CHAPTER IV
PART TAKEN IN AFFAIRS BY THE HALF TESTOON
It was seven o'clock in the evening when John Commendone arrived at theTower. He went to the Queen's Gallery, and found that Her Majesty hadjust come back from Vespers in St. John's Chapel, and was in the PrivyGarden with some of her ladies.
Mr. Ambrose Cholmondely was lieutenant of the guard at this hour, andJohnnie went to him, explaining that he must see the Queen at once.
"She won't see any one, Commendone," young Mr. Cholmondely answered. "Ireally cannot send your name to Her Grace."
"But I must see Her Grace. It is highly important."
Cholmondely looked at Commendone.
"You have ridden far and fast," he said. "You might even be the bearerof despatches, my friend John. But I cannot send in your name to theQueen. Even if I could, I certainly would not do so when you are likethis, in such disorder of dress. You've come from no battle-field withnews of victory. If the matter urgeth, as you say, then you have yourown remedy. The King Consort lies ill in his own lodging; he hath notbeen seen of any one since supper last night. I don't know where youhave been or what you have been doing, and it is no concern of mine, i'faith, but you can very well go to the King's quarters, where, if yourbusiness is as you say, one of the dons or Spanish priests will speedilyarrange an audience for you with Her Grace."
Johnnie knew the rigid etiquette of the Court very well.
Technically young Mr. Cholmondely was within his rights. He had receivedorders and must obey them. Upon the other hand, no one knew better thanCommendone that this young gallant was a fool, puffed up with the favourof ladies, and who from the first had regarded him as in some sense arival--was jealous of him.
John realised in a moment that no one of the Court except the Queen andKing Philip's private gentlemen knew of His Highness's absence. It hadbeen put about that he was ill. It would have been an easy thing forJohnnie to turn away from the gate of the Privy Garden, where, in thesoft sunset light, Mr. Cholmondely ruffled it so bravely, and findFather Diego. But he was in no mood at that moment for compromise. Hewas perfectly certain of his own right to admission. He knew that thetidings he bore were far more important than any point of etiquette. Hewas cool and suave enough as a general rule--not at all inclined, or alikely person, to infringe the stately machinery which controlled thelives of monarchs. But now he was in a mood when these things seemedshrunken, smaller than they had ever been before. He himself wasanimated by a great private purpose, he bore a message from the Kinghimself to the Queen; he was in a state of exaltation, and looking atthe richly dressed young courtier before him, remembering what apopinjay and lap-dog of ladies he was, he felt a sudden contempt for theman who barred his way.
He wouldn't have felt it before, but he was older now. He had bitten inupon life, an extraordinary strength and determination influenced himand ran in his blood.
"Mr. Cholmondely," he said, "nevertheless, I will go to the Queen, as Iam, and go at once."
Cholmondely was just inside the gates which led to the Privy Garden,strolling up and down, while outside the gates were two archers of theQueen's Guard, and a halberdier of the garrison, who was sitting upon alow stone bench.
Johnnie had passed the men and was standing within the garden.
"You will, Mr. Commendone?"
Johnnie took a step forward and brushed the other away with his leftarm, contemptuously, as if he had been a serving-man. Then he strodeonwards.
The other's sword was out of his scabbard in a second, and he threwhimself on guard, his face livid with passion. Johnnie made no motiontowards his own sword hilt, but he grasped the other's light rapier withhis right hand, twisted it away with a swift muscular motion, broke itupon his knee and flung the pieces into Cholmondely's face.
"I go to Her Majesty," he said. "When I have done my business with her,I will see you again, Mr. Cholmondely, and you can send your friend tomy lodging."
Without a further glance at the lieutenant of the guard he hurried downa broad gravelled path, edged with stocks, asters and dark green bordersof box, towards where he knew he would find the Queen.
Cholmondely stood, swaying and reeling for a second. No word escapedhim, but from his cheek, cut by the broken sword, came a thin trickle ofscarlet.
Johnnie had turned out of the broad walk and into the terracedrose-garden, which went down to the river--where he saw a group ofbrightly-dressed ladies, rightly conjecturing that the Queen was amongthem--when he heard running steps behind him.
Cholmondely had almost caught him up, and a dagger gleamed in his righthand. A loud oath burst from him, and he flung himself upon Commendone.
At the exact moment that he did so, the ladies had turned, and saw whatwas going on; and while the two young men wrestled together,Cholmondely vainly trying to free his dagger-arm from Commendone'svice-like grip, there came a loud, angry voice which both knew well,booming through the pergolas of roses. The instant the great voicestruck upon their ears they fell away from each other, arms dropped totheir sides, breaths panting, eyes of hate and anger suddenly changedand full of apprehension.
There were one or two shrieks and feminine twitters, a rustle of silkskirts, a jangle of long silver chatelaines, and like a bouquet offlowers coming towards them, the queen's ladies hurried over the lawn;Her Grace's small form was a little in advance of the rest.
Queen Mary came up to them, her thin face suffused with passion.
"Sirs," she shouted, "what mean you by this? Are gentlemen of Our Courtto brawl in Our gardens? By the Mass, it shall go very hard with yougentlemen. It----"
She saw Commendone.
Her voice changed in a second.
"Mr. Commendone! Mr. Commendone! You here? I had looked to see you hoursagone. Where is----"
She had nearly said it, but a warning flash from the young man's eyesstayed the wild inquiry upon her lips. Clever as she was, the Queencaught herself up immediately.
"What is this, sir?" she said, more softly, and in Spanish.
Johnnie sank on one knee.
"I have just come to the Tower, M'am," he said, "with news for YourMajesty. As you see, I am but just from my horse. I sought youpost-haste, and were told that you were here. Unfortunately, I could notpersuade Mr. Cholmondely of the urgency of my business. He had orders toadmit no one, and daring greatly, I pushed past him, and in theexecution of his duty he followed me."
The Queen said nothing for a moment. Then she turned upon Cholmondely.
"And who are you, Mr. Cholmondely," she said in a cold, hard voice, "todeny the Esquire Our presence when he comes with special tidings to Us?"
Cholmondely bowed low.
"I did but hold to my orders, Madam," he said, in a low voice.
The Queen ground her high-heeled shoe into the gravel.
"Your sword, Mr. Cholmondely," she said, "you will hand it to theEsquire, and you will go to your lodging to await our pleasure."
At that, the lieutenant of the guard gave a loud sob, and his facebecame purple.
The Queen looked at him in amazement and then saw that his scabbard wasempty.
In a moment Johnnie had whipped out his own riding-sword and pressed itinto Mr. Cholmondely's hand.
"Stupid!" he said, "here thou art. Now give it me in order."
The Queen had taken it all in immediately. The daughter of a King towhom the forms and etiquette of chivalry were one of the guidingprinciples of life, she realised in a moment what had occurred.
"Boys! Boys!" she said, impatiently. "A truce to your quarrels. If Mr.Commendone robbed you of your sword, Mr. Cholmondely, he hath very wellmade amends in giving you his. You were right, Mr. Cholmondely, in notadmitting Mr. Commendone to Our presence, because you knew not thebusiness upon which he came. And you were right, Mr. Commendone, incoming to Us as you did at all hazards. Art two brave, hot-headed boys.Now take each other's hand; let there be no more of this, for"--and hervoice became lowing and full of menace again--"if I hear so much as therattl
e of thy swords against each other, in future, neither of thee wille'er put hand to pummel again."
The two young men touched each other's hand--both of them, to tell thetruth, excessively glad that affairs had turned out in this way.
"Get you back to your post," the Queen said to the lieutenant. "Mr.Commendone, come here."
She turned swiftly, passing through her ladies, who all remained a fewyards behind.
"Well, well," she said impatiently, "hath His Highness returned? Hathhe borne the fatigue of the journey well?"
Most carefully, with studied phrases, furtively watching her face, withthe skill and adroitness of an old courtier, Johnnie told his story. Atany moment he expected an outburst of temper, but it did not come. Tohis surprise, the Queen was now in a quiet and reflective mood. Shewalked up and down the bowling green with him, her ladies standing apartat one edge of it, nodding and whispering to see this young gallant sofavoured, and wondering what his mission might be.
The Queen asked Johnnie minute questions about Mr. Peter Lacel's house.Was it well found? Would His Highness find proper accommodation to liethere? Was Mr. Lacel married, and had he daughters?
Johnnie assured Her Grace that Mr. Lacel was a widower and withoutchildren. He could plainly see that the Queen had that fierce jealousyof a woman wedded late. Not only the torturing of other women, but alsothe stronger and more pervading dislike of a husband living any life,going through any experiences that she herself did not share. At thesame time, he saw also that the Queen was doing her very best toovercome such thoughts as these, was endeavouring to assume the matronof common sense and to put the evil thing away from her.
Then, just as the young man was beginning to feel a little embarrassedat the quick patter of questions, wondering if he would be able to beas adequate as hitherto, remembering guiltily where he had met the Kingthe night before, the Queen ceased to speak of her husband.
She began to ask him of Dr. Rowland Taylor and his end.
He told her some of the details as quietly as he could, trying to softenthe horror which even now overwhelmed him in memory. At one question hehesitated for a moment, mistaking its intent, and the Queen touched himsmartly on the arm.
"No, no," she said, "I don't want to hear of the runagate's torment. Hesuffered rightly, and doubtless his sufferings were great. But tell menot of them. They are not meet for our ears. Tell me of what he said,and if grace came to him at last."
He was forced to tell her, as he knew others would tell her afterwards,of the sturdy denial of the martyr till the very end.
And as he did so, he saw the face, which had been alight with tendernessand anxiety when the King's name was mentioned, gravely judicial and alittle disgusted when the actual sufferings of the Archdeacon weretouched upon, now become hard and cruel, aflame with bigotry.
"They shall go," the Queen said, rather to herself than to him. "Theyshall be rooted out; they shall die the death, and so may God's mostHoly Church be maintained."
At that, with another and astonishing change of mood, she looked at theyoung man, looked him up and down, saw his long boots powdered withdust, his dress in disorder, him travel-stained and weary.
"You have done well," she said, with a very kindly and eminently humansmile. "I would that all the younger gentlemen of our old houses werelike you, Mr. Commendone. His Highness trusts you and likes you. Imyself have reason to think well of you. You are tired by your longride. Get you to your lodging, and if so you wish it, you shall do asyou please to-night, for when His Highness returns I will see that hehath no need of you. And take this from your Queen."
In her hand the Queen carried a little volume, bound in Nile-green skin,powdered with gold heraldic roses. It was the _Tristia et Epistolae exPonto_ of Ovid, which she had been reading. Johnnie sank upon one kneeand took the book from the ivory-white and wrinkled hand.
"Madam," he said, "I will lose my life rather than this gracious gift."
"Hey ho!" the Queen answered. "Tell that to your mistress, Mr.Commendone, if you have one. Still, the book is rare, and when you readof the poet's sorrows at Tomi, think sometimes of the giver who--and donot doubt it--hath many sorrows of her own. It is an ill thing to ruleWe sometimes think, Mr. Commendone, but God hath put Us in Our place,and We must not falter."
She turned. "Lady Paget," she called, "I have done with this young sparkfor the nonce; come you, and help me pick red roses, red roses, for mychamber. The King loveth deep red roses, and I am told that they are thefavoured flower of all noble gentlemen and ladies in the dominions ofSpain."
Bowing deeply once more, and walking backwards to the edge of thebowling green, Johnnie withdrew.
He passed through the flower-bordered ways till he came to the gate ofthe garden.
Outside the gate this time, on the big gravelled sweep which went infront of the Palace, Cholmondely was walking up and down, the blooddried upon his cheek, but not washed away. He turned in his sentinel'sparade as Johnnie came out, and the two young men looked at each otherfor a moment in silence.
"What's it to be?" Johnnie said, with a smile--"Lincoln's Inn Fieldsto-morrow morning? Her Grace will never know of it."
"I was waiting for you, Johnnie," the other answered. "No, we'll notfight, unless you wish it. Come you to the Common Room, and the pantlershall boil his kettle and brew us some sack."
Johnnie thrust his arm into the other's and together they passed awayfrom the garden, better friends at that moment than they had ever beenbefore--friends destined to be friends for two hours before they were topart forever, though during these hours one of them was to do the othera service which would help to alter the whole course of his life.
They went into the Common Room, and the pantler was summoned and orderedto brew them a bowl of sack--simply the hot wine and water, with addedspices, which our grandmothers of the present time sipped over theircards, and called Negus.
Commendone sunk down into a big oak chair, his hands stretched out alongthe arms, his whole body relaxed in utter weariness, his dark face nowgrown quite white. There were lines about his eyes which had not beenthere a few hours before. The eyes themselves were dull and glassy, thelips were flaccid.
Cholmondely looked at him in amazement. "Go by, Jeronymo!" he said,using a popular tag, or catch-word, of the time, the "What ho, shebumps!" of the period, though there were no music-halls in those days topopularise such gems of phrase. "What ails you, Esquire? I wasfrightened also by Her Grace, and, i' faith, 'tis a fearful thing tohear the voice of Majesty in reproof. But thou camest better out of itthan I, though all was well at the end of it for both of us. Is it withyou still?"
Johnnie shook his head feebly. "No," he said, lifting a three-handledsilver cup of sack to his lips. "'Twas not that, though I was sorelyangered with you, Ambrose; but I have had a long journey into thecountry, and have returned but half an hour agone. I have seenmuch--much." He put one hand to his throat, swallowing as he spoke, andthen recollecting himself, adding hurriedly, "Upon affairs of State."
The other gallant sipped his wine. "Thou need'st not have troubled totell me that," he said dryly. "When a gentleman bursts into the PrivyGarden against all order he is doubtless upon business of State. Whatbrought you to this doing I do not know, and I don't ask you, Johnnie.All's well that ends well, and I hope we are to be friends."
"With all my goodwill," Commendone answered. "We should have beenfriends before."
The other nodded. He was a tall, handsome young man, a little florid inface, but of a high and easy bearing. There was, nevertheless, somethinginfinitely more boyish and ingenuous in his appearance than in that ofCommendone. The latter, perhaps of the same age as his companion, wasinfinitely more unreadable than the other. He seemed older, not infeature indeed, but in manner and capability. Cholmondely was explicit.There was a swagger about him. He was thoroughly typical. Johnnie wascool, collected, and aware.
"To tell you the truth, Commendone," Cholmondely said, with a lightlaugh which rang with perfect sincerity, "
to tell you the truth, I havebeen a little jealous of you since you came to Court. Thou art anewcomer here, and thou hast risen to very high favour; and then, by theMass! thou dost not seem to care about it all. Here am I, a squire ofdames, who pursue the pleasures of Venus with great ardour and not everwith success. But as for thee, John Commendone of Kent, i' faith, thewomen are quarrelling for thee! Eyes grow bright when thou comest intothe dance. A week agone, at the barrier fight in the great hall, CicilyThwaites, that I had marked out for myself to be her knight, was lookingat thee with the eyes of a duck in a tempest of thunder. So that isthat, Johnnie. 'Tis why I have not liked thee much. But we're friendsnow, and see here----"
He stepped up to the young man in the chair and clapped his hand uponhis shoulder. "See here," he went on in a deeper voice, "thou hast wellpurged the dregs and leaven of my dislike. Thou gav'st me thy sword whenhadst disarmed me, and I stood before Her Grace shamed. I don't forgetthat. I will never forget it. There will never be any savour or smell ofmalice between thou and me."
The wine had roused the blood in Commendone's tired veins. He was morehimself now. The terrible fatigue and nerve tension of the past fewhours was giving place to a sense of physical well-being. He looked atthe handsome young fellow before him standing up so taut and trim, withthe sunlight pouring in upon his face from one of the long open windows,his head thrown slightly back, his lips a little parted, bright with thehealth of youth, and felt glad that Ambrose Cholmondely was to be hisfriend. And he would want friends now, for some reason or other--why hecould not divine--he had a curious sense that friends would be valuableto him now. He felt immeasurably older than the other, immeasurablyolder than he had ever felt before. There was something big and sterncoming into his life. The diplomatic, the cautious, trained side of himknew that it must hold out hands to meet all those that were profferedin the name of friend.
Cholmondely sat down upon the table, swinging his legs backwards andforwards, and stroking the smooth pointed yellow beard which lay uponhis ruff, with one long hand covered with rings.
"And how like you, Johnnie," he said, "your attendance upon His Majesty?From what we of the Queen's Household hear, the garden of that serviceis not all lavender. Nay, nor ale and skittles neither."
Johnnie shrugged his shoulders, his face quite expressionless. In asimilar circumstance, Ambrose Cholmondely would have gleefully enteredinto a gossip and discussion, but Commendone was wiser than that, olderthan his years. He knew the value of silence, the virtue of a stilltongue.
"Sith you ask me, Ambrose," he answered, sipping his wine quietly, "Ifind the service good enough."
The other grinned with boyish malice. There was a certain rivalrybetween those English gentlemen who had been attached to King Philipand those who were of the Queen's suite. Her Majesty was far moreinclined to show favour to those whom she had put about her husband thanto the members of her own _entourage_. They were picked men, and the gayyoung English sparks resented undue and too rapid promotion and favourshown to men of their own standing, while, Catholics as most of themwere, there was yet an innate political distrust instilled into them bytheir fathers and relations of this Spanish Match. And many courtiersthought that, despite all the safe-guards embodied in the marriagecontract, the marriage might yet mean a foreign dominion over therealm--so fond and anxious was the Queen.
"Each man to his taste," Cholmondely said. "I don't know precisely whatyour duties are, Johnnie, but for your own sake I well hope they don'tbring you much into the companionship of such gentry as Sir JohnShelton, let us say."
Johnnie could hardly repress a start, though it passed unnoticed by hisfriend. "Sir John Shelton?" he said, wondering if the other knew orsuspected anything of the events of the last twenty-four hours. "SirJohn Shelton? It's little enough I have to do with him."
"And all the better."
Johnnie's ears were pricked. He was most anxious to get to know what wasbehind Cholmondely's words. It would be worth a good deal to him to havea thorough understanding of the general Court view about the KingConsort. He affected an elaborate carelessness, even as he did sosmiling within himself at the ease by which this boy could be drawn.
"Why all the better?" he said. "I care not for a bully-rook such asShelton any more than you, but I have nothing to do with him."
"Then you make no excursions and sallies late o' nights?"
Commendone's face was an elaborate mask of wonder.
"Sallies o' nights?" he said.
The other young man swung his legs to and fro, and began to chuckle. Hecaught hold of the edge of the table with both hands, and looked down onJohnnie in the chair with an amused smile.
"And I had thought you were right in the thick of it," he said. "Thyvery innocence, Johnnie, hath prevented thee from seeing what goes onunder thy nose. Why, His Highness, Sir John Shelton, and Mr. ClarenceAttwood leave the Tower night after night and hie them to old MotherMotte's in Duck Lane whenever the Queen hath the vapours and thinkethher lord is in bed, or at his prayers. Phew!"--he made a gesture ofdisgust. "It stinketh all over the Court. I see, Commendone, now whythou knowest nothing of this. The King chooseth for his night-birdfriends ruffians like Shelton and Attwood. He would not dare ask onethat is a gentleman to wallow in brothels with him. But be assured, Ispeak entirely the truth."
Johnnie shrugged his shoulders once more. "I know nothing of it," hesaid, with a quick, side-long glance at Ambrose Cholmondely. "I am notasked to be Esquire on such occasions, at any rate."
"And wouldst not go if thou wert," Cholmondely said, loudly. "Nor wouldany other gentleman that I know of--only the very scum and vermin of theCourt. The game of love, look you, is very well. I am no purist, but Ihunt after my own kind, and so should we all do. I don't bemire myselfin the stews. Well, there it is. And now, much refreshed by this goodwine, and much heartened by our compact, I'll leave thee. I must getback to guard at the garden gate. Her Grace will be leaving anon todress for supper. Perchance to-night the King will be well enough tomake appearance. While thou hast been away, he hath been close in hisquarters and very sick. The Spanish priests have been buzzing round himlike autumn wasps. And Thorne, the chirurgeon from Wood Street, a veryskilful man, hath, they say, been summoned this morning to the Palace.Addio!"
With a bright smile and a wave of his hand, he flung out of the room.
Johnnie finished the lukewarm sack in his goblet. He had learntsomething that he wished to know, and as he saw his friend pass beyondthe windows outside, his feet crunching the gravel and humming a littlesong, Johnnie smiled bitterly to himself. He knew rather more aboutKing Philip's illness than most people in England at that moment. And asfor Duck Lane--well! he knew something of that also. As the thought cameto him, indeed, he shuddered. He remembered the great ham-like face ofthe procuress who kept this fashionable hell. He heard her voicespeaking to him as, very surely, she spoke to but few people who visitedher there. He thought of Ambrose Cholmondely's fastidiousness, and hesmiled again as he wondered what the Esquire would say if he only knew.
It was not a merry smile. There was no humour in it. It was bitter,cynical, and fraught with something of fear and expectation.
He had drunk the wine, and it had reanimated him physically; but he rosenow and realised how weary he was in mind, and also--for he was alwaysmost scrupulous and careful about his dress--how stained and travel-wornin appearance.
He walked out of the Common Room, his riding sword and spurs clanking ashe did so, mounted the stairway of the hall and entered the longcorridor which led to his own room.
He had nearly got to his doorway when he heard, coming from a little waybeyond it, a low, musical, humming voice. He remembered with a startthat there was an interview before him which would mean much one way orthe other to his private desires.
During the interview with the Queen and the squabble with AmbroseCholmondely--as also afterwards, when he was drinking in the CommonRoom--he had lost mental sight and grip of his own private wishes andaffairs. Now they all ca
me back to him in a flash as he heard thehumming voice coming from the end of the corridor--
"Bartl'my Fair! Bartl'my Fair! Swanked I and drank I when I was there; Boiled and roast goose and baiting of bear, Who plays with cudgels at Bartl'my Fair?"
He turned into his own room and looked round. He saw that some of hisaccoutrements had been taken away. There were vacant pegs upon thewalls. He sat down upon the small low bed, bent forward, clasped hishands upon his knees, and wondered whether he should speak or not. Hewondered very greatly whether he dare make a query, start aninvestigation, nearer to his heart than anything else in the world.
At Chelmsford he had run out of the Tun Inn and touched the burly manwho had killed the maddened stallion on the shoulder. He had brought himinto the ordinary, sat him down in a chair, put a great stoup of alebefore him, and then begun to talk to him.
"I know who you are," he said, "very well, because I was one of thegentlemen riding from town to Hadley with your late master, Dr. Taylor.I saw you when his Reverence was wishing good-bye outside St. Botolph,his church, and I heard the words your master said--eke that you werethe 'faithfullest servant that ever a man had.' What do you here now,John Hull?"
The man had drunk his great stoup of ale very calmly. The daring deed inwhich he had been engaged had seemed to affect his nerves in no way atall. He was shortish, thick-set, with a broad chest measurement, and ahuge thickness between chest and back. His face was tanned to the colourof an old saddle, very keen and alert, and he was clean-shaved, a ratherodd and distinguishing feature in a serving-man of that time.
He told Johnnie that, now he knew, he recognised him as one of thecompany who rode with Dr. Taylor to his death. He had followed thecavalcade almost immediately, and on foot. The way was long, and he hadarrived at Chelmsford faint and weary with very little money in hispouch, and been compelled to wait there a time for rest and food. Hisdesign was to proceed to Hadley, where he knew he could get work andwould be welcome.
Mr. Peter Lacel, he told Johnnie in the inn, would doubtless employ him,for though a Catholic gentleman, he had been a friend of the Rector's inthe past.
"You want work, then?" Johnnie had said. "You do not wish to be amasterless man, a hedge-dodger, poacher, or a rogue?"
"Work I must have, sir," John Hull replied, "but it must be with a goodmaster. Mr. Peter Lacel will take me on. Masterless, I should be a verygreat rogue."
All this happened in the dining-room of the Chelmsford inn, Johnniesitting in his chair and looking at the thick, brown-faced man with acool scrutiny which well disguised the throbbing excitement he felt atseeing him--at meeting him in this strange, and surely pre-ordainedfashion.
"I'll tell thee who I am," Johnnie had said to the man, naming himselfand his state. "That the Doctor spoke of you as he did when going to hisdeath is enough recommendation to me of your fidelity. I need a servantmyself, but I would ask you this, John Hull: You are, doubtless, of acertain party. If I took you to my service, how would you square withwho and what I am? A led man of mine must be loyal."
Hull had answered but very little. "Ye can but try me, sir," he said,"but I will come with you to London very joyfully. And I well think----"
He stopped, mumbled something, and stood there, his hands stained withthe blood of the horse he had killed, rather clumsy, very muchtongue-tied, but with something faithful and even hungry in his eyes.
Johnnie's own servant was a man called Thumb, a dissolute London fellow,who had been with him for a month, and who had performed his duties in avery perfunctory way. Life had been so quick and vivid, so full ofmovement and the newness of Court life, that the Groom of the Body hadhardly had time to remember the personal discomfort he endured from thefellow who had been recommended to him by one of the lieutenants of theQueen's Archers. He had always meant to get rid of him at the firstopportunity. Now the opportunity presented itself, though it was not formere convenience that Commendone had engaged his new servitor.
He had not the slightest doubt in his own mind that the man was sent tohim--put in his way--by the Power which ruled and controlled thefortunes of men. Living as he did, and had done for many years, in aquiet, fastidious, but very real dream and communion with things thatthe hand or body do not touch and see, he had always known withinhimself that the goings-in and goings-out of those who believe dependnot at all upon chance. Like all men of that day, Commendone was deeplyreligious. His religion had not made him bigoted, though he clung to theChurch in which he had been brought up. But, nevertheless, it was veryreal to him. There were good and bad angels in those days, who foughtfor the souls of men. The powers of good and evil were invoked....
The Esquire was certain that this sturdy John Hull had come into hislife with a set purpose.
He was riding back to London with one fixed idea in his mind. One wordrang and chimed in his brain--the word was "Elizabeth!"
He had left Chelmsford with John Hull definitely enrolled as hisservant, had hired a horse for him from the landlord of the "Tun," andhad taken him straight to the Tower. When he had entered within thewalls, he had told his man Thumb that he would dismiss him on themorrow, and pay him his wages due. He had told him, moreover, that--justas he was hurrying to the Privy Garden with news for the Queen--he musttake John Hull to his quarters and put him into the way of service. Fora moment, Thumb had been inclined to be insolent, but one single lookfrom the dark, cool eyes, one hinted flash of anger upon the ovalolive-coloured face, had sent the Londoner humbly to what he had to do;while the fellow looked, not without a certain apprehension, at thethick-set quiet man who followed him to be shown his new duties....
"The Spanish don came over seas, Hey ho nonino; A Gracious Lady tried to please, Hey ho nonny.
The country fellows strung their bows, Hey ho nonino; What 'twill be, no jack man knows! Hey ho nonny."
Johnnie jumped up from his bed, strode out of the room, walked a yard ortwo down the corridor, and entered another and larger room, which heshared with three other members of the suite.
It was the place where they kept their armour, their riding-boots, andsome of their swords.
As he came in he saw that Hull was sitting upon an overturned barrel,which had held quarels for cross-bows.
The man had tied a piece of sacking round his waist and over hisbreeches, and was hard at work.
Johnnie's three or four damascened daggers were rubbed bright with hog'slard and sand. His extra set of holster pistols gleamed fresh andnew--the rust had been all removed from flint-locks and hammers; whilethe stocks shone with porpoise oil.
And now the new servant was polishing a high-peaked Spanish saddle, andall the leather trappings of a charger, with an inside crust of barleybread and a piece of apple rind.
Directly the man saw his new master he stood up and made a salutingmotion with his hand.
Johnnie looked at him coldly, though inwardly he felt an extremepleasure at the sight of his new recruit so lately added to him, soswift to get to work, and withal so blithe about it.
"You must not sing the songs I have heard you singing," he said,shortly. "Don't you know where you are?"
"I had forgotten, sir," the man replied. "I have a plaguey knowledge ofrhymes. They do run in my head, and must out."
"They must not, I assure you," Johnnie answered, "but I like this wellenough. Hast got thee to work at once, then."
"I love it, sir. To handle such stuff as yours is rare for a man likeme. Look you here, sir"--he lifted up a small dagger which he withdrewfrom its sheath of stag's leather, dyed vermilion--"Hear how itringeth!"
He twanged the supple blade with his forefinger, and the littleshivering noise rang out into the room.
The man's keen, brown face was lit up with simple enjoyment. "I loveweapons, master," he said, as if in apology.
Johnnie knew at once that here was the man he had been looking for forweeks. The man who cared, the faithful man; but he knew also, or thoughthe knew, tha
t it was but poor policy to praise a servant unduly.
"Well, well," he said, "you can get on with your work. To-morrowmorning, I will see you fitted out as becometh my body servant. To-nightyou will go below with the other men. I have spoken to the intendantthat I have a new servant, and you will have your evening-meat and aplace to lie in."
He turned to go.
With all his soul he was longing to ask this man certain questions. Hebelieved that he had been sent to him to tell him of the whereabouts ofthe girl to whom, so strangely, at such a dreadful hour, he had vowedhis life. But the long control over temperament and emotion which oldFather Chilches had imposed upon him--the very qualities which made him,already, a successful courtier--stood him in good stead now. Thedominant desire of his heart was to be repressed. He knew very well, herealised perfectly clearly, how intimate a member of Dr. Taylor'shousehold this faithful servant--"the faithfullest servant that ever manhad"--must have been. And knowing it, he felt sure that the time was notyet come to ask John Hull any questions. He must arouse no suspicionswithin the man's mind. Hull had entered his service gladly, and promisedto be more than adequate and worthy of any trust that could be reposedin him. But he had seen Johnnie riding away with his beloved master, oneof those who had taken him to torture and death. The very shrewdness andcleverness imprinted upon the fellow's face were enough to say that hewould at once take alarm at any questioning about Dr. Taylor's family,at this moment.
John Hull scraped with his foot and made a clumsy bow as his new masterturned away. Then, suddenly, he seemed to remember something. His facechanged in expression.
"God forgive me, sir," he said, "indeed, I had near forgot it. When Iwent into your chamber and took this harness for cleaning, there was aletter lying there for you. I can read, sir; Dr. Taylor taught me toread somewhat. I took the letter, fearing that it might be overlooked ore'en taken away, for there are a plaguey lot of serving-men in thispassage. 'Tis here, sir, and I crave you pardon me for forgetting of ittill now."
He handed Johnnie a missive of thick yellow-brown paper--such as waswoven from linen rags at Arches Smithfield Factory of that day. Theletter was folded four-square and tied round with a cord of green silk,and where the threads intersected at the back was a broad seal of dullred wax, bearing the sign of a lamb in its centre.
Johnnie pulled off the cord, the wax cracked, and the thick yellow paperrustled as he pulled it open.
This was the letter:
"HONOURED SIR,--This from my house in Chepe. Thy honoured father who hath lately left the City hath left with me a sum of money which remaineth here at your charges, and for your disposal thereof as you may think fit. This shall be sent to you upon your letter and signature, to-morrow an you so wish.
"Natheless, should you come to my house to-night I will hand it into your keeping in gold coin. I will say that Sir Henry expressed hope that you might care to come to my poor house which has long been the agency for Commendone. For your father's son, sir, there will be very open welcome.
"Your obt. svt., and good friend, ROBERT CRESSEMER, Alderman of ye City of London."
Commendone read the letter through with care.
His father had been most generous since Johnnie had arrived at Court,and the young man was in no need of money. Sir Henry had, indeed, hintedthat further supplies would be sent shortly, and he must have arrangedit with the Alderman ere he left the City.
Johnnie sighed. His father had always been good to him. No desire of hishad ever been left ungratified. Many sons of noblemen at Court hadneither such a generous allowance nor perfect equipment as he had. Henever thought of his father and the old house in Kent without a littlepang of regret. Was it worth it all? Were not the silent woods ofCommendone, with their shy forest creatures, better far than thisstately citadel and home of kings?
His life had been so tranquil in the past. The happy days had gone bywith the regularity of some slow-turning wheel. Now all was stress andturmoil. Dark and dreadful doings encompassed him. He was afloat uponstrange waters, and there was no pilot aboard, nor did he know what porthe should make, what unknown coast-line should greet his troubled eyeswhen dawn should come.
These thoughts were but fleeting, as he sat in his bedroom, where he hadtaken the letter from Mr. Cressemer. He sent them away with an effort ofwill. The past life was definitely over; now he must gather himselftogether and consider the immediate future without vain regrets.
As he mounted the stairs from the Common Room he had it in mind tochange from his riding costume and sleep. He needed sleep. He wanted toenter that mysterious country so close to the frontiers of death, to bealone that he might think of Elizabeth. He knew now how men dreamed andmeditated of their loves, why lovers loved to be alone.
He held the letter in his hand, looking down at the firm, clear writingwith lack-lustre eyes. What should he do? sleep, lose himself in happyfancies, or go to the house of the Alderman? He had no Court duties thatnight.
He knew Robert Cressemer's name well. Every one knew it in London, butCommendone had heard it mentioned at home for many years. Mr. Cressemer,who would be the next Lord Mayor, was one of those merchant princes who,ever since the time of that great commercial genius, Henry VII, hadbecome such an important factor in the national life.
For many years the Alderman, the foundation of whose fortune had beenthe export of English wool, had been in intimate relations, both ofbusiness and friendship, with Sir Henry Commendone. The knight's woolall went to the warehouses in Chepe. He had shares in the fleet oftrading vessels belonging to Cressemer, which supplied the wool-fairs ofHolland and the Netherlands. The childlike and absolutely uneconomic actof Edward VI which endeavoured to make all interest illegal, andenacted that "_whoever shall henceforth lend any sum of money for anymanner of usury, increase, lucre, gain or interest to be had, received,or hoped for, over and above the sum so lent_," should suffer seriouspenalties, had been repealed.
Banking had received a tremendous impetus, Robert Cressemer hadadventured largely in it, and Sir Henry Commendone was a partner withhim in more than one enterprise.
Of all this Johnnie knew nothing. He had not the slightest idea how richhis father was, and knew nothing of the fortune that would one day behis.
He did know, however, that Mr. Cressemer was a very important personindeed, the admired and trusted confidant of Sir Henry, and a man ofenormous influence. Such a letter, coming from such a man, was hardly tobe neglected by a young courtier. Johnnie knew how, if one of hiscolleagues had received it, it would have been shown about in the CommonRoom, what rosy visions of fortune and paid bills it would invoke!
He read the letter again. There was no need to go to Mr. Cressemer'shouse that night if he did not wish to do so. He was weary, he wanted tobe alone to taste and savour this new thing within him that was calledlove. Yet something kept urging him to go, nevertheless. He could notquite have said what it was, though again the sense that he stood verymuch alone and friends were good--especially such a powerful one asthis--crossed his mind. And, as an instance of the quite unconscious butvery real revolution that had taken place in his thoughts during thelast forty hours, it is to be noted that he _did_ feel the need offriends and supporters.
Yet he was high in favour with the King and Queen, envied by every one,certain of rapid advancement.
But he no longer thought anything of this. Those great ones were on oneside of a great _something_ which he would not or could not define. Hewas on the other, he and the girl with eyes of crushed sapphire and ared mouth of sorrow.
It would be politic to go.... "I'll put it to chance," he said tohimself at length. "How doth Ovid have it?...
"'_Casus ubique valet; semper tibi pendeat hamus: Quo minime credas gurgite, piscis erit_.'
I remember Father Chilches' translation:
"'There's always room for chance, so drop thy hook, A fish there'll be when least for it you look.'
<
br /> Here goes!"
He opened his purse to find a coin with which to settle the matter, andpoured out the contents into his palm. There were eight or nine goldsovereigns of Henry VIII, beautiful coins with "_Hiberniae Rex_" amongthe other titles, which were still known as "double ryals," three goldducats, coined in that year, with the Queen and King Consort_vis-a-vis_ and one crown above the heads of both, and one little silverhalf testoon.
He put the gold back in his purse and held out the small coin upon hishand. "What is't to be, little testoon?" he said whimsically, looking atthe big M and crown, "bed and thoughts of her, or the worshipful MasterCressemer and, I don't doubt, a better supper than I'm likely to get inthe Tower? 'M,' I go."
He spun the coin, and it came down with the initial uppermost. Helaughed and flung it on to a shelf, calling John Hull to help him changehis dress.
Nothing told him that in that spin he had decided--or let it better besaid there was decided for him--the whole course of his life. At thatactual moment!
Thus the intrusion of the little testoon.