CHAPTER VIII
HOW I FELL IN WITH ONE GOD-BE-HERE, A PEDDLER
Evening was at hand as I reached a little alehouse well away from theroad and pleasantly secluded by trees: thither came I, fondlingPenfeather's money in my pocket, for I was again mightily sharp set.But all at once I stopped, for, passing the open lattice, I heard loudlaughter and a merry voice:
"And there, believe me, gossips" (quoth this voice), "as sure as thisbe beef--aye, and good beef and cooked to a turn, mistress--there'sthis great, lob-lolly, hectoring Tom Button fast i' the pillory--and bythis good ale, a woeful sight, his eyes blacked, his nose a-bleeding,his jerkin torn and a dead cat about his neck, oho--aha! TomButton--big Tom, fighting Tom so loud o' tongue and ready o' fist--Tomas have cowed so many--there is he fast by the neck and a-groaning, seeye, gossips, loud enough for six, wish I may die else! And the best o'the joke is--the key be gone, as I'm a sinner! So they needs mustbreak the lock to get him out. Big Tom, as have thrashed every man formiles." But here merry voice and laughter ceased and a buxom womanthrust smiling face from the window, and face (like her voice) waskindly when she addressed me:
"What would ye, young master?"
"A little food, mistress," says I, touching my weather-worn hat andpulling it lower over my bruised and swollen features.
"Why come in, master, come in--there be none here but my Roger andGodby the peddler, as knoweth everyone."
So I entered forthwith a small, snug chamber, and seating myself in thedarkest corner, acknowledged the salutations of the two men while thegood-looking woman, bustling to and fro, soon set before me a finejoint of roast beef with bread and ale, upon which I incontinent fellto.
The two men sat cheek by jowl at the farther end of the table, one ared-faced, lusty fellow, the other, a small, bony man who laughed andate and ate and laughed and yet contrived to talk all the while, thatit was a wonder to behold.
"Was you over to Lamberhurst way, master?" says he to me, all at once.
"Aye!" I nodded, busy with the beef.
"Why then, happen ye saw summat o' the sport they had wi' the big gipsyi' the pillory--him as 'saulted my Lady Brandon and nigh did for herladyship's coz?"
"Aye," says I again, bending over my platter.
"'Tis ill sport to bait a poor soul as be helpless, I think--nay Iknow, for I've stood there myself ere now, though I won't say as Ididn't clod this fellow once or twice to-day myself--I were a rareclodder in my time, aha! Did you clod this big rogue, master?"
"No!"
"And wherefore not?"
"Because," says I, cutting myself more beef, "I happened to be thatsame rogue." Here Roger the landlord stared, his buxom wife shrankaway, and even the talkative peddler grew silent awhile, viewing mewith his shrewd, merry eyes.
"Aha!" says he at last, "'Twas you, was it?"
"It was!"
"And why must ye 'sault a noble lady?"
"I never did!"
"Gregory swears to it."
"Gregory's a liar!"
"Which is true enough--so he be!" nodded the landlord.
"And a cruel-hard man!" added his wife. "But Lord, young master, theydo ha' used ye ill--your poor face, all bruised and swole it be!"
"Which it be!" nodded Roger. "Likewise cut! Which be ill for 'eethough--like Godby here--I won't say but what I moughtn't ha' took aheave at ye, had I been there, it being nat'ral-like to heave things atsuch times, d'ye see?"
"Very natural!" says I.
"And then why," questioned the little peddler, "why break open thewicket-gate?"
"To get in!"
"Aha!" quoth Godby the peddler, winking roguish eye, "On the prigginglay perchance, cull, or peradventure the mill-ken? Speak plain, pal,all's bowmon!"
"I'm no flash cull," says I, "neither buzz, file, mill-ken norscamperer."
"Mum, pal, mum! I'm no more flash than you be, though I've no love forthe harmon-becks as Roger here will tell 'ee. A peddler be I and wellliked--wish I may swing else! Aye, well beloved is kind Godby,specially by wenches and childer--aha, many's the yard o' riband andlace, the garters, pins, ballads, gingerbread men, pigs and elephants,very fair gilt, as they've had o' kind Godby, and all for love! Andyet, plague and perish it--here's me warned off my pitch, here's me wi'the damned catchpolls on my heels, and all along o' this same GregoryBragg--rot him!"
"As to all that, I know not," says I, "but this I'll swear to, you area man, Godby the peddler, and one with a bold and kindly heart insideyou."
"How so?" he questioned, his bright eyes all of a twinkle. "How so, mybully boy?"
"That pannikin of water."
"Which you didn't get, my cock's-body lad!"
"Which you were man enough to bring me."
"Which Tom Button did ye out of!"
"Which you knocked him down for!"
"Which is Gospel-true, Roger and Cicely, 'twas a neat throw. Tombumped heavy--aye, uncommon flat were Tom, let me eat worms else!"
"For all of the which," says I, cutting more beef, "I ask you now todrink a stoup of ale with me."
"Wi' all my heart!" cries the peddler.
"Then," says I, laying my money on the table, "let us all drink infellowship, for ale, like fellowship, is a goodly thing and good thingsbe rare in this world!"
"And that's true, o' conscience!" smiled the buxom Cicely.
"And ye'll find no better brew than our own!" quoth Roger.
"And that I'll swear to!" laughed the peddler. "Cram me wi' spiderselse!"
So the good ale was brought and Godby, lifting his tankard, smiled andnodded over the creamy foam:
"Here's a griping colic to every catchpoll, harmon-beck and the likevermin 'twixt this and London town!" says he, and lifted the ale to hislips; but suddenly he sat it down untasted and rose: "Friends, I'mtook!" quoth he. "See yonder!" As he spake the narrow doorway wasdarkened and two rough fellows entered, and each bore a formidablebludgeon.
"Aye," says one, a big, surly-voiced fellow, "here be us, peddler, andthere be you, so best come easy--an' no tricks, mind!"
"Then easy does it, lads!" says Godby, no whit abashed. "No lamb couldcome milder than Godby, aye lambs, doves and babes is roaring lionscompared wi' Godby--so easy does it. What is't this time, codgers?"
"Fower hours i' the pillory, three i' the stocks, and a month inMaidstone jail and that's what!"
"And enough too!" growled Roger the landlord, clenching hairy fist andglancing furtively towards a rusty sword suspended above the hearth.
"Let be, Roger--I'm a lamb!" sighed the peddler. "And I wouldn't ha'you in trouble by me--besides this room o' yourn, though snug, ain'tfit for struggling nor striving! So, friends--good-bye!" Then heturned away between his two captors, but as he did so, his bright eyesfor one moment met mine and in his look I read appeal.
Now scarce were they gone when I got me to my feet, whereat thelandlord, Roger, did the like:
"What's to do?" he questioned, glancing yearningly from me to the rustysword.
"Why now," says I, counting out my reckoning, "bide you here--for yourgood wife's sake."
"Aye, do now, Roger!" she pleaded. "'Twould be ruination to us!"
"Moreover," says I, reaching for my cudgel, "they are but two, so bideyou here." Then I stepped forth of the tavern and very soon came upwith the two fellows, their prisoner walking betwixt them meeklyenough. But, as I approached, they halted all three.
"And what be you after?" demanded the surly fellow.
"You!"
"And what d'ye want of us--hey?"
"Your prisoner!"
"Ha! And what for him?"
"I've a mind to him!"
"O! Ye have, eh?"
"I have. Do I get him?"
"Be curst for a black, ugly rogue."
"That's no answer!"
"'Tis all you'll get o' we, save 'ard knocks!" says the man, spittingin his hand and taking firm grip of his bludgeon.
"Why then I must take him!" says I.
"Try and be damned!" roared the fellow. "Ha--look alive, Jem!" Andwhirling up his staff, he made at me amain; but I sprang aside and, ashis rush carried him past, my answering stroke caught him fairly 'twixtwrist and elbow and his cudgel spun harmlessly into the hedge;breathing curses he sought to close with me, but I, keeping mydistance, smote him (very blithely) how and where I would until he (hisarm useless), misliking my bludgeon-play and reading no mercy in mylook, very wisely betook him to his heels. Hereupon I turned to findthe little peddler sitting astride his man's neck and his fist againstthe fellow's nose:
"Smell it, Job!" he was saying. "Smell it, lad, 'tis the fist of a manas would be a-groping for your liver if it weren't for the respect I dobear your old mother--skin me else! So thank your old mother, lad,first as you've got a liver and second for a-saving o' that same liver.And now, get up, Job--begone, Job, arter your pal, and tell folk askind Godby, though sore tempted, never so much as set finger on yourliver, and all along o' your good old mother--away wi' ye!" So thefellow got him to his legs (mighty rueful) and sped away after hiscomrade.
"Pal," says the little peddler, reaching out and grasping my hand,"here's full quittance for that pannikin o' water as you never got!And now--what's the word?"
"Now," says I, "let us go back and drink the good ale!"
"Pal," quoth the peddler, with a flash of white teeth, "wi' all myheart!"
Thus we presently returned to the little tavern and found there Rogerthe landlord, the rusty sword in one brawny fist, his wife holding fastto the other. At sight of us he dropped the weapon and roaredjoyously, and Cicely, running to us, clasped our hands in heartywelcome. So we sat down all four, and while we quaffed the ale Godbydescribed our late encounter with great exactness.
"Pal," says he thereafter, reaching across the table to grip my handagain, "what might your name be?"
"Martin."
"Why then, Martin, have ye any friends or kin?"
"None!"
"No more have I, and look now, this Kent country is no fit place foryou or me arter to-day! So what I says is, lets you and me pad it,pal--the road, lad--the good high-road, aha! How say ye, Martin?"
"No!"
"Why no, pal?"
"Because, after to-night, if I chance to be neither dead nor in prison,I'm for shipboard."
"'Tis an ill life, pal!"
"Why, life is an ill thing!" says I.
"Nay, look'ee, Martin, life may be worth whiles now and then--aye, lad,there be times, good times."
"What times?"
"Well, Martin, to lie snug 'neath hedge o' star-time, when your fire'slow an' the stars peep down through leaves at a man--wink, they go, andwink, wink, till, watching 'em, a man forgets his troubles awhile andknows something o' content. Aha, many's the time o' star-time theyhave winked me and my troubles asleep. Then there's wakings o'bird-time, wi' the sun up, dew a-sparkle and life calling within ye andwithout, and the birds--O the birds, Martin--a-filling the world wi'brave songs o' hope new-born like the day! Ah, many's the morn thebirds ha' waked me and I as merry as any grig--Lord love their beaksand wings! There's hay-time o' the evening full o' soft, sweetsmells--aye, sweet as lad's first kiss; there's wheat-time at noon wi'the ears a-rustle and the whitt-whitt o' scythe and whetstone; there'snight, Martin, and the long, black road dipping and a-winding, but wi'the beam o' light beyond, lad--the good light as tells o' journey done,of companionship and welcomes and belike--eyes o' love, with--"
"Lusty ale!" quoth Roger, setting three new-filled pipkins before us."And none better nor ourn--eh, wife?"
"That I do swear to, Roger!" laughed the peddler, "Choke me else! Butnow, as to the sea, Martin pal--'tis a dog's life!"
"You know the sea, then?"
"Like my hand, Martin, and all along o' my father's godliness. A fine,big man he was and devout as he was lusty. Having begot me his nextduty was to name me, and O pal, name me he did! A name as no raskelllad might live up to, a name as brought me into such troublous factionashore that he packed me off to sea. And if you ax me what name 'twas,I'll answer ye bold and true--'God-be-here Jenkins,' at your service,though Godby for short and 'twixt friends."
Now the more I saw of this little peddler the better I liked him, sothat the hour was late when, having supped excellently well, I rose totake my leave.
"If you must be away, young master," said the buxom Cicely, "don't 'eeforget there be ever a welcome for 'ee at the Hop-pole--eh, Roger?"
"There is so!" nodded the landlord. "Likewise a pipkin of ale and abite and all gratus to a pal!"
"And look 'ee, Martin my cove," quoth the peddler, grasping my hand,"there be ever and always the good high-road leading on and away tobetter things, so happen ye should change your mind, seek me here'twixt this and dawn, if to-morrow ye shall hear o' Godby at the Fox atSpelmonden. So luck go wi' ye, my bien cull."
"And you," says I, "should you be minded to sail with me, go to thePeck-o'-Malt at Bedgbury Cross--the word is 'The Faithful Friend,' andask for Adam Penfeather."
So I presently stepped forth of the little tavern where I had foundsuch kindliness and, turning from the narrow lane, struck off acrossthe fields.
It was a sweet, warm night, the moon not up as yet, thus as I went Ilifted my gaze to the heavens where stars made a glory. And beholdingthese wondrous fires I needs must recall the little peddler's sayingand ponder his "good times"--his "times of stars and birds, of noon andeventide, of welcomes sweet and eyes of love."
And now I was of a sudden filled with a great yearning and passionatedesire that I too might know such times. But, as I climbed a stile, myhand by chance came upon the knife at my girdle, and sitting on thestile I drew it forth and fell to handling its broad blade, and, doingso, knew in my heart that such times were not for me, nor ever couldbe. And sitting there, knife in hand, desire and yearning were lostand 'whelmed in fierce and black despair.
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