two days later upon the Barbary horse from my lord's stables, with Joshua Dimmock riding sedately behind him, and travelled cross country at his leisure until the post road was reached.
‘Never at quiet!’ Joshua remarked to the heavens. ‘Court drowning at sea, court foundering in mire upon land: it's all one.’
‘Peace, froth!’ Beauvallet said, and made his horse curvet on the green.
They came within sight of the city late one evening as the gates were closing. ‘What, the good-year!’ Joshua cried, roused to wrath. ‘Shut Beauvallet out, is it? Now see how I will use these churlish Londoners!’
‘No swashbuckling here, crackhemp; we rest at the Tabard.’
The great inn showed welcoming lights, and placed her best at Beauvallet's disposal. He stayed only one night, and was gone in the morning over London Bridge to the Devil Tavern in East Chepe, where he had reason to think he might find Sir Francis Drake.
The host, who knew him well, accorded him a deferential welcome, and bustled about to prepare a chamber for his honour. Sir Francis lay at the inn indeed, but was gone forth that morning, mine host knew not where. But there was a dinner bespoke for eleven o’clock, and Master Hawkins would be there – nay, not Master John, but his brother – and Sir William Cavendish, so mine host believed, with some others.
‘Lay a place for me, Wadloe,’ Sir Nicholas said, and went out in search of Sir Francis, or any other friend who might chance to be abroad.
Paul's Walk was the likeliest place to find Sir Francis; he would be sure to go there to learn what news might be current. Sir Nicholas strode off westwards through the crowded streets, came in good time to the great cathedral, and ran with the clank of spurred heels up the steps.
Merchants and money changers no longer congregated in the church, as they had done only twenty years ago, but Paul's Walk was still the meeting ground for every court gallant who wished to show himself abroad. If a man desired to see a friend, or hear the latest news, to Paul's Walk he must go, where he would be bound to meet, sooner or later, most of the notables of town.
Beauvallet came up with a score of young gallants, exchanging Court gossip. His glance swept over these; he clove a way through them, and looked keenly round. Over the heads of two foppish gentlemen who eyed him with disfavour, he saw a bluff, square-set man, with a fierce golden beard, and longgrey eyes set slightly slanting in a broad face. This man stood with feet planted wide, and arms akimbo, talking to an elderly gentleman in a long cloak. He wore a peascod doublet, hugely bombasted, and a jewel in one ear.
Sir Nicholas pushed through the crowd, and raised his hand in greeting. The square man saw; his narrow eyes opened wider; he waved, and came to meet Beauvallet through the press. ‘What, my Nick!’ he rumbled. His voice had some strength, as if he were accustomed to make himself heard above wind and cannon-shot. ‘Why, my bully!’ He grasped Beauvallet's hand, and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Whence do ye spring? God's light, I am glad to see you, lad!’
Some heads were turned. A gentleman pushed forward, saying: ‘Beauvallet, as I live! Save you, Nicholas!’
Beauvallet greeted this friend, and others who drew near. With Drake's hand on his shoulder he stood bandying idle talk some little while, answering eager questions. But soon Drake bore him off, and they walked back together towards the Devil Tavern.
‘What news?’ Drake said. ‘I had word of you in the Main, ruffling still. What chance?’
‘Good,’ Sir Nicholas answered, and recounted briefly some of his adventures.
Drake nodded. ‘No mishaps?’
‘Some few deaths, no more. Perinat came out from Santiago to teach me a lesson.’ He chuckled, and flung out a hand on which a single ruby ring glowed. ‘Oho! I took that from Perinat for dear remembrance's sake.’
Drake laughed, and pressed his arm. ‘Proud bantam! What
‘Never at quiet!’ Joshua remarked to the heavens. ‘Court drowning at sea, court foundering in mire upon land: it's all one.’
‘Peace, froth!’ Beauvallet said, and made his horse curvet on the green.
They came within sight of the city late one evening as the gates were closing. ‘What, the good-year!’ Joshua cried, roused to wrath. ‘Shut Beauvallet out, is it? Now see how I will use these churlish Londoners!’
‘No swashbuckling here, crackhemp; we rest at the Tabard.’
The great inn showed welcoming lights, and placed her best at Beauvallet's disposal. He stayed only one night, and was gone in the morning over London Bridge to the Devil Tavern in East Chepe, where he had reason to think he might find Sir Francis Drake.
The host, who knew him well, accorded him a deferential welcome, and bustled about to prepare a chamber for his honour. Sir Francis lay at the inn indeed, but was gone forth that morning, mine host knew not where. But there was a dinner bespoke for eleven o’clock, and Master Hawkins would be there – nay, not Master John, but his brother – and Sir William Cavendish, so mine host believed, with some others.
‘Lay a place for me, Wadloe,’ Sir Nicholas said, and went out in search of Sir Francis, or any other friend who might chance to be abroad.
Paul's Walk was the likeliest place to find Sir Francis; he would be sure to go there to learn what news might be current. Sir Nicholas strode off westwards through the crowded streets, came in good time to the great cathedral, and ran with the clank of spurred heels up the steps.
Merchants and money changers no longer congregated in the church, as they had done only twenty years ago, but Paul's Walk was still the meeting ground for every court gallant who wished to show himself abroad. If a man desired to see a friend, or hear the latest news, to Paul's Walk he must go, where he would be bound to meet, sooner or later, most of the notables of town.
Beauvallet came up with a score of young gallants, exchanging Court gossip. His glance swept over these; he clove a way through them, and looked keenly round. Over the heads of two foppish gentlemen who eyed him with disfavour, he saw a bluff, square-set man, with a fierce golden beard, and longgrey eyes set slightly slanting in a broad face. This man stood with feet planted wide, and arms akimbo, talking to an elderly gentleman in a long cloak. He wore a peascod doublet, hugely bombasted, and a jewel in one ear.
Sir Nicholas pushed through the crowd, and raised his hand in greeting. The square man saw; his narrow eyes opened wider; he waved, and came to meet Beauvallet through the press. ‘What, my Nick!’ he rumbled. His voice had some strength, as if he were accustomed to make himself heard above wind and cannon-shot. ‘Why, my bully!’ He grasped Beauvallet's hand, and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Whence do ye spring? God's light, I am glad to see you, lad!’
Some heads were turned. A gentleman pushed forward, saying: ‘Beauvallet, as I live! Save you, Nicholas!’
Beauvallet greeted this friend, and others who drew near. With Drake's hand on his shoulder he stood bandying idle talk some little while, answering eager questions. But soon Drake bore him off, and they walked back together towards the Devil Tavern.
‘What news?’ Drake said. ‘I had word of you in the Main, ruffling still. What chance?’
‘Good,’ Sir Nicholas answered, and recounted briefly some of his adventures.
Drake nodded. ‘No mishaps?’
‘Some few deaths, no more. Perinat came out from Santiago to teach me a lesson.’ He chuckled, and flung out a hand on which a single ruby ring glowed. ‘Oho! I took that from Perinat for dear remembrance's sake.’
Drake laughed, and pressed his arm. ‘Proud bantam! What
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