“and there’s many a deed i could wish undone, though the law might not
be broke;
and there’s many a word, now i come to think, that i wish i had not
spoke.”
the mercer’s stock, spread out upon the benches of the hall, was a sight at once gay and magnificent. cloth of gold, diaper, baldekin, velvet, tissue, samite, satin, tartaryn, samitelle, sarcenet, taffata, sindon, cendall, say—all of them varieties of silken stuffs—ribbons of silk, satin, velvet, silver, and gold, were heaped together in brilliant and bewildering confusion of beautiful colours. lady foljambe, mrs margaret, marabel, and agatha, were all looking on.
“what price is that by the yard?” inquired lady foljambe, touching a piece of superb cyprus baldekin, striped white, and crimson. baldekin was an exceedingly rich silk, originally made at constantinople: it was now manufactured in england also, but the “oversea” article was the more valuable, the baldekin of cyprus holding first rank. baldachino is derived from this word.
“dame,” answered the mercer, “that is a cyprus baldekin; it is eight pound the piece of three ells.”
lady foljambe resigned the costly beauty with a sigh.
“and this?” she asked, indicating a piece of soft blue.
“that is an oversea cloth, dame, yet not principal (of first-class quality)—it is priced five pound the piece.”
lady foljambe’s gesture intimated that this was too much for her purse. “hast any gold cloths of tissue, not over three pound the piece?”
“that have i, dame,” answered the mercer, displaying a pretty pale green, a dark red, and one of the favourite yellowish-brown shade known as tawny.
lady foljambe looked discontented; the beautiful baldekins first seen had eclipsed the modest attractions of their less showy associates.
“nay, i pass not (do not care) for those,” said she. “show me velvet.”
the mercer answered by dexterously draping an unoccupied form, first with a piece of rich purple, then one of tawny, then one of deep crimson, and lastly a bright blue.
“and what price be they?”
he touched each as he recounted the prices, beginning with the purple.
“fifteen shillings the ell, dame; a mark (13 shillings 4 pence); fourteen shillings; half a mark. i have also a fair green at half a mark, a peach blossom at fourteen shillings, a grey at seven-and-sixpence, and a murrey (mulberry colour) at a mark.”
lady foljambe slightly shrugged her shoulders.
“say a noble (6 shillings 8 pence) for the grey, and set it aside,” she said.
“dame, i could not,” replied the mercer, firmly though respectfully. “my goods be honest matter; they be such as they are set forth, and they have paid the king’s dues.”
like many other people, lady foljambe would have preferred smuggled goods, if they were cheaper than the honest article. her conscience was very elastic about taxes. it was no great wonder that this spirit prevailed in days when the crown could ruthlessly squeeze its subjects whenever it wanted extra money, as henry the third had done a hundred years before; and though his successors had not imitated his example, the memory of it remained as a horror and a suspicion. dishonest people, whether they are kings or coal-heavers, always make a place more difficult to fill for those who come after them.
“well! then set aside the blue,” said lady foljambe, with a slight pout. “margaret, what lackest thou?”
mrs margaret looked wistfully at the fourteen-shilling crimson, and then manfully chose the six-and-eightpenny green.
“now let us see thy samitelles,” said her ladyship.
samitelle, as its name implies, was doubtless a commoner quality of the rich and precious samite, which ranked in costliness and beauty with baldekin and cloth of gold, and above satin and velvet. samite was a silk material, of which no more is known than that it was very expensive, and had a glossy sheen, like satin. some antiquaries have supposed it to be an old name for satin; but as several wardrobe rolls contain entries relating to both in immediate sequence, this supposition is untenable.
the mercer exhibited three pieces of samitelle.
“perse, dame, four marks the piece,” said he, holding up a very pale blue; “ash-colour, thirty shillings; apple-bloom, forty shillings.”
“no,” said lady foljambe; “i would have white.”
“forty-five shillings the piece, dame.”
“hast no cheaper?”
“not in white, dame.”
“well! lay it aside; likewise three ells of the red. i would have moreover a cendall of bean-flower colour, and a piece or twain of say—murrey or sop-in-wine.”
cendall was a very fine, thin silk fit for summer wear, resembling what is now called foulard; say was the coarsest and cheapest sort of silk, and was used for upholstery as well as clothing.
“i have a full fair bean-flower cendall, dame, one shilling the ell; and a good sop-in-wine say at twopence.”
the mercer, as he spoke, held up the piece of say, of a nondescript colour, not unlike what is now termed crushed strawberry.
“that shall serve for the chamberers,” said lady foljambe; “but the cendall is for myself; i would have it good.”
“dame, it is principal; you shall not see better.”
“good. measure me off six ells of the cendall, and nine of the say. then lay by each piece skeins of thread of silk, an ounce to the piece, each to his colour; two ounces of violet, and two of gold twist. enough for this morrow.”
the mercer bowed, with deft quickness executed the order, and proceeded to pack up the remainder of his goods. when the forms were denuded of their rich coverings, he retired into the corner, and the jeweller came forward.
the little jeweller was less dignified, but more lively and loquacious, than his companion the mercer. he unstrapped his pack, laid it open at the feet of lady foljambe, and executed a prolonged flourish of two plump brown hands.
“what may i lay before your ladyship? buttons and buttoners of de best, paternosters of de finest, gold and silver collars, chains, crucifixes garnished of stones and pearls; crespines, girdles of every fashion, ouches, rings, tablets (tablets were of two sorts, reliquaries and memorandum-books), charms, gipsers, and forcers (satchels to hang from the waist, and small boxes), combs, spoons, caskets, collars for de leetle dogs, bells, points (tagged laces, then much used), alners (alms-bags, larger than purses), purses, knives, scissors, cups—what asks your ladyship? behold dem all.”
“dost call thyself a jeweller?” asked lady foljambe, with a laugh. “why, thou art jeweller, silversmith, girdler, forcer-maker, and cutler.”
“dame, i am all men to please my customers,” answered the little jeweller, obsequiously. “will your ladyship look? ah, de beautiful tings!”
“art thou englishman?”
“ah! no, madame, i am a breton. i come from hennebon.”
a sudden flash of suspicious uneasiness lighted up the eyes of the countess of montfort’s gaoler. yet had the man meant mischief, he would scarcely have been so communicative. however that might be, lady foljambe determined to get him out of the house as quickly as possible.
“i lack but little of thy sort,” she said. “howbeit, thou mayest show us thine alners and thy buttons.”
“i would fain have a gipser,” said mrs margaret.
while mrs margaret was selecting from the stock of gipsers a pretty red velvet one with a silver clasp, price half-a-crown, perrote came quietly into the hall, and stood beside amphillis, a little behind lady foljambe, who had not heard her entrance.
“here are de alners, madame,” said the lively little breton. “blue, green, black, white, red, tawny, violet. will your ladyship choose? t’ree shillings to free marks—beautiful, beautiful! den here are—bon saints, que vois-je? surely, surely it is mademoiselle de carhaix!”
“it is,” said perrote; “and thou art ivo filz jehan?”
“i am ivo filz jehan, dat man calls ivo le breton. i go from cornwall, where dwell my countrymen, right up to de scottish border. and how comes it, den, if a poor man may ask, dat i find here, in de heart of england, a breton damsel of family?”
lady foljambe was in an agony. she would have given her best gold chain for the little breton jeweller to have kept away from hazelwood. if he had any sort of penetration, another minute might reveal the secret hitherto so jealously guarded, that his sovereign’s missing mother was a prisoner there. her misery was the greater because she could not feel at all sure of perrote, whom she strongly suspected of more loyalty to her mistress than to king edward in her heart, though she had not shown it by any outward action. perrote knew the direction of lady foljambe’s thoughts as well as if she had spoken them. she answered very calmly, and with a smile.
“may breton damsels not tarry in strange lands, as well as breton pedlars? i have divers friends in england.”
“surely, surely!” said the pedlar, hastily, perceiving that he had transgressed against lady foljambe’s pleasure. “only, if so poor man may say it, it is full pleasant to see face dat man know in strange land. madame, would it please your ladyship to regard de alners?”
lady foljambe was only too glad to turn ivo’s attention back to the alners. she bought six for presents—they were a favourite form of gift; and picked out twenty buttons of silver-gilt, stamped with an eagle. mrs margaret also selected a rosary, of coral set in silver, to help her in saying her prayers, for which article, in her eyes of the first necessity, she gave 33 shillings 4 pence, and for a minute enamelled image of the virgin and child, in a little tabernacle or case of silver filagree, of italian work, she paid five pounds. this was to be set before her on the table and prayed to. mrs margaret would not have put it quite in that plain form of words, for no idolater will ever admit that he addresses the piece of wood or stone; but it was what she really did without admitting it. alas for the worshipper whose god has to be carried about, and requires dusting like any other ornament! “they that make them are like unto them; so is every one that trusteth in them.”
perrote bought an ivory comb of ivo, which cost her three shillings, for old acquaintance sake; marabel purchased six silver buttons in the form of a lamb, for which she paid 8 shillings 9 pence; agatha invested four shillings in a chaplet of pearls; while amphillis, whose purse was very low, and had never been otherwise, contented herself with a sixpenny casket. ivo, however, was well satisfied, and packed up his goods with a radiant face.
when the two itinerant tradesmen had shouldered their packs, and had gone forth, lady foljambe hastily summoned her husband’s squire. she was not sufficiently high in dignity to have a squire of her own.
“prithee, keep watch of yon little jeweller packman,” said she, uneasily. “mark whither he goeth, and see that he hold no discourse with any of the household, without it be to trade withal. i desire to know him clear of the vicinage ere the dark falleth.”
norman hylton bowed in answer, and went out.
he found the two packmen in the courtyard, the centre of an admiring throng of servants and retainers, all of whom were anxious to inspect their goods, some from a desire to make such purchases as they could afford, and all from that longing to relieve the monotony of life which besets man in general, and must have been especially tempting in the middle ages. a travelling pedlar was the substitute for an illustrated newspaper, his pack supplying the engravings, and his tongue the text. these men and pilgrims were the chief newsmongers of the day.
ivo dangled a pair of blue glass ear-rings before the enchanted eyes of kate the chambermaid.
“you shall have dem dirt sheap! treepence de pair—dat is all. vat lack you, my young maids? here is mirrors and combs, scissors and knives, necklaces, beads and girdles, purses of rouen, forcers and gipsers—all manner you can wish. relics i have, if you desire dem—a little finger-bone of saint george, and a tooth of de dragon dat he slew; a t’read of de veil of saint agat’a, and de paring of saint matthew’s nails. here is brooches, crespines, charms, spectacles, alners, balls, puppets, coffers, bells, baskets for de maids’ needlework, pins, needles, ear-rings, shoe-buckles, buttons—everyting! and here—here is my beautifullest ting—my chiefest relic, in de leetle silver box—see!”
“nay, what is it, trow?” inquired kate, who looked with deep interest through the interstices of the filagree, and saw nothing but a few inches of coarse linen thread.
“oh, it is de blessed relic! look you, our lady made shirt for saint joseph, and she cut off de t’read, and it fall on de floor, and dere it lie till saint petronilla come by, and she pick it up and put it in her bosom. it is all writ down inside. de holy fader give it my moder’s grandmoder’s aunt, when she go to rome. it is wort’ tousands of pounds—de t’read dat our blessed lady draw t’rough her fingers. you should have no maladies never, if you wear dat.”
“ay, but such things as that be alonely for folk as can pay for ’em, i reckon,” said kate, looking wistfully, first at the blue ear-rings, and then at the blessed relic.
ivo made a screen of his hand, and spoke into kate’s ear.
“see you, now! you buy dem, and i trow him you into de bargain! said i well, fair maid?”
“what, all for threepence?” gasped the bewitched kate.
“all for t’ree-pence. de blessed relic and de beautiful ear-rings! it is dirt sheap. i would not say it to nobody else, only my friends. see you?”
kate looked in his face to see if he meant it, and then slowly drew out her purse. the warmth of ivo’s friendship, ten minutes old at the most, rather staggered her. but the ear-rings had taken her fancy, and she was also, though less, desirous to possess the holy relic. she poured out into the palm of her hand various pence, halfpence, and farthings, and began endeavouring to reckon up the threepence; a difficult task for a girl utterly ignorant of figures.
“you leave me count it,” suggested the little packman. “i will not cheat you—no, no! how could i, wid de blessed relic in mine hand? one, two, free. dere! i put in de rings in your ears? ah, dey make you look beautiful, beautiful! de widow lady, i see her not when i have my pack in hall. she is well?”
“what widow lady, trow?” said kate, feeling the first ear-ring glide softly into her ear.
“ah, i have afore been here. i see a widow lady at de window. why come she not to hall?—oh, how fair you shall be! you shall every eye charm!—she is here no more—yes?”
“well, ay—there is a widow lady dwelleth here,” said kate, offering the other ear to her beguiler, just as norman hylton came up to them; “but she is a prisoner, and—hush! haste you, now, or i must run without them.”
“dat shall you not,” said ivo, quickly slipping the second ear-ring into its place. “ah, how lovesome should you be, under dat bush by the gate, that hath de yellow flowers, when de sun was setting, and all golden behind you! keep well de holy relic; it shall bring you good.”
and with a significant look, and a glance upwards at the house, ivo shouldered his pack, and turned away.
the mercer had not seemed anxious to do business with the household. perhaps he felt that his wares were scarcely within their means. he sat quietly in the gateway until the jeweller had finished his chaffering, when he rose and walked out beside him. the two packs were carefully strapped on the waiting mules, which were held by the lad, and the party marched down the slope from the gateway.
“what bought you with your holy relic and your ear-rings, ivo?” asked the mercer, with a rather satirical glance at his companion, when they were well out of hearing. “aught that was worth them?”
“i bought the news that our lady abideth hither,” was the grave reply; “and it was cheap, at the cost of a scrap of tin and another of glass, and an inch or twain of thread out of your pack. if yon maid have but wit to be under the shrub by the gate at sunset, i shall win more of her. but she’s but a poor brain, or i err. howbeit, i’ve had my ear-rings’ worth. they cost but a halfpenny. can you see aught from here? your eyes be sharper than mine.”
“i see somewhat white at yonder window. but, ivo, were you wise to tell the lady you came from hennebon?”
“i was, sir roland. she will suspect me now, instead of you; and if, as i guess, she send a spy after us, when we part company he will follow me, and you shall be quit of him.”
the mercer glanced back, as though to see if any one were following.
“well, perchance you say well,” he answered. “there is none behind, methinks. so now to rejoin father eloy.”
norman hylton had not followed the packmen beyond the gate. he did not like the business, and was glad to be rid of it. he only kept watch of them till they disappeared up the hill, and then returned to tell lady foljambe the direction which they had taken.
kate’s mind was considerably exercised. as ivo had remarked, her wits were by no means of the first quality, but her conceit and love of admiration far outstripped them. the little jeweller had seen this, and had guessed that she would best answer his purpose of the younger members of the household. quiet, sensible joan, the upper chambermaid, would not have suited him at all; neither would sturdy, straightforward meg, the cook-maid; but kate’s vanity and indiscretion were both so patent that he fixed on her at once as his chosen accomplice. his only doubt was whether she had sense enough to understand his hint about being under the bush at sunset. ivo provided himself with a showy brooch of red glass set in gilt copper, which kate was intended to accept as gold and rubies; and leaving his pack under the care of his fellow conspirator—for ivo was really the pedlar which roland was not—he slipped back to hazelwood, and shortly before the sun set was prowling about in the neighbourhood of the bush which stood just outside the gate of hazelwood manor. before he had been there many minutes, a light, tripping footstep was heard; and poor, foolish kate, with the blue drops in her ears, came like a giddy fly into the web of ivo the spider.
