CHAPTER XIII
A DASH FOR FREEDOM
Nick awoke from a heavy, burning sleep, aching from head to foot. Themaster-player, up and dressed, stood by the window, scowling grimly outinto the ashy dawn. Nick made haste to rise, but could not stifle asharp cry of pain as he staggered to his feet, he was so racked and sorewith riding.
At the boy's smothered cry Carew turned, and his dark face softened witha sudden look of pity and concern. "Why, Nick, my lad," he cried, andhurried to his side, "this is too bad, indeed!" and without more wordstook him gently in his arms and carried him down to the courtyard well,where he bathed him softly from neck to heel in the cold, refreshingwater, and wiped him with a soft, clean towel as tenderly as if he hadbeen the lad's own mother. And having dried him thoroughly, he rubbedhim with a waxy ointment that smelled of henbane and poppies, until theaching was almost gone. So soft and so kind was he withal that Nick tookheart after a little and asked timidly, "And ye will let me go hometo-day, sir, will ye not?"
The master-player frowned.
"Please, Master Carew, let me go."
"Come, come," said Carew, impatiently, "enough of this!" and stamped hisfoot.
"But, oh, Master Carew," pleaded Nick, with a sob in his throat, "mymother's heart will surely break if I do na come home!"
Carew started, and his mouth twitched queerly. "Enough, I say--enough!"he cried. "I will not hear; I'll have no more. I tell thee hold thytongue--be dumb! I'll not have ears--thou shalt not speak! Dost hear?"He dashed the towel to the ground. "I bid thee hold thy tongue."
Nick hid his face between his hands, and leaned against the rough stonewall, a naked, shivering, wretched little chap indeed. "Oh, mother,mother, mother!" he sobbed pitifully.
A singular expression came over the master-player's face. "I will nothear--I tell thee I will not hear!" he choked, and, turning suddenlyaway, he fell upon the sleepy hostler, who was drawing water at thewell, and rated him outrageously, to that astounded worthy'sgreat amazement.
Nick crept into his clothes, and stole away to the kitchen door. Therewas a red-faced woman there who bade him not to cry--'t would soon bebreakfast-time. Nick thought he could not eat at all; but when thesavory smell crept out and filled the chilly air, his poor little emptystomach would not be denied, and he ate heartily. Master Heywood satbeside him and gave him the choicest bits from his own trencher; andCarew himself, seeing that he ate, looked strangely pleased, and orderedhim a tiny mutton-pie, well spiced. Nick pushed it back indignantly; butHeywood took the pie and cut it open, saying quietly: "Come, lad, thegood God made the sheep that is in this pie, not Gaston Carew. Eatit--come, 'twill do thee good!" and saw him finish the last crumb.
From Towcester south through Northamptonshire is a pretty country ofrolling hills and undulating hollows, ribboned with pebbly rivers, anddotted with fair parks and tofts of ash and elm and oak. Stragglingvillages now and then were threaded on the road like beads upon astring, and here and there the air was damp and misty from the grassyfens along some winding stream.
It was against nature that a healthy, growing lad should be so much castdown as not to see and be interested in the strange, new, passing worldof things about him; and little by little Nick roused from hiswretchedness and began to look about him. And a wonder grew within hisbrain: why had they stolen him?--where were they taking him?--what wouldthey do with him there?--or would they soon let him go again?
Every yellow cloud of dust arising far ahead along the road wrought uphis hopes to a Bluebeard pitch, as regularly to fall. First came acast-off soldier from the war in the Netherlands, rakishly forlorn, hisbreastplate full of rusty dents, his wild hair worn by his steel cap,swaggering along on a sorry hack with an old belt full of pistolets, andhis long sword thumping Rosinante's ribs. Then a peddling chapman, witha dust-white pack and a cunning Hebrew look, limped by, sulkily doffinghis greasy hat. Two sturdy Midland journeymen, in search of southernhandicraft, trudged down with tool-bags over their shoulders and stoutoak staves in hand. Of wretched beggars and tattered rogues there was anendless string. But of any help no sign.
Here and there, like a moving dot, a ploughman turned a belated furrow;or a sweating ditcher leaned upon his reluctant spade and longed fornight; or a shepherd, quite as silly as his sheep, gawked up the morninghills. But not a sign of help for Nick.
Once, passing through a little town, he raised a sudden cry of "Help!Help--they be stealing me away!" But at that the master-player and thebandy-legged man waved their hands and set up such a shout that hisshrill outcry was not even heard. And the simple country bumpkins,standing in a grinning row like so many Old Aunt Sallys at a fair,pulled off their caps and bowed, thinking it some company of greatlords, and fetched a clownish cheer as the players galloped by.
Then the hot dust got into Nick's throat, and he began to cough. Carewstarted with a look of alarm. "Come, come, Nicholas, this will neverdo--never do in the world; thou'lt spoil thy voice."
"I do na care," said Nick.
"But I do," said Carew, sharply. "So we'll have no more of it!" and heclapped his hand upon his poniard. "But, nay--nay, lad, I did not meanto threaten thee--'tis but a jest. Come, smooth thy throat, and do notshriek no more. We play in old St. Albans town to-night, and thou art tosing thy song for us again."
Nick pressed his lips tight shut and shook his head. He would not singfor them again.
"Come, Nick, I've promised Tom Heywood that thou shouldst sing his song;and, lad, there's no one left in all the land to sing it if thou'lt not.Tom doth dearly love thee, lad--why, sure, thou hast seen that! And,Nick, I've promised all the company that thou wouldst sing Tom's songwith us to-night. 'Twill break their hearts if thou wilt not. Come,Nick, thou'lt sing it for us all, and set old Albans town afire!" saidCarew, pleadingly.
Nick shook his head.
"Come, Nick," said Carew, coaxingly, "we must hear that sweet voice ofthine in Albans town to-night. Come, there's a dear, good lad, and giveus just one little song! Come, act the man and sing, as thou alone inall the world canst sing, in Albans town this night; and on my word, andon the remnant of mine honour, I'll leave thee go back to Stratford townto-morrow morning!"
"To Stratford--to-morrow?" stammered Nick, with a glad, incredulous cry,while his heart leaped up within him.
"Ay, verily; upon my faith as the fine fag-end of a very propergentleman--thou shalt go back to Stratford town to-morrow if thou wiltbut do thy turn with us to-night."
Nick caught the master-player's arm as they rode along, almost cryingfor very joy: "Oh, that I will, sir--and do my very best. And, oh,Master Carew, I ha' thought so ill o' thee! Forgive me, sir; I did naknow thee well."
Carew winced. Hastily throwing the rein to Nick, he left him to masterhis own array.
As for Nick, as happy as a lark he learned his new lines as he rodealong, Master Carew saying them over to him from the manuscript and overagain until he made not a single mistake; and was at great pains toteach him the latest fashionable London way of pronouncing all thewords, and of emphasizing his set phrases. "Nay, nay," he would crylaughingly, "not that way, lad; but this: 'Good my lord, I bring aletter from the duke'--as if thou hadst indeed a letter, see, and not anempty fist. And when thou dost hand it to him, do it thus--and not as ifthou wert about to stab him in the paunch with a cheese-knife!" And atthe end he clapped him upon the back and said again and again that heloved him, that he was a dear, sweet figure of a lad, and that his voiceamong the rest of England's singers, was like clear honey dropping intoa pot of grease.
But it is a long ride from Towcester to St. Albans town in Herts, thoughthe road runs through a pleasant, billowy land of oak-walled lanes, widepastures, and quiet parks; and the steady jog, jog of the little roanbegan to rack Nick's tired bones before the day was done.
Yet when they marched into the quaint old town to the blare of trumpetsand the crash of the kettledrums, all the long line gaudy with thecoat-armour of the Lord High Admiral beneath their flaunting banners,and the hors
es pricked up their ears and arched their necks and prancedalong the crowded streets, Nick, stared at by all the good townsfolk,could not help feeling a thrill of pride that he was one of the greatcompany of players, and sat up very straight and held his head uphaughtily as Master Carew did, and bore himself with as lordly an air ashe knew how.
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But when morning came, and he danced blithely back from washing himselfat the horse-trough, all ready to start for home, he found the littleroan cross-bridled as before between the master-player's gray and thebandy-legged fellow's sorrel mare.
"What, there! cast him loose," said he to the horse-boy who held thethree. "I am not going on with the players--I'm to go back toStratford."
"Then ye go afoot," coolly rejoined the other, grinning, "for the hossgoeth on wi' the rest."
"What is this, Master Carew?" cried Nick, indignantly, bursting into thetap-room, where the players were at ale. "They will na let me have thehorse, sir. Am I to walk the whole way back to Stratford town?"
"To Stratford?" asked Master Carew, staring with an expression of mostinnocent surprise, as he set his ale-can down and turned around. "Why,thou art not going to Stratford."
"Not going to Stratford!" gasped Nick, catching at the table with asinking heart. "Why, sir, ye promised that I should to-day."
"Nay, now, that I did not, Nicholas. I promised thee that thou shouldstgo back to-morrow--were not those my very words!"
"Ay, that they were," cried Nick; "and why will ye na leave me go?"
"Why, this is not to-morrow, Nick. Why, see, I cannot leave thee goto-day. Thou knowest that I said to-morrow; and this is notto-morrow--on thine honour, is it now?"
"How can I tell?" cried Nick, despairingly. "Yesterday ye said it wouldbe, and now ye say that it is na. Ye've twisted it all up so that a bodycan na tell at all. But there is a falsehood--a wicked, blackfalsehood--somewhere betwixt you and me, sir; and ye know that I have nalied to you, Master Carew!"
Through the tap-room door he saw the open street and the hills beyondthe town. Catching his breath, he sprang across the sill, and ran forthe free fields at the top of his speed.