worst, to break my pledge to my master, or to run into a +trial which—which will last from day to day, and may be too much for +me—yea, and for another—at last?” +</p> + +<p> +The colour, the trembling of limb, the passion of voice, revealed enough to +Lucas to make him say, in the voice of one who, dried up as he was, had once +proved the trial, “’Tis love, thou wouldst say?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, sir,” said Stephen, turning away, but in another moment +bursting forth, “I love my master’s daughter, and she is to wed her +cousin, who takes her as her father’s chattel! I wist not why the world +had grown dark to me till I saw a comedy at Ardres, where, as in a mirror, +’twas all set forth—yea, and how love was too strong for him and +for her, and how shame and death came thereof.” +</p> + +<p> +“Those players are good for nought but to wake the passions!” +muttered Lucas. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, methought they warned me,” said Stephen. “For, +sir,”—he hid his burning face in his hands as he leant on the back +of a chair—“I wot that she has ever liked me better, far better +than him. And scarce a night have I closed an eye without dreaming it all, and +finding myself bringing evil on her, till I deemed ’twere better I never +saw her more, and left her to think of me as a forsworn runagate rather than +see her wedded only to be flouted—and maybe—do worse.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor lad!” said Lucas; “and what wouldst thou do?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have not pledged myself—but I said I would consider +of—service among Fulford’s troop,” faltered Stephen. +</p> + +<p> +“Among those ruffians—godless, lawless men!” exclaimed Lucas. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, I know what you would say,” returned Stephen, “but they +are brave men, better than you deem, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Were they angels or saints,” said Lucas, rallying his forces, +“thou hast no right to join them. Thine oath fetters thee. Thou hast no +right to break it and do a sure and certain evil to avoid one that may never +befall! How knowst thou how it may be? Nay, if the trial seem to thee over +great, thine apprenticeship will soon be at an end.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not for two years” +</p> + +<p> +“Or thy master, if thou spakest the whole truth, would transfer thine +indentures. He is a good man, and if it be as thou sayest, would not see his +child tried too sorely. God will make a way for the tempted to escape. They +need not take the devil’s way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” said Stephen, lifting up his head, “I thank you. Thus +was what I needed. I will tell Sir John Fulford that I ought never to have +heeded him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Must thou see him again?” +</p> + +<p> +“I must. I am to give him his answer at the Seven Stars. But fear not me, +Master Lucas, he shall not lead me away.” And Stephen took a grateful +leave of the little Dutchman, and charged himself with more messages for +Ambrose and Tibble than his overburdened spirit was likely to retain. +</p> + +<p> +Lucas went down the stairs with him, and as a sudden thought, said at the foot +of them, “’Tis at the Seven Stars thou meetest this knight. Take an +old man’s counsel. Taste no liquor there.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am no ale bibber,” said Stephen. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, I deemed thee none—but heed my words—captains of +landsknechts in <i>kermesses</i> are scarce to be trusted. Taste not.” +</p> + +<p> +Stephen gave a sort of laugh at the precaution, and shook himself loose. It was +still an hour to the time of meeting, and the Ave-bell was ringing. A church +door stood open, and for the first time since he had been at Gravelines he felt +that there would be the calm he needed to adjust the conflict of his spirits, +and comprehend the new situation, or rather the recurrence to the old one. He +seemed to have recovered his former self, and to be able to perceive that +things might go on as before, and his heart really leapt at finding he might +return to the sight of Dennet and Ambrose and all he loved. +</p> + +<p> +His wishes were really that way; and Fulford’s allurements had become +very shadowy when he made his way to the Seven Stars, whose vine-covered window +allowed many loud voices and fumes of beer and wine to escape into the summer +evening air. +</p> + +<p> +The room was perhaps cleaner than an English one would have been, but it was +reeking with heat and odours, and the forest-bred youth was unwilling to enter, +but Fulford and two or three Badgers greeted him noisily and called on him to +partake of the supper they had ready prepared. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir knight, I thank you,” said Stephen. “I am bound for +my quarters, I came but to thank you for your goodness to me, and to bid you +farewell.” +</p> + +<p> +“And how as to thy pledge to join us, young man?” demanded Fulford +sternly. +</p> + +<p> +“I gave no pledge,” said Stephen. “I said I would consider of +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Faint-hearted! ha! ha!” and the English Badgers translated the +word to the Germans, and set them shouting with derision. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not faint-hearted,” said Stephen; “but I will not break +mine oath to my master.” +</p> + +<p> +“And thine oath to me? Ha!” said Fulford. +</p> + +<p> +“I sware you no oath, I gave you no word,” said Stephen. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! Thou darest give me the lie, base prentice. Take that!” +</p> + +<p> +And therewith he struck Stephen a crushing blow on the head, which felled him +to the ground. The host and all the company, used to pot-house quarrels, and +perhaps playing into his hands, took little heed; Stephen was dragged +insensible into another room, and there the Badgers began hastily to divest him +of his prentice’s gown, and draw his arms into a buff coat. +</p> + +<p> +Fulford had really been struck with his bravery, and knew besides that his +skill in the armourer’s craft would be valuable, so that it had been +determined beforehand that he should—by fair means or foul—leave +the Seven Stars a Badger. +</p> + +<p> +“By all the powers of hell, you have struck too hard, sir. He is +sped,” said Marden anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Ass! tut!” said Fulford. “Only enough to daze him till he be +safe in our quarters—and for that the sooner the better. Here, call Anton +to take his heels. We’ll get him forth now as a fellow of our own.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hark! What’s that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen,” said the host hurrying in, “here be some of the +gentlemen of the English Cardinal, calling for a nephew of one of them, who +they say is in this house.” +</p> + +<p> +With an imprecation, Fulford denied all connection with gentlemen of the +Cardinal; but there was evidently an invasion, and in another moment, several +powerful-looking men in the crimson and black velvet of Wolsey’s train +had forced their way into the chamber, and the foremost, seeing Stephen’s +condition at a glance, exclaimed loudly, “Thou villain! traitor! +kidnapper! This is thy work.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! ha!” shouted Fulford, “whom have we here? The +Cardinal’s fool a masquing! Treat us to a caper, quipsome sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m more like to treat you to the gyves,” returned Randall. +“Away with you! The watch are at hand. Were it not for my wife’s +sake, they should bear you off to the city jail; the Emperor should know how +you fill your ranks.” +</p> + +<p> +It was quite true. The city guard were entering at the street door, and the +host hurried Fulford and his men, swearing and raging, out at a back door +provided for such emergencies. Stephen was beginning to recover by this time. +His uncle knelt down, took his head on his shoulder, and Lucas washed off the +blood and administered a drop of wine. His first words were: +</p> + +<p> +“Was it Giles? Where is she?” +</p> + +<p> +“Still going over the play!” thought Lucas. “Nay, nay, lad. +’Twas one of the soldiers who played thee this scurvy trick! All’s +well now. Thou wilt soon be able to quit this place.” +</p> + +<p> +“I remember now,” said Stephen, “Sir John said I gave him the +lie when I said I had given no pledge. But I had not!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou hast been a brave fellow, and better broken head than broken +troth,” said his uncle. +</p> + +<p> +“But how came you here,” asked Stephen. “In the nick of +time?” +</p> + +<p> +It was explained that Lucas, not doubting Stephen’s resolution, but quite +aware of the tricks of landsknecht captains with promising recruits in view, +had gone first in search of Smallbones, but had found him and the Ancient so +deeply engaged in potations from the liberal supply of the Emperor to all +English guests, that there was no getting him apart, and he was too much +muddled to comprehend if he could have been spoken with. +</p> + +<p> +Lucas then, in desperation, betook himself to the convent where Wolsey was +magnificently lodged. Ill May Day had made him, as well as others, well +acquainted with the relationship between Stephen and Randall, though he was not +aware of the further connection with Fulford. He hoped, even if unable to see +Randall, to obtain help on behalf of an English lad in danger, and happily he +arrived at a moment when State affairs were going on, and Randall was +refreshing himself by a stroll in the cloister. When Lucas had made him +understand the situation, his dismay was only equalled by his promptitude. He +easily obtained the loan of one of the splendid suits of scarlet and crimson, +guarded with black velvet a hand broad, which were worn by the Cardinal’s +secular attendants—for he was well known by this time in the household to +be very far from an absolute fool, and indeed had done many a good turn to his +comrades. Several of the gentlemen, indignant at the threatened outrage on a +young Englishman, and esteeming the craftsmen of the Dragon, volunteered to +accompany him, and others warned the watch. +</p> + +<p> +There was some difficulty still, for the burgher guards, coming up puffing and +blowing, wanted to carry off the victim and keep him in ward to give evidence +against the mercenaries, whom they regarded as a sort of wolves, so that even +the Emperor never durst quarter them within one of the cities. The drawn swords +of Randall’s friends however settled that matter, and Stephen, though +still dizzy, was able to walk. Thus leaning on his uncle, he was escorted back +to the hostel. +</p> + +<p> +“The villain!” the jester said on the way, “I mistrusted him, +but I never thought he would have abused our kindred in this fashion. I would +fain have come down to look after thee, nevvy, but these kings and queens are +troublesome folk. The Emperor—he is a pale, shame-faced, solemn lad. +Maybe he museth, but he had scarce a word to say for himself. Our Hal tried +clapping on the shoulder, calling him fair coz, and the like, in his hearty +fashion. Behold, what doth he but turn round with such a look about the long +lip of him as my Lord of Buckingham might have if his scullion made free with +him. His aunt, the Duchess of Savoy, is a merry dame, and a wise! She and our +King can talk by the ell, but as for the Emperor, he speaketh to none willingly +save Queen Katharine, who is of his own stiff Spanish humour, and he hath eyes +for none save Queen Mary, who would have been his empress had high folk held to +their word. And with so tongue-tied a host, and the rain without, what had the +poor things to do by way of disporting themselves with but a show of fools. +I’ve had to go through every trick and quip I learnt when I was with old +Nat Fire-eater. And I’m stiffer in the joints and weightier in the heft +than I was in those days when I slept in the fields, and fasted more than ever +Holy Church meant. But, heigh ho! I ought to be supple enough after the +practice of these three days. Moreover, if it could loose a fool’s tongue +to have a king and queen for interpreters, I had them—for there were our +Harry and Moll catching at every gibe as fast as my brain could hatch it, and +rendering it into French as best thy might, carping and quibbling the while +underhand at one another’s renderings, and the Emperor sitting by in his +black velvet, smiling about as much as a felon at the hangman’s jests. +All his poor fools moreover, and the King’s own, ready to gnaw their +baubles for envy! That was the only sport I had! I’m wearier than if +I’d been plying Smallbones’ biggest hammer. The worst of it is that +my Lord Cardinal is to stay behind and go on to Bruges as ambassador, and I +with him, so thou must bear my greetings to thy naunt, and tell her I’m +keeping from picking up a word of French or Flemish lest this same Charles +should take a fancy to me and ask me of my master, who would give away his own +head to get the Pope’s fool’s cap.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Wer da</i>? <i>Qui va là</i>?” asked a voice, and the +summer twilight revealed two figures with cloaks held high and drooping Spanish +hats; one of whom, a slender, youthful figure, so far as could be seen under +his cloak, made inquiries, first in Flemish, then in French, as to what ailed +the youth. Lucas replied in the former tongue, and one of the Englishmen could +speak French. The gentleman seemed much concerned, asked if the watch had been +at hand, and desired Lucas to assure the young Englishman that the Emperor +would be much distressed at the tidings, asked where he was lodged, and passed +on. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah ha!” muttered the jester, “if my ears deceive me now, +I’ll never trust them again! Mynheer Charles knows a few more tricks than +he is fain to show off in royal company. Come on, Stevie! I’ll see thee +to thy bed. Old Kit is too far gone to ask after thee. In sooth, I trow that my +sweet father-in-law set his Ancient to nail him to the wine pot. And Master +Giles I saw last with some of the grooms. I said nought to him, for I trow thou +wouldst not have him know thy plight! I’ll be with thee in the morning +ere thou partest, if kings, queens, and cardinals roar themselves hoarse for +the Quipsome.” +</p> + +<p> +With this promise Hal Randall bestowed his still dulled and half-stunned nephew +carefully on the pallet provided by the care of the purveyors. Stephen slept +dreamily at first, then soundly, and woke at the sound of the bells of +Gravelines to the sense that a great crisis in his life was over, a strange +wild dream of evil dispelled, and that he was to go home to see, hear, and act +as he could, with a heartache indeed, but with the resolve to do his best as a +true and honest man. +</p> + +<p> +Smallbones was already afoot—for the start for Calais was to be made on +that very day. The smith was fully himself again, and was bawling for his +subordinates, who had followed his example in indulging in the good cheer, and +did not carry it off so easily. Giles, rather silent and surly, was out of bed, +shouting answers to Smallbones, and calling on Stephen to truss his points. He +was in a mood not easy to understand, he would hardly speak, and never noticed +the marks of the fray on Stephen’s temple—only half hidden by the +dark curly hair. This was of course a relief, but Stephen could not help +suspecting that he had been last night engaged in some revel about which he +desired no inquiries. +</p> + +<p> +Randall came just as the operation was completed. He was in a good deal of +haste, having to restore the groom’s dress he wore by the time the owner +had finished the morning toilet of the Lord Cardinal’s palfreys. He could +not wait to inquire how Stephen had contrived to fall into the hands of +Fulford, his chief business being to put under safe charge a bag of coins, the +largesse from the various princes and nobles whom he had diverted—ducats, +crowns, dollars, and angels all jingling together—to be bestowed wherever +Perronel kept her store, a matter which Hal was content not to know, though the +pair cherished a hope some day to retire on it from fooling. +</p> + +<p> +“Thou art a good lad, Steve,” said Hal. “I’m right glad +thou leavest this father of mine behind thee. I would not see thee such as +he—no, not for all the gold we saw on the Frenchmen’s backs.” +</p> + +<p> +This was the jester’s farewell, but it was some time before the waggon +was under way, for the carter and one of the smiths were missing, and were only +at noon found in an alehouse, both very far gone in liquor, and one with a +black eye. Kit discoursed on sobriety in the most edifying manner, as at last +he drove heavily along the street, almost the last in the baggage train of the +king and queens—but still in time to be so included in it so as to save +all difficulty at the gates. It was, however, very late in the evening when +they reached Calais, so that darkness was coming on as they waited their turn +at the drawbridge, with a cart full of scullions and pots and pans before them, +and a waggon-load of tents behind. The warders in charge of the gateway had +orders to count over all whom they admitted, so that no unauthorised person +might enter that much-valued fortress. When at length the waggon rolled forward +into the shadow of the great towered gateway on the outer side of the moat, the +demand was made, who was there? Giles had always insisted, as leader of the +party, on making reply to such questions, and Smallbones waited for his answer, +but none was forthcoming. Therefore Kit shouted in reply, “Alderman +Headley’s wain and armourers. Two journeymen, one prentice, two smiths, +two waggoners.” +</p> + +<p> +“Seven!” rejoined the warder. +“One—two—three—four—five. Ha! your company seems +to be lacking.” +</p> + +<p> +“Giles must have ridden on,” suggested Stephen, while Kit, growling +angrily, called on the lazy fellow, Will Wherry, to wake and show himself. But +the officials were greatly hurried, and as long as no dangerous person got into +Calais, it mattered little to them who might be left outside, so they hurried +on the waggon into the narrow street. +</p> + +<p> +It was well that it was a summer night, for lodgings there were none. Every +hostel was full and all the houses besides. The earlier comers assured Kit that +it was of no use to try to go on. The streets up to the wharf were choked, and +he might think himself lucky to have his waggon to sleep in. But the horses! +And food? However, there was one comfort—English tongues answered, if it +was only with denials. +</p> + +<p> +Kit’s store of travelling money was at a low ebb, and it was nearly +exhausted by the time, at an exorbitant price, he had managed to get a little +hay and water for the horses, and a couple of loaves and a haunch of bacon +among the five hungry men. They were quite content to believe that Master Giles +had ridden on before and secured better quarters and viands, nor could they +much regret the absence of Will Wherry’s wide mouth. +</p> + +<p> +Kit called Stephen to council in the morning. His funds would not permit +waiting for the missing ones, if he were to bring home any reasonable +proportion of gain to his master. He believed that Master Headley would by no +means risk the whole party loitering at Calais, when it was highly probable +that Giles might have joined some of the other travellers, and embarked by +himself. +</p> + +<p> +After all, Kit’s store had to be well-nigh expended before the horses, +waggon, and all, could find means to encounter the miseries of the transit to +Dover. Then, glad as he was to be on his native soil, his spirits sank lower +and lower as the waggon creaked on under the hot sun towards London. He had +actually brought home only four marks to make over to his master; and although +he could show a considerable score against the King and various nobles, these +debts were not apt to be promptly discharged, and what was worse, two members +of his party and one horse were missing. He little knew how narrow an escape he +had had of losing a third! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a>CHAPTER XXII.<br /> +AN INVASION</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“What shall be the maiden’s fate?<br /> +Who shall be the maiden’s mate?” +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">Scott</span>. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">No</span> Giles Headley appeared to greet the travellers, +though Kit Smallbones had halted at Canterbury, to pour out entreaties to St. +Thomas, and the vow of a steel and gilt reliquary of his best workmanship to +contain the old shoe, which a few years previously had so much disgusted +Erasmus and his companion. +</p> + +<p> +Poor old fellow, he was too much crest-fallen thoroughly to enjoy even the +gladness of his little children; and his wife made no secret of her previous +conviction that he was too dunderheaded not to run into some coil, when she was +not there to look after him. The alderman was more merciful. Since there had +been no invasion from Salisbury, he had regretted the not having gone himself +to Ardres, and he knew pretty well that Kit’s power lay more in his arms +than in his brain. He did not wonder at the small gain, nor at the having lost +sight of the young man, and confidently expected the lost ones soon to appear. +</p> + +<p> +As to Dennet, her eyes shone quietly, and she took upon herself to send down to +let Mistress Randall know of her nephew’s return, and invite her to +supper to hear the story of his doings. The girl did not look at all like a +maiden uneasy about her lost lover, but much more like one enjoying for the +moment the immunity from a kind of burthen; and, as she smiled, called for +Stephen’s help in her little arrangements, and treated him in the +friendly manner of old times, he could not but wonder at the panic that had +overpowered him for a time like a fever of the mind. +</p> + +<p> +There was plenty to speak of in the glories of the Field of the Cloth of Gold, +and the transactions with the knights and nobles; and Stephen held his peace as +to his adventure, but Dennet’s eyes were sharper than Kit’s. She +spied the remains of the bruise under his black curly hair; and while her +father and Tib were unravelling the accounts from Kit’s brain and +tally-sticks, she got the youth out into the gallery, and observed, “So +thou hast a broken head. See here are grandmother’s lily-leaves in strong +waters. Let me lay one on for thee. There, sit down on the step, then I can +reach.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis well nigh whole now, sweet mistress,” said Stephen, +complying however, for it was too sweet to have those little fingers busy about +him, for the offer to be declined. +</p> + +<p> +“How gatst thou the blow?” asked Dennet. “Was it at +single-stick? Come, thou mayst tell me. ’Twas in standing up for some +one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, mistress, I would it had been.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou hast been in trouble,” she said, leaning on the baluster +above him. “Or did ill men set on thee?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the nearest guess,” said Stephen. “’Twas +that tall father of mine aunt’s, the fellow that came here for armour, +and bought poor Master Michael’s sword.” +</p> + +<p> +“And sliced the apple on thine hand. Ay?” +</p> + +<p> +“He would have me for one of his Badgers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thee! Stephen!” It was a cry of pain as well as horror. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, mistress; and when I refused, the fellow dealt me a blow, and laid +me down senseless, to bear me off willy nilly, but that good old Lucas Hansen +brought mine uncle to mine aid—” +</p> + +<p> +Dennet clasped her hands. “O Stephen, Stephen! Now I know how good the +Lord is. Wot ye, I asked of Tibble to take me daily to St. Faith’s to +crave of good St. Julian to have you all in his keeping, and saith he on the +way, ‘Methinks, mistress, our dear Lord would hear you if you spake to +Him direct, with no go-between.’ I did as he bade me, Stephen, I went to +the high Altar, and prayed there, and Tibble went with me, and lo, now, He hath +brought you back safe. We will have a mass of thanksgiving on the very +morn.” +</p> + +<p> +Stephen’s heart could not but bound, for it was plain enough for whom the +chief force of these prayers had been offered. +</p> + +<p> +“Sweet mistress,” he said, “they have availed me indeed. +Certes, they warded me in the time of sore trial and temptation.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said Dennet, “thou <i>couldst</i> not have longed to +go away from hence with those ill men who live by slaying and +plundering?” +</p> + +<p> +The present temptation was to say that he had doubted whether this course would +not have been for the best both for himself and for her; but he recollected +that Giles might be at the gate, and if so, he should feel as if he had rather +have bitten out his tongue than have let Dennet know the state of the case, so +he only answered— +</p> + +<p> +“There be sorer temptations in the world for us poor rogues than little +home-biding house crickets like thee wot of, mistress. Well that ye can pray +for us without knowing all!” +</p> + +<p> +Stephen had never consciously come so near love-making, and his honest face was +all one burning glow with the suppressed feeling, while Dennet lingered till +the curfew warned them of the lateness of the hour, both with a strange sense +of undefined pleasure in the being together in the summer twilight. +</p> + +<p> +Day after day passed on with no news of Giles or Will Wherry. The alderman grew +uneasy, and sent Stephen to ask his brother to write to Randall, or to some one +else in Wolsey’s suite, to make inquiries at Bruges. But Ambrose was +found to have gone abroad in the train of Sir Thomas More, and nothing was +heard till their return six weeks later, when Ambrose brought home a small +packet which had been conveyed to him through one of the Emperor’s suite. +It was tied up with a long tough pale wisp of hair, evidently from the mane or +tail of some Flemish horse, and was addressed, “To Master Ambrose +Birkenholt, menial clerk to the most worshipful Sir Thomas More, Knight, Under +Sheriff of the City of London. These greeting—” +</p> + +<p> +Within, when Ambrose could open the missive, was another small parcel, and a +piece of brown coarse paper, on which was scrawled— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“Good Ambrose Birkenholt,—I pray thee to stand my friend, and let +all know whom it may concern, that when this same billet comes to hand, I shall +be far on the march to High Germany, with a company of lusty fellows in the +Emperor’s service. They be commanded by the good knight, Sir John +Fulford.<br /> + +“If thou canst send tidings to my mother, bid her keep her heart up, for +I shall come back a captain, full of wealth and honour, and that will be better +than hammering for life—or being wedded against mine own will. There +never was troth plight between my master’s daughter and me, and my time +is over, so I be quit with them, and I thank my master for his goodness. They +shall all hear of me some of these days. Will Wherry is my groom, and commends +him to his mother. And so, commending thee and all the rest to Our Lady and the +saints, +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“Thine to command,<br /> +“<span class="smcap">Giles Headley</span>, +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“<i>Man-at-Arms in the Honourable Company</i><br /> +<i>of Sir John Fulford</i>, <i>Knight</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +On a separate strip was written— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“Give this packet to the little Moorish maid, and tell her that I will +bring her better by and by, and mayhap make her a knight’s lady; but on +thy life, say nought to any other.” +</p> + +<p> +It was out now! Ambrose’s head was more in Sir Thomas’s books than +in real life at all times, or he would long ago have inferred +something—from the jackdaw’s favourite phrase—from +Giles’s modes of haunting his steps, and making him the bearer of small +tokens—an orange, a simnel cake, a bag of walnuts or almonds to Mistress +Aldonza, and of the smiles, blushes, and thanks with which she greeted them. +Nay, had she not burst into tears and entreated to be spared when Lady More +wanted to make a match between her and the big porter, and had not her distress +led Mistress Margaret to appeal to her father, who had said he should as soon +think of wedding the silver-footed Thetis to Polyphemus. “Tilley valley! +Master More,” the lady had answered, “will all your fine pagan gods +hinder the wench from starving on earth, and leading apes in hell.” +</p> + +<p> +Margaret had answered that Aldonza should never do the first, and Sir Thomas +had gravely said that he thought those black eyes would lead many a man on +earth before they came to the latter fate. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose hid the parcel for her deep in his bosom before he asked permission of +his master to go to the Dragon court with the rest of the tidings. +</p> + +<p> +“He always was an unmannerly cub,” said Master Headley, as he read +the letter. “Well, I’ve done my best to make a silk purse of a +sow’s ear! I’ve done my duty by poor Robert’s son, and if he +will be such a fool as to run after blood and wounds, I have no more to say! +Though ’tis pity of the old name! Ha! what’s this? ‘Wedded +against my will—no troth plight.’ Forsooth, I thought my young +master was mighty slack. He hath some other matter in his mind, hath he? Run +into some coil mayhap with a beggar wench! Well, we need not be beholden to +him. Ha, Dennet, my maid!” +</p> + +<p> +Dennet screwed up her little mouth, and looked very demure, but she twinkled +her bright eyes, and said, “My heart will not break, sir; I am in no +haste to be wed.” +</p> + +<p> +Her father pinched her cheek and said she was a silly wench; but perhaps he +marked the dancing step with which the young mistress went about her household +cares, and how she was singing to herself songs that certainly were not +“Willow! willow!” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose had no scruple in delivering to Aldonza the message and token, when he +overtook her on the stairs of the house at Chelsea, carrying up a lapful of +roses to the still-room, where Dame Alice More was rejoicing in setting her +step-daughters to housewifely tasks. +</p> + +<p> +There came a wonderful illumination and agitation over the girl’s usually +impassive features, giving all that they needed to make them surpassingly +beautiful. +</p> + +<p> +“Woe is me!” was, however, her first exclamation. “That he +should have given up all for me! Oh! if I had thought it!” But while she +spoke as if she were shocked and appalled, her eyes belied her words. They +shone with the first absolute certainty of love, and there was no realising as +yet the years of silent waiting and anxiety that must go by, nay, perhaps an +entire lifetime of uncertainty of her lover’s truth or untruth, life or +death. +</p> + +<p> +Dame Alice called her, and in a rambling, maundering way, charged her with +loitering and gadding with the young men; and Margaret saw by her colour and by +her eyes that some strange thing had happened to her. Margaret had, perhaps, +some intuition; for was not her heart very tender towards a certain young +barrister by name Roper whom her father doubted as yet, because of his Lutheran +inclinations. By and by she discovered that she needed Aldonza to comb out her +long dark hair, and ere long, she had heard all the tale of the youth cured by +the girl’s father, and all his gifts, and how Aldonza deemed him too +great and too good for her (poor Giles!) though she knew she should never do +more than look up to him with love and gratitude from afar. And she never so +much as dreamt that he would cast an eye on her save in kindness. Oh yes, she +knew what he had taught the daw to say, but then she was a child, she durst not +deem it more. And Margaret More was more kind and eager than worldly wise, and +she encouraged Aldonza to watch and wait, promised protection from all enforced +suits and suitors, and gave assurances of shelter as her own attendant as long +as the girl should need it. +</p> + +<p> +Master Headley, with some sighing and groaning, applied himself to write to the +mother at Salisbury what had become of her son; but he had only spent one +evening over the trying task, when just as the supper bell was ringing, with +Master Hope and his wife as guests, there were horses’ feet in the court, +and Master Tiptoff appeared, with a servant on another horse, which carried +besides a figure in camlet, on a pillion. No sooner was this same figure lifted +from her steed and set down on the steps, while the master of the house and his +daughter came out to greet her, than she began, “Master Alderman Headley, +I am here to know what you have done with my poor son!” +</p> + +<p> +“Alack, good cousin!” +</p> + +<p> +“Alack me no alacks,” she interrupted, holding up her riding rod. +“I’ll have no dissembling, there hath been enough of that, Giles +Headley. Thou hast sold him, soul and body, to one of yon cruel, bloodthirsty +plundering, burning captains, that the poor child may be slain and murthered! +Is this the fair promises you made to his father—wiling him away from his +poor mother, a widow, with talking of teaching him the craft, and giving him +your daughter! My son, Tiptoff here, told me the spousal was delayed and +delayed, and he doubted whether it would ever come off, but I thought not of +this sending him beyond seas, to make merchandise of him. And you call yourself +an alderman! The gown should be stript off the back of you, and shall be, if +there be any justice in London for a widow woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, cousin, you have heard some strange tale,” said Master +Headley, who, much as he would have dreaded the attack beforehand, faced it the +more calmly and manfully because the accusation was so outrageous. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, so I told her,” began her son-in-law, “but she hath been +neither to have nor to hold since the—” +</p> + +<p> +“And how should I be to have or to hold by a nincompoop like thee,” +she said, turning round on him, “that would have me sit down and be +content forsooth, when mine only son is kidnapped to be sold to the Turks or to +work in the galleys, for aught I know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mistress!” here Master Hope’s voice came in, “I would +counsel you to speak less loud, and hear before you accuse. We of the City of +London know Master Alderman Headley too well to hear him railed against.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! you’re all of a piece,” she began; but by this time +Master Tiptoff had managed at least to get her into the hall, and had exchanged +words enough with the alderman to assure himself that there was an explanation, +nay, that there was a letter from Giles himself. This the indignant mother +presently was made to understand—and as the alderman had borrowed the +letter in order to copy it for her, it was given to her. She could not read, +and would trust no one but her son-in-law to read it to her. “Yea, you +have it very pat,” she said, “but how am I to be assured ’tis +not all writ here to hoodwink a poor woman like me.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis Giles’s hand,” averred Tiptoff. +</p> + +<p> +“And if you will,” added the alderman, with wonderful patience, +“to-morrow you may speak with the youth who received it. Come, sit down +and sup with us, and then you shall learn from Smallbones how this mischance +befel, all from my sending two young heads together, and one who, though a good +fellow, could not hold all in rule.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay—you’ve your reasons for anything,” she muttered, +but being both weary and hungry, she consented to eat and drink, while Tiptoff, +who was evidently ashamed of her violence, and anxious to excuse it, managed to +explain that a report had been picked up at Romsey, by a bare-footed friar from +Salisbury, that young Giles Headley had been seen at Ghent by one of the +servants of a wool merchant, riding with a troop of Free Companions in the +Emperor’s service. All the rest was deduced from this intelligence by the +dame’s own imagination. +</p> + +<p> +After supper she was invited to interrogate Kit and Stephen, and her grief and +anxiety found vent in fierce scolding at the misrule which had permitted such a +villain as Fulford to be haunting and tempting poor fatherless lads. Master +Headley had reproached poor Kit for the same thing, but he could only represent +that Giles, being a freeman, was no longer under his authority. However, she +stormed on, being absolutely convinced that her son’s evasion was every +one’s fault but his own. Now it was the alderman for misusing him, +overtasking the poor child, and deferring the marriage, now it was that little +pert poppet, Dennet, who had flouted him, now it was the bad company he had +been led into—the poor babe who had been bred to godly ways. +</p> + +<p> +The alderman was really sorry for her, and felt himself to blame so far as that +he had shifted the guidance of the expedition to such an insufficient head as +poor Smallbones, so he let her rail on as much as she would, till the storm +exhausted itself, and she settled into the trust that Giles would soon grow +weary and return. The good man felt bound to show her all hospitality, and the +civilities to country cousins were in proportion to the rarity of their visits. +So Mrs. Headley stayed on after Tiptoff’s return to Salisbury, and had +the best view feasible of all the pageants and diversions of autumn. She saw +some magnificent processions of clergy, she was welcomed at a civic banquet and +drank of the loving cup, and she beheld the Lord Mayor’s Show in all its +picturesque glory of emblazoned barges on the river. In fact, she found the +position of denizen of an alderman’s household so very agreeable that she +did her best to make it a permanency. Nay, Dennet soon found that she +considered herself to be waiting there and keeping guard till her son’s +return should establish her there, and that she viewed the girl already as a +daughter—for which Dennet was by no means obliged to her! She lavished +counsel on her hostess, found fault with the maidens, criticised the cookery, +walked into the kitchen and still-room with assistance and directions, and even +made a strong effort to possess herself of the keys. +</p> + +<p> +It must be confessed that Dennet was saucy! It was her weapon of self-defence, +and she considered herself insulted in her own house. +</p> + +<p> +There she stood, exalted on a tall pair of pattens before the stout oaken table +in the kitchen where a glowing fire burned; pewter, red and yellow earthenware, +and clean scrubbed trenchers made a goodly show, a couple of men-cooks and +twice as many scullions obeyed her behests—only the superior of the two +first ever daring to argue a point with her. There she stood, in her white +apron, with sleeves turned up, daintily compounding her mincemeat for +Christmas, when in stalked Mrs. Headley to offer her counsel and aid—but +this was lost in a volley of barking from the long-backed, bandy-legged, +turnspit dog, which was awaiting its turn at the wheel, and which ran forward, +yapping with malign intentions towards the dame’s scarlet-hosed ankles. +</p> + +<p> +She shook her petticoats at him, but Dennet tittered even while declaring that +Tray hurt nobody. Mrs. Headley reviled the dog, and then proceeded to advise +Dennet that she should chop her citron finer. Dennet made answer “that +father liked a good stout piece of it.” Mistress Headley offered to take +the chopper and instruct her how to compound all in the true Sarum style. +</p> + +<p> +“Grammercy, mistress, but we follow my grand-dame’s recipe!” +said Dennet, grasping her implement firmly. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, child, be not above taking a lesson from thine elders! +Where’s the goose? What?” as the girl looked amazed, “where +hast thou lived not to know that a live goose should be bled into the +mincemeat?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have never lived with barbarous, savage folk,” said +Dennet—and therewith she burst into an irrepressible fit of laughter, +trying in vain to check it, for a small and mischievous elf, freshly promoted +to the office of scullion, had crept up and pinned a dish-cloth to the +substantial petticoats, and as Mistress Headley whisked round to see what was +the matter, like a kitten after its tail, it followed her like a train, while +she rushed to box the ears of the offender, crying, +</p> + +<p> +“You set him on, you little saucy vixen! I saw it in your eyes. Let the +rascal be scourged.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not so,” said Dennet, with prim mouth and laughing eyes. +“Far be it from me! But ’tis ever the wont of the kitchen, when +those come there who have no call thither.” +</p> + +<p> +Mistress Headley flounced away, dish-cloth and all, to go whimpering to the +alderman with her tale of insults. She trusted that her cousin would give the +pert wench a good beating. She was not a whit too old for it. +</p> + +<p> +“How oft did you beat Giles, good kinswoman?” said Dennet demurely, +as she stood by her father. +</p> + +<p> +“Whisht, whisht, child,” said her father, “this may not be! I +cannot have my guest flouted.” +</p> + +<p> +“If she act as our guest, I will treat her with all honour and +courtesy,” said the maiden; “but when she comes where we look not +for guests, there is no saying what the black guard may take it on them to +do.” +</p> + +<p> +Master Headley was mischievously tickled at the retort, and not without hope +that it might offend his kinswoman into departing; but she contented herself +with denouncing all imaginable evils from Dennet’s ungoverned condition, +with which she was prevented in her beneficence from interfering by the +father’s foolish fondness. He would rue the day! +</p> + +<p> +Meantime if the alderman’s peace on one side was disturbed by his +visitor, on the other, suitors for Dennet’s hand gave him little rest. +She was known to be a considerable heiress, and though Mistress Headley gave +every one to understand that there was a contract with Giles, and that she was +awaiting his return, this did not deter more wooers than Dennet ever knew of, +from making proposals to her father. Jasper Hope was offered, but he was too +young, and besides, was a mercer—and Dennet and her father were agreed +that her husband must go on with the trade. Then there was a master armourer, +but he was a widower with sons and daughters as old as Dennet, and she shook +her head and laughed at the bare notion. There also came a young knight who +would have turned the Dragon court into a tilt-yard, and spent all the gold +that long years of prudent toil had amassed. +</p> + +<p> +If Mistress Headley deemed each denial the result of her vigilance for her +son’s interests, she was the more impelled to expatiate on the folly of +leaving a maid of sixteen to herself, to let the household go to rack and ruin; +while as to the wench, she might prank herself in her own conceit, but no +honest man would soon look at her for a wife, if her father left her to +herself, without giving her a good stepmother, or at least putting a kinswoman +in authority over her. +</p> + +<p> +The alderman was stung. He certainly had warmed a snake on his hearth, and how +was he to be rid of it? He secretly winked at the resumption of a forge fire +that had been abandoned, because the noise and smoke incommoded the +dwelling-house, and Kit Smallbones hammered his loudest there, when the guest +might be taking her morning nap; but this had no effect in driving her away, +though it may have told upon her temper; and good-humoured Master Headley was +harassed more than he had ever been in his life. +</p> + +<p> +“It puts me past my patience,” said he, turning into Tibble’s +special workshop one afternoon. “Here hath Mistress Hillyer of the Eagle +been with me full of proposals that I would give my poor wench to that +scapegrace lad of hers, who hath been twice called to account before the guild, +but who now, forsooth, is to turn over a new leaf.” +</p> + +<p> +“So I wis would the Dragon under him,” quoth Tibble. +</p> + +<p> +“I told her ’twas not to be thought of, and then what does the dame +but sniff the air and protest that I had better take heed, for there may not be +so many who would choose a spoilt, misruled maid like mine. There’s the +work of yonder Sarum woman. I tell thee, Tib, never was bull in the ring more +baited than am I.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, sir,” returned Tib, “there’ll be no help for it +till our young mistress be wed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay! that’s the rub! But I’ve not seen one whom I could mate +with her—let alone one who would keep up the old house. Giles would have +done that passably, though he were scarce worthy of the wench, even +without—” An expressive shake of the head denoted the rest. +“And now if he ever come home at all, ’twill be as a foul-mouthed, +plundering scarecrow, like the kites of men-at-arms, who, if they lose not +their lives, lose all that makes an honest life in the Italian wars. I would +have writ to Edmund Burgess, but I hear his elder brother is dead, and he is +driving a good traffic at York. Belike too he is wedded.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said Tibble, “I could tell of one who would be true +and faithful to your worship, and a loving husband to Mistress Dennet, ay, and +would be a master that all of us would gladly cleave to. For he is godly after +his lights, and sound-hearted, and wots what good work be, and can do +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“That were a son-in-law, Tib! Of who speakest thou? Is he of good +birth?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, of gentle birth and breeding.” +</p> + +<p> +“And willing? But that they all are. Wherefore then hath he never made +suit?” +</p> + +<p> +“He hath not yet his freedom.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who be it then?” +</p> + +<p> +“He that made this elbow-piece for the suit that Queen Margaret ordered +for the little King of Scots,” returned Tibble, producing an exquisite +miniature bit of workmanship. +</p> + +<p> +“Stephen Birkenholt! The fool’s nephew! Mine own prentice!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, and the best worker in steel we have yet turned out. Since the +sickness of last winter hath stiffened my joints and dimmed mine eyes, I had +rather trust dainty work such as this to him than to myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stephen! Tibble, hath he set thee on to this?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir. We both know too well what becometh us; but when you were +casting about for a mate for my young mistress, I could not but think how men +seek far, and overlook the jewel at their feet.” +</p> + +<p> +“He hath nought! That brother of his will give him nought.” +</p> + +<p> +“He hath what will be better for the old Dragon and for your +worship’s self, than many a bag of gold, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou sayst truly there, Tib. I know him so far that he would not be the +ingrate Jack to turn his back on the old master or the old man. He is a good +lad. But—but—I’ve ever set my face against the prentice +wedding the master’s daughter, save when he is of her own house, like +Giles. Tell me, Tibble, deemst thou that the varlet hath dared to lift his eyes +to the lass?” +</p> + +<p> +“I wot nothing of love!” said Tibble, somewhat grimly. “I +have seen nought. I only told your worship where a good son and a good master +might be had. Is it your pleasure, sir, that we take in a freight of sea-coal +from Simon Collier for the new furnace? His is purest, if a mark more the +chaldron.” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke as if he put the recommendation of the son and master on the same line +as that of the coal. Mr. Headley answered the business matters absently, and +ended by saying he would think on the council. +</p> + +<p> +In Tibble’s workroom, with the clatter of a forge close to them, they had +not heard a commotion in the court outside. Dennet had been standing on the +steps cleaning her tame starling’s cage, when Mistress Headley had +suddenly come out on the gallery behind her, hotly scolding her laundress, and +waving her cap to show how ill-starched it was. +</p> + +<p> +The bird had taken fright and flown to the tree in the court; Dennet hastened +in pursuit, but all the boys and children in the court rushing out after her, +her blandishments had no chance, and “Goldspot” had fluttered on to +the gateway. Stephen had by this time come out, and hastened to the gate, +hoping to turn the truant back from escaping into Cheapside; but all in vain, +it flew out while the market was in full career, and he could only call back to +her that he would not lose sight of it. +</p> + +<p> +Out he hurried, Dennet waiting in a sort of despair by the tree for a time that +seemed to her endless, until Stephen reappeared under the gate, with a signal +that all was well. She darted to meet him. “Yea, mistress, here he is, +the little caitiff. He was just knocked down by this country lad’s +cap—happily not hurt. I told him you would give him a tester for your +bird.” +</p> + +<p> +“With all my heart!” and Dennet produced the coin. “Oh! +Stephen, are you sure he is safe? Thou bad Goldspot, to fly away from me! Wink +with thine eye—thou saucy rogue! Wottest thou not but for Stephen they +might be blinding thy sweet blue eyes with hot needles?” +</p> + +<p> +“His wing is grown since the moulting,” said Stephen. “It +should be cut to hinder such mischances.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you do it? I will hold him,” said Dennet. “Ah! +’tis pity, the beauteous green gold-bedropped wing—that no armour +of thine can equal, Stephen, not even that for the little King of Scots. But +shouldst not be so silly a bird, Goldie, even though thou hast thine excuse. +There! Peck not, ill birdling. Know thy friends, Master Stare.” +</p> + +<p> +And with such pretty nonsense the two stood together, Dennet in her white cap, +short crimson kirtle, little stiff collar, and white bib and apron, holding her +bird upside down in one hand, and with the other trying to keep his angry beak +from pecking Stephen, who, in his leathern coat and apron, grimed, as well as +his crisp black hair, with soot, stood towering above her, stooping to hold out +the lustrous wing with one hand while he used his smallest pair of shears with +the other to clip the pen-feathers. +</p> + +<p> +“See there, Master Alderman,” cried Mistress Headley, bursting on +him from the gallery stairs. “Be that what you call fitting for your +daughter and your prentice, a beggar lad from the heath? I ever told you she +would bring you to shame, thus left to herself. And now you see it.” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus03"></a> +<a href="images/fpb.jpg"> +<img src="images/fpb.jpg" width="411" height="600" alt="Illustration:" /></a> +<p class="caption">“See there, Master Alderman”</p> +</div> + +<p> +Their heads had been near together over the starling, but at this objurgation +they started apart, both crimson in the cheeks, and Dennet flew up to her +father, bird in hand, crying, “O father, father! suffer her not. He did +no wrong. He was cutting my bird’s wing.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suffer no one to insult my child in her own house,” said the +alderman, so much provoked as to be determined to put an end to it all at once. +“Stephen Birkenholt, come here.” +</p> + +<p> +Stephen came, cap in hand, red in the face, with a strange tumult in his heart, +ready to plead guilty, though he had done nothing, but imagining at the moment +that his feelings had been actions. +</p> + +<p> +“Stephen,” said the alderman, “thou art a true and worthy +lad! Canst thou love my daughter?” +</p> + +<p> +“I—I crave your pardon, sir, there was no helping it,” +stammered Stephen, not catching the tone of the strange interrogation, and +expecting any amount of terrible consequences for his presumption. +</p> + +<p> +“Then thou wilt be a faithful spouse to her, and son to me? And Dennet, +my daughter, hast thou any distaste to this youth—though he bring nought +but skill and honesty?” +</p> + +<p> +“O, father, father! I—I had rather have him than any other!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, Stephen Birkenholt and Dennet Headley, ye shall be man and wife, +so soon as the young man’s term be over, and he be a freeman—so he +continue to be that which he seems at present. Thereto I give my word, I, Giles +Headley, Alderman of the Chepe Ward, and thereof ye are witnesses, all of you. +And God’s blessing on it.” +</p> + +<p> +A tremendous hurrah arose, led by Kit Smallbones, from every workman in the +court, and the while Stephen and Dennet, unaware of anything else, flew into +one another’s arms, while Goldspot, on whom the operation had been +fortunately completed, took refuge upon Stephen’s head. +</p> + +<p> +“O, Mistress Dennet, I have made you black all over!” was +Stephen’s first word. +</p> + +<p> +“Heed not, I ever loved the black!” she cried, as her eyes +sparkled. +</p> + +<p> +“So I have done what was to thy mind, my lass?” said Master +Headley, who, without ever having thought of consulting his daughter, was +delighted to see that her heart was with him. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir, I did not know fully—but indeed I should never have been so +happy as I am now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” added Stephen, putting his knee to the ground, “it +nearly wrung my heart to think of her as belonging to another, though I never +durst utter aught”—and while Dennet embraced her father, Stephen +sobbed for very joy, and with difficulty said in broken words something about a +“son’s duty and devotion.” +</p> + +<p> +They were broken in upon by Mistress Headley, who, after standing in mute +consternation, fell on them in a fury. She understood the device now! All had +been a scheme laid amongst them for defrauding her poor fatherless child, +driving him away, and taking up this beggarly brat. She had seen through the +little baggage from the first, and she pitied Master Headley. Rage was utterly +ungovernable in those days, and she actually was flying to attack Dennet with +her nails when the alderman caught her by the wrists; and she would have been +almost too much for him, had not Kit Smallbones come to his assistance, and +carried her, kicking and screaming like a naughty child, into the house. There +was small restraint of temper in those days even in high life, and below it, +there was some reason for the employment of the padlock and the ducking stool. +</p> + +<p> +Floods of tears restored the dame to some sort of composure; but she declared +she could stay no longer in a house where her son had been ill-used and +deceived, and she had been insulted. The alderman thought the insult had been +the other way, but he was too glad to be rid of her on any terms to gainsay +her, and at his own charge, undertook to procure horse and escort to convey her +safely to Salisbury the next morning. He advised Stephen to keep out of her +sight for the rest of the day, giving leave of absence, so that the youth, as +one treading on air, set forth to carry to his brother, his aunt, and if +possible, his uncle, the intelligence that he could as yet hardly believe was +more than a happy dream. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.<br /> +UNWELCOME PREFERMENT</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now<br /> +To be thy lord and master. Seek the king!<br /> +That sun I pray may never set.” +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">Shakespeare</span>. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Matters</span> flowed on peaceably with Stephen and Dennet. +The alderman saw no reason to repent his decision, hastily as it had been made. +Stephen gave himself no unseemly airs of presumption, but worked on as one +whose heart was in the business, and Dennet rewarded her father’s trust +by her discretion. +</p> + +<p> +They were happily married in the summer of 1522, as soon as Stephen’s +apprenticeship was over; and from that time, he was in the position of the +master’s son, with more and more devolving on him as Tibble became +increasingly rheumatic every winter, and the alderman himself grew in flesh and +in distaste to exertion. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose meanwhile prospered with his master, and could easily have obtained +some office in the law courts that would have enabled him to make a home of his +own; but if he had the least inclination to the love of women, it was all +merged in a silent distant worship of “sweet pale Margaret, rare pale +Margaret,” the like-minded daughter of Sir Thomas More—an affection +which was so entirely devotion at a shrine, that it suffered no shock when Sir +Thomas at length consented to his daughter’s marriage with William Roper. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose was the only person who ever received any communication from Giles +Headley. They were few and far between, but when Stephen Gardiner returned from +his embassy to Pope Clement VII., who was then at Orvieto, one of the suite +reported to Ambrose how astonished he had been by being accosted in good +English by one of the imperial men-at-arms, who were guarding his Holiness in +actual though unconfessed captivity. This person had sent his commendations to +Ambrose, and likewise a laborious bit of writing, which looked as if he were +fast forgetting the art. It bade Ambrose inform his mother and all his friends +and kin that he was well and coming to preferment, and inclosed for Aldonza a +small mother-of-pearl cross blessed by the Pope. Giles added that he should +bring her finer gifts by and by. +</p> + +<p> +Seven years’ constancy! It gave quite a respectability to Giles’s +love, and Aldonza was still ready and patient while waiting in attendance on +her beloved mistress. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose lived on in the colony at Chelsea, sometimes attending his master, +especially on diplomatic missions, and generally acting as librarian and +foreign secretary, and obtaining some notice from Erasmus on the great +scholar’s visit to Chelsea. Under such guidance, Ambrose’s opinions +had settled down a good deal; and he was a disappointment to Tibble, whose +views advanced proportionably as he worked less, and read and thought more. He +so bitterly resented and deplored the burning of Tindal’s Bible that +there was constant fear that he might bring on himself the same fate, +especially as he treasured his own copy and studied it constantly. The reform +that Wolsey had intended to effect when he obtained the legatine authority +seemed to fall into the background among political interests, and his efforts +had as yet no result save the suppression of some useless and ill-managed small +religious houses to endow his magnificent project of York College at Oxford, +with a feeder at Ipswich, his native town. +</p> + +<p> +He was waiting to obtain the papacy, when he would deal better with the abuses. +Randall once asked him if he were not waiting to be King of Heaven, when he +could make root and branch work at once. Hal had never so nearly incurred a +flogging! +</p> + +<p> +And in the meantime another influence was at work, an influence only heard of +at first in whispered jests, which made loyal-hearted Dennet blush and look +indignant, but which soon grew to sad earnest, as she could not but avow, when +she beheld the stately pomp of the two Cardinals, Wolsey and Campeggio, sweep +up to the Blackfriars Convent to sit in judgment on the marriage of poor Queen +Katharine. +</p> + +<p> +“Out on them!” she said. “So many learned men to set their +wits against one poor woman!” And she heartily rejoiced when they came to +no decision, and the Pope was appealed to. As to understanding all the +explanations that Ambrose brought from time to time, she called them quirks and +quiddities, and left them to her father and Tibble to discuss in their chimney +corners. +</p> + +<p> +They had seen nothing of the jester for a good while, for he was with Wolsey, +who was attending the King on a progress through the midland shires. When the +Cardinal returned to open the law courts as Chancellor at the beginning of the +autumn term, still Randall kept away from home, perhaps because he had +forebodings that he could not bear to mention. +</p> + +<p> +On the evening of that very day, London rang with the tidings that the Great +Seal had been taken from the Cardinal, and that he was under orders to yield up +his noble mansion of York House and to retire to Esher; nay, it was reported +that he was to be imprisoned in the Tower, and the next day the Thames was +crowded with more than a thousand boats filled with people, expecting to see +him landed at the Traitors’ Gate, and much disappointed when his barge +turned towards Putney. +</p> + +<p> +In the afternoon, Ambrose came to the Dragon court. Even as Stephen figured now +as a handsome prosperous young freeman of the City, Ambrose looked well in the +sober black apparel and neat ruff of a lawyer’s clerk—clerk indeed +to the first lawyer in the kingdom, for the news had spread before him that Sir +Thomas More had become Lord Chancellor. +</p> + +<p> +“Thou art come to bear us word of thy promotion—for thy +master’s is thine own,” said the alderman heartily as he entered, +shaking hands with him. “Never was the Great Seal in better hands.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis true indeed, your worship,” said Ambrose, “though +it will lay a heavy charge on him, and divert him from much that he loveth +better still. I came to ask of my sister Dennet a supper and a bed for the +night, as I have been on business for him, and can scarce get back to +Chelsea.” +</p> + +<p> +“And welcome,” said Dennet. “Little Giles and Bess have been +wearying for their uncle.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must not toy with them yet,” said Ambrose, “I have a +message for my aunt. Brother, wilt thou walk down to the Temple with me before +supper?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, and how is it with Master Randall?” asked Dennet. “Be +he gone with my Lord Cardinal?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is made over to the King,” said Ambrose briefly. +“’Tis that which I must tell his wife.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have with thee, then,” said Stephen, linking his arm into that of +his brother, for to be together was still as great an enjoyment to them as in +Forest days. And on the way, Ambrose told what he had not been willing to utter +in full assembly in the hall. He had been sent by his master with a letter of +condolence to the fallen Cardinal, and likewise of inquiry into some necessary +business connected with the chancellorship. Wolsey had not time to answer +before embarking, but as Sir Thomas had vouched for the messenger’s +ability and trustiness, he had bidden Ambrose come into his barge, and receive +his instructions. Thus Ambrose had landed with him, just as a messenger came +riding in haste from the King, with a kind greeting, assuring his old friend +that his seeming disgrace was only for a time, and for political reasons, and +sending him a ring in token thereof. The Cardinal had fallen on his knees to +receive the message, had snatched a gold chain and precious relic from his own +neck to reward the messenger, and then, casting about for some gift for the +King, “by ill luck,” said Ambrose, “his eye lit upon our +uncle, and he instantly declared that he would bestow Patch, as the Court +chooses to call him, on the King. Well, as thou canst guess, Hal is hotly wroth +at the treatment of his lord, whom he truly loveth; and he flung himself before +the Cardinal, and besought that he might not be sent from his good lord. But +the Cardinal was only chafed at aught that gainsaid him; and all he did was to +say he would have no more ado, he had made his gift. ‘Get thee +gone,’ he said, as if he had been ordering off a horse or dog. +Well-a-day! it was hard to brook the sight, and Hal’s blood was up. He +flatly refused to go, saying he was the Cardinal’s servant, but no +villain nor serf to be thus made over without his own will.” +</p> + +<p> +“He was in the right there,” returned Stephen, hotly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, save that by playing the fool, poor fellow, he hath yielded up the +rights of a wise man. Any way, all he gat by it was that the Cardinal bade two +of the yeomen lay hands on him and bear him off. Then there came on him that +reckless mood, which, I trow, banished him long ago from the Forest, and +brought him to the motley. He fought with them with all his force, and broke +away once—as if that were of any use for a man in motley!—but he +was bound at last, and borne off by six of them to Windsor!” +</p> + +<p> +“And thou stoodst by, and beheld it!” cried Stephen. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, what could I have done, save to make his plight worse, and forfeit +all chance of yet speaking to him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou wert ever cool! I wot that I could not have borne it,” said +Stephen. +</p> + +<p> +They told the story to Perronel, who was on the whole elated by her +husband’s promotion, declaring that the King loved him well, and that he +would soon come to his senses, though for a wise man, he certainly had too much +of the fool, even as he had too much of the wise man for the fool. +</p> + +<p> +She became anxious, however, as the weeks passed by without hearing of or from +him, and at length Ambrose confessed his uneasiness to his kind master, and +obtained leave to attend him on the next summons to Windsor. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose could not find his uncle at first. Randall, who used to pervade York +House, and turn up everywhere when least expected, did not appear among the +superior serving-men and secretaries with whom his nephew ranked, and of course +there was no access to the state apartments. Sir Thomas, however, told Ambrose +that he had seen Quipsome Hal among the other jesters, but that he seemed dull +and dejected. Then Ambrose beheld from a window a cruel sight, for the other +fools, three in number, were surrounding Hal, baiting and teasing him, +triumphing over him in fact, for having formerly outshone them, while he stood +among them like a big dog worried by little curs, against whom he disdained to +use his strength. Ambrose, unable to bear this, ran down stairs to endeavour to +interfere; but before he could find his way to the spot, an arrival at the gate +had attracted the tormentors, and Ambrose found his uncle leaning against the +wall alone. He looked thin and wan, the light was gone out of his black eyes, +and his countenance was in sad contrast to his gay and absurd attire. He +scarcely cheered up when his nephew spoke to him, though he was glad to hear of +Perronel. He said he knew not when he should see her again, for he had been +unable to secure his suit of ordinary garments, so that even if the King came +to London, or if he could elude the other fools, he could not get out to visit +her. He was no better than a prisoner here, he only marvelled that the King +retained so wretched a jester, with so heavy a heart. +</p> + +<p> +“Once thou wast in favour,” said Ambrose. “Methought thou +couldst have availed thyself of it to speak for the Lord Cardinal.” +</p> + +<p> +“What? A senseless cur whom he kicked from him,” said Randall. +“’Twas that took all spirit from me, boy. I, who thought he loved +me, as I love him to this day. To send me to be sport for his foes! I think of +it day and night, and I’ve not a gibe left under my belt!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said Ambrose, “it may have been that the Cardinal +hoped to secure a true friend at the King’s ear, as well as to provide +for thee.” +</p> + +<p> +“Had he but said so—” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, perchance he trusted to thy sharp wit.” +</p> + +<p> +A gleam came into Hal’s eyes. “It might be so. Thou always wast a +toward lad, Ambrose, and if so, I was cur and fool indeed to baulk him.” +</p> + +<p> +Therewith one of the other fools danced back exhibiting a silver crown that had +just been flung to him, mopping and mowing, and demanding when Patch would have +wit to gain the like. Whereto Hal replied by pointing to Ambrose and declaring +that that gentleman had given him better than fifty crowns. And that night, Sir +Thomas told Ambrose that the Quipsome one had recovered himself, had been more +brilliant than ever and had quite eclipsed the other fools. +</p> + +<p> +On the next opportunity, Ambrose contrived to pack in his cloak-bag, the cap +and loose garment in which his uncle was wont to cover his motley. The Court +was still at Windsor; but nearly the whole of Sir Thomas’s stay elapsed +without Ambrose being able to find his uncle. Wolsey had been very ill, and the +King had relented enough to send his own physician to attend him. Ambrose began +to wonder if Hal could have found any plea for rejoining his old master; but in +the last hour of his stay, he found Hal curled up listlessly on a window seat +of a gallery, his head resting on his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Uncle, good uncle! At last! Thou art sick?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sick at heart, lad,” said Hal, looking up. “Yea, I took thy +counsel. I plucked up a spirit, I made Harry laugh as of old, though my heart +smote me, as I thought how he was wont to be answered by my master. I even +brooked to jest with the night-crow, as my own poor lord called this Nan +Boleyn. And lo you now, when his Grace was touched at my lord’s sickness, +I durst say there was one sure elixir for such as he, to wit a gold Harry; and +that a King’s touch was a sovereign cure for other disorders than the +King’s evil. Harry smiled, and in ten minutes more would have taken horse +for Esher, had not Madam Nan claimed his word to ride out hawking with her. And +next, she sendeth me a warning by one of her pert maids, that I should be +whipped, if I spoke to his Grace of unfitting matters. My flesh could brook no +more, and like a born natural, I made answer that Nan Boleyn was no mistress of +mine to bid me hold a tongue that had spoken sooth to her betters. Thereupon, +what think you, boy? The grooms came and soundly flogged me for uncomely speech +of my Lady Anne! I that was eighteen years with my Lord Cardinal, and none laid +hand on me! Yea, I was beaten; and then shut up in a dog-hole for three days on +bread and water, with none to speak to, but the other fools jeering at me like +a rogue in a pillory.” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose could hardly speak for hot grief and indignation, but he wrung his +uncle’s hand, and whispered that he had hid the loose gown behind the +arras of his chamber, but he could do no more, for he was summoned to attend +his master, and a servant further thrust in to say, “Concern yourself not +for that rogue, sir, he hath been saucy, and must mend his manners, or he will +have worse.” +</p> + +<p> +“Away, kind sir,” said Hal, “you can do the poor fool no +further good! but only bring the pack about the ears of the mangy hound.” +And he sang a stave appropriated by a greater man than he— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Then let the stricken deer go weep,<br /> +The hart ungalled play.” +</p> + +<p> +The only hope that Ambrose or his good master could devise for poor Randall was +that Sir Thomas should watch his opportunity and beg the fool from the King, +who might part with him as a child gives away the once coveted toy that has +failed in its hands; but the request would need circumspection, for all had +already felt the change that had taken place in the temper of the King since +Henry had resolutely undertaken that the wrong should be the right; and Ambrose +could not but dread the effect of desperation on a man whose nature had in it a +vein of impatient recklessness. +</p> + +<p> +It was after dinner, and Dennet, with her little boy and girl, was on the steps +dispensing the salt fish, broken bread, and pottage of the Lenten meal to the +daily troop who came for her alms, when, among them, she saw, somewhat to her +alarm, a gipsy man, who was talking to little Giles. The boy, a stout fellow of +six, was astride on the balustrade, looking up eagerly into the face of the +man, who began imitating the note of a blackbird. Dennet, remembering the evil +propensities of the gipsy race, called hastily to her little son to come down +and return to her side; but little Giles was unwilling to move, and called to +her, “O mother, come! He hath a bird-call!” In some perturbation +lest the man might be calling her bird away, Dennet descended the steps. She +was about to utter a sharp rebuke, but Giles held out his hand imploringly, and +she paused a moment to hear the sweet full note of the “ouzel cock, with +orange tawny bill” closely imitated on a tiny bone whistle. “He +will sell it to me for two farthings,” cried the boy, “and teach me +to sing on it like all the birds—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, good mistress,” said the gipsy, “I can whistle a tune +that the little master, ay, and others, might be fain to hear.” +</p> + +<p> +Therewith, spite of the wild dress, Dennet knew the eyes and the voice. And +perhaps the blackbird’s note had awakened echoes in another mind, for she +saw Stephen, in his working dress, come out to the door of the shop where he +continued to do all the finer work which had formerly fallen to Tibble’s +share. +</p> + +<p> +She lifted her boy from his perch, and bade him take the stranger to his +father, who would no doubt give him the whistle. And thus, having without +exciting attention, separated the fugitive from the rest of her pensioners, she +made haste to dismiss them. +</p> + +<p> +She was not surprised that little Giles came running back to her, producing +unearthly notes on the instrument, and telling her that father had taken the +gipsy into his workshop, and said they would teach him bird’s songs by +and by. +</p> + +<p> +“Steve, Steve,” had been the first words uttered when the boy was +out of hearing, “hast thou a smith’s apron and plenty of smut to +bestow on me? None can tell what Harry’s mood may be, when he finds +I’ve given him the slip. That is the reason I durst not go to my poor +dame.” +</p> + +<p> +“We will send to let her know. I thought I guessed what black ouzel +’twas! I mind how thou didst make the like notes for us when we were no +bigger than my Giles!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou hast a kind heart, Stephen. Here! Is thy furnace hot enough to make +a speedy end of this same greasy gipsy doublet? I trust not the varlet with +whom I bartered it for my motley. And a fine bargain he had of what I trust +never to wear again to the end of my days. Make me a smith complete, Stephen, +and then will I tell thee my story.” +</p> + +<p> +“We must call Kit into counsel, ere we can do that fully,” said +Stephen. +</p> + +<p> +In a few minutes Hal Randall was, to all appearance, a very shabby and grimy +smith, and then he took breath to explain his anxiety and alarm. Once again, +hearing that the Cardinal was to be exiled to York, he had ventured on a sorry +jest about old friends and old wine being better than new; but the King, who +had once been open to plain speaking, was now incensed, threatened and swore at +him! Moreover, one of the other fools had told him, in the way of boasting, +that he had heard Master Cromwell, formerly the Cardinal’s secretary, +informing the King that this rogue was no true “natural” at all, +but was blessed (or cursed) with as good an understanding as other folks, as +was well known in the Cardinal’s household, and that he had no doubt been +sent to serve as a spy, so that he was to be esteemed a dangerous person, and +had best be put under ward. +</p> + +<p> +Hal had not been able to discover whether Cromwell had communicated his name, +but he suspected that it might be known to that acute person, and he could not +tell whether his compeer spoke out of a sort of good-natured desire to warn +him, or simply to triumph in his disgrace, and leer at him for being an +impostor. At any rate, being now desperate, he covered his parti-coloured +raiment with the gown Ambrose had brought, made a perilous descent from a +window in the twilight, scaled a wall with the agility that seemed to have +returned to him, and reached Windsor Forest. +</p> + +<p> +There, falling on a camp of gipsies, he had availed himself of old experiences +in his wild Shirley days, and had obtained an exchange of garb, his handsome +motley being really a prize to the wanderers. Thus he had been able to reach +London; but he did not feel any confidence that if he were pursued to the gipsy +tent he would not be betrayed. +</p> + +<p> +In this, his sagacity was not at fault, for he had scarcely made his +explanation, when there was a knocking at the outer gate, and a demand to enter +in the name of the King, and to see Alderman Sir Giles Headley. Several of the +stout figures of the yeomen of the King’s guard were seen crossing the +court, and Stephen, committing the charge of his uncle to Kit, threw off his +apron, washed his face and went up to the hall, not very rapidly, for he +suspected that since his father-in-law knew nothing of the arrival, he would +best baffle the inquiries by sincere denials. +</p> + +<p> +And Dennet, with her sharp woman’s wit, scenting danger, had whisked +herself and her children out of the hall at the first moment, and taken them +down to the kitchen, where modelling with a batch of dough occupied both of +them. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime the alderman flatly denied the presence of the jester, or the +harbouring of the gipsy. He allowed that the jester was of kin to his +son-in-law, but the good man averred in all honesty that he knew nought of any +escape, and was absolutely certain that no such person was in the court. Then, +as Stephen entered, doffing his cap to the King’s officer, the alderman +continued, “There, fair son, this is what these gentlemen have come +about. Thy kinsman, it seemeth, hath fled from Windsor, and his Grace is +mightily incensed. They say he changed clothes with a gipsy, and was traced +hither this morn, but I have told them the thing is impossible.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will the gentlemen search?” asked Stephen. The gentlemen did +search, but they only saw the smiths in full work; and in Smallbones’ +forge, there was a roaring glowing furnace, with a bare-armed fellow feeding it +with coals, so that it fairly scorched them, and gave them double relish for +the good wine and beer that was put out on the table to do honour to them. +</p> + +<p> +Stephen had just with all civility seen them off the premises when Perronel +came sobbing into the court. They had visited her first, for Cromwell had +evidently known of Randall’s haunts; they had turned her little house +upside down, and had threatened her hotly in case she harboured a disloyal spy, +who deserved hanging. She came to consult Stephen, for the notion of her +husband wandering about, as a sort of outlaw, was almost as terrible as the +threat of his being hanged. +</p> + +<p> +Stephen beckoned her to a store-room full of gaunt figures of armour upon +blocks, and there brought up to her his extremely grimy new hand! +</p> + +<p> +There was much gladness between them, but the future had to be considered. +Perronel had a little hoard, the amount of which she was too shrewd to name to +any one, even her husband, but she considered it sufficient to enable him to +fulfil the cherished scheme of his life, of retiring to some small farm near +his old home, and she was for setting off at once. But Harry Randall declared +that he could not go without having offered his services to his old master. He +had heard of his “good lord” as sick, sad, and deserted by those +whom he had cherished, and the faithful heart was so true in its loyalty that +no persuasion could prevail in making it turn south. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said the wife, “did he not cast thee off himself, and +serve thee like one of his dogs? How canst thou be bound to him?” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s the rub!” sighed Hal. “He sent me to the King +deeming that he should have one full of faithful love to speak a word on his +behalf, and I, brutish oaf as I was, must needs take it amiss, and sulk and +mope till the occasion was past, and that viper Cromwell was there to back up +the woman Boleyn and poison his Grace’s ear.” +</p> + +<p> +“As if a man must not have a spirit to be angered by such +treatment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou forgettest, good wife. No man, but a fool, and to be entreated as +such! Be that as it may, to York I must. I have eaten of my lord’s bread +too many years, and had too much kindness from him in the days of his glory, to +seek mine own ease now in his adversity. Thou wouldst have a poor bargain of me +when my heart is away.” +</p> + +<p> +Perronel saw that thus it would be, and that this was one of the points on +which, to her mind, her husband was more than half a veritable fool after all. +</p> + +<p> +There had long been a promise that Stephen should, in some time of slack +employment, make a visit to his old comrade, Edmund Burgess, at York; and as +some new tools and patterns had to be conveyed thither, a sudden resolution was +come to, in family conclave, that Stephen himself should convey them, taking +his uncle with him as a serving-man, to attend to the horses. The alderman gave +full consent, he had always wished Stephen to see York, while he himself, with +Tibble Steelman, was able to attend to the business; and while he pronounced +Randall to have a heart of gold, well worth guarding, he still was glad when +the risk was over of the King’s hearing that the runaway jester was +harboured at the Dragon. Dennet did not like the journey for her husband, for +to her mind it was perilous, but she had had a warm affection for his uncle +ever since their expedition to Richmond together, and she did her best to +reconcile the murmuring and wounded Perronel by praises of Randall, a true and +noble heart; and that as to setting her aside for the Cardinal, who had heeded +him so little, such faithfulness only made her more secure of his +true-heartedness towards her. Perronel was moreover to break up her business, +dispose of her house, and await her husband’s return at the Dragon. +</p> + +<p> +Stephen came back after a happy month with his friend, stored with wondrous +tales and descriptions which would last the children for a month. He had seen +his uncle present himself to the Cardinal at Cawood Castle. It had been a +touching meeting. Hal could hardly restrain his tears when he saw how +Wolsey’s sturdy form had wasted, and his round ruddy cheeks had fallen +away, while the attitude in which he sat in his chair was listless and weary, +though he fitfully exerted himself with his old vigour. +</p> + +<p> +Hal on his side, in the dark plain dress of a citizen, was hardly recognisable, +for not only had he likewise grown thinner, and his brown cheeks more hollow, +but his hair had become almost white during his miserable weeks at Windsor, +though he was not much over forty years old. +</p> + +<p> +He came up the last of a number who presented themselves for the Archiepiscopal +blessing, as Wolsey sat under a large tree in Cawood Park. Wolsey gave it with +his raised fingers, without special heed, but therewith Hal threw himself on +the ground, kissed his feet, and cried, “My lord, my dear lord, your +pardon.” +</p> + +<p> +“What hast done, fellow? Speak!” said the Cardinal. “Grovel +not thus. We will be merciful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! my lord,” said Randall, lifting himself up, but with clasped +hands and tearful eyes, “I did not serve you as I ought with the King, +but if you will forgive me and take me back—” +</p> + +<p> +“How now? How couldst thou serve me? What!”—as Hal made a +familiar gesture—“thou art not the poor fool; Quipsome Patch? How +comest thou here? Methought I had provided well for thee in making thee over to +the King.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! my lord, I was fool, fool indeed, but all my jests failed me. How +could I make sport for your enemies?” +</p> + +<p> +“And thou hast come, thou hast left the King to follow my fallen +fortunes?” said Wolsey. “My poor boy, he who is sitting in +sackcloth and ashes needs no jester.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, my lord, nor can I find one jest to break! Would you but let me be +your meanest horse-boy, your scullion!” Hal’s voice was cut short +by tears as the Cardinal abandoned to him one hand. The other was drying eyes +that seldom wept. +</p> + +<p> +“My faithful Hal!” he said, “this is love indeed!” +</p> + +<p> +And Stephen ere he came away had seen his uncle fully established, as a +rational creature, and by his true name, as one of the personal attendants on +the Cardinal’s bed-chamber, and treated with the affection he well +deserved. Wolsey had really seemed cheered by his affection, and was devoting +himself to the care of his hitherto neglected and even unvisited diocese, in a +way that delighted the hearts of the Yorkshiremen. +</p> + +<p> +The first idea was that Perronel should join her husband at York, but safe +modes of travelling were not easy to be found, and before any satisfactory +escort offered, there were rumours that made it prudent to delay. As autumn +advanced, it was known that the Earl of Northumberland had been sent to attach +the Cardinal of High Treason. Then ensued other reports that the great Cardinal +had sunk and died on his way to London for trial; and at last, one dark winter +evening, a sorrowful man stumbled up the steps of the Dragon, and as he came +into the bright light of the fire, and Perronel sprang to meet him, he sank +into a chair and wept aloud. +</p> + +<p> +He had been one of those who had lifted the broken-hearted Wolsey from his mule +in the cloister of Leicester Abbey, he had carried him to his bed, watched over +him, and supported him, as the Abbot of Leicester gave him the last Sacraments. +He had heard and treasured up those mournful words which are Wolsey’s +chief legacy to the world, “Had I but served my God, as I have served my +king, He would not have forsaken me in my old age.” For himself, he had +the dying man’s blessing, and assurance that nothing had so much availed +to cheer in these sad hours as his faithful love. +</p> + +<p> +Now, Perronel might do what she would with him—he cared not. +</p> + +<p> +And what she did was to set forth with him for Hampshire, on a pair of stout +mules with a strong serving-man behind them. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.<br /> +THE SOLDIER</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“Of a worthy London prentice<br /> + My purpose is to speak,<br /> +And tell his brave adventures<br /> + Done for his country’s sake.<br /> +Seek all the world about<br /> + And you shall hardly find<br /> +A man in valour to exceed<br /> + A prentice’ gallant mind.” +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<i>The Homes of a London Prentice</i>. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Six</span> more years had passed over the Dragon court, +when, one fine summer evening, as the old walls rang with the merriment of the +young boys at play, there entered through the gateway a tall, well-equipped, +soldierly figure, which caught the eyes of the little armourer world in a +moment. “Oh, that’s a real Milan helmet!” exclaimed the one +lad. +</p> + +<p> +“And oh, what a belt and buff coat!” cried another. +</p> + +<p> +The subject of their admiration advanced muttering, “As if I’d not +been away a week,” adding, “I pray you, pretty lads, doth Master +Alderman Headley still dwell here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, sir, he is our grandfather,” said the elder boy, holding a +lesser one by the shoulder as he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Verily! And what may be your names?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am Giles Birkenholt, and this is my little brother, Dick.” +</p> + +<p> +“Even as I thought. Wilt thou run in to your grandsire, and tell +him?” +</p> + +<p> +The bigger boy interrupted, “Grandfather is going to bed. He is old and +weary, and cannot see strangers so late. ’Tis our father who heareth all +the orders.” +</p> + +<p> +“And,” added the little one, with wide open grave eyes, +“Mother bade us run out and play and not trouble father, because uncle +Ambrose is so downcast because they have cut off the head of good Sir Thomas +More.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet,” said the visitor, “methinks your father would hear of +an old comrade. Or stay, where be Tibble Steelman and Kit Smallbones?” +</p> + +<p> +“Tibble is in the hall, well-nigh as sad as uncle Ambrose,” began +Dick; but Giles, better able to draw conclusions, exclaimed, “Tibble! +Kit! You know them, sir! Oh! are you the Giles Headley that ran away to be a +soldier ere I was born? Kit! Kit! see here—” as the giant, broader +and perhaps a little more bent, but with little loss of strength, came forward +out of his hut, and taking up the matter just where it had been left fourteen +years before, demanded as they shook hands, “Ah! Master Giles, how +couldst thou play me such a scurvy trick?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Kit, was it not best for all that I turned my back to make way for +honest Stephen?” +</p> + +<p> +By this time young Giles had rushed up the stair to the hall, where, as he said +truly, Stephen was giving his brother such poor comfort as could be had from +sympathy, when listening to the story of the cheerful, brave resignation of the +noblest of all the victims of Henry VIII. Ambrose had been with Sir Thomas +well-nigh to the last, had carried messages between him and his friends during +his imprisonment, had handed his papers to him at his trial, had been with Mrs. +Roper when she broke through the crowd and fell on his neck as he walked from +Westminster Hall with the axe-edge turned towards him; had received his last +kind farewell, counsel, and blessing, and had only not been with him on the +scaffold because Sir Thomas had forbidden it, saying, in the old strain of +mirth, which never forsook him, “Nay, come not, my good friend. Thou art +of a queasy nature, and I would fain not haunt thee against thy will.” +</p> + +<p> +All was over now, the wise and faithful head had fallen, because it would not +own the wrong for the right; and Ambrose had been brought home by his brother, +a being confounded, dazed, seeming hardly able to think or understand aught +save that the man whom he had above all loved and looked up to was taken from +him, judicially murdered, and by the King. The whole world seemed utterly +changed to him, and as to thinking or planning for himself, he was incapable of +it; indeed, he looked fearfully ill. His little nephew came up to his +father’s knee, pausing, though open-mouthed, and at the first token of +permission, bursting out, “Oh! father! Here’s a soldier in the +court! Kit is talking to him. And he is Giles Headley that ran away. He has a +beauteous Spanish leathern coat, and a belt with silver bosses—and a +morion that Phil Smallbones saith to be of Milan, but I say it is +French.” +</p> + +<p> +Stephen had no sooner gathered the import of this intelligence than he sprang +down almost as rapidly as his little boy, with his welcome. Nor did Giles +Headley return at all in the dilapidated condition that had been predicted. He +was stout, comely, and well fleshed, and very handsomely clad and equipped in a +foreign style, with nothing of the lean wolfish appearance of Sir John Fulford. +The two old comrades heartily shook one another by the hand in real gladness at +the meeting. Stephen’s welcome was crossed by the greeting and inquiry +whether all was well. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea. The alderman is hale and hearty, but aged. Your mother is tabled at +a religious house at Salisbury.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know. I landed at Southampton and have seen her.” +</p> + +<p> +“And Dennet,” Stephen added with a short laugh, “she could +not wait for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, verily. Did I not wot well that she cared not a fico for me? I hoped +when I made off that thou wouldst be the winner, Steve, and I am right glad +thou art, man.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can but thank thee, Giles,” said Stephen, changing to the +familiar singular pronoun. “I have oft since thought what a foolish +figure I should have cut had I met thee among the Badgers, after having given +leg bail because I might not brook seeing thee wedded to her. For I was sore +tempted—only thou wast free, and mine indenture held me fast.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it was so! And I did thee a good turn! For I tell thee, Steve, I +never knew how well I liked thee till I was wounded and sick among those who +heeded neither God nor man! But one word more, Stephen, ere we go in. The +Moor’s little maiden, is she still unwedded?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea,” was Stephen’s answer. “She is still waiting-maid +to Mistress Roper, daughter to good Sir Thomas More; but alack, Giles, they are +in sore trouble, as it may be thou hast heard—and my poor brother is like +one distraught.” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose did indeed meet Giles like one in a dream. He probably would have made +the same mechanical greeting, if the Emperor or the Pope had been at that +moment presented to him; but Dennet, who had been attending to her father, made +up all that was wanting in cordiality. She had always had a certain sense of +shame for having flouted her cousin, and, as his mother told her, driven him to +death and destruction, and it was highly satisfactory to see him safe and +sound, and apparently respectable and prosperous. +</p> + +<p> +Moreover, grieved as all the family were for the fate of the admirable and +excellent More, it was a relief to those less closely connected with him to +attend to something beyond poor Ambrose’s sorrow and his talk, the which +moreover might be perilous if any outsider listened and reported it to the +authorities as disaffection to the King. So Giles told his story, sitting on +the gallery in the cool of the summer evening, and marvelling over and over +again how entirely unchanged all was since his first view of the Dragon court +as a proud, sullen, raw lad twenty summers ago. Since that time he had seen so +much that the time appeared far longer to him than to those who had stayed at +home. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed that Fulford had from the first fascinated him more than any of the +party guessed, and that each day of the free life of the expedition, and of +contact with the soldiery, made a return to the monotony of the forge, the +decorous life of a London citizen, and the bridal with a child, to whom he was +indifferent, seem more intolerable to him. Fulford imagining rightly that the +knowledge of his intentions might deter young Birkenholt from escaping, +enjoined strict secrecy on either lad, not intending them to meet till it +should be too late to return, and therefore had arranged that Giles should quit +the party on the way to Calais, bringing with him Will Wherry, and the horse he +rode. +</p> + +<p> +Giles had then been enrolled among the Badgers. He had little to tell about his +life among them till the battle of Pavia, where he had had the good fortune to +take three French prisoners; but a stray shot from a fugitive had broken his +leg during the pursuit, and he had been laid up in a merchant’s house at +Pavia for several months. He evidently looked back to the time with gratitude, +as having wakened his better associations, which had been well-nigh stifled +during the previous years of the wild life of a soldier of fortune. His +host’s young daughter had eyes like Aldonza, and the almost forgotten +possibility of returning to his love a brave and distinguished man awoke once +more. His burgher thrift began to assert itself again, and he deposited a +nest-egg from the ransoms of his prisoners in the hands of his host, who gave +him bonds by which he could recover the sum from Lombard correspondents in +London. +</p> + +<p> +He was bound by his engagements to join the Badgers again, or he would have +gone home on his recovery; and he had shared in the terrible taking of Rome, of +which he declared that he could not speak—with a significant look at +Dennet and her children, who were devouring his words. He had, however, stood +guard over a lady and her young children whom some savage Spaniards were about +to murder, and the whole family had overpowered him with gratitude, lodged him +sumptuously in their house, and shown themselves as grateful to him as if he +had given them all the treasure which he had abstained from seizing. +</p> + +<p> +The sickness brought on by their savage excesses together with the Roman summer +had laid low many of the Badgers. When the Prince of Orange drew off the army +from the miserable city, scarce seven score of that once gallant troop were in +marching order, and Sir John Fulford himself was dying. He sent for Giles, as +less of a demon than most of the troop, and sent a gold medal, the only +fragment of spoil remaining to him, to his daughter Perronel. To Giles himself +Fulford bequeathed Abenali’s well-tested sword, and he died in the +comfortable belief—so far as he troubled himself about the matter at +all—that there were special exemptions for soldiers. +</p> + +<p> +The Badgers now incorporated themselves with another broken body of +Landsknechts, and fell under the command of a better and more conscientious +captain. Giles, who had been horrified rather than hardened by the experiences +of Rome, was found trustworthy and rose in command. The troop was sent to take +charge of the Pope at Orvieto, and thus it was that he had fallen in with the +Englishmen of Gardiner’s suite, and had been able to send his letter to +Ambrose. Since he had found the means of rising out of the slough, he had made +up his mind to continue to serve till he had won some honour, and had obtained +enough to prevent his return as a hungry beggar. +</p> + +<p> +His corps became known for discipline and valour. It was trusted often, was in +attendance on the Emperor, and was fairly well paid. Giles was their +“ancient” and had charge of the banner, nor could it be doubted +that he had flourished. His last adventure had been the expedition to Tunis, +when 20,000 Christian captives had been set free from the dungeons and galleys, +and so grand a treasure had been shared among the soldiery that Giles, having +completed the term of service for which he was engaged, decided on returning to +England, before, as he said, he grew any older, to see how matters were going. +</p> + +<p> +“For the future,” he said, “it depended on how he found +things. If Aldonza would none of him, he should return to the Emperor’s +service. If she would go with him, he held such a position that he could +provide for her honourably. Or he could settle in England. For he had a good +sum in the hands of Lombard merchants; having made over to them spoils of war, +ransoms, and arrears when he obtained them; and having at times earned +something by exercising his craft, which he said had been most valuable to him. +Indeed he thought he could show Stephen and Tibble a few fresh arts he had +picked up at Milan. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime his first desire was to see Aldonza. She was still at Chelsea with her +mistress, and Ambrose, to his brother’s regret, went thither every day, +partly because he could not keep away, and partly to try to be of use to the +family. Giles might accompany him, though he still looked so absorbed in his +trouble that it was doubtful whether he had really understood what was passing, +or that he was wanted to bring about an interview between his companion and +Aldonza. +</p> + +<p> +The beautiful grounds at Chelsea, in their summer beauty, looked inexpressibly +mournful, deprived of him who had planted and cherished the trees and roses. As +they passed along in the barge, one spot after another recalled More’s +bright jests or wise words; above all, the very place where he had told his +son-in-law Roper that he was merry, not because he was safe, but because the +fight was won, and his conscience had triumphed against the King he loved and +feared. +</p> + +<p> +Giles told of the report that the Emperor had said he would have given a +hundred of his nobles for one such councillor as More, and the prospect of +telling this to the daughters had somewhat cheered Ambrose. They found a guard +in the royal livery at the stairs to the river, and at the door of the house, +but these had been there ever since Sir Thomas’s apprehension. They knew +Ambrose Birkenholt, and made no objection to his passing in and leaving his +companion to walk about among the borders and paths, once so trim, but already +missing their master’s hand and eye. +</p> + +<p> +Very long it seemed to Giles, who was nearly despairing, when a female figure +in black came out of one of the side doors, which were not guarded, and seemed +to be timidly looking for him. Instantly he was at her side. +</p> + +<p> +“Not here,” she said, and in silence led the way to a pleached +alley out of sight of the windows. There they stood still. It was a strange +meeting of two who had not seen each other for fourteen years, when the one was +a tall, ungainly youth, the other well-nigh a child. And now Giles was a fine, +soldierly man in the prime of life, with a short, curled beard, and powerful, +alert bearing, and Aldonza, though the first flower of her youth had gone by, +yet, having lived a sheltered and far from toilsome life, was a really +beautiful woman, gracefully proportioned, and with the delicate features and +clear olive skin of the Andalusian Moor. Her eyes, always her finest feature, +were sunken with weeping, but their soft beauty could still be seen. Giles +threw himself on his knee and grasped at her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“My love!—my only love!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! how can I think of such matters now—now, when it is thus with +my dear mistress,” said Aldonza, in a mournful voice, as though her tears +were all spent—yet not withholding her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“You knew me before you knew her,” said Giles. “See, Aldonza, +what I have brought back to you.” +</p> + +<p> +And he half drew the sword her father had made. She gave a gasp of delight, for +well she knew every device in the gold inlaying of the blade, and she looked at +Giles with eyes fall of gratitude. +</p> + +<p> +“I knew thou wouldst own me,” said Giles. “I have fought and +gone far from thee, Aldonza. Canst not spare one word for thine old +Giles?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Giles—there is one thing which if you will do for my mistress, +I would be yours from—from my heart of hearts.” +</p> + +<p> +“Say it, sweetheart, and it is done.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know not. It is perilous, and may be many would quail. Yet it may be +less perilous for you than for one who is better known.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peril and I are well acquainted, my heart.” She lowered her voice +as her eyes dilated, and she laid her hand on his arm. “Thou wottest what +is on London Bridge gates?” +</p> + +<p> +“I saw it, a sorry sight.” +</p> + +<p> +“My mistress will not rest till that dear and sacred head, holy as any +blessed relic, be taken down so as not to be the sport of sun and wind, and +cruel men gaping beneath. She cannot sleep, she cannot sit or stand still, she +cannot even kiss her child for thinking of it. Her mind is set on taking it +down, yet she will not peril her husband. Nor verily know I how any here could +do the deed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! I have scaled a wall ere now. I bare our banner at Goletta, with the +battlements full of angry Moors, not far behind the Emperor’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“You would? And be secret? Then indeed nought would be overmuch for you. +And this very night—” +</p> + +<p> +“The sooner the better.” +</p> + +<p> +She not only clasped his hand in thanks, but let him raise her face to his, and +take the reward he felt his due. Then she said she must return, but Ambrose +would bring him all particulars. Ambrose was as anxious as herself and her +mistress that the thing should be done, but was unfit by all his habits, and +his dainty, scholarly niceness, to render such effectual assistance as the +soldier could do. Giles offered to scale the gate by night himself, carry off +the head, and take it to any place Mrs. Roper might appoint, with no assistance +save such as Ambrose could afford. Aldonza shuddered a little at this, proving +that her heart had gone out to him already, but with this he had to be +contented, for she went back into the house, and he saw her no more. Ambrose +came back to him, and, with something more like cheerfulness than he had yet +seen, said, “Thou art happy, Giles.” +</p> + +<p> +“More happy than I durst hope—to find her—” +</p> + +<p> +“Tush! I meant not that. But to be able to do the work of the holy ones +of old who gathered the remnants of the martyrs, while I have indeed the will, +but am but a poor craven! It is gone nearer to comfort that sad-hearted lady +than aught else.” +</p> + +<p> +It appeared that Mrs. Roper would not be satisfied unless she herself were +present at the undertaking, and this was contrary to the views of Giles, who +thought the further off women were in such a matter the better. There was a +watch at the outer entrance of London Bridge, the trainbands taking turns to +supply it, but it was known by experience that they did not think it necessary +to keep awake after belated travellers had ceased to come in; and Sir Thomas +More’s head was set over the opposite gateway, looking inwards at the +City. The most suitable hour would be between one and two o’clock, when +no one would be stirring, and the summer night would be at the shortest. Mrs. +Roper was exceedingly anxious to implicate no one, and to prevent her husband +and brother from having any knowledge of an act that William Roper might have +prohibited, as if she could not absolutely exculpate him, it might be fatal to +him. She would therefore allow no one to assist save Ambrose, and a few more +devoted old servants, of condition too low for anger to be likely to light upon +them. She was to be rowed with muffled oars to the spot, to lie hid in the +shadow of the bridge till a signal like the cry of the pee-wit was exchanged +from the bridge, then approach the stairs at the inner angle of the bridge +where Giles and Ambrose would meet her. +</p> + +<p> +Giles’s experience as a man-at-arms stood him in good stead. He purchased +a rope as he went home, also some iron ramps. He took a survey of the arched +gateway in the course of the afternoon, and shutting himself into one of the +worksheds with Ambrose, he constructed such a rope ladder as was used in +scaling fortresses, especially when seized at night by surprise. He beguiled +the work by a long series of anecdotes of adventures of the kind, of all of +which Ambrose heard not one word. The whole court, and especially Giles number +three, were very curious as to their occupation, but nothing was said even to +Stephen, for it was better, if Ambrose should be suspected, that he should be +wholly ignorant, but he had—they knew not how—gathered somewhat. +Only Ambrose was, at parting for the night, obliged to ask him for the key of +the gate. +</p> + +<p> +“Brother,” then he said, “what is this work I see? Dost think +I can let thee go into a danger I do not partake? I will share in this pious +act towards the man I have ever reverenced.” +</p> + +<p> +So at dead of night the three men stole out together, all in the plainest +leathern suits. The deed was done in the perfect stillness of the sleeping +City, and without mishap or mischance. Stephen’s strong hand held the +ladder securely and aided to fix it to the ramps, and just as the early dawn +was touching the summit of St. Paul’s spire with a promise of light, +Giles stepped into the boat, and reverently placed his burden within the +opening of a velvet cushion that had been ripped up and deprived of part of the +stuffing, so as to conceal it effectually. The brave Margaret Roper, the +English Antigone, well knowing that all depended on her self-control, refrained +from aught that might shake it. She only raised her face to Giles and murmured +from dry lips, “Sir, God must reward you!” And Aldonza, who sat +beside her, held out her hand. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose was to go with them to the priest’s house, where Mrs. Roper was +forced to leave her treasure, since she durst not take it to Chelsea, as the +royal officers were already in possession, and the whole family were to depart +on the ensuing day. Stephen and Giles returned safely to Cheapside. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a>CHAPTER XXV.<br /> +OLD HAUNTS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“O the oak, and the birch, and the bonny holly tree,<br /> +They flourish best at home in my own countree.” +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">When</span> the absence of the barbarous token of the +execution was discovered, suspicion instantly fell on the More family, and +Margaret, her husband, and her brother, were all imprisoned. The brave lady +took all upon herself, and gave no names of her associates in the deed, and as +Henry VIII. still sometimes had better moods, all were soon released. +</p> + +<p> +But that night had given Ambrose a terrible cough, so that Dennet kept him in +bed two days. Indeed he hardly cared to rise from it. His whole nature, health, +spirits, and mind, had been so cruelly strained, and he was so listless, so +weak, so incapable of rousing himself, or turning to any fresh scheme of life, +that Stephen decided on fulfilling a long-cherished plan of visiting their +native home and seeing their uncle, who had, as he had contrived to send them +word, settled down on a farm which he had bought with Perronel’s savings, +near Romsey. Headley, who was lingering till Aldonza could leave her mistress +and decide on any plan, undertook to attend to the business, and little Giles, +to his great delight, was to accompany them. +</p> + +<p> +So the brothers went over the old ground. They slept in the hostel at +Dogmersfield where the Dragon mark and the badge of the Armourers’ +Company had first appeared before them. They found the very tree where the +alderman had been tied, and beneath which Spring lay buried, while little Giles +gazed with ecstatic, almost religious veneration, and Ambrose seemed to draw in +new life with the fresh air of the heath, now becoming rich with crimson bells. +They visited Hyde Abbey, and the well-clothed, well-mounted travellers received +a better welcome than had fallen to the lot of the hungry lads. They were shown +the grave of old Richard Birkenholt in the cloister, and Stephen left a sum to +be expended in masses for his behoof. They looked into St. Elizabeth’s +College, but the kind warden was dead, and a trembling old man who looked at +them through the wicket hoped they were not sent from the Commissioners. For +the visitation of the lesser religious houses was going on, and St. +Elizabeth’s was already doomed. Stephen inquired at the White Hart for +Father Shoveller, and heard that he had grown too old to perform the office of +a bailiff, and had retired to the parent abbey. The brothers therefore +renounced their first scheme of taking Silkstede in their way, and made for +Romsey. There, under the shadow of the magnificent nunnery, they dined +pleasantly by the waterside at the sign of Bishop Blaise, patron of the +woolcombers of the town, and halted long enough to refresh Ambrose, who was +equal to very little fatigue. It amused Stephen to recollect how mighty a place +he had once thought the little town. +</p> + +<p> +Did mine host know Master Randall? What, Master Randall of Baddesley? He should +think so! Was not the good man or his good wife here every market day, with a +pleasant word for every one! Men said he had had some good office about the +Court, as steward or the like—for he was plainly conversant with great +men, though he made no boast. If these guests were kin of his, they were +welcome for his sake. +</p> + +<p> +So the brothers rode on amid the gorse and heather till they came to a +broad-spreading oak tree, sheltering a farmhouse built in frames of heavy +timber, filled up with bricks set in zigzag patterns, with a high-pitched roof +and tall chimneys. Barns and stacks were near it, and fields reclaimed from the +heath were waving with corn just tinged with the gold of harvest. Three or four +cows, of the tawny hue that looked so home-like to the brothers, were being +released from the stack-yard after being milked, and conducted to their field +by a tall, white-haired man in a farmer’s smock with a little child +perched on his shoulder, who gave a loud jubilant cry at the sight of the +riders. Stephen, pushing on, began the question whether Master Randall dwelt +there, but it broke off half way into a cry of recognition on either side, +Harry’s an absolute shout. “The lads, the lads! Wife, wife! +’tis our own lads!” +</p> + +<p> +And as Perronel, more buxom and rosy than London had ever made her, came forth +from her dairy, and there was a mêlée of greetings, and Stephen +would have asked what homeless little one the pair had adopted, he was cut +short by an exulting laugh. “No more adopted than thy Giles there, +Stephen. ’Tis our own boy, Thomas Randall! Yea, and if he have come late, +he is the better loved, though I trow Perronel there will ever look on Ambrose +as her eldest son.” +</p> + +<p> +“And by my troth, he needs good country diet and air!” cried +Perronel. “Thou hast had none to take care of thee, Ambrose. They have +let thee pine and dwine over thy books. I must take thee in hand.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis what I brought him to thee for, good aunt,” said +Stephen, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +Great was the interchange of news over the homely hearty meal. It was plain +that no one could be happier, or more prosperous in a humble way, than the +ex-jester and his wife; and if anything could restore Ambrose it would surely +be the homely plenty and motherly care he found there. +</p> + +<p> +Stephen heard another tale of his half-brother. His wife had soon been +disgusted by the loneliness of the verdurer’s lodge, and was always +finding excuses for going to Southampton, where she and her daughter had both +caught the plague, imported in some Eastern merchandise, and had died. The only +son had turned out wild and wicked, and had been killed in a broil which he had +provoked: and John, a broken-down man, with no one to enjoy the wealth he had +accumulated, had given up his office as verdurer, and retired to an estate +which he had purchased on the skirts of the Forest. +</p> + +<p> +Stephen rode thither to see him, and found him a dying man, tyrannised over and +neglected by his servants, and having often bitterly regretted his hardness +towards his young brothers. All that Stephen did for him he received as tokens +of pardon, and it was not possible to leave him until, after a +fortnight’s watching, he died in his brother’s arms. He had made no +will, and Ambrose thus inherited a property which made his future maintenance +no longer an anxiety to his brother. +</p> + +<p> +He himself seemed to care very little for the matter. To be allowed to rest +under Perronel’s care, to read his Erasmus’ Testament, and attend +mass on Sundays at the little Norman church, seemed all that he wished. Stephen +tried to persuade him that he was young enough at thirty-five to marry and +begin life again on the fair woodland river-bordered estate that was his +portion, but he shook his head. “No, Stephen, my work is over. I could +only help my dear master, and that is at an end. Dean Colet is gone, Sir Thomas +is gone, what more have I to do here? Old ties are broken, old bonds severed. +Crime and corruption were protested against in vain; and, now that judgment is +beginning at the house of God, I am thankful that I am not like to live to see +it.” +</p> + +<p> +Perronel scolded and exhorted him, and told him he would be stronger when the +hot weather was over, but Ambrose only smiled, and Stephen saw a change in him, +even in this fortnight, which justified his forebodings. +</p> + +<p> +Stephen and his uncle found a trustworthy bailiff to manage the estate, and +Ambrose remained in the house where he could now be no burthen. Stephen was +obliged to leave him and take home young Giles, who had, he found, become so +completely a country lad, enjoying everything to the utmost, that he already +declared that he would much rather be a yeoman and forester than an armourer, +and that he did not want to be apprenticed to that black forge. +</p> + +<p> +This again made Ambrose smile with pleasure as he thought of the boy as keeping +up the name of Birkenholt in the Forest. The one wish he expressed was that +Stephen would send down Tibble Steelman to be with him. For in truth they both +felt that in London Tib might at any time be laid hands on, and suffer at +Smithfield for his opinions. The hope of being a comfort to Ambrose was perhaps +the only idea that could have counterbalanced the sense that he ought not to +fly from martyrdom; and as it proved, the invitation came only just in time. +Three days after Tibble had been despatched by the Southampton carrier in +charge of all the comforts Dennet could put together, Bishop Stokesley’s +grim “soumpnour” came to summon him to the Bishop’s court, +and there could be little question that he would have courted the faggot and +stake. But as he was gone out of reach, no further inquiries were made after +him. +</p> + +<p> +Dennet had told her husband that she had been amazed to find how, in spite of a +very warm affection for her, her husband, and children, her father hankered +after the old name, and grieved that he could not fulfil his old engagement to +his cousin Robert. Giles Headley had managed the business excellently during +Stephen’s absence, had shown himself very capable, and gained good +opinions from all. Rubbing about in the world had been very good for him; and +she verily believed that nothing would make her father so happy as for them to +offer to share the business with Giles. She would on her part make Aldonza +welcome, and had no fears of not agreeing with her. Besides—if little +Giles were indeed to be heir to Testside was not the way made clear? +</p> + +<p> +So thus it was. The alderman was very happy in the arrangement, and Giles +Headley had not forfeited his rights to be a freeman of London or a member of +the Armourers’ Guild. He married Aldonza at Michaelmas, and all went well +and peacefully in the household. Dennet never quitted her father while he +lived; but Stephen struggled through winter roads and floods, and reached +Baddesley in time to watch his brother depart in peace, his sorrow and +indignation for his master healed by the sense of his martyrdom, and his trust +firm and joyful. “If this be, as it is, dying of grief,” said Hal +Randall, “surely it is a blessed way to die!” +</p> + +<p> +A few winters later Stephen and Dennet left Giles Headley in sole possession of +the Dragon, with their second son as an apprentice, while they themselves took +up the old forest life as Master and Mistress Birkenholt of Testside, where +they lived and died honoured and loved. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE END. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +<small>RICHARD CLAY AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BUNGAY.</small> +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ARMOURER’S PRENTICES ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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