Meanwhile the friar and Stephen Bassett conversed together, seated on a
rude bench at the other side of the dimly-lit room. The friar was a man
of kindly curiosity, who let his interests run freely after his
neighbours' affairs, and, attracted by the boy, whose education had far
overpast that of the knight's son, Edgar, he made searching inquiries,
which Stephen answered frankly, relating more fully than Hugh how in
Flanders, where he had travelled in order to perfect himself in an art
not yet brought to a high pitch of excellence in England, his wife had
died, and he having been left with the boy on his hands, the child had
excited the interest of the monks, who, finding him teachable, had
instructed him in the then rare accomplishments of reading and writing.
"He is like to forget them, though," he added with a sigh, "unless in
our wanderings we fall upon other brothers as good as those, which is
scarce likely."
"Have you thought of his taking the habit?"
"Nay, his bent lies not that way," said Bassett, smiling. The other
smiled also.
"Truly, it seemed not so by the lusty manner in which he laid about him
but now. And I mind me he spoke of his wish to be a soldier."
"That I will not consent to," Bassett replied hastily; "he shall follow
my trade. It would break my heart if I thought that all my labours died
with me." He was interrupted by a fit of coughing.
"And where," inquired the Franciscan, "where dost thou purpose going
when the fair is ended?"
"In good sooth, holy friar, that is what troubles me. I had thought of
London, but I wot not--"
The other leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee, and his chin in
the palm of his hand.
"I wot not either," he said at last, "but in these days there is much
noble work akin to thine going on in the great churches and minsters of
the kingdom. There is St Peter's at Exeter, now. One of our order was
telling me but lately how gloriously the bishop of that see is bringing
it to perfection. The air in those western shires is soft and healing,
better for thy cough than London, which has many fens giving out their
vapours, to say nothing of the smoke arising from that vile coal the
citizens are now trying to burn, and which pours out its choking fumes
upon the poor air. Were I thee I would not bestow myself in London."
"Exeter," said Bassett reflectively; "I thank thee for the suggestion.
My wife came from those shires, and a bishop with a zeal for decoration
might well give me employment."
"The journey is long," put in the friar, with a desire that prudence
should have her share in this advice of his which the wood-carver seemed
so ready to adopt.
"We are used to journeys and I dread them not."
"Nor fear robbers?"
"I am too poor to tempt them. Besides, our great king has done much for
the security of the country, by what I hear. Is it not so, holy friar?"
"Truly it is. But Scotland has taken more of his thought lately, and
when the lion is in combat, the smaller beasts slink out to fall on
their prey. But if you make your way to Exeter and would go first
through London, our house in Newgate Street will give you hospitable
lodging.--How now, Mistress Eleanor?"
"It is the monkey, Friar Nicholas--might he not bring it for madam, our
mother, to see? He says that Wolf would eat him."
"And in good sooth that were not unlikely. Better be content to come
here again and see the little pagan beast, if Mistress Judith does not
mislike it. Fare thee well, Master Bassett. I will meet thee again,
and hear whether Exeter still has attraction."
Mistress Judith rose and shook her skirts before folding them round her,
an operation which the monkey, happening to be close to her on Hugh's
shoulder, resented greatly, chattering at and scolding her with all his
might. Eleanor screamed with delight, while Anne hid her face; and
Hugh, somewhat abashed at Mistress Judith's displeasure, retired with
Agrippa to the back of the room, while his father escorted his guests a
few paces beyond the door.
He came back and found Hugh enthusiastic over his new friends.
"The dog, father, a noble beast! I would you had seen him! I warrant
me Peter the smith's son has had enough of fighting to last him a while.
He ran like a deer!"
"And how fell it out?"
Thus questioned a long story had to be told of the ill deeds of Peter,
who had been the chief offender; and the damage to Hugh's garments,
which Mistress Judith had but hastily caught together, was ruefully
exhibited. Stephen shook his head.
"Another time keep thy fighting till a woman is near to back up thy
prowess with her needle. Yet--I'll not blame thee. 'Twould have been a
cowardly deed to have suffered that poor beast to be stoned. And at
least I can mother thee for these bruises and scratches."
He fetched some water as he spoke, took out a few dried herbs from a
bag, set them in the water on the fire, and as soon as the decoction was
ready bathed the boy's many hurts with a hand as gentle indeed as his
mother's could have been. While this was going on he talked to the
child with a freedom which showed them to be more than usually
companions in the fullest sense of the word.
"What thinkest thou the good friar hit upon? He thought I might find
work at one of the great churches which are rising to perfection in the
land. And, Hugh, thou hast heard thy mother speak of Exeter? At Exeter
there is much of this going on, and if we could get there, I might
obtain the freedom of one of the craft guilds, and apprentice thee."
"Ay"--doubtfully.
"Well, why that doleful tone?"
"I would be a soldier, father."
"Serve thy 'prenticeship first and talk of fighting afterwards. Dost
thou think King Edward takes little varlets of eleven years old to make
his army? Besides--speak not of it, Hugh. My heart is set upon thy
carrying on my work. Life has not been sweet for me, and 'tis likely to
be short; let me see some fruit before I die."
The boy flung his arms round Bassett's neck.
"Father, talk not like that! I will be what thou wilt!"
"Thou wilt? Promise me, then," said his father eagerly.
"I promise."
Stephen Bassett's breath came short and fast.
"See here, Hugh. Thou art young in years but quick of understanding,
and hast been my close companion of late. Thou art ready to engage, as
far as thou canst--I would not bind thee too closely," he added,
reluctantly--"to renounce those blood-letting dreams of thine, and
follow my trade, and, as I well believe thou wilt, make our name
famous?"
"Ay," said the little lad gravely, "that will I do. Only--"
"What?"
"If I must needs be cutting something, I would sooner 'twere stone than
wood."
"Sayest thou so?" said the carver, rising and walking backwards and
forwards in the room. He was evidently disappointed, and was undergoing
a struggle with himself. But at last he stopped, and laid his hand
kindly upon the boy's shoulder. "As thou wilt, Hugh," he said; "I would
not be unreasonable; and truly I believe thy hand finds more delight in
that cold unfriendly surface than in the fine responsive grain of the
wood. So thou art a carver, choose thine own material. Stone and wood
are both needed in the churches. We will go to Exeter. I mind me thy
mother had cousins there. We will but wait for the end of the fair, and
there will be folk going to London with whom we may journey safely."
The man's sanguine nature as usual overleapt all difficulties. His
cough and his breathing were so bad, that others might have well dreaded
the effects of a long and toilsome journey, but he would hear of no
possible drawbacks, and Hugh was too young to be alarmed, and took the
over-bright eyes and occasional flush of the cheek as glad signs that
his father was getting well again.
Thanks to Hugh's new friends, moreover, Bassett sold his work, and sold
it well. Dame Edith de Trafford sent for him, desiring he would bring
his boy and some specimens of his carving. Hugh begged sore to be
allowed to take Agrippa, for the joy it would give to the little
Eleanor, but his father would not have it. The monkey, though it had
attached itself devotedly to Hugh, was capricious with others, variable
in temper, and at times a very imp of mischief, and Stephen feared its
pranks might offend their new patroness.
Agrippa was, therefore, consigned to the rafters, where he chattered
with displeasure at seeing his master go out without him.
"If he is to journey with us, we must get him a cord," said Bassett.
"As it is, we shall pass for a party of mountebanks. See that the door
is safely closed, for John the sacristan will not be back yet awhile."
The night had been wet, and the gaiety of the fair much bedraggled in
consequence. Under foot, indeed, the mud and mire of the trampled grass
made so sticky a compound that it was difficult for one foot to follow
the other. The poor folk who had been obliged--as numbers were--to
sleep on rough boards, raised on four legs from the ground, and but
slightly protected from the weather, were in sad plight. Happily the
sun had come out, and though there was not much heat in his rays, they
served to lessen some of the discomfort, and to bring back a touch of
cheerfulness. Peter the smith's son, with one or two others, pointed
and grimaced at Hugh as he passed on, without venturing to approach
nearer. The goldsmiths were hanging up costly chains and sets of pearls
with which to tempt the noble ladies who approached, while a Hans trader
called attention to the fact that winter was coming and his furs would
protect from cramps and rheumatism. Presently down through the booths
rode a party of knights and javelin men, none other than the high
sheriff with the four coroners and others, on their way to the shire
court, which was to be held that day under the shire-oak a few miles
distant. A number of countrymen had already gone off to this meeting,
and in a few minutes Hugh saw Wolf bounding along by the side of a
smaller group of knights; Edgar was behind with a younger party, and
evidently Sir Thomas de Trafford as one of the knights of the shire was
proceeding to join the assembly. Many remarks were made by the
bystanders, to which Bassett, who had been long out of England, listened
attentively. He found that much satisfaction was in general expressed,
though one or two malcontents declared that each assembly was but the
herald for a demand for money.
"Parliament or no parliament, 'tis ever the same," grumbled one small
cobbler, drest in the usual coarse garment reaching just below the
knees, and headed by a square cape, too large for his shrunk shoulders:
"wars to be waged, and money to be squeezed from our bodies."
"Thine would not furnish the realm with the weight of a silver penny,"
said a burly countryman, glancing with much contempt at the cobbler.
"And when does the king ask for aid except in case of need? If thou
hadst, as I friends in Cumberland, I reckon you would be the first to
cry out that a stop should be put to these Scotch outlaws harrying the
borders."
"And hast thou friends in Gascony, too, Dick-o'-the-Hill?" demanded the
little cobbler spitefully.
"Nay, it's been a scurvy trick of the French king, that getting hold of
Gascony," put in a baker who had joined the group; "I'm all for fighting
for Gascony."
"Well, I'll warrant that our burgesses, Master Dennis and Master Small,
will speak their minds against any wicked waste," persisted the cobbler.
"'Tis time the king were checked."
"And who has given you burgesses to speak for you, ay, and passed laws
putting the ay and the nay into your own hands?" broke in Stephen
Bassett indignantly. "I have been out of England for many a long year,
but I mind the time, my masters, if you have forgotten, when the
parliament was called, not to vote whether or no the money should be
raised, but to raise it. Few laws had you in old days, and little voice
in them!"
"He speaks the truth," said a grave franklin standing by.
"When, since the days of Alfred, has there been an English king like our
King Edward?" added Dick-o'-the-Hill.
"One that ever keeps his word."
"And makes laws for the poor."
"I say that none speak against him except traitors and false loons,"
said the baker, squaring up towards the cobbler in a threatening manner.
"Nay, my masters, I meant no harm," urged the cobbler, alarmed. "The
saints forbid that I should say a word against King Edward! Doubtless,
we shall pay our twelfth, such of us as can--and be as much better as we
are like to be."
He added these words under his breath, but Stephen Bassett caught them.
"Ay," he said, "so long as we are saved from sinking into a nation of
curs such as thee."
The cobbler cast an infuriated look at him as he walked on, the flush
which Hugh loved to see on his cheek.
"That was an evil man, father," said the boy. Bassett was silent for a
space.
"There are many such discontented knaves," he returned at last, "eating
like a canker into the very heart of our nation. Self, self, that is
the limit to which their thoughts rise. And they measure all others by
their own petty standard--even the king. It makes one sick at heart to
think what he has done for his country, and how--to hear some of these
mean-spirited loons talk--it is turned against him, and besmirched, till
fairest deeds are made to look black, and nothing is left to him but his
faults."
If Hugh could not understand all, he took in much, and remembered it
afterwards. But the delights of the fair drove all else out of his head
for the moment, and he could scarce be torn away from the dancing bear.
"Hearken," said his father at last with a laugh, "whatever happens, I'll
have none of the bear! His masters may die, and he be baited by all the
dogs in the town, but he shall never be my travelling fellow. Come,
'tis time we were at the lady's."
This time they were passed through the passage to the talking room,
where Dame Edith was sitting on a bench or low settle. The walls were
unplastered, its rough floor uncarpeted, its windows unglazed, to modern
notions it would have seemed little better than a cell, but Dame Edith
herself created about her an air of refinement and delicacy. After the
new fashion, instead of the plaits which had been worn, her fair hair
was turned up and enclosed in a network caul of gold thread, over which
was placed a veil. She wore a kirtle of pale blue silk, and a
fawn-coloured velvet mantle, with an extravagantly long train
embroidered in blue. She looked too young to be the mother of Edgar,
and indeed was Sir Thomas's second wife, and the very darling of his
heart. The twins, especially Anne, strongly resembled her; Eleanor had
more of her father's and her step-brother's eager impetuosity, but Anne
bade fair to be as sweet-mannered and dainty as her mother. Bassett and
his son had hardly made their greeting, before the little maidens were
in the room, Eleanor so brimming over with questions about the monkey
that she could scarce keep her tongue in check.
Dame Edith smiled very kindly on the boy.
"I have heard all the tale from Friar Nicholas," she said, "and of how
discreetly Wolf came to the rescue. And so thou wouldst be a soldier?"