CHAPTER XXXIV
THE BANDY-LEGGED MAN
Until night fell they sought the town over for a trace of Cicely; butall to no avail. The second day likewise.
The third day passed, and still there were no tidings. MasterShakspere's face grew very grave, and Nick's heart sickened till hequite forgot that he was going home.
But on the morning of the fourth day, which chanced to be the 1st ofMay, as he was standing in the door of a printer's stall in St. Paul'sChurchyard, watching the gaily dressed holiday crowds go up and down,while Robin Dexter's apprentices bound white-thorn boughs about thebrazen serpent overhead, he spied the bandy-legged man among the routthat passed the north gate by St. Martin's le Grand.
He had a yellow ribbon in his ear, and wore a bright plum-colored cloak,at sight of which Nick cried aloud, for it was the very cloak whichMaster Gaston Carew wore when he first met him in the Warwick road. Therogue was making for the way which ran from Cheapside to the river, andwas walking very fast.
"Master Shakspere! Master Shakspere!" Nick called out. But MasterShakspere was deep in the proofs of a newly published play, and didnot hear.
The yellow ribbon fluttered in the sun--was gone behind the churchyardwall.
"Quick, Master Shakspere! quick!" Nick cried; but the master-writerfrowned at the inky page; for the light in the printer's shop was dim,and the proof was very bad.
The ribbon was gone down the river-way--and with it the hope of findingCicely. Nick shot one look into the stall. Master Shakspere, deep in hisproofs, was deaf to the world outside. Nick ran to the gate at the topof his speed. In the crowd afar off a yellow spot went fluttering like abutterfly along a country road. Without a single second thought, hefollowed it as fast as his legs could go.
Twice he lost it in the throng. But the yellow patch bobbed up again inthe sunlight far beyond, and led him on, and on, and on, a breathlesschase, down empty lanes and alley-ways, through unfrequented courts,among the warehouses and wharf-sheds along the river-front, into thekennels of Billingsgate, where the only sky was a ragged slit betweenthe leaning roofs. His heart sank low and lower as they went, for onlythieves and runagates who dared not face the day in honest streets weregathered in wards like these.
In a filthy purlieu under Fish-street Hill, where mackerel-heads andherrings strewed the drains, and sour kits of whitebait stoodfermenting in the sun, the bandy-legged man turned suddenly into a dingycourt, and when Nick reached the corner of the entry-way was gone asthough the earth had swallowed him.
Nick stopped dismayed, and looked about, His forehead was wet and hisbreath was gone. He had no idea where they were, but it was a dismalhole. Six forbidding doorways led off from the unkempt court, and arotting stairway sagged along the wall. A crop-eared dog, that lay inthe sun beside a broken cart, sprang up with its hair all pointing toits head, and snarled at him with a vicious grin. "Begone, thou cur!" hecried, and let drive with a stone. The dog ran under the cart, andcrouched there barking at him.
Through an open door beyond there came a sound of voices as of people insome further thoroughfare. Perchance the bandy-legged man had passedthat way? He ran across the court, and up the steps; but came backfaster than he went, for the passageway there was blind and black, aplace unspeakable for dirt, and filled with people past description. Awoman peered out after him with red eyes blinking in the sun. "Odsbobs!" she croaked, "a pretty thing! Come hither, knave; I want thebuckle off thy cloak."
Nick, shuddering, started for the street. But just as he reached theentry-port a door in the courtyard opened, and the bandy-legged man cameout with a bag upon his back, leading Cicely by the hand.
Seeing Nick, he gave a cry, believing himself pursued, and made for theopen door again; but almost instantly perceiving the boy to be alone,slammed shut the door and followed him instead, dragging Cicely over thestones, and shouting hoarsely, "Stop there! stop!"
Nick's heart came up in his very throat. His legs went water-weak. Heran for the open thoroughfare without once looking back. Yet while heran he heard Cicely cry out suddenly in pain, "Oh, Gregory, Gregory,thou art hurting me so!" and at the sound the voice of Gaston Carew ranglike a bugle in his ears: "Thou'lt keep my Cicely from harm?" He stoppedas short as if he had butted his head against a wall, whirled on hisheel, stood fast, though he was much afraid; and standing there, hishead thrown back and his fists tight clenched, as if some one had struckhim in the face, he waited until they came to where he was. "Thouhulking, cowardly rogue!" said he to the bandy-legged man.
But the bandy-legged man caught him fast by the arm, and hurried on intothe street, scanning it swiftly up and down. "Two birds with one stone,by hen!" he chuckled, when he saw that the coast was clear. "They'llfetch a pretty penny by and by."
Poor Cicely smiled through her tears at Nick. "I knew thou wouldst comefor me soon," said she. "But where is my father?"
"He's dead as a herring," snarled Gregory.
"That's a lie," said Nick; "he is na dead."
"Don't call me liar, knave--by hen, I'll put a stopper on thy voice!"
"Thou wilt na put a stopper on a jug!" cried Nick, his heart so hot forCicely that he quite forgot himself. "I'd sing so well without avoice--it would butter thy bread for thee! Loose my arm, thou rogue."
"Not for a thousand golden crowns! I'm no tom-noddy, to be gulled. And,hark 'e, be less glib with that 'rogue' of thine, or I'll baste thy backfor thee."
"Oh, don't beat Nick!" gasped Cicely.
"Do na fret for me," said Nick; "I be na feared of the cowardly rogue!"
Crack! the man struck him across the face. Nick's eyes flashed hot as afire-coal. He set his teeth, but he did not flinch. "Do na thou strikeme again, _thou rogue!_" said he.
As he spoke, on a sudden his heart leaped up and his fear was utterlygone. In its place was a something fierce and strange--a bittergladness, a joy that stung and thrilled him like great music in thenight. A tingling ran from head to foot; the little hairs of his fleshstood up; he trampled the stones as he hurried on. In his breast hisheart was beating like a bell; his breath came hotly, deep and slow; thewhole world widened on his gaze. Oh, what a thing is the heart of a boy!how quickly great things are done therein! One instant, put him to thetouch--the thing is done, and he is nevermore the same. Like a keen,cold wind that blows through a window in the night, life's courage hadbreathed on Nick Attwood's heart; the _man_ that slept in the heart ofthe boy awoke and was aware. The old song roared in Nick's ears:
Sir Francis Drake sailed round the world, Round the world, round the world; John Hawkins fought the "Victory," And we ha' beaten Spain!
Whither they were going he did not know. Whither they were going he didnot care. He was English: this was England still! He set his teeth andthrew back his shoulders. "I be na feared of him!" said he.
"But my father will come for us soon, won't he, Nick?" faltered Cicely.
"Eigh! just don't he wish that he might!" laughed Goole.
"Oh, ay," said she, and nodded bravely to herself; "he may be very busynow, and so he cannot come. But presently he will come for me and fetchme home again." She gave a joyous little skip. "To fetch me homeagain--ay, surely, my father will come for me anon."
A lump came up in Nick Attwood's throat. "But what hath he done to thee,Cicely, and where is thy pretty gown?" he asked, as they hurried onthrough the crooked way; for the gown she wore was in rags.
Cicely choked down a sob. "He hath kept me locked up in a horribleplace, where an old witch came in the night and stole my clothes away.And he says that if money doth not come for me soon he will turn me outto starve."
"To starve? Nay, Cicely; I will na leave thee starve. I'll go with theewherever he taketh thee; I'll fend for thee with all my might and main,and none shall harm thee if I can help. So cheer up--we will get away!Thou needst na gripe me so, thou rogue; I am going wherever she goes."
"I'll see that ye do," growled the bandy-legged man. "But take the otherhand of her, thou jackan
apes, and fetch a better pace than this--I'llnot be followed again."
His tone was bold, but his eyes were not; for they were faring throughthe slums toward Whitechapel way, and the hungry crowd eyed Nick's silkcloak greedily. One burly rascal with a scar across his face turned backand snatched at it. For his own safety's sake, the bandy-legged manstruck up into a better thoroughfare, where he skulked along like a foxovertaken by dawn, fearing to meet some dog he knew.
"Oh, Gregory, go slow!" pleaded Cicely, panting for breath, andstumbling over the cobblestones. Goole's only answer was a scowl. Nicktrotted on sturdily, holding her hand, and butting his shoulder againstthe crowd so that she might not be jostled; for the press grew thick andthicker as they went. All London was a-Maying, and the foreigners fromSoho, too. Up in the belfries, as they passed, the bells were clanginguntil the whole town rang like a smithy on the eve of war, for madcapapprentices had the ropes, and were ringing for exercise.
Thicker and thicker grew the throng, as though the sea were sweepingthrough the town. Then, at the corner of Mincing Lane, where thecloth-workers' shops were thick, all at once there came an uproariousdin of men's voices singing together:
"Three merry boys, and three merry boys, And three merry boys are we, As ever did sing in a hempen string Beneath the gallows-tree!"
And before the bandy-legged man could chance upon a doorway in which tostand out of the rush, they were pressed against the wall flat as cakesby a crowd of bold apprentices in holiday attire going out to a wager ofarchery to be shot in Finsbury Fields.
At first all Nick could see was legs: red legs, yellow legs, blue legs,green legs, long legs, strong legs--in truth, a very many of all sortsof legs, all stepping out together like a hundred-bladed shears; forthese were the Saddlers of Cheapside and the Cutters of Mincing Lane,tall, ruddy-faced fellows, all armed with clubs, which they twirled andtossed and thwacked one another with in sport. Some wore straw hats withsteeple-crowns, and some flat caps of green and white, or red andorange-tawny. Some had long yew bows and sheaves of arrows decked withgarlands; and they were all exceedingly daubed in the face with drippingcherry-juice and with cheese, which they munched as they strode along.
"What, there, Tom Webster, I say," cried one, catching sight of Cicely'sface, "here is a Queen o' the May for thee!"
His broad-shouldered comrade stopped in the way, and with him all therest. "My faith, Jem Armstrong, 'tis the truth, for once in thy life!"quoth he, and stared at Cicely. Her cheeks were flushed, and her pantingred lips were fallen apart so that her little white teeth showedthrough. Her long, dark lashes cast shadow circles under her eyes. Hercurly hair in elfin locks tossed all about her face, and through it wastied a crimson ribbon, mocking the quick color of the blood which cameand went beneath her delicate skin. "My faith!" cried Tommy Webster,"her face be as fair as a K in a copy-book! Hey, bullies, what? let'smake her queen!"
"A queen?" "What queen?" "Where is a queen?" "I granny! Tom Webster hathcatched a queen!" "Where is she, Tom?" "Up with her, mate, and let afellow see."
"Hands off, there!" snarled the bandy-legged man.
"Up with her, Tom!" cried out the strapping fellow at his back. "A queenit is; and a right good smacking toll all round--I have not bussed amaid this day! Up with her, Tom!"
"Stand back, ye rogues, and let us pass!"
But alas and alack for the bandy-legged man! He could not ruffle andswagger it off as Gaston Carew had done of old; a London apprentice washarder nuts than his cowardly heart could crack.
"Stand back, ye rogues!" he cried again.
"Rogues? Rogues? Who calls us rogues? Hi, Martin Allston, crack me hiscrown!"
"Good masters," faltered Gregory, seeing that bluster would not serve,"I meant ye no offense. I pr'ythee, do not keep a father and hischildren from their dying mother's bed!"
"Nay--is that so?" asked Webster, sobering instantly "Here, lads, giveway--their mother be a-dying."
The crowd fell back. "Ah, sirs," whined Goole, scarce hiding the joy inhis face, "she'll thank ye with her dying breath. Get on, thou knave!"he muttered fiercely in Nick's ear.
But Nick stood fast, and caught Tom Webster by the arm. "The fellowlieth in his throat," said he. "My mother is in Stratford town; andCicely's mother is dead."
"Thou whelp!" cried the bandy-legged man, and aimed a sudden blow atNick, "I'll teach thee to hold thy tongue."
"Oh, no, ye won't," quoth Thomas Webster, interposing his long oakstaff, and thrusting the fellow away so hard that he thumped against thewall; "there is no school on holidays! Thou'lt teach nobody here to holdhis tongue but thine own self--and start at that straightway. Dost takeme?--say? Now, Jacky Sprat, what's all the coil about? Hath this sweetfellow kidnapped thee?"
"Nay, sir, not me, but Cicely; and do na leave him take her, sir, for hetreats her very ill!"
"The little rascal lies," sneered Goole, though his lips were the colorof lead; "I am her legal guardian!"
"What! How? Thou wast her father but a moment since!"
"Nay, nay," Goole stammered, turning a sickly hue; "her father's nearestfriend, I said,--he gave her in my charge."
"My father's friend!" cried Cicely. "Thou? Thou? His common groom! Why,he would not give my finger in thy charge."
"He is the wiser daddy, then!" laughed Jemmy Armstrong, "for the fellowhath a T for Tyburn writ upon his face."
The eyes of the bandy-legged man began to shift from side to side; butstill he put a bold front on. "Stand off," said he, and tried to thrustTom Webster back. "Thou'lt pay the piper dear for this! The knave is alying vagabond. He hath stolen this pack of goods."
"Why, fie for shame!" cried Cicely, and stamped her little foot. "Nickdoth not steal, and thou knowest it, Gregory Goole! It is thou who haststolen my pretty clothes, and the wine from my father's house!"
"Good, sweetheart!" quoth Tom Webster, eying the bandy-legged man with acurious snap in his honest eyes. "So the rascal hath stolen other thingsthan thee? I thought that yellow bow of his was tied tremendous high!Why, mates, the dog is a branded rogue--that ribbon is tied through thehole in his ear!"
Gregory Goole made a dash through the throng where the press was least.
Thump! went Tommy Webster's club, and a little puff of dust went up fromGregory's purple cloak. But he was off so sharply, and dodged with suchamazing skill, that most of the blows aimed at his head hummed throughthe empty air, or thwacked some stout apprentice in the ribs as they allwent whooping after him. He was out of the press and away like a deerdown a covert lane between two shops ere one could say, "Jack, Robin'sson," and left the stout apprentices at every flying leap. So presentlythey all gave over the chase, and came back with the bag he had droppedas he ran; and were so well pleased with themselves for what they haddone that they gave three cheers for all the Cloth-workers and Saddlersin London, and then three more for Cicely and Nick. They would no doubthave gone right on and given three for the bag likewise, being stronglyin the humor of it; but "Hi, Tom Webster!" shouted one who could hardlyspeak for cherries and cheese and puffing, "what's gone with the queenwe're to have so fast, and the toll that we're to take?"
Tom Webster pulled at his yellow beard, for he saw that Cicely was nocommon child, and of gentler birth than they. "I do not think she'llbide the toll," said he, in half apology.
"What! is there anything to pay?" she asked with a rueful quaver in hervoice. "Oh, Nick, there is to pay!"
"We have no money, sirs," said Nick; "I be very sorry."
"If my father were here," said Cicely, "he would give thee a handful ofsilver; but I have not a penny to my name." She looked up into TomWebster's face. "But, sir," said she, and laid her hand upon his arm,"if ye care, I will kiss thee upon the cheek."
"Why, marry come up! My faith!" quoth he, and suddenly blushed--to hisown surprise the most of all--"why, what? Who'd want a sweeter pennyfor his pains?" But "Here--nay, nay!" the others cried; "ye've left usout. Fair play, fair play!"
All Cicely coul
d see was a forest of legs that filled the lane from wallto wall, and six great fellows towering over her. "Why, sirs," criedshe, confusedly, while her face grew rosy red, "ye all shall kiss myhand--if--if--"
"If what?" they roared.
"If ye will but wipe your faces clean."
At the shout of laughter they sent up the constable of the cloth-men'sward awoke from a sudden dream of war and bloody insurrection, and camedown Cheapside bawling, "Peace, in the name of the Queen!" But when hefound it was only the apprentices of Mincing Lane out Maying, he stoleaway around a shop, and made as if it were some other fellow.
They took the humor of it like a jolly lot of bears, and all camecrowding round about, wiping their mouths on what came first, with alick and a promise,--kerchief, doublet, as it chanced,--laughing, andshouldering each to be first. "Up with the little maid there, Tom!" theyroared lustily.
Cicely gave him both her hands, and--"Upsydaisy!"--she was on the top ofthe corner post, where she stood with one hand on his brawny shoulder tosteady herself, like a flower growing by a wall, bowing gravely allabout, and holding out her hand to be kissed with as graceful an air asa princess born, and withal a sweet, quaint dignity that abashed thewildest there.
Some one or two came blustering as if her hand were not enough; butJemmy Armstrong rapped them so sharply over the pate, with "Soft, yeloons, her hand!" that they dabbed at her little finger-tips, and wereout of his reach in a jiffy, rubbing their polls with a sheepish grin;for Jemmy Armstrong's love-pats would have cracked a hazelnut.
Some came again a second time. One came even a third. But Cicely knewhim by his steeple-hat, and tucked her hand behind her, saying, "Fie,sir, thou art greedy!" Whereupon the others laughed and punched him inthe ribs with their clubs, until he bellowed, "Quits! We'll all be lateto the archery if we be not trotting on."
Nick's face fell at the merry shout of "Finsbury, Finsbury, ho!" "I darena try to take her home alone," said he; "that rogue may lie in waitfor us."
"Oh, Nick, he is not coming back?" cried Cicely; and with that she threwher arms around Tom Webster's neck. "Oh, take us with thee, sir--don'tleave us all alone!"
Webster pulled his yellow beard. "Nay, lass, it would not do," said he;"we'll be mad larks by evening. But there, sweetheart, don't weep nomore! That rogue shall not catch thee again, I promise that."
"Why, Tom," quoth Armstrong, "what's the coil? We'll leave them at theBoar's Head Inn with sixpence each until their friends can come forthem. Hey, mates, up Great East Cheap!" And off they marched to theBoar's Head Inn.