The Armourer's Prentices

by Charlotte M. Yonge

  CHAPTER THREE.

  KINSMEN AND STRANGERS.

  "The reul of Saint Maure and of Saint Beneit Because that it was old and some deale streit This ilke monk let old things pace He held ever of the new world the trace." Chaucer.

  "The churls!" exclaimed Stephen.

  "Poor old man!" said Ambrose; "I hope they are good to him!"

  "To think that thus ends all that once was gallant talk of fightingunder Talbot's banner," sighed Stephen, thoughtful for a moment."However, there's a good deal to come first."

  "Yea, and what next?" said the elder brother.

  "On to uncle Hal. I ever looked most to him. He will purvey me to apage's place in some noble household, and get thee a clerk's orscholar's place in my Lord of York's house. Mayhap there will be roomfor us both there, for my Lord of York hath a goodly following of armedmen."

  "Which way lies the road to London?"

  "We must back into the town and ask, as well as fill our stomachs andour wallets," said Ambrose. "Talk of their rule! The entertaining ofstrangers is better understood at Silkstede than at Hyde."

  "Tush! A grudged crust sticks in the gullet," returned Stephen. "Comeon, Ambrose, I marked the sign of the White Hart by the market-place.There will be a welcome there for foresters."

  They returned on their steps past the dilapidated buildings of the oldJewry, and presently saw the market in full activity; but the sounds andsights of busy life where they were utter strangers, gave Ambrose asense of loneliness and desertion, and his heart sank as the bolderStephen threaded the way in the direction of a broad entry over whichstood a slender-bodied hart with gold hoofs, horns, collar, and chain.

  "How now, my sons?" said a full cheery voice, and to their joy, theyfound themselves pushed up against Father Shoveller.

  "Returned already! Did you get scant welcome at Hyde? Here, come wherewe can get a free breath, and tell me."

  They passed through the open gateway of the White Hart, into the court,but before listening to them, the monk exchanged greetings with thehostess, who stood at the door in a broad hat and velvet bodice, anddemanded what cheer there was for noon-meat.

  "A jack, reverend sir, eels and a grampus fresh sent up from Hampton;also fresh-killed mutton for such lay folk as are not curious of theWednesday fast. They are laying the board even now."

  "Lay platters for me and these two young gentlemen," said theAugustinian. "Ye be my guests, ye wot," he added, "since ye tarried notfor meat at Hyde."

  "Nor did they ask us," exclaimed Stephen; "lubbers and idlers were thebest words they had for us."

  "Ho! ho! That's the way with the brethren of Saint Grimbald! And youruncle?"

  "Alas, sir, he doteth with age," said Ambrose. "He took Stephen for hisown brother, dead under King Harry of Windsor."

  "So! I had heard somewhat of his age and sickness. Who was it whothrust you out?"

  "A lean brother with a thin red beard, and a shrewd, puckered visage."

  "Ha! By that token 'twas Segrim the bursar. He wots how to drive abargain. Saint Austin! but he deemed you came to look after yourkinsman's corrody."

  "He said the king spake of a visitation to abolish corrodies fromreligious houses," said Ambrose.

  "He'll abolish the long bow from them first," said Father Shoveller."Ay, and miniver from my Lord Abbot's hood. I'd admonish you, my goodbrethren of Saint Grimbald, to be in no hurry for a visitation whichmight scarce stop where you would fain have it. Well, my sons, are yebound for the Forest again? An ye be, we'll wend back together, and yecan lie at Silkstede to-night."

  "Alack, kind father, there's no more home for us in the Forest," saidAmbrose.

  "Methought ye had a brother?"

  "Yea; but our brother hath a wife."

  "Ho! ho! And the wife will none of you?"

  "She would have kept Ambrose to teach her boy his primer," said Stephen;"but she would none of Spring nor of me."

  "We hoped to receive counsel from our uncle at Hyde," added Ambrose.

  "Have ye no purpose now?" inquired the Father, his jolly good-humouredface showing much concern.

  "Yea," manfully returned Stephen. "'Twas what I ever hoped to do, tofare on and seek our fortune in London."

  "Ha! To pick up gold and silver like Dick Whittington. Poor old Springhere will scarce do you the part of his cat," and the monk's heartylaugh angered Stephen into muttering, "We are no fools," but FatherShoveller only laughed the more, saying, "Fair and softly, my son, ye'llnever pick up the gold if ye cannot brook a kindly quip. Have youfriends or kindred in London?"

  "Yea, that have we, sir," cried Stephen; "our mother's own brother,Master Randall, hath come to preferment there in my Lord Archbishop ofYork's household, and hath sent us tokens from time to time, which wewill show you."

  "Not while we be feasting," said Father Shoveller, hastily checkingAmbrose, who was feeling in his bosom. "See, the knaves be bringingtheir grampus across the court. Here, we'll clean our hands, and beready for the meal;" and he showed them, under a projecting gallery inthe inn yard a stone trough, through which flowed a stream of water, inwhich he proceeded to wash his hands and face, and to wipe them in acoarse towel suspended nigh at hand. Certainly after handling sheepfreely there was need, though such ablutions were a refinement notindulged in by all the company who assembled round the well-spread boardof the White Hart for the meal after the market. They were a motleycompany. By the host's side sat a knight on his way home frompilgrimage to Compostella, or perhaps a mission to Spain, with a coupleof squires and other attendants, and converse of political import seemedto be passing between him and a shrewd-looking man in a lawyer's hoodand gown, the recorder of Winchester, who preferred being a daily guestat the White Hart to keeping a table of his own. Country franklins andyeomen, merchants and men-at-arms, palmers and craftsmen, friars andmonks, black, white, and grey, and with almost all, Father Shoveller hadgreeting or converse to exchange. He knew everybody, and had friendlytalk with all, on canons or crops, on war or wool, on the prices of pigsor prisoners, on the news of the country side, or on the perilousinnovations in learning at Oxford, which might, it was feared, evenaffect Saint Mary's College at Winchester.

  He did not affect outlandish fishes himself, and dined upon pike, butobserving the curiosity of his guests, he took good care to have themwell supplied with grampus; also in due time with varieties of thepudding and cake kind which had never dawned on their forest--bredimagination, and with a due proportion of good ale--the same over whichthe knight might be heard rejoicing, and lauding far above the Spanishor French wines, on which he said he had been half starved.

  Father Shoveller mused a good deal over his pike and its savourystuffing. He was not by any means an ideal monk, but he was equally farfrom being a scandal. He was the shrewd man of business and manager ofhis fraternity, conducting the farming operations and making all thebargains, following his rule respectably according to the ordinarystandard of his time, but not rising to any spirituality, and while dulyobserving the fast day, as to the quality of his food, eating with theappetite of a man who lived in the open fields.

  But when their hunger was appeased, with many a fragment given toSpring, the young Birkenholts, wearied of the endless talk that wasexchanged over the tankard, began to grow restless, and after exchangingsigns across Father Shoveller's solid person, they simultaneously rose,and began to thank him and say they must pursue their journey.

  "How now, not so fast, my sons," said the Father; "tarry a bit, I havemore to say to thee. Prayers and provender, thou knowst--I'll comeanon. So, sir, didst say yonder beggarly Flemings haggle at thy pricefor thy Southdown fleeces. Weight of dirt forsooth! Do not we wash thesheep in the Poolhole stream, the purest water in the shire?"

  Manners withheld Ambrose from responding to Stephen's hot impatience,while the merchant in the sleek puce-coloured coat discussed the Flemishwool market with the monk for a good half-hour longer.

  By this time the knight's ho
rses were brought into the yard, and themerchant's men had made ready his palfrey, his pack-horse being alreadyon the way; the host's son came round with the reckoning, and there wasa general move. Stephen expected to escape, and hardly could brook thegood-natured authority with which Father Shoveller put Ambrose aside,when he would have discharged their share of the reckoning, and took itupon himself. "Said I not ye were my guests?" quoth he. "We missed ourmorning mass, it will do us no harm to hear Nones in the Minster."

  "Sir, we thank you, but we should be on our way," said Ambrose, incitedby Stephen's impatient gestures.

  "Tut, tut. Fair and softly, my son, or more haste may be worse speed.Methought ye had somewhat to show me."

  Stephen's youthful independence might chafe, but the habit of submissionto authorities made him obediently follow the monk out at the backentrance of the inn, behind which lay the Minster yard, the grandwestern front rising in front of them, and the buildings of SaintSwithun's Abbey extending far to their right. The hour was nearly noon,and the space was deserted, except for an old woman sitting at the greatwestern doorway with a basket of rosaries made of nuts and of snailshells, and a workman or two employed on the bishop's new reredos.

  "Now for thy tokens," said Father Shoveller. "See my young foresters,ye be new to the world. Take an old man's counsel, and never show, norspeak of such gear in an hostel. Mine host of the White Hart is an oldgossip of mine, and indifferent honest, but who shall say who might bewithin earshot?"

  Stephen had a mind to say that he did not see why the meddling monkshould wish to see them at all, and Ambrose looked a little reluctant,but Father Shoveller said in his good-humoured way, "As you please,young sirs. 'Tis but an old man's wish to see whether he can do aughtto help you, that you be not as lambs among wolves. Mayhap ye deem yecan walk into London town, and that the first man you meet can point youto your uncle--Randall call ye him?--as readily as I could show you mybrother, Thomas Shoveller of Cranbury. But you are just as like to meetwith some knave who might cozen you of all you have, or mayhap a beadlemight take you up for vagabonds, and thrust you in the stocks, or everyou get to London town; so I would fain give you some commendation, an Iknew to whom to make it, and ye be not too proud to take it."

  "You are but too good to us, sir," said Ambrose, quite conquered, thoughStephen only half believed in the difficulties. The Father took themwithin the west door of the Minster, and looking up and down the longarcade of the southern aisle to see that no one was watching, heinspected the tokens, and cross-examined them on their knowledge oftheir uncle.

  His latest gift, the rosary, had come by the hand of Friar Hurst, abegging Minorite of Southampton, who had it from another of his order atWinchester, who had received it from one of the king's archers at theCastle, with a message to Mistress Birkenholt that it came from herbrother, Master Randall, who had good preferment in London, in the houseof my Lord Archbishop of York, without whose counsel King Henry neverstirred. As to the coming of the agate and the pouncet box, the mindsof the boys were very hazy. They knew that the pouncet box had beenconveyed through the attendants of the Abbot of Beaulieu, but they wereonly sure that from that time the belief had prevailed with their motherthat her brother was prospering in the house of the all-powerful Wolsey.The good Augustinian, examining the tokens, thought they gave colour tothat opinion. The rosary and agate might have been picked up in anecclesiastical household, and the lid of the pouncet box was made of aSpanish coin, likely to have come through some of the attendants ofQueen Katharine.

  "It hath an appearance," he said. "I marvel whether there be still atthe Castle this archer who hath had speech with Master Randall, for ifye know no more than ye do at present, 'tis seeking a needle in a bottleof hay. But see, here come the brethren that be to sing Nones--sinnerthat I am, to have said no Hours since the morn, being letted withlawful business."

  Again the unwilling Stephen had to submit. There was no feeling for theincongruous in those days, and reverence took very different directionsfrom those in which it now shows itself, so that nobody had anyobjection to Spring's pacing gravely with the others towards the LadyChapel, where the Hours were sung, since the Choir was in the hands ofworkmen, and the sound of chipping stone could be heard from it, whereBishop Fox's elaborate lace-work reredos was in course of erection.Passing the shrine of Saint Swithun, and the grand tomb of CardinalBeaufort, where his life-coloured effigy filled the boys with wonder,they followed their leader's example, and knelt within the Lady Chapel,while the brief Latin service for the ninth hour was sung through by thecanon, clerks, and boys. It really was the Sixth, but cumulative easy-going treatment of the Breviary had made this the usual time for it, asthe name of noon still testifies. The boys' attention, it must beconfessed, was chiefly expended on the wonderful miracles of the BlessedVirgin in fresco on the walls of the chapel, all tending to prove thathere was hope for those who said their Ave in any extremity of fire orflood.

  Nones ended, Father Shoveller, with many a halt for greeting or forgossip, took the lads up the hill towards the wide fortified space wherethe old Castle and royal Hall of Henry of Winchester looked down on thecity, and after some friendly passages with the warder at the gate,Father Shoveller explained that he was in quest of some one recentlycome from court, of whom the striplings in his company could makeinquiry concerning a kinsman in the household of my Lord Archbishop ofYork. The warder scratched his head, and bethinking himself thatEastcheap Jockey was the reverend father's man, summoned a horse-boy tocall that worthy.

  "Where was he?"

  "Sitting over his pottle in the Hall," was the reply, and the monk, witha laugh savouring little of asceticism, said he would seek him there,and accordingly crossed the court to the noble Hall, with its lofty darkmarble columns, and the Round Table of King Arthur suspended at theupper end. The governor of the Castle had risen from his meal long ago,but the garrison in the piping times of peace would make their ration ofale last as far into the afternoon as their commanders would suffer.And half a dozen men still sat there, one or two snoring, two playing atdice on a clear corner of the board, and another, a smart well-dressedfellow in a bright scarlet jerkin, laying down the law to a countrybumpkin, who looked somewhat dazed. The first of these was, as itappeared, Eastcheap Jockey, and there was something both of thereadiness and the impudence of the Londoner in his manner, when heturned to answer the question. He knew many in my Lord of York'shouse--as many as a man was like to know where there was a matter of twohundred folk between clerks and soldiers, he had often crushed a pottlewith them. No; he had never heard of one called Randall, neither in hatnor cowl, but he knew more of them by face than by name, and more by byname than surname or christened name. He was certainly not the archerwho had brought a token for Mistress Birkenholt, and his comrades allavouched equal ignorance on the subject. Nothing could be gained there,and while Father Shoveller rubbed his bald head in consideration,Stephen rose to take leave.

  "Look you here, my fair son," said the monk. "Starting at this hour,though the days be long, you will not reach any safe halting place withdaylight, whereas by lying a night in this good city, you might reachAlton to-morrow, and there is a home where the name of Brother Shovellerwill win you free lodging and entertainment."

  "And to-night, good Father?" inquired Ambrose.

  "That will I see to, if ye will follow me."

  Stephen was devoured with impatience during the farewells in the Castle,but Ambrose represented that the good man was giving them much of histime, and that it would be unseemly and ungrateful to break from him.

  "What matter is it of his? And why should he make us lose a whole day?"grumbled Stephen.

  "What special gain would a day be to us?" sighed Ambrose. "I amthankful that any should take heed for us."

  "Ay, you love leading-strings," returned Stephen. "Where is he goingnow? All out of our way!"

  Father Shoveller, however, as he went down the Castle hill, explainedthat the Warden of Saint Elizabeth'
s Hospital was his friend, andknowing him to have acquaintance among the clergy of Saint Paul's, itwould be well to obtain a letter of commendation from him, which mightserve them in good stead in case they were disappointed of finding theiruncle at once.

  "It would be better for Spring to have a little more rest," thoughtStephen, thus mitigating his own longing to escape from the monks andfriars, of whom Winchester seemed to be full.

  They had a kindly welcome in the pretty little college of SaintElizabeth of Hungary, lying in the meadows between William of Wykeham'sCollege and the round hill of Saint Catherine. The Warden was a morescholarly and ecclesiastical-looking person than his friend, the good-natured Augustinian. After commending them to his care, and partakingof a drink of mead, the monk of Silkstede took leave of the youths, witha hearty blessing and advice to husband their few crowns, not to tellevery one of their tokens, and to follow the counsel of the Warden ofSaint Elizabeth's, assuring them that if they turned back to the Forestthey should have a welcome at Silkstede. Moreover he patted Springpitifully, and wished him and his master well through the journey.

  Saint Elizabeth's College was a hundred years older than its neighbourSaint Mary's, as was evident to practised eyes by its arches andwindows, but it had been so entirely eclipsed by Wykeham's foundationthat the number of priests, students, and choir-boys it was intended tomaintain, had dwindled away, so that it now contained merely the Warden,a superannuated priest, and a couple of big lads who acted as servants.There was an air of great quietude and coolness about the pointed archesof its tiny cloister on that summer's day, with the old monk dozing inhis chair over the manuscript he thought he was reading, not far fromthe little table where the Warden was eagerly studying Erasmus's _Praiseof Folly_. But the Birkenholts were of the age at which quiet meansdulness, at least Stephen was, and the Warden had pity both on them andon himself; and hearing joyous shouts outside, he opened a little doorin the cloister wall, and revealed a multitude of lads with their blackgowns tucked up, "a playing at the ball"--these being the scholars ofSaint Mary's. Beckoning to a pair of elder ones, who were walking upand down more quietly, he consigned the strangers to their care,sweetening the introduction by an invitation to supper, for which hewould gain permission from their Warden.

  One of the young Wykehamists was shy and churlish, and sheered off fromthe brothers, but the other catechised them on their views of becomingscholars in the college. He pointed out the cloister where the studiestook place in all weathers, showed them the hall, the chapel, and thechambers, and expatiated on the chances of attaining to New College.Being moreover a scholarly fellow, he and Ambrose fell into a discussionover the passage of Virgil, copied out on a bit of paper, which he waslearning by heart. Some other scholars having finished their game, andbecome aware of the presence of a strange dog and two strange boys,proceeded to mob Stephen and Spring, whereupon the shy boy stood forthand declared that the Warden of Saint Elizabeth's had brought them infor an hour's sport.

  Of course, in such close quarters, the rival Warden was esteemed anatural enemy, and went by the name of "Old Bess," so that hisrecommendation went for worse than nothing, and a dash at Spring wasmade by the inhospitable young savages. Stephen stood to the defence inact to box, and the shy lad stood by him, calling for fair play and oneat a time. Of course a fight ensued, Stephen and his champion on theone side, and two assailants on the other, till after a fall on eitherside, Ambrose's friend interfered with a voice as thundering as themanly crack would permit, peace was restored, Stephen found himself freeof the meads, and Spring was caressed instead of being tormented.

  Stephen was examined on his past present, and future, envied for hisForest home, and beguiled into magnificent accounts, not only of thedeer that had fallen to his bow and the boars that had fallen to hisfather's spear, but of the honours to which his uncle in theArchbishop's household would prefer him--for he viewed it as an absolutecertainty that his kinsman was captain among the men-at-arms, whom heendowed on the spot with scarlet coats faced with black velvet, andsilver medals and chains.

  Whereat one of the other boys was not behind in telling how his fatherwas pursuivant to my Lord Duke of Norfolk, and never went abroad savewith silver lions broidered on back and breast, and trumpets goingbefore; and another dwelt on the splendours of the mayor and aldermen ofSouthampton with their chains and cups of gold. Stephen felt bound tosurpass this with the last report that my Lord of York's men rodeFlemish steeds in crimson velvet housings, passmented with gold andgems, and of course his uncle had the leading of them.

  "Who be thine uncle?" demanded a thin, squeaky voice. "I have brotherslikewise in my Lord of York's meine."

  "Mine uncle is Captain Harry Randall, of Shirley," quoth Stephenmagnificently, scornfully surveying the small proportions of thespeaker. "What is thy brother?"

  "Head turnspit," said a rude voice, provoking a general shout oflaughter; but the boy stood his ground, and said hotly: "He is page tothe comptroller of my lord's household, and waits at the second table,and I know every one of the captains."

  "He'll say next he knows every one of the Seven Worthies," cried anotherboy, for Stephen was becoming a popular character.

  "And all the paladins to boot. Come on, little Rowley!" was the cry.

  "I tell you my brother is page to the comptroller of the household, andmy mother dwells beside the Gate House, and I know every man of them,"insisted Rowley, waxing hot. "As for that Forest savage fellow's unclebeing captain of the guard, 'tis more like that he is my lord's fool,Quipsome Hal!"

  Whereat there was a cry, in which were blended exultation at the hit,and vituperation of the hitter. Stephen flew forward to avenge theinsult, but a big bell was beginning to ring, a whole wave of blackgowns rushed to obey it, sweeping little Rowley away with them; andStephen found himself left alone with his brother and the two lads whohad been invited to Saint Elizabeth's, and who now repaired thither withthem.

  The supper party in the refectory was a small one, and the rule of thefoundation limited the meal to one dish and a pittance, but the dish wasof savoury eels, and the Warden's good nature had added to it some catesand comfits in consideration of his youthful guests.

  After some conversation with the elder Wykehamist, the Warden calledAmbrose and put him through an examination on his attainments, whichproved so satis factory, that it ended in an invitation to the brothersto fill two of the empty scholarships of the college of the dear SaintElizabeth. It was a good offer, and one that Ambrose would fain haveaccepted, but Stephen had no mind for the cloister or for learning.

  The Warden had no doubt that he could be apprenticed in the city ofWinchester, since the brother at home had in keeping a sum sufficientfor the fee. Though the trade of "capping" had fallen off, there werestill good substantial burgesses who would be willing to receive anactive lad of good parentage, some being themselves of gentle blood.Stephen, however, would not brook the idea. "Out upon you, Ambrose!"said he, "to desire to bind your own brother to base mechanical arts."

  "'Tis what Nurse Joan held to be best for us both," said Ambrose.

  "Joan! Yea, like a woman, who deems a man safest when he is a tailor,or a perfumer. An you be minded to stay here with a black gown and ashaven crown, I shall on with Spring and come to preferment. Maybethou'lt next hear of me when I have got some fat canonry for thee."

  "Nay, I quit thee not," said Ambrose. "If thou fare forward, so do I.But I would thou couldst have brought thy mind to rest there."

  "What! wouldst thou be content with this worn-out place, with morechurches than houses, and more empty houses than full ones? No! let uson where there is something doing! Thou wilt see that my Lord of Yorkwill have room for the scholar as well as the man-at-arms."

  So the kind offer was declined, but Ambrose was grieved to see that theWarden thought him foolish, and perhaps ungrateful.

  Nevertheless the good man gave them a letter to the Reverend MasterAlworthy, singing clerk at Saint Paul's Cathedral, telling A
mbrose itmight serve them in case they failed to find their uncle, or if my Lordof York's household should not be in town. He likewise gave them arecommendation which would procure them a night's lodging at the Grange,and after the morning's mass and meat, sped them on their way with hisblessing, muttering to himself, "That elder one might have been thestaff of mine age! Pity on him to be lost in the great and evil City!Yet 'tis a good lad to follow that fiery spark his brother. _Tanquamagnus inter lupes_. Alack!"