"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, 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 I 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 the Fifth 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. This 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 la_?" 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!