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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Armourer’s Prentices, by Charlotte M. Yonge
+
+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
+www.gutenberg.org. 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.
+
+Title: The Armourer’s Prentices
+
+Author: Charlotte M. Yonge
+
+Release Date: November 5, 2003 [eBook #9959]
+[Most recently updated: June 23, 2021]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+Produced by: David Price
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ARMOURER’S PRENTICES ***
+
+
+
+
+THE
+ARMOURER’S PRENTICES
+
+BY
+
+CHARLOTTE M. YONGE
+
+[Illustration]
+
+_ILLUSTRATED BY W. J. HENNESSY_
+
+London
+MACMILLAN AND CO.
+AND NEW YORK
+1889
+
+_The Right of Translation is Reserved_
+
+
+Contents
+
+ PREFACE
+ CHAPTER I. THE VERDURER’S LODGE
+ CHAPTER II. THE GRANGE OF SILKSTEDE
+ CHAPTER III. KINSMEN AND STRANGERS
+ CHAPTER IV. A HERO’S FALL
+ CHAPTER V. THE DRAGON COURT
+ CHAPTER VI. A SUNDAY IN THE CITY
+ CHAPTER VII. YORK HOUSE
+ CHAPTER VIII. QUIPSOME HAL
+ CHAPTER IX. ARMS SPIRITUAL AND TEMPORAL
+ CHAPTER X. TWO VOCATIONS
+ CHAPTER XI. AY DI ME GRENADA
+ CHAPTER XII. A KING IN A QUAGMIRE
+ CHAPTER XIII. A LONDON HOLIDAY
+ CHAPTER XIV. THE KNIGHT OF THE BADGER
+ CHAPTER XV. HEAVE HALF A BRICK AT HIM
+ CHAPTER XVI. MAY EVE
+ CHAPTER XVII. ILL MAY DAY
+ CHAPTER XVIII. PARDON
+ CHAPTER XIX. AT THE ANTELOPE
+ CHAPTER XX. CLOTH OF GOLD ON THE SEAMY SIDE
+ CHAPTER XXI. SWORD OR SMITHY
+ CHAPTER XXII. AN INVASION
+ CHAPTER XXIII. UNWELCOME PREFERMENT
+ CHAPTER XXIV. THE SOLDIER
+ CHAPTER XXV. OLD HAUNTS
+
+
+
+
+LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
+
+ “Ha! Ha!” laughed Henry, “hast found him out, lads?”
+ “And see here, your Grace!”
+ “See there, Master Alderman”
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+
+I have attempted here to sketch citizen life in the early Tudor days,
+aided therein by Stowe’s _Survey of London_, supplemented by Mr.
+Loftie’s excellent history, and Dr. Burton’s _English Merchants_.
+
+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 _Chronicle_. 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 _Pictorial History of __England_ tells of Barlow,
+the archer, dubbed by Henry VIII. the King of Shoreditch.
+
+_Historic Winchester_ 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.
+
+The Moresco’s Arabic Gospel and Breviary are mentioned in Lady
+Calcott’s _History of Spain_, but she does not give her authority. Nor
+can I go further than Knight’s _Pictorial History_ 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 _Popular Antiquities_ 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.
+
+Seebohm’s _Oxford Reformers_ and the _Life of Sir Thomas More_, written
+by William Roper, are my other authorities, though I touched somewhat
+unwillingly on ground already lighted up by Miss Manning in her
+_Household of Sir Thomas More_.
+
+Galt’s _Life of Cardinal Wolsey_ 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.
+
+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 _pièces justificatives_.
+
+C. M. Yonge.
+
+_August_ 1_st_, 1884
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+THE VERDURER’S LODGE
+
+
+“Give me the poor allottery my father left me by testament, with that I
+will go buy me fortunes.”
+“Get you with him, you old dog.”
+
+_As You Like It_.
+
+
+The officials of the New Forest have ever since the days of the
+Conqueror enjoyed some of the pleasantest dwellings that southern
+England can boast.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+“Come, Stephen, Stephen; ’tis time to play the man! What are we to do
+out in the world if you weep and wail?”
+
+“She might have let us stay for the month’s mind,” was heard from
+Stephen.
+
+“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.”
+
+“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—”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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—”
+
+“Hist! hist!” said the more prudent Ambrose.
+
+“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.
+
+“That’s womanish,” said Ambrose.
+
+“Who’ll be the woman when the time comes for drawing cold steel?” cried
+Stephen, sitting up.
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+“Thanks, brother John,” said Ambrose, somewhat sarcastically, “but
+where Stephen goes I go.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“My father looked higher for his son than a pricker’s office,” returned
+Ambrose.
+
+“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—”
+
+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.”
+
+“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?”
+
+John made a helpless gesture, and at a renewed call, went indoors.
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“I would not stop short at Winchester,” said Stephen. “London for me,
+where uncle Randall will find us preferment!”
+
+“And what wilt do for Spring!”
+
+“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?”
+
+“I doubt me whether the poor old hound will brook the journey.”
+
+“Then I’ll carry him!”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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!”
+
+“Nay,” said Ambrose, who could not bring himself to thank her, “I go
+with Stephen, mistress; I would mend my scholarship ere I teach.”
+
+“As you please,” said Mistress Maud, shrugging her shoulders, “only
+never say that a fair offer was not made to you.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Portions, quotha?” returned John. “Boy, they be not due to you till
+you be come to years of discretion.”
+
+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.”
+
+And Ambrose muttered something about “my Lord of Beaulieu.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“That being so,” said Ambrose turning to Stephen, “we will to Beaulieu,
+and see what counsel my lord will give us.”
+
+“Yea, do, like the vipers ye are, and embroil us with my Lord of
+Beaulieu,” cried Maud from the fire.
+
+“See,” said John, in his more caressing fashion, “it is not well to
+carry family tales to strangers, and—and—”
+
+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!”
+
+“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.”
+
+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?”
+
+“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 _shalt_ do.”
+
+John cowered under her eye as he had done at six years old, and
+faltered, “I only seek to do them right, nurse.”
+
+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.”
+
+“We would not stay here if you paid us for it,” returned Stephen.
+
+“And whither would you go?” asked John.
+
+“To Winchester first, to seek counsel with our uncle Birkenholt. Then
+to London, where uncle Randall will help us to our fortunes.”
+
+“Gipsy Hal! He is more like to help you to a halter,” sneered John,
+_sotto voce_, and Joan herself observed, “Their uncle at Winchester
+will show them better than to run after that there go-by-chance.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“Prentice!” cried Stephen, scornfully.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+THE GRANGE OF SILKSTEDE
+
+
+      “All Itchen’s valley lay,
+St. Catherine’s breezy side and the woodlands far away,
+The huge Cathedral sleeping in venerable gloom,
+The modest College tower, and the bedesmen’s Norman home.”
+
+Lord Selborne.
+
+
+Very 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“He goes with us,” said Stephen.
+
+“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.”
+
+“Then they shall not take me in,” said Stephen. “I’ll not leave him to
+be hanged by thee.”
+
+“Who spoke of hanging him!”
+
+“Thy wife will soon, if she hath not already.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Then I’ll carry him,” said Stephen, doggedly.
+
+“What hast thou to say to that device, Ambrose?” asked John, appealing
+to the elder and wiser.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“Winchester must be nigh. The sun is getting low,” said Stephen.
+
+“We will ask. The good folk will at least give us an answer,” said
+Ambrose wearily.
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+“We be from the Forest, so please your reverence, and are bound for
+Hyde Abbey, where our uncle, Master Richard Birkenholt, dwells.”
+
+“And oh, sir,” added Stephen, “may we crave a drop of water for our
+dog?”
+
+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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 _laborare est orare_.
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“Long bows!” exclaimed Stephen. “Who be they?”
+
+“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
+_benedicite_, fair sirs. St. Austin’s grace be with you!”
+
+Through a gate between two little red octagonal towers, Brother Bulpett
+led the two visitors, and called to another of the monks,
+“_Benedicite_, Father Segrim, here be two striplings wanting speech of
+old Birkenholt.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“How fares it with you, uncle?” ventured Ambrose.
+
+“Who be ye? I know none of you,” muttered the old man, shaking his head
+still more.
+
+“We are Ambrose and Stephen from the Forest,” shouted Ambrose.
+
+“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!”
+
+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?”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+Wherewith Stephen and Ambrose found themselves walked out of the
+cloister of St. Grimbald, and the gates shut behind them.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+KINSMEN AND STRANGERS
+
+
+“The reul of St. Maure and of St. Beneit
+Because that it was old and some deale streit
+This ilke monk let old things pace;
+He held ever of the new world the trace.”
+
+Chaucer.
+
+
+“The churls!” exclaimed Stephen.
+
+“Poor old man!” said Ambrose; “I hope they are good to him!”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Yea, and what next?” said the elder brother.
+
+“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.”
+
+“Which way lies the road to London?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+“How now, my sons?” said a full cheery voice, and to their joy, they
+found themselves pushed up against Father Shoveller.
+
+“Returned already! Did you get scant welcome at Hyde? Here, come where
+we can get a free breath, and tell me.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Nor did they ask us,” exclaimed Stephen; “lubbers and idlers were the
+best words they had for us.”
+
+“Ho! ho! That’s the way with the brethren of St. Grimbald! And your
+uncle?”
+
+“Alas, sir, he doteth with age,” said Ambrose. “He took Stephen for his
+own brother, dead under King Harry of Windsor.”
+
+“So! I had heard somewhat of his age and sickness. Who was it who
+thrust you out?”
+
+“A lean brother with a thin red beard, and a shrewd, puckered visage.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“He said the king spake of a visitation to abolish corrodies from
+religious houses,” said Ambrose.
+
+“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.”
+
+“Alack, kind father, there’s no more home for us in the Forest,” said
+Ambrose.
+
+“Methought ye had a brother?”
+
+“Yea; but our brother hath a wife.”
+
+“Ho! ho! And the wife will none of you?”
+
+“She would have kept Ambrose to teach her boy his primer,” said
+Stephen; “but she would none of Spring nor of me.”
+
+“We hoped to receive counsel from our uncle at Hyde,” added Ambrose.
+
+“Have ye no purpose now?” inquired the Father, his jolly good-humoured
+face showing much concern.
+
+“Yea,” manfully returned Stephen. “’Twas what I ever hoped to do, to
+fare on and seek our fortune in London.”
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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?”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“Sir, we thank you, but we should be on our way,” said Ambrose, incited
+by Stephen’s impatient gestures.
+
+“Tut, tut. Fair and softly, my son, or more haste may be worse speed.
+Methought ye had somewhat to show me.”
+
+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.
+
+“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?”
+
+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.”
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“Where was he?”
+
+“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.
+
+“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.”
+
+“And to-night, good Father?” inquired Ambrose.
+
+“That will I see to, if ye will follow me.”
+
+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.
+
+“What matter is it of his? And why should he make us lose a whole day?”
+grumbled Stephen.
+
+“What special gain would a day be to us?” sighed Ambrose. “I am
+thankful that any should take heed for us.”
+
+“Ay, you love leading-strings,” returned Stephen. “Where is he going
+now? All out of our way!”
+
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+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 _Praise of Folly_. 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“Who be thine uncle?” demanded a thin, squeaky voice. “I have brothers
+likewise in my Lord of York’s meimé.”
+
+“Mine uncle is Captain Harry Randall, of Shirley,” quoth Stephen
+magnificently, scornfully surveying the small proportions of the
+speaker, “What is thy brother?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“He’ll say next he knows every one of the Seven Worthies,” cried
+another boy, for Stephen was becoming a popular character.
+
+“And all the paladins to boot. Come on, little Rowley!” was the cry.
+
+“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!”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“’Tis what Nurse Joan held to be best for us both,” said Ambrose.
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+So the kind offer was declined, but Ambrose was grieved to see that the
+Warden thought him foolish, and perhaps ungrateful.
+
+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.
+_Tanquam agnus inter lupos_. Alack!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+A HERO’S FALL
+
+
+“These four came all afront and mainly made at me. I made no more ado,
+but took their seven points on my target—thus—”
+
+Shakespeare.
+
+
+The 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“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—”
+
+“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!”
+
+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.”
+
+“You would make better speed without us, sir,” said Stephen, hankering
+to remain beside poor Spring.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+A figure came out in the road to meet them, crying, “Master! master! is
+it you? and without scathe? Oh, the saints be praised!”
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“’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!”
+
+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.
+
+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:—
+
+“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.”
+
+“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?”
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.
+
+“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!”
+
+“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.
+
+“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.”
+
+“Nay, sir, the odds—” began the youth.
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.
+
+“’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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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?”
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+To which the brothers returned by displaying the handles of their
+knives, both of which bore the pierced and courant buck.
+
+“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.”
+
+“Verily,” said Ambrose, “our uncle Richard Birkenholt fought at
+Bosworth under Sir Richard Pole’s banner.”
+
+“A tall and stalwart esquire, methinks,” said Master Headley. “Is he
+the kinsman you seek?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Is he clerk or layman? My Lord of York entertaineth enow of both,”
+said Master Headley.
+
+“Lay assuredly, sir,” returned Stephen; “I trust to him to find me some
+preferment as page or the like.”
+
+“Know’st thou the man, Tibble?” inquired the master.
+
+“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.”
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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 _ex voto_. 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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+THE DRAGON COURT
+
+
+         “A citizen
+    Of credit and renown;
+A trainband captain eke was he
+    Of famous London town.”
+
+Cowper.
+
+
+In 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.
+
+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.
+
+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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“As we heard last night,” said Stephen.
+
+“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.”
+
+“What will Smallbones think of the new prentice!” said one of the other
+men.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Moreover the last iron we had from that knave Mepham is nought. It
+works short under the hammer.”
+
+“That shall be seen to, Kit. The rest of the budget to-morrow. I must
+on to my mother.”
+
+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!”
+
+“Thanks, good mistress,” returned Giles. “I am thought to have a pretty
+taste in the fancy part of the trade. My Lord of Montagu—”
+
+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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Would that thou couldst, little mistress,” said Stephen. “My poor
+brave Spring!”
+
+“Was he thine own? Tell me all about him,” said Dennet, somewhat
+imperiously.
+
+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.”
+
+“I care not for dainty little hounds,” returned Dennet; “I want to hear
+of the poor faithful dog that flew at the wicked robber.”
+
+“A mighty stir about a mere chance,” muttered Giles.
+
+“I know what _you_ did,” said Dennet, turning her bright brown eyes
+full upon him. “You took to your heels.”
+
+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.
+
+“What mean ye by this insolence, you beggars’ brats picked up on the
+heath?”
+
+“Better born than thou, braggart and coward that thou art!” broke forth
+Stephen, while Master Headley exclaimed, “How now, lads? No brawling
+here!”
+
+Three voices spoke at once.
+
+“They were insolent.”
+
+“He reviled our birth.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+“How now, boy! Said I not ye were my guests?”
+
+“Yea, sir, and thanks; but we can give no cause for being called
+beggars nor beggars’ brats.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“No churl,” returned Ambrose, “if manners makyth man, as we saw at
+Winchester.”
+
+“Then what do they make of that cowardly clown, his cousin?”
+
+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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+“I never did so at home!” cried Giles, in his loud, hasty voice.
+
+“I trow not,” dryly observed one of the guests.
+
+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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+A SUNDAY IN THE CITY
+
+
+“The rod of Heaven has touched them all,
+    The word from Heaven is spoken:
+Rise, shine and sing, thou captive thrall,
+    Are not thy fetters broken?”
+
+Keble.
+
+
+On 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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+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 _Ite missa est_ was pronounced,
+and all rose up, Stephen touched him and he rose, looking about,
+bewildered.
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“You are not for such gear, sir,” said a voice at his ear, and he saw
+the scathed face of Tibble Steelman beside him.
+
+“Never greatly so, Tibble,” answered Ambrose. “And my heart is too
+heavy for it now.”
+
+“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.”
+
+Ambrose held out his hand. It was the first really sympathetic word he
+had heard since he had left Nurse Joan.
+
+“’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 _De profundis_
+in peace?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.
+
+“And so it is, lad, so it is,” said Tibble, with a strange light on his
+distorted features.
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“But surely this is not the truth?”
+
+“’Tis mighty like it, sir, though it might be spoken in a more seemly
+fashion.”
+
+“What’s this?” demanded Ambrose. “’Tis a noble house.”
+
+“That’s the Bishop’s palace, sir—a man that hath much to answer for.”
+
+“Liveth he so ill a life then?”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+“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.
+
+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?”
+
+“I would fain hold my brother to the only path of safety.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“Is there a procession toward? or a relic to be displayed?” asked
+Ambrose, trying to recollect whose feast-day it might be.
+
+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.”
+
+“Methought the true Cross was always displayed on the High Altar,” said
+Ambrose, as all turned to a side aisle of the noble nave.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+_Omnis qui facit peccatum_, _servus est peccati_, 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.
+
+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. _Si ergo Filius
+liberavit, verè liberi eritis_.” “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 _from_ sin.
+
+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.
+
+“Who is he? What is he? Is he an angel from Heaven?” demanded the boy,
+a little wildly, as they neared the southern door.
+
+“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.”
+
+“And are such words as these to be heard every Sunday?”
+
+“On most Sundays doth he preach here in the nave to all sorts of folk.”
+
+“I must—I must hear it again!” exclaimed Ambrose.
+
+“Ay, ay,” said Tibble, regarding him with a well-pleased face. “You are
+one with whom it works.”
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Surely you knew that he was foreman.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“But how could you be a wise master without learning the craft?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Ay, that’s all very well for you, who are certain of a great man’s
+house.”
+
+“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!”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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!”
+
+And down she rushed, quite oblivious of her disgrace, and Ambrose
+presently saw her uplifted in Kit Smallbones’ brawny arms to utter her
+congratulations.
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+YORK HOUSE
+
+
+“Then hath he servants five or six score,
+Some behind and some before;
+A marvellous great company
+Of which are lords and gentlemen,
+With many grooms and yeomen
+And also knaves among them.”
+
+_Contemporary Poem on Wolsey_.
+
+
+Early 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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+“What, both of us, little maid?” said Ambrose, laughing, as he stooped
+to receive the kiss her rosy lips tendered to him.
+
+“Not but what she would have royal example,” muttered Tibble aside.
+
+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.”
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+“Was he a yeoman of the guard, or in attendance on one of my lord’s
+nobles in waiting?”
+
+“We thought he had been a yeoman,” said Ambrose.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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!”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“Thou likest thy food well enough thyself, quipsome one,” muttered
+Ralf.
+
+“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?”
+
+“At Salisbury, good Merryman.”
+
+“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?”
+
+“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?”
+
+“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?”
+
+“Birkenholt, sir,” answered Ambrose, “but our uncle is Harry Randall.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.
+
+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?
+
+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.
+
+“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!”
+
+“Sore! that’s well said, friend Hal. Thou art making progress in mine
+art! Sore be the eyes wherein thou wouldst throw dust.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+“And mine uncle was from the New Forest in Hampshire,” he said.
+
+“Maybe he went by the name of Shirley,” added Stephen, “’tis where his
+home was.”
+
+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.
+
+“You must e’en come back with me, young masters,” said Tibble, “and see
+what my master can do for you.”
+
+“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.
+
+“I think I should,” said Ambrose. “I remember best how he used to carry
+me on his shoulder to cull mistletoe for Christmas.”
+
+“Ah, ha! A proper fellow of his inches now, with yellow hair?”
+
+“Nay,” said Ambrose, “I mind that his hair was black, and his eyes as
+black as sloes—or as thine own, Master Jester.”
+
+The jester tumbled over into a more extraordinary attitude than before,
+while Stephen said—
+
+“John was wont to twit us with being akin to Gipsy Hal.”
+
+“I mean a man sad and grave as the monks of Beaulieu,” said the jester.
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Nay! is he in need, or distress?” cried the brothers.
+
+“Poor Hal!” returned the fool, shaking his head with mournfulness in
+his voice.
+
+“Oh, take us to him, good—good jester,” cried Ambrose. “We are young
+and strong. We will work for him.”
+
+“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?”
+
+“Of course,” cried Ambrose. “He is our mother’s brother. We must care
+for him.”
+
+“Master Headley will give us work, mayhap,” said Stephen, turning to
+Tibble. “I could clean the furnaces.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“But how shall we know him?”
+
+“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.
+
+“Is he to be trusted?” asked Tibble of the comptroller.
+
+“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.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+QUIPSOME HAL
+
+
+“The sweet and bitter fool
+    Will presently appear,
+The one in motley here
+    The other found out there.”
+
+Shakespeare.
+
+
+There 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+“And even so am I,” was the answer, in a grave, quiet tone, “or rather
+to meet twain.”
+
+Ambrose looked up into a pair of dark eyes, and exclaimed “Stevie,
+Stevie, ’tis he. ’Tis uncle Hal.”
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+“Richard Birkenholt was a sturdy old comrade! Methinks he would give
+Master Jack a piece of his mind.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Shoveller—what, a Shoveller of Cranbury? How fell ye in with him?”
+
+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.”
+
+“No ill-luck in thee, good, kind uncle,” said Stephen, catching at his
+hand with the sense of comfort that kindred blood gives.
+
+“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?”
+
+“We deemed he was but jesting,” said Stephen. “Ah!”
+
+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.
+
+“Yes, lads. Can you brook the thought!—Harry Randall is the poor fool!”
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+“O no,” said Stephen. “She always thought thou—thou hadst some high
+preferment in—”
+
+“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?”
+
+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.”
+
+“Methinks ’twere better than this present,” said Stephen rather
+gruffly.
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.’”
+
+“Oh, uncle, I wot now what thou didst!” cried Stephen.
+
+“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?”
+
+“O uncle! Father would have honoured thee!” cried Stephen.
+
+“Why didst thou not bring her down to the Forest?” said Ambrose.
+
+“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.”
+
+“I’d forgotten that,” said Stephen.
+
+“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.”
+
+“No,” said Stephen, emphatically.
+
+“Your father left you twenty crowns apiece?”
+
+“Ay, but John hath all save four of them.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Well said, my good lad!” cried Hal. “What sayest thou, Stevie?”
+
+“I had liefer be a man-at-arms.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Whittington was a gentleman,” said Ambrose.
+
+“I am sick of Whittington,” muttered Stephen.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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!”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“Will the armourer take both of you?” asked Mistress Randall.
+
+“Nay, it was only for Stephen we devised it,” said Ambrose.
+
+“And what wilt thou do?”
+
+“I wish to be a scholar,” said Ambrose.
+
+“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!”
+
+“I had rather study than thrive,” said Ambrose rather dreamily.
+
+“He wotteth not what he saith,” cried Stephen.
+
+“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.”
+
+“The Dean of St. Paul’s!” said Ambrose, experiencing a shock.
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Could I get admittance to that school?” exclaimed Ambrose.
+
+“Thou art a big fellow for a school,” said his uncle, looking him over.
+“However, faint heart never won fair lady.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+ARMS SPIRITUAL AND TEMPORAL
+
+
+“For him was leifer to have at his bedde’s hedde
+Twenty books clothed in blacke or redde
+Of Aristotle and his philosophie
+Than robes riche or fiddle or psalterie.”
+
+Chaucer.
+
+
+Master Headley 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.
+
+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.
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+This settled, Randall could stay no longer, but he called both nephews
+into the court with him. “Ye can write a letter?” he said.
+
+“Ay, sure, both of us; but Ambrose is the best scribe,” said Stephen.
+
+“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.”
+
+“I wished to do so,” said Ambrose. “It irked me to have taken no leave
+of the good Fathers.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“Come hither, sir,” said the foreman, muttering to himself, “Methought
+’twas working in him! The leaven! the leaven!”
+
+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.”
+
+“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.
+
+“Tibble!” said Ambrose, with a long gasp, “I must find means to hear
+more of him thou tookedst me to on Sunday.”
+
+“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?”
+
+“Nay,” said Ambrose, “save to offer me a lodging with his wife, a good
+and kindly lavender at the Temple.”
+
+Tibble nodded.
+
+“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?”
+
+“I cannot tell, sir,” said Tibble. “The canons are rich and many, and a
+poor smith like me wots little of their fashions.”
+
+“Is it true,” again asked Ambrose, “that the Dean—he who spake those
+words yesterday—hath a school here for young boys?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Then they are taught this same doctrine?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Is it likely that this same Alworthy could obtain me entrance there?”
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+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!”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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?”
+
+“Yea,” said Tibble, “into the glorious freedom of God’s children.”
+
+“Thou knowst it. Thou knowst it, Tibble. It seems to me that life is no
+life, but living death, without that freedom! And I _must_ 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.”
+
+“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.
+
+“But how—how? The barefoot friar said that for an _Ave_ 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.”
+
+“Fond inventions of pardon-mongers,” muttered Tibble.
+
+“And is one not free when the priest hath assoilsied him?” added
+Ambrose.
+
+“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!”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“And what wouldst thou do, young sir?” presently inquired Tibble.
+
+“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.”
+
+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?”
+
+“I could once, but my voice is nought at this present. If I could but
+be a servitor at St. Paul’s School!”
+
+“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.”
+
+“I should dwell among books!”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Good Tibble, kind Tibble, I knew thou couldst aid me! Wilt thou speak
+to this Master Hansen for me?”
+
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+TWO VOCATIONS
+
+
+“The smith, a mighty man is he
+    With large and sinewy hands;
+And the muscles of his brawny arms
+    Are strong as iron bands.”
+
+Longfellow.
+
+
+Stephen’s first thought in the morning was whether the _ex voto_ 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“The lazy lubber!” cried Ambrose. “But did none see thee, or couldst
+not call out for redress?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“That’s true,” said Ambrose, “and he might make it the worse for thee.”
+
+“I would I were as big as he,” sighed Stephen, “I would soon show him
+which was the better man.”
+
+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.”
+
+“Even so,” replied Giles, “and I have been at work like this long
+enough, ay, and too long!”
+
+“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.
+
+“I shall see what my cousin the master saith!” cried Giles in great
+wrath.
+
+“Ay, that thou wilt,” returned Kit, “if thou dost loiter over thy
+business, and hast not those bars ready when called for.”
+
+“He never meant me to be put on work like this, with a hammer that
+breaks mine arm.”
+
+“What! crying out for _that_!” 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?”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“Give it here,” said the young man.
+
+“I would give it to his reverence himself,” said Ambrose.
+
+“His reverence is taking his after-dinner nap and may not be
+disturbed,” said the man.
+
+“Then I will wait,” said Ambrose.
+
+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.
+
+“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?”
+
+“I can read Latin, sir, and know the Greek alphabeta.”
+
+“Tush! I want no scholar more than enough to serve my mass. Canst
+sing?”
+
+“Not now; but I hope to do so again.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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?”
+
+“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!”
+
+“Sir, I am beholden to you, but my mind is set on study.”
+
+“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!”
+
+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.”
+
+“How may that be, reverend sir,” said Ambrose, “when the holy Apostles
+and the Fathers spake and wrote in the Greek?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Then he recollected the little Pardon Church, where he had seen the
+_Dance of Death_ 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.
+
+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 _Dance of Death_ on the bridge of Lucerne.
+
+“I question,” said a voice that Ambrose had heard before, “whether
+these terrors be wholesome for men’s souls.”
+
+“For priests’ pouches, they be,” said the other, with something of a
+foreign accent.
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“And,” returned Erasmus, “I see wherefore thou hast made thy children
+at St. Paul’s one hundred and fifty and three.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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?”
+
+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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“What is thine uncle?”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+“That is well!” said the printer; “and hast thou any Greek?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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 _Dialogues_ 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.”
+
+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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Nay, sir,” returned Ambrose, “I wot that Tibble Steelman would never
+send me to one who would not truly give me what I need.”
+
+“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?”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 _Grammar_, 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 _so_ much object to the Dutch, but
+the Spaniards—no words could express his horror of them.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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 _Enchiridion
+Militis Christiani_ 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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+AY DI ME GRENADA
+
+
+“In sooth it was a thing to weep
+    If then as now the level plain
+Beneath was spreading like the deep,
+    The broad unruffled main.
+If like a watch-tower of the sun
+    Above, the Alpuxarras rose,
+Streaked, when the dying day was done,
+    With evening’s roseate snows.”
+
+Archbishop Trench.
+
+
+When 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“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.
+
+“If folks cocker malapert lads at Sarum we know better here,” was the
+answer.
+
+“I shall ask the master, my kinsman,” returned the youth.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Lucas rose up as Ambrose spoke.
+
+“Thy brother?” said he.
+
+“Yea—come in search of me,” said Ambrose.
+
+“Thou hadst best go forth with him,” said Lucas.
+
+“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.”
+
+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?”
+
+Ambrose laughed merrily. “Not so. It is holy lore that those good men
+are reading.”
+
+“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 _Credo_?” 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!”
+
+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.
+
+“But what is it, then?”
+
+“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.”
+
+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 _can_ only get the better by sorcery.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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!”
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Moors be not all black, neither be they all worshippers of Mahound,”
+replied Ambrose.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+“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.”
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+A KING IN A QUAGMIRE
+
+
+    For my pastance
+Hunt, sing, and dance,
+My heart is set
+All godly sport
+To my comfort.
+Who shall me let?
+
+The King’s Balade, _attributed to Henry VIII._
+
+
+Life 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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, _esprit de corps_ 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“And whither away now, youngsters?” he said, as he rose from table.
+
+“To St. John’s Wood! The good greenwood, uncle,” said Ambrose.
+
+“Thou too, Ambrose?” said Stephen joyfully. “For once away from thine
+ink and thy books!”
+
+“Ay,” said Ambrose, “mine heart warms to the woodlands once more.
+Uncle, would that thou couldst come.”
+
+“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!”
+
+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.
+
+“Giles has promised me none,” said Dennet, with a pouting lip, “nor
+Ambrose.”
+
+“Why sure, little mistress, thou’lt have enough to crack thy teeth on!”
+said Edmund Burgess.
+
+“They _ought_ 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.
+
+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.”
+
+“Is she thy master’s daughter?” demanded Dennet, who could admit the
+claims of another princess.
+
+“Nay, my master hath no children, but she dwelleth near him.”
+
+“I will send her some, and likewise of mine own comfits and cakes,”
+said Mistress Dennet. “Only thou must bring all to me first.”
+
+Ambrose laughed and said, “It’s a bargain then, little mistress?”
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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!”
+
+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.
+
+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!”
+
+“Not at all,” said Stephen. “Stand by, Ambrose; I’ll give the coward
+his deserts.”
+
+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.
+
+“Thou must purchase it!” said Stephen. “Thy bag of nuts, in return for
+the berries thou hast wasted!”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“I marvel these fine fellows ’scaped our company,” said Stephen
+presently.
+
+“Are we in the right track, thinkst thou? Here is a pool I marked not
+before,” said Ambrose anxiously.
+
+“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.”
+
+“That may be. Only where is the safe footing?” said Ambrose. “I wish we
+had not lost sight of the others!”
+
+“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?”
+
+“Hark, they are shouting for us.”
+
+“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?”
+
+“Not nigh, I fear,” said Ambrose, beholding with some dismay the
+breadth of the shoulders which were all that appeared above the turbid
+water.
+
+“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!”
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+Ambrose blew a loud shrill call, but it seemed to reach no one but
+Stephen, whom he presently saw dashing towards them.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+“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!”
+
+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.
+
+He whispered to Stephen “’Tis the King!”
+
+“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—”
+
+[Illustration: “Ha! ha!” laughed Henry, “hast found him out, lads?”]
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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!”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Sure our King is of a more generous mould!” exclaimed Mrs. Headley.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+A LONDON HOLIDAY
+
+
+“Up then spoke the apprentices tall
+    Living in London, one and all.”
+
+_Old Ballad_.
+
+
+Another 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 _Te Deum_ 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.
+
+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.
+
+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?”
+
+“I have not seen him this day.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Deafening the spiritual ears far more, it may be,” said Ambrose,
+“since _humiles exallaverint_.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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?”
+
+“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.
+
+The comrade lifted a cudgel, but there was a general cry of “My Lord
+Cardinal’s jester, lay not a finger on him!”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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!”
+
+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!”
+
+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 _mêlée_.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“Would that Kit Smallbones were here!” said Stephen, preparing to take
+the feet, while Edmund took the shoulders.
+
+“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.”
+
+Edmund listened. “There’s reason in that,” he said. “Dost know this
+leech, Ambrose?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.
+
+“’Tis clean against prentice statutes to wear one, is it not?” asked
+Ambrose.
+
+“Ay,” returned Stephen; “yet none of us but would stand up for our own
+comrade against those meddling fellows of the Eagle.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+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! _She_!”
+
+And _she_, 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.
+
+It seemed to him a long time before Master Headley’s ruddy face, full
+of anxiety, appeared at the door.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+“Though he hath no license to practise it here,” threw in Master
+Headley, _sotto voce_; 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.
+
+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.
+
+“’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!”
+
+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.
+
+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 _even_ 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!
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+THE KNIGHT OF THE BADGER
+
+
+“I am a gentleman of a company.”
+
+Shakespeare.
+
+
+Giles Headley’s 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.
+
+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.
+
+“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?”
+
+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.
+
+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!
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“No danger for him who winceth not,” said the knight.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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?”
+
+“I feared it might be thus,” said Tibble.
+
+“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?”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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?”
+
+“Fulford—Sir John Fulford” said Ambrose. “What? I thought not of it, is
+not that Gaffer’s name?”
+
+“Fulford, yea! Mayhap—” and Perronel sat down and gave an odd sort of
+laugh of agitation—“mayhap ’tis mine own father.”
+
+“Shouldst thou know him, good aunt?” cried Ambrose, much excited.
+
+“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?”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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?”
+
+“Not so, sir,” said Stephen, “but I have been bidden to ask if thou
+hast found thy father?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Sir,” said Stephen, “I know an old man named Fulford. His
+granddaughter is my uncle’s wife, and they dwell by the Temple.”
+
+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.
+
+Stephen explained that she was wedded to one of the Lord Cardinal’s
+meiné.
+
+“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?”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“Ay!” said Tibble, perhaps with a memory of the old fable, “better be
+the trusty mastiff than the wolf.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+“He might not have found it so easy. Our trainbands are sturdy enough,”
+said Stephen, whose _esprit de corps_ 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!”
+
+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!”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+HEAVE HALF A BRICK AT HIM
+
+
+“For strangers then did so increase,
+    By reason of King Henry’s queen,
+And privileged in many a place
+    To dwell, as was in London seen.
+Poor tradesmen had small dealing then
+    And who but strangers bore the bell,
+Which was a grief to Englishmen
+    To see them here in London dwell.”
+
+_Ill May Day_, _by_ Churchill, _a Contemporary Poet_.
+
+
+Time 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+“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?”
+
+“Seventeen, an it please your grace,” said Stephen, in the gruff voice
+of his age.
+
+“And thy name?”
+
+“Stephen Birkenholt, my liege,” and he wondered whether he would be
+recognised; but Henry only said—
+
+“Methinks I’ve seen those sloe-black eyes before. Or is it only that
+the lad is thy very marrow, quipsome one?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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!”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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!”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+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 _did_
+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.”
+
+“Cannot!” exclaimed Stephen.
+
+“Nay, there are other matters in hand that go deeper.”
+
+“Yea, I know whatever concerns musty books goes deeper with thee than
+thy brother,” replied Stephen, turning away much mortified.
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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?”
+
+“Holy monks!” repeated Ambrose. “Holy monks! Where be they?”
+
+Stephen stared at him.
+
+“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!”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Ambrose, however, had the enthusiastic practicalness of youth. On that
+which he fully believed, he must act, and what did he fully believe?
+
+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.
+
+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, “_Cœlum cœli Domini_, _terram autem dedit filiis
+hominis_” (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, _and to hurt and grieve aliens for the
+common weal_! 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, “_Pugna pro
+patriâ_,” 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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+MAY EVE
+
+
+“The rich, the poor, the old, the young,
+Beyond the seas though born and bred,
+By prentices they suffered wrong,
+When armed thus, they gather’d head.”
+
+_Ill May Day_.
+
+
+May 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“Wherefore?” demanded Giles.
+
+“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.
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“Thou here!” exclaimed Giles. “Who would have thought of sober Ambrose
+in the midst of the fray? See here, Stevie!”
+
+“Poor old Ambrose!” cried Stephen, “keep close to us! We’ll see no harm
+comes to thee. ’Tis hot work, eh?”
+
+“Oh, Stephen! could I but get out of the throng to warn my master and
+Master Michael!”
+
+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!”
+
+“Or to mine aunt’s,” said Ambrose.
+
+“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.
+
+Then they heard fresh howls and yells in front as well as behind.
+
+“They are at it everywhere,” exclaimed Stephen. “I hear them somewhere
+out by Cornhill.”
+
+“Ay, where the Frenchmen live that calender worsted,” returned Giles.
+“Come on; who knows how it is with the old man and little maid?”
+
+“There’s a sort in our court that are ready for aught,” said Ambrose.
+
+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.
+
+“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!”
+
+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?”
+
+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!”
+
+“Here, my son,” cautiously answered a voice he knew for Lucas Hansen’s.
+
+“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.
+
+“Yea! ’tis ruin, my son,” said Lucas. “And would that that were the
+worst.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+“Bates! ah! Would that we had come sooner! What! more of this work—”
+
+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.
+
+“A light! Fetch a light from the fire!” said Lucas.
+
+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!”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.
+
+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.”
+
+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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“’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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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!”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“Yea, good aunt, and what is more, they have slain him, I fear me,
+outright.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+“Ah! there’s one of you whole and safe!” he exclaimed. “Where is the
+other?”
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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?”
+
+Ambrose hoped for the same security, but in his dismay, could only
+hurry after his uncle and aunt.
+
+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!”
+
+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.
+
+The Dean meantime had bidden Lucas to take shelter at his own house,
+and the old Dutchman had given a sort of doubtful acceptance.
+
+Ambrose, meanwhile, half distracted about his brother, craved counsel
+of the jester where to seek him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+ILL MAY DAY
+
+
+“With two and two together tied,
+    Through Temple Bar and Strand they go,
+To Westminster, there to be tried,
+    With ropes about their necks also.”
+
+_Ill May Day_.
+
+
+And 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 _against_ the spoilers.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+The next call at the gate was Headley and Birkenholt—“Master Headley’s
+prentices—Be they here?”
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+“I’m prenticed!” said Jasper, though in a very weak little voice.
+
+“Have you had bite or sup?” asked Kit.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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!”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“Is he thy son, good Armourer Headley?” demanded the Duke of Norfolk,
+who held the work of the Dragon court in high esteem.
+
+“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.”
+
+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?”
+
+“I ask not for favour,” returned Headley, “only that witnesses be heard
+on his behalf, ere he be condemned.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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!”
+
+“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?”
+
+“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?”
+
+“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!”
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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!
+
+She recoiled upon Tibble with a little cry, “Oh, why should he make
+sport of us? Why disguise himself?”
+
+“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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“He fled, when Stephen made in to the rescue of my father,” said
+Dennet.
+
+“The saints grant we may so work with the King that he may spare them
+both,” ejaculated Randall.
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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?”
+
+But the Cardinal, impatient of interruption, spoke imperiously, “What
+dost thou here, Merriman? Away, this is no time for thy fooleries and
+frolics.”
+
+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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“I trow,” returned the Cardinal, “that one of these same hinds is a
+boon companion of the fool’s—_hinc illæ lachrymæ_, and a speech that
+would have befitted a wise man’s mouth.”
+
+“There is work that may well make even a fool grave, friend Thomas,”
+replied the jester.
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+The latter words were lost in the laughter of the King and Cardinal at
+the unblushing avowal of the small, prim-faced maiden.
+
+“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?”
+
+“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!”
+
+[Illustration: “And see here, your Grace!”]
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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!”
+
+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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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?”
+
+“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?”
+
+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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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!”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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!”
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+PARDON
+
+
+“What if;’ quoth she, ‘by Spanish blood
+Have London’s stately streets been wet,
+Yet will I seek this country’s good
+And pardon for these young men get.’”
+
+Churchill.
+
+
+The 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.
+
+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—”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“Poor child! poor child!” sighed Master Headley. “Would that I brought
+him the same tidings as to thee!”
+
+“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.
+
+“Yea, my good lad,” said the alderman. “Thy good kinsman took my little
+wench to bear to the King the token he gave thee.”
+
+“And Giles?” Stephen asked, “and the rest?”
+
+“Giles is safe. For the rest—may God have mercy on their souls.”
+
+These words passed while Stephen rocked Jasper backwards and forwards,
+his face hidden on his neck.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+“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?”
+
+“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!”
+
+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.”
+
+Stephen was left with these words and his brother’s look to bear him
+through a trying time.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“Be assured, sir, they will scarce trouble you longer than they can
+help,” said Master Headley.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.’
+
+“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?’”
+
+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.
+
+“The lad himself!” exclaimed the jester, leaping down after her.
+
+“Stephen, the good boy!” said Master Headley, descending more slowly,
+but not less joyfully.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“And what art thou doing, Ambrose?” asked Stephen, rousing a little
+from his lethargy. “Methought I heard mine uncle say thine occupation
+was gone?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“I am glad thou dost not go with him,” said Stephen, with a hand on his
+brother’s leather-covered knee.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+“Thou wast ever in a harl,” said Stephen, drowsily using the Hampshire
+word for whirl or entanglement.
+
+“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 _Nunc
+Dimittis_, if such be the Lord’s will, ere the foundations be cast
+down.’”
+
+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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“One of thy old doctors in barnacles, I trow,” said Stephen.
+
+“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.”
+
+“What! Sir Thomas More?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Speak no more of that!” said Stephen, with a shudder. “Would that I
+could forget it!”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+Ambrose blushed deeply. “Sir, it is but honest to tell you that my
+mother’s brother is jester to my Lord Cardinal.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+AT THE ANTELOPE
+
+
+“Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen
+    Full many a sprightly race,
+Disporting on thy margent green,
+    The paths of pleasure trace.”
+
+—Gray.
+
+
+Master Hope 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
+
+“Above, below, the rose of snow,
+Twined with her blushing foe we spread.”
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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!”
+
+“Nay now, Mistress Dennet,” argued Perronel. “Thou hast thy bird, and
+Alice has lost hers. It is not meet to grudge it to her.”
+
+“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.”
+
+And Dennet turned majestically away with her bird—Goldspot only in the
+future—perched on her finger; while Perronel shook her head bodingly.
+
+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.
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“Can I have a word with you, privily, Master Steelman?” she asked.
+
+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?”
+
+“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.
+
+“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.”
+
+“Forbid him the house, good dame.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Have they spoken then to one another?” asked Tibble, beginning to take
+alarm.
+
+“I trow not. I deem they know not yet what draweth them together.”
+
+“Pish, they are mere babes!” quoth Tib, hoping he might cast it off his
+mind.
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+“You are right, dame; you know best, no doubt,” said Tib, in helpless
+perplexity. “I wot nothing of such gear. What would you do?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“To whom then would you give her?” asked Tibble.
+
+“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.”
+
+“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—”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Whisht, good woman. ’Tis too dark to see, or you could not speak of
+wedlock to such as I. Think of the poor maid!”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“But you are the best sword-cutler in London. You could make a living
+without service.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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!”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“Heed not that, good dame,” said the Dean, courteously, “but sit thee
+down and let me hear of the poor child.”
+
+“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!
+
+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!”
+
+“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.”
+
+“From his reverence the Dean? Hath he bethought himself of her?”
+
+“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?”
+
+“Will they wed her to thee? That were rarely good, so they gave thee
+some good office!” cried his aunt.
+
+“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.”
+
+“‘It were matching an Arab mare with a costard monger’s colt,’ said my
+master, ‘or Angelica with Ralph Roisterdoister.’”
+
+“I’d like to know what were better for the poor outlandish maid than to
+give her to some honest man,” put in Perronel.
+
+“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, ‘_Et venient ab Oriente et Occidente_.’”
+
+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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Yea, but what the lady is makes the greater odds to the maid, I trow,”
+said Perronel anxiously.
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“I would I were my brother, your honour,” said Ambrose, “then would I
+climb the thee.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“A daw! a daw!” was the cry. “Is’t for us?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+She led up Aldonza, making the request for her. Sir Thomas smiled.
+
+“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?”
+
+“I love Giles!” uttered the black beak, to the confusion and
+indignation of Perronel.
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+And thus Aldonza was installed in the long, low, two-storied red house
+which was to be her place of home-like service.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+CLOTH OF GOLD ON THE SEAMY SIDE
+
+
+                Then you lost
+The view of earthly glory: men might say
+Till this time pomp was single; but now married
+To one above itself.”
+
+—Shakespeare.
+
+
+If Giles Headley murmured at Aldonza’s removal, it was only to
+Perronel, and that discreet woman kept it to herself.
+
+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,
+
+“Strained the watchful eye
+If chance the golden hours were nigh
+By youthful hope seen gleaming round her walls.”
+
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“And thou thinkst Kit can rule the lads!” said the alderman, scarce
+willingly.
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.
+
+“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!”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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?”
+
+“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.
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.
+
+“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.”
+
+“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!”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.’”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Have you spoken with the French King, Hal?” asked Smallbones, who had
+become a great crony of his, since the anxieties of May Eve.
+
+“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.”
+
+“No! hath he?” and Giles, Stephen, and Smallbones, all suspended their
+work to listen in concern.
+
+“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.”
+
+“I hope he will yet give the mounseer a good shaking,” muttered
+Smallbones.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+“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?”
+
+“Save your knighthood!” said Smallbones. “Who would have looked to see
+you here, Sir John? Methought you were in the Emperor’s service!”
+
+“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?”
+
+“Nay, he is safe at home, where I would I were,” sighed Kit.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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!”
+
+“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!”
+
+“Stephen is right,” said Giles. “This is my kinsman’s tent, and no man
+shall say a word against Master Harry Randall therein.”
+
+“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—_impedimenta_, as we used
+to say in the grammar school. How does the old man?—I must find some
+token to send him.”
+
+“He is beyond the reach of all tokens from you save prayers and
+masses,” returned Randall, gravely.
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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!”
+
+“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.
+
+“_Impedimentum_ again,” whistled the knight. “Put a halter round her
+neck, and sell her for a pot of beer.”
+
+“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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+SWORD OR SMITHY
+
+
+“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?”
+
+Shakespeare.
+
+
+Tidings 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!
+
+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 _kermesse_—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.
+
+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.
+
+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”!
+
+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 _dolce far niente_ 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.
+
+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.
+
+“What shall I do?” was the cry of Stephen’s heart. “My honour and my
+oath. They bind me. _She_ 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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+“Dost thou dwell here, sir?” asked Stephen. “I thought Rotterdam was
+thine home.”
+
+“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?”
+
+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.
+
+“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?”
+
+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?”
+
+“Assuredly, my son. Brother Cornelis, who is one whose eyes have been
+opened, can show you the very words, if thou hast any Latin.”
+
+Perhaps to gain time, Stephen assented, and the young friar, with a
+somewhat inquisitive look, presently brought him the sentence “_Et non
+faciamus mala ut veniant bona_.”
+
+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?”
+
+“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?”
+
+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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Those players are good for nought but to wake the passions!” muttered
+Lucas.
+
+“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.”
+
+“Poor lad!” said Lucas; “and what wouldst thou do?”
+
+“I have not pledged myself—but I said I would consider of—service among
+Fulford’s troop,” faltered Stephen.
+
+“Among those ruffians—godless, lawless men!” exclaimed Lucas.
+
+“Yea, I know what you would say,” returned Stephen, “but they are brave
+men, better than you deem, sir.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Not for two years”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Must thou see him again?”
+
+“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.
+
+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.”
+
+“I am no ale bibber,” said Stephen.
+
+“Nay, I deemed thee none—but heed my words—captains of landsknechts in
+_kermesses_ are scarce to be trusted. Taste not.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+“And how as to thy pledge to join us, young man?” demanded Fulford
+sternly.
+
+“I gave no pledge,” said Stephen. “I said I would consider of it.”
+
+“Faint-hearted! ha! ha!” and the English Badgers translated the word to
+the Germans, and set them shouting with derision.
+
+“I am not faint-hearted,” said Stephen; “but I will not break mine oath
+to my master.”
+
+“And thine oath to me? Ha!” said Fulford.
+
+“I sware you no oath, I gave you no word,” said Stephen.
+
+“Ha! Thou darest give me the lie, base prentice. Take that!”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“By all the powers of hell, you have struck too hard, sir. He is sped,”
+said Marden anxiously.
+
+“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.”
+
+“Hark! What’s that?”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+“Ha! ha!” shouted Fulford, “whom have we here? The Cardinal’s fool a
+masquing! Treat us to a caper, quipsome sir?”
+
+“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.”
+
+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:
+
+“Was it Giles? Where is she?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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!”
+
+“Thou hast been a brave fellow, and better broken head than broken
+troth,” said his uncle.
+
+“But how came you here,” asked Stephen. “In the nick of time?”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+“_Wer da_? _Qui va là_?” 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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+“Seven!” rejoined the warder. “One—two—three—four—five. Ha! your
+company seems to be lacking.”
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+AN INVASION
+
+
+“What shall be the maiden’s fate?
+Who shall be the maiden’s mate?”
+
+Scott.
+
+
+No 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“’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.
+
+“How gatst thou the blow?” asked Dennet. “Was it at single-stick? Come,
+thou mayst tell me. ’Twas in standing up for some one.”
+
+“Nay, mistress, I would it had been.”
+
+“Thou hast been in trouble,” she said, leaning on the baluster above
+him. “Or did ill men set on thee?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“And sliced the apple on thine hand. Ay?”
+
+“He would have me for one of his Badgers.”
+
+“Thee! Stephen!” It was a cry of pain as well as horror.
+
+“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—”
+
+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.”
+
+Stephen’s heart could not but bound, for it was plain enough for whom
+the chief force of these prayers had been offered.
+
+“Sweet mistress,” he said, “they have availed me indeed. Certes, they
+warded me in the time of sore trial and temptation.”
+
+“Nay,” said Dennet, “thou _couldst_ not have longed to go away from
+hence with those ill men who live by slaying and plundering?”
+
+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—
+
+“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!”
+
+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.
+
+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—”
+
+Within, when Ambrose could open the missive, was another small parcel,
+and a piece of brown coarse paper, on which was scrawled—
+
+“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.
+
+“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,
+
+
+“Thine to command,
+“Giles Headley,
+
+
+“_Man-at-Arms in the Honourable Company_
+_of Sir John Fulford_, _Knight_.”
+
+
+On a separate strip was written—
+
+“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.”
+
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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!”
+
+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.”
+
+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!”
+
+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.
+
+There came a wonderful illumination and agitation over the girl’s
+usually impassive features, giving all that they needed to make them
+surpassingly beautiful.
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+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!”
+
+“Alack, good cousin!”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.
+
+“Ay, so I told her,” began her son-in-law, “but she hath been neither
+to have nor to hold since the—”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“’Tis Giles’s hand,” averred Tiptoff.
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+It must be confessed that Dennet was saucy! It was her weapon of
+self-defence, and she considered herself insulted in her own house.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“Grammercy, mistress, but we follow my grand-dame’s recipe!” said
+Dennet, grasping her implement firmly.
+
+“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?”
+
+“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,
+
+“You set him on, you little saucy vixen! I saw it in your eyes. Let the
+rascal be scourged.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+“How oft did you beat Giles, good kinswoman?” said Dennet demurely, as
+she stood by her father.
+
+“Whisht, whisht, child,” said her father, “this may not be! I cannot
+have my guest flouted.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+“So I wis would the Dragon under him,” quoth Tibble.
+
+“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.”
+
+“Yea, sir,” returned Tib, “there’ll be no help for it till our young
+mistress be wed.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“That were a son-in-law, Tib! Of who speakest thou? Is he of good
+birth?”
+
+“Yea, of gentle birth and breeding.”
+
+“And willing? But that they all are. Wherefore then hath he never made
+suit?”
+
+“He hath not yet his freedom.”
+
+“Who be it then?”
+
+“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.
+
+“Stephen Birkenholt! The fool’s nephew! Mine own prentice!”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Stephen! Tibble, hath he set thee on to this?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“He hath nought! That brother of his will give him nought.”
+
+“He hath what will be better for the old Dragon and for your worship’s
+self, than many a bag of gold, sir.”
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“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?”
+
+“His wing is grown since the moulting,” said Stephen. “It should be cut
+to hinder such mischances.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+[Illustration: “See there, Master Alderman”]
+
+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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+“Stephen,” said the alderman, “thou art a true and worthy lad! Canst
+thou love my daughter?”
+
+“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.
+
+“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?”
+
+“O, father, father! I—I had rather have him than any other!”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+“O, Mistress Dennet, I have made you black all over!” was Stephen’s
+first word.
+
+“Heed not, I ever loved the black!” she cried, as her eyes sparkled.
+
+“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.
+
+“Sir, I did not know fully—but indeed I should never have been so happy
+as I am now.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+UNWELCOME PREFERMENT
+
+
+“I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now
+To be thy lord and master. Seek the king!
+That sun I pray may never set.”
+
+Shakespeare.
+
+
+Matters 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+“’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.”
+
+“And welcome,” said Dennet. “Little Giles and Bess have been wearying
+for their uncle.”
+
+“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?”
+
+“Yea, and how is it with Master Randall?” asked Dennet. “Be he gone
+with my Lord Cardinal?”
+
+“He is made over to the King,” said Ambrose briefly. “’Tis that which I
+must tell his wife.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“He was in the right there,” returned Stephen, hotly.
+
+“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!”
+
+“And thou stoodst by, and beheld it!” cried Stephen.
+
+“Nay, what could I have done, save to make his plight worse, and
+forfeit all chance of yet speaking to him?”
+
+“Thou wert ever cool! I wot that I could not have borne it,” said
+Stephen.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“Once thou wast in favour,” said Ambrose. “Methought thou couldst have
+availed thyself of it to speak for the Lord Cardinal.”
+
+“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!”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Had he but said so—”
+
+“Nay, perchance he trusted to thy sharp wit.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“Uncle, good uncle! At last! Thou art sick?”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+“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—
+
+“Then let the stricken deer go weep,
+The hart ungalled play.”
+
+
+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.
+
+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—”
+
+“Yea, good mistress,” said the gipsy, “I can whistle a tune that the
+little master, ay, and others, might be fain to hear.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+“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!”
+
+“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.”
+
+“We must call Kit into counsel, ere we can do that fully,” said
+Stephen.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“As if a man must not have a spirit to be angered by such treatment.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“What hast done, fellow? Speak!” said the Cardinal. “Grovel not thus.
+We will be merciful.”
+
+“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—”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Ah! my lord, I was fool, fool indeed, but all my jests failed me. How
+could I make sport for your enemies?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.
+
+“My faithful Hal!” he said, “this is love indeed!”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Now, Perronel might do what she would with him—he cared not.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+THE SOLDIER
+
+
+“Of a worthy London prentice
+    My purpose is to speak,
+And tell his brave adventures
+    Done for his country’s sake.
+Seek all the world about
+    And you shall hardly find
+A man in valour to exceed
+    A prentice’ gallant mind.”
+
+_The Homes of a London Prentice_.
+
+
+Six 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.
+
+“And oh, what a belt and buff coat!” cried another.
+
+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?”
+
+“Yea, sir, he is our grandfather,” said the elder boy, holding a lesser
+one by the shoulder as he spoke.
+
+“Verily! And what may be your names?”
+
+“I am Giles Birkenholt, and this is my little brother, Dick.”
+
+“Even as I thought. Wilt thou run in to your grandsire, and tell him?”
+
+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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Yet,” said the visitor, “methinks your father would hear of an old
+comrade. Or stay, where be Tibble Steelman and Kit Smallbones?”
+
+“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?”
+
+“Nay, Kit, was it not best for all that I turned my back to make way
+for honest Stephen?”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+“Yea. The alderman is hale and hearty, but aged. Your mother is tabled
+at a religious house at Salisbury.”
+
+“I know. I landed at Southampton and have seen her.”
+
+“And Dennet,” Stephen added with a short laugh, “she could not wait for
+you.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+“My love!—my only love!” he cried.
+
+“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.
+
+“You knew me before you knew her,” said Giles. “See, Aldonza, what I
+have brought back to you.”
+
+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.
+
+“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?”
+
+“Ah, Giles—there is one thing which if you will do for my mistress, I
+would be yours from—from my heart of hearts.”
+
+“Say it, sweetheart, and it is done.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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?”
+
+“I saw it, a sorry sight.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“You would? And be secret? Then indeed nought would be overmuch for
+you. And this very night—”
+
+“The sooner the better.”
+
+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.”
+
+“More happy than I durst hope—to find her—”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+OLD HAUNTS
+
+
+“O the oak, and the birch, and the bonny holly tree,
+They flourish best at home in my own countree.”
+
+
+When 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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!”
+
+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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“’Tis what I brought him to thee for, good aunt,” said Stephen,
+smiling.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+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!”
+
+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.
+
+THE END.
+
+
+RICHARD CLAY AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BUNGAY.
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ARMOURER’S PRENTICES ***
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