“You have no idea how pleased I am to make your acquaintance.” Jonathan beamed. Then he shivered. “Brr! This foul weather is not conducive for idle conversation. Pray accompany me to my humble lodgings, where we may dry ourselves by a goodly fire, and partake of some muchneeded refreshment.”
Jonathan relieved Elizabeth from the thrall of the excited Toby, who practically leapt into his master’s arms for joy. For the next few moments there was a great deal of flailing limbs and paws, until man and beast had sorted themselves into their proper order.
Tarleton bowed to the student. “We accept, with pleasure your kind invitation, for methinks my boy has fallen in love with your… dog. As for myself, I am wet to the skin.”
Snapping his fingers at Elizabeth to take up the pack, Tarleton and Jonathan, with the noble Toby striding ahead, made their way toward the city of a hundred steepled bells. With a small sigh of resignation, Elizabeth shouldered the bulging sack and trudged after them. At least, the promise of a fire and food was in the offing. Since leaving Godstow, she and the jester had gotten miserably cold and wet. Elizabeth fervently hoped that Tarleton would decide to spend the rest of the day at Oxford. The wet weather did not bode well for a day of travel.
The College of Christ Church proved to be a magnificent collection of buildings around three sides of a grassy quadrangle. On the right was a high-roofed, mullion-windowed building that was, Jonathan proudly informed his guests, the Dining Hall. “And there, my fine fellows, you may entrance, enchant, and otherwise entertain us poor slaving students with your many talents.”
The gregarious student hurried them up a narrow stone staircase nearby. Throwing open his door, he ushered his guests into a small, drafty room that was sparsely and plainly furnished.
“Smith!” Jonathan bellowed down the staircase. “A plague on that varlet. What ho! Smith, I say!”
A thin boy of thirteen or so scrambled up the stairs, carrying an armload of wood. “Master Biggs, sir! I did not expect ye back so soon.” The boy quickly began laying a fire in the small hearth, while Toby hung over his shoulder, watching every move. The fire leapt up in the grate and began to crackle cheerfully.
“Back so soon? Nay, come too late, you snipe. This is my bed maker and general thorn in my side, Roger Smith,” Jonathan said, introducing the serving boy to Tarleton and Elizabeth. “Now, Smith, scamper to the buttery, and take whatever you can lay your hands on. Bring it back within two ticks of the clock, for we are famished. D’ye hear me, Smith? Perishing with hunger!”
As the boy raced out the door, Jonathan’s cheerful voice followed him. “Give my compliments to Master Robinson and tell him to wait upon me directly!”
Slamming the door, Jonathan turned to his newfound friends with a grin. “Make yourselves at home. You are my most honored guests for the fine service you have done me and my faithful hound this day.”
While Jonathan disappeared into the bedchamber to change, the faithful hound settled himself comfortably on the floor in front of the fire. He put his great shaggy head in Elizabeth’s lap, allowing her to rub his ears. Tarleton watched the pair with an envious smile. How he would love to lie where that flea-bitten beast was, and have sweet Elizabeth ply her fingers through his hair!
Reappearing in dry garb, Jonathan pulled a stool and chair nearer to the fire, waving Tarleton into the better of the two. “No doubt you have been wondering what was I doing up that infernal tree,” the student began, easing off his shoes and wiggling his toes pleasurably toward the warming grate.
“The question had occurred in my mind,” Tarleton conceded.
“And so you shall be answered. I am, as you may have surmised, a scholar in the eternal quest for knowledge. I am also, in my lesser moments, a songster of no mean repute,” Jonathan added modestly.
“A most mean meaning!” interrupted a pleasant voice at the doorway.
“Philip! You come apace and in good time!” Jonathan summoned his friend inside. “Close the door, man, or you will kill us all with cold. This is my soul mate, boon companion, and friend in need, Philip Robinson, aspiring student of the medical arts. These two fine fellows are my saviors. They are also—players!” Jonathan ended triumphantly.
Philip grinned good-naturedly. “I spy some sport in this. Hell’s bells, Jonathan! Where have you been? We missed you at supper last night.”
“Trussed up and hung out to drown by two of the vilest villains it has ever been my misfortune to meet. And, by my troth, should I ever meet them again, I shall serve them with a suit so enormous, ‘twill make them weep whole onions for a month,” Jonathan replied with a show of outrage.
“In case you have not noticed it, good players, my friend is a lawyer-to-be.” Stretching his long frame out before the fire, Philip pillowed his head on Toby’s rump. He nodded to Elizabeth. “I see Toby’s affections are as fickle as ever.”
“If he were of a more bloodthirsty nature, I would not have been set upon in such a rude and ungodly manner.” By his tone, it was plain Jonathan was most anxious to continue the tale of his misadventure.
“And what, pray tell, was your offense?” Philip yawned.
“Why, for the singing of my latest composition!” Jonathan blustered.
Tarleton suppressed a smile. “Was your song so badly rhymed, Master Biggs?”
“Nay, ‘tis one of my best compositions!” Jonathan blustered.
Philip winked at Tarleton. “Jonathan’s good father thinks his son is here at Oxford studying the law. What he doesn’t know is that my fine friend spends most of his time in alehouses drinking beer, falling in love and writing ballads about his disasters of the heart.” Closing his eyes, Philip looked as if he was going to take a nap.
Elizabeth bent her head low over Toby to hid her grin.
Jonathan ignored Philip’s last gibe. “Yesterday afternoon I took Toby for a small stroll along the country lanes, singing to my heart’s content. We were practically home when I was set upon by two burly varlets!”
“Bandits?” Tarleton asked casually. He wondered if Jonathan’s assailants were in search of a reward of twenty golden angels.
“I had no time to inquire their exact occupation. They seized me in a most uncomfortable fashion, and they asked where I had learned such a vile song. “Tis mine own work!’ I told them proudly. Whereupon one of them offered to cut out my tongue!”
Philip’s eyes snapped open. “By all the angels, what song of yours so offended them?”
“The one I sang for you the other night. You remember, ‘The Runaway Wife’!” Jonathan announced with a flourish.
Elizabeth gasped softly. Tarleton’s story seemed to be traveling faster than they were. She wondered what would Jonathan say if he knew the runaway wife was sitting on the floor by his hearth scratching his dog’s chin?
Tarleton assumed an amused expression. “What is so offensive about a runaway wife, unless, of course, you are the abandoned husband?” he inquired lazily.
Jonathan snorted loudly. “Thereby hangs the tale—and me along with it! It seems these two ruffians are in the service of one Sir Robert La Faye—the same Sir Robert who was left at the altar by his less-than-blushing bride, the lady of my song. I heard the tale last week, and it cried out to be set to rhyme and music.”
“‘Tis become a popular ballad at the Bulldog,” Philip informed Tarleton. “Yester eve I heard the young choristers of Magdalen singing it on their way to practice. They did it right well a cappella in three-part harmony.”
Jonathan smiled ruefully. “These whoresons had no taste for my music. They hung me up on a tree to teach me to sing a better tune, as they told me. They tied up poor Toby within an inch of his life, though he never sang a note!”
“What are Sir Robert’s men doing so near Oxford?” Tarleton innocently inquired, though his heart pounded heavily within his chest. “The story of the runaway wife, as I heard it in Banbury, told of the Lady Elizabeth going north with her Scottish lover.”
Elizabeth felt h
er cheeks begin to burn, and she was glad she sat so near to the fire, ignored by the others. If they only knew! A Scottish lover? Oh no! Her one true love was only a heartbeat away from them. She stole a quick glance at Tarleton, who returned her look with a conspiratorial wink.
“I asked them that selfsame question as they hung me up. The blackguards said they sought the Lady Elizabeth Hayward on the southern roads. They said she is goddaughter to the Queen and that Sir Robert is not deceived by the tale of a lover in kilts. I’ll tell you true, good friends. If the master is anything like his men, I hope to heaven that sweet lady is never apprehended.” Jonathan paused and sighed theatrically. “Would I could meet her! I hear tell she is fair of face, and she can ride a horse like Diana the Huntress. Oh, what a ballad I would compose in her honor!”
Tarleton laughed in a deep, jovial way. With a knowing look at Elizabeth, he observed, “It sounds as if you’ve fallen in love with the lady sight unseen, Master Biggs.”
“Jonathan falls in love at the drop of a hat,” remarked Philip calmly.
The young lawyer drew himself up. “I have already suffered grievous bodily injury on her account, my friend, and I would do it again if I had but one sweet look from such a lady!” Jonathan’s face softened into a dreamy state.
“I would hold out for a kiss, myself,” Philip argued. “A loving look is well enough, but, if I am going to suffer for it, I’d prefer a kiss for my pains.”
“But she is a noble lady!” Jonathan looked a little hurt that his romantic ideal was being questioned. “She does not offer kisses to poor students. I would settle for a kind look.”
Philip snorted. “I would settle for the kiss and—perhaps, a glove to remember her by.”
Elizabeth could tell that Philip took pleasure in baiting his lovesick friend. No doubt the two scholars would have debated the issue for the next hour had it not been for the timely arrival of Smith, loaded with heaping trenchers of purloined food from the college buttery.
As Tarleton’s apprentice, Elizabeth went immediately to work, toasting slabs of bread on a poker and watching over the warming wine. Young Roger clattered noisily as he arranged cups, plates and knives on the table. Sniffing the food, Toby roused himself to take his place under the board, there to await the inevitable scraps.
Eating quietly by the fire, Elizabeth enjoyed watching and listening as the two youthful students dined with Tarleton. I shall remember all of this, she promised herself as she bit contentedly into a thick wedge of onion tart. In the years to come...
She did not want to think about the bleakness of the years to come without Tarleton’s rich, merry voice in her ear, without his strong arms around her holding her nightmares at bay, without his fiery love to light up her heart. No, she would live fully each of these golden moments, and store them, like a treasure horde, in the velvet-lined box of her memory.
At the end of the meal, Jonathan rocked back on his stool. “Now, let us turn our dull and sluggish brains to merrier pastimes!” he waxed warmly, fortified by a cup of Madeira wine. “We have among our company a famous player—Master Tarleton! The question that I put to you, good Philip, is this, do we share our guest with the rest of our dronelike company? Or do we keep his merry wit entirely to ourselves?”
Philip pretended to ponder the question deeply.
Glancing over to Elizabeth, Tarleton gave her an encouraging wink. Thank the stars they had met Jonathan, he thought. Unknowingly, Tarleton and Elizabeth could have walked right into the arms of Sir Robert’s minions. Here, within the golden walls of Christ Church, the jester and his charge were safe, dry and well fed thanks to Jonathan’s gratitude. Tarleton was beginning to believe in Elizabeth’s guardian angel riding on her shoulder. He just hoped the angel wouldn’t fall off before the end of the journey.
Philip cleared his throat. “Ah, Jonathan, let us share the wealth. Our sniveling companions struggling with parchment and quill could use a bit of amusement. Good Master Tarleton, would you grace our humble Hall with your wit and witticisms?” Philip toasted Tarleton with his brimming cup. “I fear we cannot pay you with coin, only food and our good audience.”
“My pleasure is yours, masters.” Tarleton affably returned the toast. “Let us be merry this day and the devil take tomorrow!”
“May the devil take Sir Robert, too!” Elizabeth whispered into Toby’s friendly ear.
Chapter Fourteen
“‘Tis a goodly room!” Tarleton’s deep voice filled the empty hall. “By my head, sweet Robin, you are getting spoiled. After playing in such a fine place, you will think yourself too grand to sing for pennies at an inn.”
“I will sing wherever you are… master,” Elizabeth answered softly.
Crossing the polished floor, Tarleton leaned over her so that only she could hear his words. “I would have you sing by my side forever, sweetling.”
Elizabeth dimpled with pleasure as his honeyed voice filled her ear.
Leaving Jonathan and Philip to themselves for an hour or two, the jester and his apprentice rehearsed for their evening’s performance in the middle of the great vaulted Dining Hall built by Cardinal Wolsey in King Henry VIII’s time. The magnificence of the carvings and stained glass matched anything Elizabeth had seen in France.
“Ah! But wait until you see Hampton Court! Wolsey built that one, too.” Tarleton rolled his eyes in appreciation.
“Yes… Hampton Court…” murmured Elizabeth quietly. Hampton Court meant the end of her time with this wonderful man who stood close beside her, his arm flung companionably around her shoulders.
“Aye, I know, chuck,” he whispered, understanding her hesitation. “But let us put that distant palace out of our minds. We are here now.”
“So long as Sir Robert is not here, I am content.” Elizabeth smiled crookedly.
Tarleton noticed that one of the serving men strained to overhear their conversation. He is probably thinking that we are plotting to steal the students blind, and take the college silver plate, as well. Whirling away from Elizabeth’s side, Tarleton executed several handsprings in succession, ending with a spinning leap.
“I shall start with that to warm things up,” he announced in a loud voice. “Now, let us practice a little juggling.”
He handed Elizabeth his six colored balls. “Toss them to me, one at a time, when I call for them. When I have finished, I will toss them back to you, one at time. Ready, boy?”
“Aye, master!” Assuming her best manly stance, Elizabeth pitched the balls to Tarleton.
In a few moments, he had them all in the air, his hands whipping effortlessly about them.
What clever hands he has! Elizabeth admired. And what wonderful things he can do to me with those supple fingers! The memory of yesterday’s tender lovemaking filled her with a warm glow. Tarleton’s cheerful voice broke into her sweet daydream.
“Now, Robin Redbreast, catch!” He flipped the balls back to her. She dropped the last one and it went bouncing away under the benches by the wall.
“If that happens tonight, pretend it is part of the act,” Tarleton told her. “Remember, play the part always. Bluff and bluster! Now, try out your voice with the love song.”
She is a bewitching nymph! Tarleton’s heart beat faster as he listened to her sing “The Greenwood Tree.” When he spied her secret smile, he knew she sang the words just for him. I would take you back to that greenwood glen, if I had no honor at all.
The sounds of several hands clapping startled Elizabeth as she ended her song. Two serving men, a few scullions from the kitchen, and the steward himself stood at the far end of the vast room, smiling at her. She bowed gracefully to them.
“Ye have a sweet-voiced boy, Master Jester,” remarked the steward to Tarleton. “After you have entertained the young gentlemen tonight, we would appreciate a song or two in the pantry. You will find the college’s beer is the best in Oxford,” he added by way of enticement.
Tarleton grinned. “Robin and I would be honored, sir, to enjoy
both your company and your beer.”
Nodding, the steward waved his minions back to their duties.
Tarleton clapped Elizabeth soundly on the back. “I vow I have had better luck with you by my side, Robin, than I ever did alone.” His voice sank into a whisper. “And I am not only referring to the offers of free beer!”
Elizabeth blushed as her soul sang.
Formal dinner in the Hall that evening was everything Jonathan had promised it would be. Tarleton and Elizabeth waited in the anteroom while the stately dons and their robed students ate their noisy way through huge slabs of beef, thick wedges of cheese, buckets of beer, round loaves of crusty bread, and dishes of stewed apples and pears served in a sweet cinnamon sauce. Elizabeth’s mouth watered at the delicious savory smells that wafted through the crack of the door.
“Patience, sweetling,” said Tarleton, adjusting his cap. “Our dinner will be just as good anon. And Jonathan has offered us a place by his fire tonight. What more could we ask?”
Elizabeth arched her eyebrow mischievously. “A little privacy?”
Tarleton brushed her cheek with his finger. “In a college full of young men whose every thought is turned toward the fairer sex?”
The urge to kiss her seized Tarleton. Her tempting lips, glistening and pink, hovered near his. His desire for her swept over him like a sudden hot wind. It was all he could do to remember where they were, and that the steward would summon them at any moment. To distract himself, Tarleton fiddled with the ragged ribbons on his motley coat.
“I wish I had a needle and thread,” Elizabeth muttered, trying to take her mind off the exciting nearness of her love. Just now she thought he was going to kiss her. She was sure she had spied that intent dancing in Tarleton’s brown eyes. But the moment disappointingly passed. “Your tunic becomes more and more a shambles every time you put it on,” she grumbled.
Tarleton nodded. “Aye, it has seen hard wear these past two months. I must get a new one when I return to court.”
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