Chapter 24

TWO CHANCE WAYFARERS.

It was the feast of St. Thomas, the sky gray blue, with a pale, cold-looking sun, the Queen's highway frozen into an iron hardness, and the pools and ditches frost-bound. The wind had shaken the hoar from the trees and hedges, and the holly-berries stood out in brilliant bunches against the dark green of the encircling leaves. Along the road between Bristol and Gloucester, and, but for the wintry haze that narrowed the horizon, within sight of the latter city, trudged a burly fellow, staff in hand and a sea song on his lips. His thick shoon awoke echoes from hedge to hedge, and his iron-shod staff rang in unison. Hosen of warm, gray homespun covered his legs, and he had a doublet of the same goodly stuff; a cap, trimmed with otter-skin, was pulled down tightly over his ears, and an ample cloak of somewhat gaudy blue flapped in the keen wind; rime, and tiny beads of frozen vapour, hung like pearls in his black beard. He rolled in his walk as a sailor should, and sometimes he whistled the air of his song by way of change from the singing of the words.

"Then ho! for the Spanish Main, And ha! for the Spanish gold; King Philip's ships are riding deep With the weight of wealth untold. They're prey for the saucy lads Who dance on the Plymouth Hoe; They'll all sail home thro' the fleecy foam, With a rich galleon in tow-tow-tow, With a rich galleon in tow!"

The mariner swung his staff in rhythm with the swing of his chorus, and his hearty voice pealed out like a trumpet on the sharp air.

"A spirited song well sung!" cried a voice in the sailor's rear.

He turned sharply around, and found a thin, wiry fellow close at his heels. "_Madre de Dios!_" he cried, with a Spanish oath. "Where didst thou spring from? I heard no steps behind me."

"Hardly possible, friend, that thou shouldst hear a little fellow like me against thy song, staff, and heavier footfalls. I fell in thy wake out of the lane at Quedgely, and have been trying to come up with thee for the sake of thy jolly company."

"Is yonder parcel of huts Quedgely?"

"Ay. Thou art a stranger; Devon, if thy speech is to be trusted."

"Devon is my bonny country, lad--Devon every inch of me. Dost know Devon?"

"But little. 'Tis a brave shire, and breeds brave sons. Could I be born again, I'd pray to see the sun first from a Devon cradle."

"Thy hand, brother. If thou wert less yellow in the gills I'd kiss thee. Art for Gloucester?"

"I am."

"So am I, for to-day; to-morrow I go farther on. Dost know these parts well?"

"There are parts that I know worse; but I am not native to the place."

"Maybe thou hast never been in Dean Forest?"

The stranger looked at the sailor sharply and queerly. "Dean Forest," he repeated. "Yes, I have travelled some parts of that wild region. Thou art surely not thinking of going thither at this time o' the year!"

"By bad fortune, I am. And from what I hear, 'tis a dangerous place, full of fierce beasts and uncouth people. But go thither I must, for I seek a man I shall not find elsewhere. If thou wouldst find a hawk, needs must that thou find a hawk's nest; no other bird's will serve thy purpose--that is my position. Is there any chance that I shall light upon some forest fellow during Yule-tide business in Gloucester?"

"That I cannot say; but I may be able to help thee. Whom dost thou seek?"

"A Devon man, Rob of Paignton."

"Thou art hunting a bundle of hay to find a needle. The forest is a wild place, as full of holes as of hills, and its people are not much given to travelling or to gossip with any but their nearest neighbours. Hast no more precise knowledge?"

"None, except that Rob dwells with a tall fellow named Morgan."

Again the sallow stranger eyed his companion keenly. He shook his head. "Tall fellows are not scarce amongst the foresters, and Morgans are as plentiful as oak trees."

"Then am I like to be long a-searching. However, tired eyes ne'er found a treasure; I must find Rob and the fellow with whom he dwells. How far is it to Gloucester now?"

"A matter of less than three miles to the Cross."

"Dost know of a good inn, one where beef and ale is not stinted, and where the hay in the beds is sweet?"

"There's the 'New Inn' in the Northgate Street, as snug a place as a man can wish to put head into on a cold day. I shall rest there until to-morrow."

"Then I'll cast anchor there also. I can afford to pay for good lodgings." The sailor jingled some coins in his pouch, and sang again,

"Then ho! for the Spanish Main, And ha! for the Spanish gold."

His companion interrupted him. "When I startled thee just now, did I not hear thy lips utter a Spanish oath?"

"Likely enough; I have a goodly stock of them, and one jumps out at times if it happens to be near the top. How didst thou recognize it for Spanish?"

"Because I have some knowledge of that tongue."

The sailor turned sharp on the speaker, halted, and scrutinized him closely. "Thy face is yellow enough for a subject of King Philip," he said slowly; "but the general cut of thee is English."

"I am English."

"Hast sailed the Spanish Main?"

"No; I am a scholar, not a sailor. I am as well acquainted with French, Latin, and Greek as with Spanish and English."

"What a gift!" exclaimed the sailor admiringly. "There is not much body about thee; but now I look into thy face and mark thine eyes, forehead, and jowl, can well credit thee with brains. I wish I had met thee in Plymouth."

"Why, friend?"

"Because I have some papers writ in Spanish that I'd give much to decipher. Confidence for confidence, let me tell thee that I am no scholar, but just a simple sailor--"

"Who knows the Spanish Main, eh?"

"As a farmer knows his own duck pond."

"Ah! these are fine times for the brave lads who sail the seas."

"My own opinion, brother. I thank God I became a man whilst Queen Bess was a woman! The west wind blows fortunes into Devon ports nowadays. Mayhap thou hast no love for the sea?"

"'Tis the sea that hath no love for me. I am fixed ashore, and yet I love travel and adventure, and have seen sights in more lands than England."

"So! now. I'm glad thou hast not lived a worm 'twixt book covers. Thou art a fellow of some parts, I'll warrant me. There's plenty of spring in thy walk for one who hath pored much over books. How art thou now with, say, the sword?"

"I have held my own with fellows of more inches than myself."

The sailor pinched his companion's biceps, and took a grip of his wrist. "Supple enough, brother, or I'm no judge."

"Oh! I should second thee well in a tussle, never fear," laughed the little man.

"And give me a merry time should we draw on one another."

"Oh! we are not going to fight. I am a peaceable wayfarer, glad of a cheery companion on a dull day. But I would offer thee a scrap of advice. Jingle not thy money so easily to the first man that offers thee a friendly greeting. I have known the chink of gold turn a good friend into an ill foe."

"True, true. But I'll swear to thy honesty."

"A thousand thanks for the compliment."

Thus the two chance companions trudged on side by side to the south gate of Gloucester. There the pressure of a crowd brought them to a halt for a few minutes. There was a noise of yelling and booing, and some exclamations that caused the sailor's companion to wince.

The pressure at the gate slackening, the two pushed through and hurried after the noisy throng. "Some fellow being whipped at the cart-tail," exclaimed the man of Devon, stretching his tall form to look over the heads of the swaying mob.

"Two of 'em, friend; Papishers both," remarked a delighted citizen.

"Oh!" exclaimed the younger wayfarer.

The citizen pointed first to the right and then to the left. "Ruins of Greyfriars Monastery; ruins of Blackfriars. One rascal caught in either place praying that the doom of Sodom and Gomorrah might fall on our town, because he and his fellow vermin were driven out years ago. I must push ahead and beg the hangman to let me have a cut or two at them. They cursed me by bell, book, and candle--but not by name, thank the Lord: they didn't know that!"

"Why?" asked the little man.

"Because I--and many others, for the matter of that--have built a snug house out of the stone of the monasteries. I'll have a cut at 'em if it costs me a crown."

"Is this sort of thing to thy liking?" the sailor asked of his companion.

"No," was the sharp response.

"Neither is it to mine; although, mind you, I have seen these same Papishers play some devil's tricks on good Protestants. Paignton Rob, whom I seek, hath a head ill-balanced by the loss of an ear and its ear-ring, because the priests chose to set a mark upon him. But thou and I are of more generous blood; we have seen the world, and found honest men in all religions--ay, and rogues in them all too. Let us get to thine inn and drink a flagon of Gloster ale to all tolerant souls, whether they call the Pope 'Father' or 'Devil.'"

The sallow-faced man made no answer, but pushed on beside his burly companion.