Black Bartlemy's Treasure Part 11

"Aha!" says he at last, "'Twas you, was it?"

"It was!"

"And why must ye 'sault a n.o.ble lady?"

"I never did!"

"Gregory swears to it."

"Gregory's a liar!"

"Which is true enough--so he be!" nodded the landlord.

"And a cruel-hard man!" added his wife. "But Lord, young master, they do ha' used ye ill--your poor face, all bruised and swole it be!"

"Which it be!" nodded Roger. "Likewise cut! Which be ill for 'ee though--like G.o.dby here--I won't say but what I moughtn't ha' took a heave at ye, had I been there, it being nat'ral-like to heave things at such times, d'ye see?"

"Very natural!" says I.

"And then why," questioned the little peddler, "why break open the wicket-gate?"

"To get in!"

"Aha!" quoth G.o.dby the peddler, winking roguish eye, "On the prigging lay perchance, cull, or peradventure the mill-ken? Speak plain, pal, all's bowmon!"

"I'm no flash cull," says I, "neither buzz, file, mill-ken nor scamperer."

"Mum, pal, mum! I'm no more flash than you be, though I've no love for the harmon-becks as Roger here will tell 'ee. A peddler be I and well liked--wish I may swing else! Aye, well beloved is kind G.o.dby, specially by wenches and childer--aha, many's the yard o' riband and lace, the garters, pins, ballads, gingerbread men, pigs and elephants, very fair gilt, as they've had o' kind G.o.dby, and all for love! And yet, plague and perish it--here's me warned off my pitch, here's me wi'

the d.a.m.ned catchpolls on my heels, and all along o' this same Gregory Bragg--rot him!"

"As to all that, I know not," says I, "but this I'll swear to, you are a man, G.o.dby the peddler, and one with a bold and kindly heart inside you."

"How so?" he questioned, his bright eyes all of a twinkle. "How so, my bully boy?"

"That pannikin of water."

"Which you didn't get, my c.o.c.k's-body lad!"

"Which you were man enough to bring me."

"Which Tom b.u.t.ton did ye out of!"

"Which you knocked him down for!"

"Which is Gospel-true, Roger and Cicely, 'twas a neat throw. Tom b.u.mped heavy--aye, uncommon flat were Tom, let me eat worms else!"

"For all of the which," says I, cutting more beef, "I ask you now to drink a stoup of ale with me."

"Wi' all my heart!" cries the peddler.

"Then," says I, laying my money on the table, "let us all drink in fellows.h.i.+p, for ale, like fellows.h.i.+p, is a goodly thing and good things be rare in this world!"

"And that's true, o' conscience!" smiled the buxom Cicely.

"And ye'll find no better brew than our own!" quoth Roger.

"And that I'll swear to!" laughed the peddler. "Cram me wi' spiders else!"

So the good ale was brought and G.o.dby, lifting his tankard, smiled and nodded over the creamy foam:

"Here's a griping colic to every catchpoll, harmon-beck and the like vermin 'twixt this and London town!" says he, and lifted the ale to his lips; but suddenly he sat it down untasted and rose: "Friends, I'm took!" quoth he. "See yonder!" As he spake the narrow doorway was darkened and two rough fellows entered, and each bore a formidable bludgeon.

"Aye," says one, a big, surly-voiced fellow, "here be us, peddler, and there be you, so best come easy--an' no tricks, mind!"

"Then easy does it, lads!" says G.o.dby, no whit abashed. "No lamb could come milder than G.o.dby, aye lambs, doves and babes is roaring lions compared wi' G.o.dby--so easy does it. What is't this time, codgers?"

"Fower hours i' the pillory, three i' the stocks, and a month in Maidstone jail and that's what!"

"And enough too!" growled Roger the landlord, clenching hairy fist and glancing furtively towards a rusty sword suspended above the hearth.

"Let be, Roger--I'm a lamb!" sighed the peddler. "And I wouldn't ha'

you in trouble by me--besides this room o' yourn, though snug, ain't fit for struggling nor striving! So, friends--good-bye!" Then he turned away between his two captors, but as he did so, his bright eyes for one moment met mine and in his look I read appeal.

Now scarce were they gone when I got me to my feet, whereat the landlord, Roger, did the like:

"What's to do?" he questioned, glancing yearningly from me to the rusty sword.

"Why now," says I, counting out my reckoning, "bide you here--for your good wife's sake."

"Aye, do now, Roger!" she pleaded. "'Twould be ruination to us!"

"Moreover," says I, reaching for my cudgel, "they are but two, so bide you here." Then I stepped forth of the tavern and very soon came up with the two fellows, their prisoner walking betwixt them meekly enough. But, as I approached, they halted all three.

"And what be you after?" demanded the surly fellow.

"You!"

"And what d'ye want of us--hey?"

"Your prisoner!"

"Ha! And what for him?"

"I've a mind to him!"

"O! Ye have, eh?"

"I have. Do I get him?"