and,if the sea offered the most, he felt a sick man's longing to be sparedtrouble, and a feverish desire for the salt breezes. Matthew, too,thought it philosophical to be above listening to the tales ofsea-perils which the brethren related, it need hardly be said, atsecond-hand; but it must be owned that he showed no desire to extend hisown travels so far as Exeter. Hugh went down the next day and talked tothe master, who at first shook his head.
"Two landsmen on board? Where could we stow ye? And if we met withrough weather we should have you crying upon all the saints in thecalendar. A sick man, too! How could he put up with our rough fare?"
"My father does not get frighted," said Hugh, indignantly, thoughpleased to be counted a landsman.
"Thou art a sturdy little varlet," said the master, looking at himapprovingly. "If my Moll had been a boy, I should have been content hadhe likened thee. But I would not have her other than she is, and thouwast good to her the other day. I'll come and see thy father, and if heis a good, honest man, and none of your dandy long-toed fops, he andthou shalt have a passage to Dartmouth."
The next day was Sunday, and, to the scandal of the grey friars, Matthewinsisted upon taking Hugh to St Bartholomew in Smithfield, the nobleNorman church of the Augustinian friars. There was a good deal ofjealousy between the orders, and each was ready enough to listen to orto repeat tales which told to the discredit of the others; so that, asMatthew said, black, white, and grey, each held their colour to be theonly one in which a friar might travel to heaven. Mass being over atSt Bartholomew's they went to great St Paul's.
This was in that day a splendid Gothic church, twice as big as thepresent building, and with a dazzling high altar. But, in spite of itsmagnificence, and perhaps partly on account of its size, it was anotorious haunt of cut-purses and brawlers, and all manner of crimeswere committed in the church; so that a few years before the king hadgiven the Chapter leave to surround it with walls and gates, treating itindeed as a town, and keeping out suspicious characters.
By this means matters had mended a little, but there was still a greatdeal of unseemly conduct which caused scandal to the more devout. Hughcame back to the monastery bursting with all he had to tell, and he wasbeyond measure delighted when his father said he would himself go outthe next day.
Before the sun had mounted high enough for Friar Luke to allow this themaster of the _Queen Maud_ arrived, and Stephen saw a sturdy, sunburntman, with an open countenance, blue-eyed, light-haired, wearing agarment of coarse cloth which reached to his knees, who looked as uneasyat finding himself in a monastery as a freshly-trapped pony from his ownwilds of Dartmoor might have looked in a walled town. His discomfortmade him surly, so that he gave the carver no encouragement for thevoyage.
"Hard living and a perilous life, my master."
"That does not affright me."
"Because you know it not," said the other, impatiently. "Here you sitin a drone's hive and hear the winds blow outside, and have no fear.With a plank for your wall you would tell a different tale."
"I have tried the plank," said Bassett, with a smile. "Though, as yousay, Master Shipman, we know not other's lives till we try them, andmaybe you, if you lived here, would think more kindly of what you call adrone's hive."
"The Church and the Pope swallow up all a poor man's savings," said thesailor, less gruffly. "'Tis nothing but fresh taxes, and these Lombardusurers are every whit as bad as the Jews. I would the king could makeas clean a sweep of them. To make money without working for it is a sinand a shame."
"The king does what he can."
"Ay, does he," said the other, heartily. "He is the poor man's friend."
"Truly."
The sailor looked at him. "Why, then," he said, "if thou lovest KingEdward--"
"No question of that."
"E'en come along with us. I am but taking down some bales of cloth andof silk, and as thou mindest not a rough life, and I have a fancy forthy boy, we may perchance rub along together."
So it was settled, and, in spite of the friar's forebodings, StephenBassett thought of his venture with an excellent heart. Hugh wasnaturally fearless, and, though the sea was a great object of dread inthose times, he believed his father knew best, and began to look forwardalso. But first he would have Bassett come forth for his promised walk,and without Matthew.
"He has been very good to thee," said the carver reproachfully.
"Ay, but he has always something to say against everything. This mightbe better, or that couldn't be worse. I believe he would find faultwith King Edward himself."
"Poor Matthew! He has the critical spirit," said Stephen, smiling.
"Is that what makes him so thin?" demanded Hugh, innocently.
"Ay. It often works that way, and is bad for the owner. Nevertheless,it has its advantages. Look at that bowl. If I listened to the goodbrothers I should deem it perfect; but when Matthew says, `Hum--I knownot--is there not something lacking?' I begin to search for a way ofbettering it, and presently find that he was right. So hisfault-finding does me a better service than all their praise. Keep thatin mind, Hugh. Now we will forth. I will buy some cloth and take it toone of the tailors' guild, that you may have a cloak for rough weatherlike mine."
This was a delightful errand, and when it was ended Stephen had not theheart to refuse Hugh when he begged that he would try to go towards StPaul's and see the noble church. The boy was very happy in acting asshowman, pointing out the beautiful spire while they were yet at somedistance. He had begged to bring Agrippa, promising to keep him coveredby a piece of cloth, and the monkey was sufficiently alarmed by thestrange noises and cries in the street to keep quiet. Hugh found it arare opportunity to ask questions which Matthew had been either unableor unwilling to answer.
"Look, father, look quickly! There is a woman with bread in herpanniers! What is she doing?"
"I have heard of her," said Stephen, stopping. "Friar Luke told methat, instead of folk being forced to fetch the daily bread from thebakers, there was now a woman who had got leave to take it round fromhouse to house. She has the thirteenth loaf for her pains. Trulythere's no knowing to what a pitch of luxury we may come! Are we nearlyat our journey's end, Hugh? My legs have fallen out of the way ofwalking, and are true sluggards."
He was in truth standing somewhat exhausted in the road under one of theblack-timbered houses in Ludgate Hill, when a small cavalcade of knightsand squires, some in armour, some in the scarlet cloaks of theHospitallers, came sharply round the corner, so sharply, indeed, that inthe narrow road one of the squires' horses struck Stephen and sent himstaggering against the wall.
The party reined up at once. Hugh had uttered a cry and sprung to hisfather's side, dropping the monkey as he stretched out his arms. Half adozen men-at-arms crowded round; one of the red-cloaked knights leapedfrom his horse, but they all drew back before one who seemed theprincipal knight, a man of great stature, with brown hair and thickbeard, and gravely searching blue eyes.
"Is he hurt?" he demanded. "That is your squire's rough riding, SirJohn de Lacy."
"My liege, 'twas but a touch," urged an older knight. "I saw it all.He can scarce be hurt." Stephen, indeed, had well-nigh recoveredhimself, though dizzy with the shock, and scarcely knowing what hadhappened or why he was surrounded by horsemen. Hugh, seeing himrevived, stared at the group with all his might, while the monkey,frightened to death at the horses, had run up a projection of the houseand perched himself upon a carved wooden balcony, from which he scoldedand chattered.
"It is nothing, I am not hurt," faltered Stephen; and then the colourrushed back to his white face, and he bent his knee hastily. "My Lordthe King," he stammered, "is it not?"
"Ay," said Edward, with one of his rare kindly smiles; "but it was not Iwho rode over thee. Art thou not hurt?"
"Nay, my liege, it is but that I have been ill. It was no more than atouch."
It had all passed quickly, but a knot of bystanders had by this timecollected, kept off by th
e men-at-arms.
"He speaks truly, my lord," said one of the Hospitallers who haddismounted. "He has not been hurt by the horse, but--"
He paused significantly, and Edward glanced at Hugh. "Come hither,boy."
So Hugh, crimson with wonder and delight, stood by the king's horse, andanswered his questions as firmly as he could. His father was awood-carver. They were going to Exeter to seek work--by ship, as hetook care to state; and meanwhile, because father had been so ill, theywere lodging at the Franciscan monastery in Newgate Street.
"And is that thy beast?" asked the king, whose quick eye had caughtsight of the