The Man On a Donkey

by H. F. M. Prescott

  ‘Then whole damned,’ Darcy muttered, who had suffered from both.

  And this day, as he passed through one of the chambers in the Great Wardrobe beside Blackfriars, there was Master Cromwell, crouching over some rolls of silk and cloth of gold that lay on the floor. Gibson, porter and yeoman tailor of the Wardrobe, was just slitting open the canvas cover of the last roll, and all about the two lay folds of the rich, lustrous stuffs.

  ‘Italian,’ Cromwell told Darcy, getting up from the floor. ‘There’s none in Christendom can weave better such things.’ He was inclined to be friendly with Darcy, had Darcy allowed it. He was certainly very friendly with Gibson, calling him ‘Dick’ and ‘gossip’.

  ‘And,’ said he aloud at the door, when he had taken his leave, ‘forget not, my good Dick, the clavichord wire.’ He smiled at Darcy, and said, ‘I confess I aim at defrauding the King’s Grace to the tune of some yards of clavichord wire.’

  Then he was gone, a fat, cheerful, small man, with a ready laugh and a pleasant voice. His eyes were twinkling too, and merry, but Darcy had noticed, that day they had had to do with him and Banks, that every now and then he shot out of them a sharp, pricking look. And Darcy was nearly sure, that whether Master Cromwell was to have some of the King’s clavichord wire or no, the roll of grey damask cloth of silver, which lay rather apart from the other silks, would go to Master Cromwell’s house at the Austin Friars, and that it would never appear on the Accounts of the King’s Great Wardrobe.

  When Cromwell had gone away, and the clerk of the Wardrobe had been found, my Lord showed him the King’s order. He took Darcy to a closet where the spare chapel stuff was kept, and my Lord chose a vestment, of black silk powdered with roses and columbines, for the Chapel of his Hospital.

  September 26

  Robert Aske was sitting on the step of the horse-block beside the Hall door at Aughton, with a book on his lap, his elbows on his knees and his head between his fists. The women were clearing out the rushes from the floors to-day, so as to straw new for the winter, and there was no peace for any man indoors. A dog or two lay in the sun near his feet; for the most part of the time they dozed, waking up suddenly to snap at flies or to scratch. From the further yard beyond the old dairy there came the sound of someone chopping wood; a servant was drawing water from the well in the corner by the door into the kitchens; the rope creaked with a note higher than the whine of the winch, and now and again water slopped over the swinging bucket, and fell back into the well with a splash. From beyond the court came the tinkle of goat-bells.

  Aske took one hand from his head to scratch his thigh. Then he let out with his foot at a spaniel that had come too close.

  ‘Keep your fleas on your own hide,’ says he, and the spaniel wagged, yawned, and lay down again a little further away; Aske went back to his book.

  When a shadow fell across the page he did not look up, but seeing Nan’s gown he groaned, and, as if in anger, cried out on ‘you women who will never leave a man in quiet, but hound him out of doors with your brooms, and then come and deafen him with your clacking tongues’.

  Nan giggled. If Kit had said that she would not have known whether to laugh or go quietly away; but though she had found Robin rather alarming when he came home a month ago, she did not so now.

  ‘Well?’ he asked.

  ‘Will you come and help to gather blackberries?’

  ‘Nay, I will not.’

  ‘Then will you hold your godson for me?’

  ‘I’ll do so much. He’ll mark my place as well as a straw.’

  He took the stiffly swaddled child from her and laid it down upon the book. ‘Perdy!’ cried he, ‘he’s wet!’

  ‘They always are,’ she told him; and when he cried fie on her she laughed at him. ‘Keep him the right way up,’ she said, and went away.

  He shifted the baby to the crook of his arm, and looked down into its unblinking eyes for a moment before he went on with his reading. Nan had been married to Will Monkton, eldest son of a man halfway between yeoman and gentleman. Will was a fat young fellow, slow-speaking and grave. Robert Aske was pleased to have him for a brother-in-law, though he guessed from something Jack had said that Kit did not approve of the marriage. ‘But if Nan likes him—’ he thought. Nan was little, pale and plain, and would always be, but Robert thought that her eyes looked happy.

  ‘Sir,’ said he to the baby, ‘you stare too long for courtesy; and why you should bubble from your mouth when you are already so wet at t’other end—!’

  October 1

  Lord Darcy was returning out of London to the house at Stepney, when the Duke of Norfolk caught him up, going to try a new hawk in the fields beyond the village. The Duke sent his gentlemen on, and rode softly beside Darcy’s horse-litter, talking of the North Country, and of the young Duke of Richmond, the King’s son, who had been sent there with a Council and a great Household to learn the trade of a ruler, though he was barely ten years old. ‘But,’ said Norfolk, ‘a singular gracious and wise child as all agree,’ and he waited a minute for Darcy to answer, and, when he did not, added that it was a pity his mother had not been the King’s lawful wife.

  Darcy said rather he thought it was a pity that the boy was not Queen Katherine’s child.

  ‘That is what I would say,’ Norfolk assured him, but Darcy had an idea that he had put it the other way to try what answer he would get. He wondered what the Duke would be at, and wondered still more when they came to the end of the lane along which Darcy must turn. For the Duke pulled up there, and began to ask about the house – was it big enough, in good repair, were there stables and grazing in plenty? And every now and then as he talked he would nod and tip his head towards the roof and chimneys that showed above the orchard trees, and he frowned, and then winked one eye, so that Darcy knew that he wanted to be asked to turn in for a while, and see the house, though he could not think why the Duke should want it, nor why he should make such a secret of it. But he said, ‘If you will turn in, my Lord, to drink a cup of wine—?’ and he told his footboy to go on and fetch Norfolk’s gentlemen back.

  The Duke would gladly turn in, he said, adding that it was as warm as summer, which was true, for, after a wet and windy September, October had come in with a light mist and still blue skies. So, at the Duke’s own suggestion, they drank their wine in the garden that smelt pleasantly of box, and apples, and sweet-briar warmed in the sun.

  After they had finished their wine the Duke brushed the crumbs of wafer from his knee and got up, but he waved his hand to his gentlemen, and taking Darcy’s arm shoved him gently in the direction of the orchard. ‘Now,’ thought Darcy, ‘we’re coming at it,’ and he was right. After a turn taken together, in which Norfolk spoke loudly of his own new grafted apple-trees at Framlingham, he dropped his voice and asked Darcy ‘did you know that the Cardinal’s Grace had returned?’

  ‘Yea, I heard.’

  Norfolk looked down at the hooded hawk, restless on his hand. ‘Everywhere in France he was showed great honour.’

  As he seemed to wait for a reply Darcy said that he supposed that was but natural, seeing he was the servant of so great a master. ‘And so great a servant,’ Norfolk suggested, to which Darcy said nothing.

  ‘Yet I have heard say “Non est Propheta inhonoratus nisi in patria sua”,’ and the Duke looked sharply up at Darcy.

  ‘How can that fit here, my Lord, unless the Cardinal thinks his honours – which, God knows, are many and great – are not enough for his services?’

  ‘He did not think himself honoured when he came to the King at Richmond,’ said Norfolk softly.

  ‘Ah!’ said Darcy. ‘This I have not heard.’

  Norfolk chuckled. ‘I shall tell you. He came there in the evening, having landed from Calais that morning, straight to give account to his master, as a dutiful servant should, and supposing that he should be joyfully received at his home-coming, as one who has made this new treaty with France. And coming to the palace he sent one of his people to the
King announcing his return, and asking where and at what hour he should visit His Grace. I was with the Cardinal, and I saw his gentleman go to the King, and I saw him return.’

  He chuckled again, and Darcy, not seeing why, said, ‘Well?’

  ‘The Cardinal’s gentleman, when he came back, was as red as those apples on the tree. Yet he only said to the Cardinal that the King would see him at once. “Where?” says he. “I will bring you to the King,” says the gentleman, and they went out, and I saw the Cardinal turn to him, in going, and ask again, “Where is His Grace?” but I did not hear the answer – not then. I waited, and I saw the Cardinal come out of the palace and ride away. I asked one of his gentlemen how the King had received his master, “Right thankfully, I’ll wager,” says I. And he looked at me as awkwardly as if he’d stolen a purse, and said – “Right thankfully; very honourably,” and got himself away from me as quick as he could.’

  Darcy stopped walking, and they stood together under one of the trees, feeling the sun’s warmth spatter through the leaves upon their heads.

  ‘It’s a long tale, but I come near to the end,’ the Duke assured him. ‘It was from my niece—’ ‘Mistress Anne?’ put in Darcy; and, ‘Mistress Anne,’ Norfolk repeated. ‘From her that I heard the rest. For she came to me after supper in the gallery, and showed me a new jewel she was wearing, a table emerald with three hanging pearls, very pretty, very costly. She’d had it, she said, of the King’s Grace that evening, and many gracious words with it. “And kisses not a few,” says I, whereat she laughed, and did not deny it.

  ‘“And then,” says she, “one came in from my Lord Cardinal and asked where and when he might wait on His Grace.” I told her I knew what he had asked; but what had the King answered?

  ‘“It was not the King that answered,” says she. “It was I. I said to the Cardinal’s gentleman, “Where else but here should the Cardinal come? Tell him he may come here, where the King is.”

  ‘“Mass!” quod I, “was not the King angry?” She laughed at that and told me, “No, not angry at all, but very merry, asking me if I would be one of his Privy Council.”’

  ‘She is a very bold lady,’ Darcy said, not too cordially; but then, remembering how she had discomfited the Cardinal, he laughed. ‘No other would have dared.’

  ‘Bold she is,’ Norfolk said, ‘and of a marvellous ready wit, and that the King loves her for. And,’ he turned to Darcy, ‘as I told you before, she loves not the Cardinal.’ He held out his hand then, to say farewell. ‘You and I think alike over one matter; we should be friends,’ he said, and added, ‘Though not too openly.’

  Darcy gave an angry laugh. ‘Thomas Wolsey knows that I love him little, and with great reason.’

  ‘Secret is best,’ said Norfolk, and went on to his hawking.

  November 18

  Master Cheyne had gone away into Kent to the death-bed of an uncle. He wanted to be sure that the executors did not cheat him of any inheritance that might be due to him. So Julian went up into the parlour after supper, and at bedtime with Meg into her chamber. Meg was in a kind mood, and let her sister take from an iron-bound box the precious and pretty things she kept there. Julian knelt before the big chest at the foot of the bed, and laid them out, one by one, on the lid, while Meg sat in her shift on the edge of the bed, combing her hair and humming a song. The shadow of her hand, and the comb, and her hair, went up and down the painted wall.

  Julian bent over the trinkets, touching those she liked best with her finger, very gently. There was a girdle enamelled white, red and black in the Spanish fashion; she had taken it half out of the soft leather that wrapped it. Besides that there were gold buttons, each set with a tiny ruby, and beyond the buttons two rings, one with a hand gripping a cat’s-eye stone, and the other plain gold with a rocky pearl.

  Meg laid down her comb and began braiding her hair. July knew that she had not much longer till she would be sent away to bed. She fumbled down at the bottom of the box for a thing that she knew was there, and found it – half a gold rose noble, with a hole near the broken edge, and a thin gold chain through the hole. She knew that it was the token the Duke of Buckingham had given to the girl he had met on the shore at Southampton, before Meg was born – the girl that had become their mother.

  She laid the coin in her palm and let the chain hang over her hand. For a minute it was cold on her skin, then grew warm with the warmth of her flesh.

  ‘Meg,’ she said, not looking up from the thing in her hand, ‘what was our mother like?’

  Meg’s quick fingers moved among her hair so that the three tails leapt and shook as she braided it.

  ‘She was only a simple creature, of no gentle blood.’

  ‘But—’ Julian began.

  ‘But she was very beautiful.’ Meg tied her hair with a rose-coloured ribbon and looped the heavy rope so that it framed her face; she leaned forward and picked up the mirror, and smiled into it. She thought that she was more beautiful than ever her mother had been.

  ‘Was – was she – good?’ Julian asked.

  Meg turned and stared at her; then laughed.

  ‘Good? She bore us two bastards.’

  ‘Then,’ July persisted, ‘was she bad?’

  ‘Oh!’ said Meg lightly, and let the shift slip from her shoulders and stood up naked beside the bed, ‘I’d not say she was bad. But does it matter?’

  July could not answer that. She began to put the things back in the box even before Meg told her to.

  1528

  January 1

  This morning Will Wall came into the room at Gray’s Inn that his master shared with two others. He had Aske’s red velvet coat over his arm, for the Christmas Feast was not half over, and to-day was a high day. Hal Hatfield was not awake yet, and Ned Bangham lay with his hands clasped behind his head, but Aske was half dressed, and was just fastening the points that tied his grey hosen to his doublet; Will put down the coat on the bench near the dead fire, and began to tie the points at his master’s back.

  Hal wakened, yawned, stretched and turned over.

  ‘Well, Robin,’ he asked, ‘how did you get on with the young gentlewoman?’

  Aske laughed. He sat down on the edge of his own bed, and stuck out his feet so that Will could lace the gussets of the hosen inside each ankle. ‘Not on – off,’ said he. ‘Last night was wine and candle to my wooing.’

  ‘Jesu Mary!’ Hal rolled over the better to see him. ‘The end of it? My poor Robin! Is the heart broken?’

  ‘To pieces!’ Aske told him cheerfully; yet Hal thought he looked a little crestfallen.

  ‘I never supposed,’ put in Ned Bangham from the other bed, ‘that wenches had so much sense.’

  ‘Now, Master!’ Will protested, ‘it’s not sense to refuse a likely bachelor.’

  Aske winked at Hal over Will Wall’s head.

  ‘I’m best out of it,’ he told Hal. ‘Mating with such a merry gentlewoman would be too much for a quiet man like me. She told me roundly she did not care how many men loved her, and wooed, and went empty away, but she had no thought of marrying for another two years.’ He pulled a face, and spread out his hands, making a jest of it, but his pride was sore and Will knew it. He muttered to Aske’s boots which he was pulling on, that if he’d had a daughter spoke so, he’d think that she had not been enough beaten in her upbringing.

  ‘At least,’ said Aske, ‘she sent me packing before New Year’s Day, so I’ve saved the gift I bought her. See here, Will – you go out and buy wine for us to the cost of it, and then you’ll have no quarrel with Mistress Clare.’

  ‘Ho!’ cried Hal. ‘Me too, Robin,’ and he heaved himself out of bed. ‘How much have we to turn on? I’ve a costly thirst.’

  ‘He spent 12s. 8d. on a comb for her,’ Will answered disapprovingly.

  Ned Bangham sat up and began to pull on his shirt.

  ‘May you never prosper in love, Robin,’ said he, ‘if your friends can drink what your ladies refuse.’

  March 3


  The Nuns were in the choir, and Mass was almost at an end, while the wind whistled and moaned in the tower, and draughts tugged at the candle-flames. Dame Christabel knelt with her eyelids lowered and her hands folded seemly under her chin. Yet she was aware that Dame Margaret Lovechild was occupied in quieting the little dog she had brought in on his yellow ribbon leash; that the Prioress was frankly asleep; and that Bet and Grace, the two little novices, were whispering together though hardly moving their lips; it was an accomplishment they had learned since they came to Marrick.

  The old priest stopped for quite a long time in order to cough; and then to hiccup because his digestion was now very bad. Christabel opened her eyes and looked at him as if she would goad him on by looking. She shut her eyes again and went back to her thoughts. She was wondering whether indeed she had done well to choose to be a Nun. If she had married – She thought of a house – perhaps even of a Manor House – with new fine glass windows, comfortable, with jolly comings and goings; there would have been many servants to rule, her own children, a husband. Perhaps she could not have ruled him, but at the worst most men could be managed. She sighed, sharply and impatiently, and then with relief took up her part in the singing. They were almost at an end now.

  April 10

  After dinner Lord Darcy had Lord Hussey’s messenger into his chamber for half an hour or so, and when the man had gone down again to the Hall, sent for his eldest son, Sir George. But Sir George was out, and did not return till after dark when his father was getting ready for bed and Lady Elizabeth already lay within the drawn curtains, asleep. My Lord’s gentleman had spread the foot-sheet beside the fire, because the night was cold and windy. He had taken off my Lord’s coat and doublet, his shoes and black hosen, his shirt with the black Spanish work about the neck, and his breeches. For a moment Darcy stood naked, lean and bony, with the curled, grizzled hair pricking on his breast at the cold; then the gentleman slipped over his head the fine night-shirt and put on him a long night-gown of green velvet, furred with red fox. He was just going away with my Lord’s clothes thrown over his shoulder when Sir George came in and sat down on a stool by the hearth.