"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 alehouse, 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 Stevie, 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.