Part 7 (2/2)
The master-player's cheeks were flushed with triumph, and his dark eyes danced with pride. ”Ay, Nicholas Skylark; 'tis thou they mean.”
The viol and the music came again from overhead, and when they ceased Nick sang the little song once more. And when the master-player had taken him outside, and the play was over, some fine ladies came and kissed him, to his great confusion; for no one but his mother or his kin had ever done so before, and these had much perfume about them, musk and rose-attar, so that they smelled like rose-mallows in July. The players of the Lord Admiral's company were going about shaking hands with Carew and with each other as if they had not met for years, and slapping one another upon the back; and one came over, a tall, solemn, black-haired man, he who had written the song, and stood with his feet apart and stared at Nick, but spoke never a word, which Nick thought was very singular. But as he turned away he said, with a world of pity in his voice, ”And I have writ two hundred plays, yet never saw thy like.
Lad, lad, thou art a jewel in a wild swine's snout!” which Nick did not understand at all; nor why Master Carew said so sharply, ”Come, Heywood, hold thy blabbing tongue; we are all in the same sty.”
”Speak for thyself, Gat Carew!” answered Master Heywood, firmly. ”I'll have no hand in this affair, I tell thee once for all!”
Master Carew flushed queerly and bit his lip, and, turning hastily away, took Nick to walk about the town. Nick then, for the first time, looked into his hand to see what the man upon the stage had given him. It was a gold rose-n.o.ble.
CHAPTER X
AFTER THE PLAY
Through the high streets of the third city of the realm Master Gaston Carew strode as if he were a very king, and Coventry his kingdom.
There was music everywhere,--of pipers and fiddlers, drums, tabrets, flutes, and horns,--and there were dancing bears upon the corners, with minstrels, jugglers, chapmen crying their singsong wares, and such a mighty hurly-burly as Nick had never seen before. And wherever there was a wonder to be seen, Carew had Nick see it, though it cost a penny a peep, and lifted him to watch the fencing and quarter-staff play in the market-place. And at one of the gay booths he bought gilt ginger-nuts and caraway cakes with currants on the top, and gave them all to Nick, who thanked him kindly, but said, if Master Carew pleased, he'd rather have his supper, for he was very hungry.
”Why, to be sure,” said Carew, and tossed a silver penny for a scramble to the crowd; ”thou shalt have the finest supper in the town.”
Whereupon, bowing to all the great folk they met, and being bowed to most politely in return, they came to the Three Tuns.
Stared at by a hundred curious eyes, made way for everywhere, and followed by wondering exclamations of envy, it was little wonder that Nick, a simple country lad, at last began to think that there was not in all the world another gentleman so grand as Master Gaston Carew, and also to have a pleasant notion that Nicholas Attwood was no bad fellow himself.
The lordly innkeeper came smirking and bobbing obsequiously about, with his freshest towel on his arm, and took the master-player's order as a dog would take a bone.
”Here, sirrah,” said Carew, haughtily; ”fetch us some repast, I care not what, so it be wholesome food--a green Banbury cheese, some simnel bread and oat-cakes; a pudding, hark 'e, sweet and full of plums, with honey and a pasty--a meat pasty, marry, a pasty made of fat and toothsome eels; and moreover, fellow, ale to wash it down--none of thy penny ale, mind ye, too weak to run out of the spigot, but snapping good brew--dost take me?--with beef and mustard, tripe, herring, and a good fat capon broiled to a turn!”
The innkeeper gaped like a fish.
”How now, sirrah? Dost think I cannot pay thy score?” quoth Carew, sharply.
”Nay, nay,” stammered the host; ”but, sir, where--where will ye put it all without bursting into bits?”
”Be off with thee!” cried Carew, sharply. ”That is my affair. Nay, Nick,” said he, laughing at the boy's, astonished look; ”we shall not burst. What we do not have to-night we'll have in the morning. 'Tis the way with these inns,--to feed the early birds with sc.r.a.ps,--so the more we leave from supper the more we'll have for breakfast. And thou wilt need a good breakfast to ride on all day long.”
”Ride?” exclaimed Nick. ”Why, sir, I was minded to walk back to Stratford, and keep my gold rose-n.o.ble whole.”
”Walk?” cried the master-player, scornfully. ”Thou, with thy golden throat? Nay, Nicholas, thou shalt ride to-morrow like a very king, if I have to pay for the horse myself, twelvepence the day!” and with that he began chuckling as if it were a joke.
But Nick stood up, and, bowing, thanked him gratefully; at which the master-player went from chuckling to laughing, and leered at Nick so oddly that the boy would have thought him tipsy, save that there had been nothing yet to drink. And a queer sense of uneasiness came creeping over him as he watched the master-player's eyes opening and shutting, opening and shutting, so that one moment he seemed to be staring and the next almost asleep; though all the while his keen, dark eyes peered out from between the lids like old dog-foxes from their holes, looking Nick over from head to foot, and from foot to head again, as if measuring him with an ellwand.
When the supper came, filling the whole table and the sideboard too, Nick arose to serve the meat as he was used at home; but, ”Nay, Nicholas Skylark, my honey-throat,” cried Carew, ”sit thee down! Thou wait on me--thou songster of the silver tongue? Nay, nay, sweetheart; the knave shall wait on thee, or I'll wait on thee myself--I will, upon my word!
Why, Nick, I tell thee I love thee, and dost think I'd let thee wait or walk? nay, nay, thou'lt ride to-morrow like a king, and have all Stratford wait for thee!” At this he chuckled so that he almost choked upon a mouthful of bread and meat.
”Canst ride, Nicholas?”
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