After Gilbert Branche had left, Lady Mathilda sat down at her distaff to compose herself, and Johanna withdrew to take off her best gown. It was not long before Sir Frederick returned, and his face showed no sign of trouble.
“Hast found the key?” demanded Lady Mathilda delightedly.
“Nay, I bethought me, after I left, that it could do the rogue no possible good. The council meets tomorrow, and then will be time enough to see to getting another key. Meanwhile I have much of interest to tell thee. Where is Johanna? It concerns her not a little.”
Johanna had already heard her father’s voice, and had hurried down to hear what news he brought. Sir Frederick threw himself down in the high-backed chair, and Johanna perched forthwith on the arm.
“What didst think of the young Gilbert Branche?” Sir Frederick smoothed his short beard with one hand and looked at Johanna quizzically.
Johanna blushed and cast down her eyes. Then feeling that she must say something, she looked up. “Father, didst ever see so many buttons as Sir Richard wore? Why dost thou not have buttons on thy tunic as well as fine embroidery to edge it?” and as she spoke she picked up the edge of his long sleeve and fingered it.
“Sir Richard is a rich merchant and an honest Englishman, which is the highest praise can be given any man. He owns a small fleet of ships, and it is of that that I must tell thee. He has persuaded me to go into a venture with him, and I have even today ordered a ship to be built. What thinkest thou of that?”
“Oh, Father,” gasped Johanna, “it is the best news I have ever heard!”
“How does it come about that thou, a Merchant of the Staple, canst unite with a Merchant Adventurer?” asked Lady Mathilda anxiously.
“True enough,” answered Sir Frederick, “it does seem as if we should be sworn enemies!”
“And why?” asked Johanna, startled at the idea.
“Because, child,” answered Sir Frederick, “the Merchant Adventurer is interested in the growth of homemade articles as he can export only those, whereas we Merchants of the Staple do not wish the wool, for example, to be made into cloth in this country as our interest lies in the exportation of raw wool. Dost not see the conflict?”
“Then why—” began Johanna again, but Sir Frederick went on:
“The time is close upon us when the conflict will be fiercer, but I can see that they must win out for the good of England. It affects not only our commerce but our navy. The sea is our wall of defense, and it will take ships to defend it. Dost remember that ancient pun that the Dutch made when Edward III ordered the gold noble to be struck with a ship design? They insolently asked why we did not have it engraved with a sheep instead. We shall yet show them,” and Sir Frederick rose and paced the floor, for his anger mounted at the thought.
Lady Mathilda grew still more serious. “Knowest thou not what happens to the man who is in advance of his times?” she cautioned. “Be careful, I beg of thee, for not all men can see as far as thou canst.”
“Have no fear. All will be well, and thou wouldst not have me do otherwise than as I see best. Within the year I shall have three ships, but the first shall be Johanna’s. Thou shalt name it, child, and the fortune that it brings shall go into thy dower. I have this day promised thee in marriage, when thou art of age, to Sir Richard’s son. However,” he hastened to add as if he did not wish to linger on this event, “that is far off, and need not be thought of yet.”
Lady Mathilda at this point burst into tears. Sir Frederick was astonished, and Johanna hastened to her side.
“Why, Mathilda!”
“Why, Mother!”
“’Tis nothing,” said Lady Mathilda between her sobs. “I do but fear for thee, and what with the loss of the key and all, I am upset.”
“Come,” said Sir Frederick kindly, “we talk of too serious things. Let us go into the garden,” and taking her by the arm, he led her through the wide door. Johanna followed, thinking of many things.
CHAPTER IV
Dismas Does Not Come
Deep in the fens above Boston was a small lake, landlocked at low tide, but at high tide joined by pools and streams, which met the swollen Lindis. On one of its sides was a large clump of huge willows, while on its other sides were boglands where sedges and rushes grew tall and luxuriant, and open marshes over which wild swans flew. Among these willows Tod of the Fens and his band of fenmen had built rude huts, and before them now they were gathered, cooking fish over a small bed of hot embers. Many small skiffs were drawn up at the water’s edge, and leaning against the trees here and there were heavy oaken stilts.
“He cannot get back except at high tide,” Tod said, as he turned the spit on which a row of good-sized salmon was fixed, “and it lacks a good hour of that. But the moon will be full tonight and I wager he will get here as he said he would. Could he but use the stilts with skill, and handle the skiff on his back, as we do, he would get here earlier.”
“Could he but use the stilts! Alackaday! He is like a young heron that has no control over his legs,” another of the band put in, called Heron himself, because he was the most skilled on long legs. “Have I myself not been trying to teach him, and have rescued him from the bog a many time because he does not pick the hard places, but falls on his head where the mud be the softest, and most likely to swallow him whole? ‘Egad!’ he says,’ ’tis the soft places I would choose for such falls as I do take!’ And who may this Dismas be, Master Tod?”
“Another who loves adventuring even as we do, good Heron. Have we ever asked who thou be?”
“Nay, it is true, we know not of each other except that we be a right good company, and that we do all wish to teach men what wisdom we can, and, after all, it is a merry life with all the world to fool! And who be the greatest fool this day?”
“Methinks it be this same Dismas, for has he not promised that given a week and a day, he would make all the townsfolk of Boston into as silly a set as could be found in the whole length and breadth of Merry England!” It was another of the band who spoke, a ruddy-faced, lightly built man with a comical twist to his mouth and a bald crown to his head.
“Thou art afraid, Tom True Tongue,” said another. “Thou art afraid he will win his wager, and that will mean the ducking stool for thee, for thou didst boast that thou couldst fool more men in a week and a day than he in the same length of time. Come now, tell us what thou hast done!”
“That is all very well,” said the one thus addressed, “but how knowest thou that we can believe his story? He will have naught to prove it, belike.”
“Thinkest thou I know not when men lie.” It was Tod himself who spoke. “Have ye not chosen me for master because not one of ye can tell a lie without I prove it on ye, and send ye straightway to the ducking stool!”
“Ay, ay,” shouted the others. “He that can fool Tod of the Fens then shall be master!”
“But thou, Tom, who art surnamed True Tongue, thou hast forgot the many duckings thou didst have before thou didst earn that title,” said Tod, laughing at the recollection he had of some of them.
“But, come now, let us all eat, for the fish is cooked to a turn. After we have eaten, we shall hear Tom’s tale, and then when the moon comes, we shall take sides in a tilting match.”
“Why not Tom’s tale now while we do eat?”
“Ay, why not, Bat, thou salmon-eater?” answered Tom instantly. “So that thou canst have my portion of salmon no doubt. I like not to share a trencher with thee, for thou pushest naught but the bones my way.”
“To the ducking stool with him, master, for he lies!”
“Nay, Bat,” answered Tod good-naturedly, “that be as true a word as he has ever spoken, for I have eaten with thee more than once. But come, fetch out the bread and ale.”
The men did as they were bidden without further urging, and when the meal was over, they stretched themselves on the ground at full length.
“Now, then,” said Tod, “I have thy account here, Tom True Tongue, and already ther
e be fifteen notches, a good reckoning for a week’s time. ’Tis the record so far.”
“And how stands Dismas’s?” asked another of the band.
Tod held up a second tally. “This be his, and so far he has but five, but he has until twelve tonight, and he says there will not be room on the stick for all the notches he will have earned.”
“And what think ye he is up to?” asked Tom True Tongue curiously. “Here has he gone each day, and when afternoon comes, back he hies with the greatest collection of clothes I have ever seen, and where think ye that he gets them? today he set off in a minstrel’s garb as gay as ye please, and with as big a bundle under his arm as if he were going to play the part of my Lord Bishop of Canterbury. ’Twas late when he left, for he spent the day playing a harp and practicing a song, which he seems to be trying to recall. ’Twas something about a noble Moringer. He will have to sing it to us when he has it well in hand.”
“Mayhap he would be caught and hung for a thief, if I had not shown him the trick of the Lindis whereby ye can leave your skiff in the rushes well above the bridge, and pick it up at high tide on the town side near Wormgate. It would not be so easy for him, belike, if he did not have that means of getting away. I have never known it to fail.”
“Nor I either,” said another fenman. “At full of the tide thou canst climb the wall, drop over on the ditch side, and below is thy skiff waiting as if guided there by some boatman.”
“’Tis easy enough to see that it is caught in the current at full tide and swept down. Just this side of the bridge a cross current hits it and carries it in.”
“Ay, truly, but it is only at spring tide that it works that way, and as I said, he is in luck, or some of the townsfolk would catch him at his deviltry.”
“How is it that he has collected his disguises?”
“By fair means enough, and for each of them have I given him a notch, for he says there be five fools who have given up their gowns to him so long as they thereby fatten their wallets, and he has proof enough of that!”
“Ay, truly, for has he not been mimicking around here, first as one and then as another, till I myself have almost been fooled as to whether he be himself or some one else?”
“Ay, and that is why I would know whether ’tis himself or some one else that we do know. Belike he does think to fool us all. Thou hadst best look out, Master Tod, or thou wilt no longer be master here.”
“Ay,” answered Tod, “but if ever he comes to stating that he is other than I know him to be, then shall ye see. Never fear that his tally shall be notched for me.”
“Thou dost know him then?”
“I did know him the moment I did lay mine eyes upon him, but enough of this! Come, Tom True Tongue, tell us what thou hast been up to!”
“Not much this day, forsooth,” began Tom True Tongue. “This morning I set out for Wickham Ford, and there sat I dreaming under a tree with my rod and line beside me. The sun was warm, and the flies did buzz delightfully so that I dozed. When I awoke, the sun was high, and I took out my slice of bread and my wedge of cheese, and thought to eat my morning meal. Coming along the road I saw a gay company of courtiers, and they be laughing and talking, and their mounts glistened in the sun with the silver trappings that they bore. They themselves were finely clad with hats and plumes, and dagged sleeves to their tunics, and the long toes of their shoes hanging far out of their stirrups. Then did I pretend to be asleep.
“‘Ho! Ho, there!’ called the foremost one, who seemed to be the gayest of them all, ‘a pest upon thee for sleeping there when good men do need thee to guide them! Is there a benighted town called Boston lost somewhere in these fens? If thou canst put us on the right road thereto, I’ll say thou art a better man than thou lookest to be.’
“‘Ay, thou hast the look of a rogue! But we’ll promise not to set the hue and cry after thee, if so thou set us straight,’ said another.
“With that they came plunging through the ford, and I sat up, and blinked, and slapped the air as if a gnat disturbed me. Then turned I over on the other side and thought to sleep again.
“‘How now, art deaf?’ and the leader urged his horse as if to run me over.
“‘Alack,’ quoth I, ‘methought I dreamed, and dreaming was I in an assembly of great and noble courtiers, and waking do I see nothing but the blue sky overhead and the green trees waving.’
“‘Then dream again, fool,’ vouchsafed another, ‘and tell these same dream courtiers the way to Boston town, for we have not the time to give to thy dreaming and thy waking.’
“‘So be it,’ I answered, ‘since they wish to go to Boston town so must they come out of my dream, for in it they do not go to Boston town but to the worst bog-hole that there be in the whole of this great stretch of fens. To get there needs must they follow this road, until at the next turning they bear to the right and come out upon an oozy stretch.’
“‘Heaven protect us from any oozy stretches, for well do I know that our horses would go in up to their ears,’ exclaimed another. ‘If this road leads to the worst bog-hole in the fens, then must we go the way we have come and seek some other way.’
“With that they wheeled their horses and splashed back through the ford, and as they went, I heard them say something about the madcap Prince Hal, at which they all burst into loud laughter.
“After they left, I continued my eating. Then did I fish. Along toward the middle of the afternoon I heard galloping, and back over the road came the cavalcade. They were not as gay this time, for they were splashed with mud from much riding. I concealed myself in an alder thicket.
“‘Alack!’ quoth one, ‘here we be but at the same spot that we gained this morning, but well do I know now that Boston does not lie far from here. It was that dreaming fool that did set us wrong.’
“‘Ay, we have him to thank for a fine day’s splashing, and had we but time I would hunt him down and give him a good sound beating that might wake him from his dreaming.’
“With that they passed from sight, and I doubt not that they reached Bargate within a short space, but they do know more than they did ere I spoke to them, for they must be well acquainted with the fens, forsooth.”
“And that be our motto indeed—to leave men wiser than we find them, so I suppose thou must even have more notches on thy tally,” said Tod when Tom’s tale came to an end, and the fenmen continued to laugh loud and long as they always did at Tom True Tongue’s drollery.
“Give me but five, for there were but five in the party, but if one of them was the madcap prince himself it seems as if it ought to count higher than anything Dismas can do!”
“Ay, ay,” agreed the band in unison.
“So be it,” answered Tod, “but wait until we hear from Dismas ere we decide! Now do ye, Wat and Perkin, divide us into two sides, for the moon is up, and we must be at our tilting.”
With that the men sprang up, and under Wat’s and Perkin’s directions, six skiffs were pushed off, two men in each skiff. One plied the oars and the other stood with a rough wooden shield and a wooden lance well up in the bow. First they rowed a good distance in opposite directions, then separating to allow for a good sweep of oars, they turned, and with strong and swift strokes of the oarsmen, they bore down upon each other.
The moon was well up and turned the willows on the water’s edge to a soft silver. The frogs filled the air with their steady drumming, and a light mist rose from the marshes and hung over the reeds and rushes.
The contestants closed in on each other, and there was the sound of lance striking shield as the boats passed close.
“How now!” cried Tod, as he made a mighty thrust at his opponent, “canst thou, good Cedric, parry that blow and keep thy balance?”
“Ay,” answered Cedric, “that can I, but thy lance is of stout oak or it would be splintered by this good shield of mine!”
“Back at him, ere he can turn!” shouted Tod to his oarsman, “and we will send him to the fishes!”
B
oth boats turned swiftly, and again came the crash of lances, but though the boats tipped dangerously, neither Tod nor Cedric showed any unsteadiness in his bearing.
Off to the right of them came a loud splash and cry. “Bat is overboard and he sat down right heavily,” cried Tom True Tongue. “’Twill be some time before he comes up, for he is no swan’s feather.”
Up came Bat, puffing and splashing. His boatman rescued him and his shield, but his lance was broken in two.
“’Twas my lance that failed me!” he sputtered, as he climbed clumsily into his boat, “but the water be cold enough to freeze a frog,” and he began to blow harder and to beat the air with his arms.
“Keep thy drippings to thyself or I will send thee overboard again!” cautioned his boat companion.
“Well, then, back to the shore with me ere I do freeze!” grumbled Bat.
Meanwhile on the other side of Tod and Cedric there was more splashing and shouting, for Heron was overboard and Perkin gloating over him.
“Thou canst not succeed at everything. If thou wilt outstrip us all on stilts, thou must pay for it by taking thy dousing in good part,” said Perkin.
“Ay,” answered Heron between gasps, “I would liefer take my dousing in good clear water than in the green slime I saw thee in the other day.”
Tod and Cedric were both breathing heavily, for they had been hard at it all this time, parrying, thrusting, and balancing themselves with great skill.
“Hast had enough or wilt thou on to the finish?” asked Tod.
“If thou are content, I would say that I am warm and comfortable now, and am loath to set my teeth to chattering,” answered Cedric.
The Young Adult Award-Winners Megapack Page 47
