The Armourer's PrenticesYonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
History
The Armourer's Prentices
Yonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
Great Britain -- History -- Henry VIII, 1509-1547 -- Fiction
our Harry’s name must have been Herod to withstand! ‘Stand up, Kate,’
said he, ‘stand up, sisters, and hark in your ear. Not a hair of the
silly lads shall be touched, but they must bide lock and key long
enough to teach them and their masters to keep better ward.’ And then
when the queens came back with the good tidings, such a storm of
blessings was never heard, laughings and cryings, and the like, for
verily some of the women seemed as distraught for joy as ever they had
been for grief and fear. Moreover, Mistress Todd being instructed of
her husband, led up Mistress Hope to Queen Mary, and told her the tale
of how her husband’s little brother, a mere babe, lay sick in prison—a
mere babe, a suckling as it were—and was like to die there, unless the
sooner delivered, and how our Steve was fool enough to tarry with the
poor child, pardoned though he be. Then the good lady wept again, and
‘Good woman,’ saith she to Mistress Hope, ‘the King will set thy
brother free anon. His wrath is not with babes, nor with lads like this
other of whom thou speakest.’
“So off was she to the King again, and though he and his master pished
and pshawed, and said if one and another were to be set free privily in
this sort, there would be none to come and beg for mercy as a warming
to all malapert youngsters to keep within bounds, ‘Nay, verily,’ quoth
I, seeing the moment for shooting a fool’s bolt among them, ‘methinks
Master Death will have been a pick-lock before you are ready for them,
and then who will stand to cry mercy?’”
The narrative was broken off short by a cry of jubilee in the court.
Workmen, boys, and all were thronging together, Kit Smallbones’ head
towering in the midst. Vehement welcomes seemed in progress. “Stephen!
Stephen!” shouted Dennet, and flew out of the hall and down the steps.
“The lad himself!” exclaimed the jester, leaping down after her.
“Stephen, the good boy!” said Master Headley, descending more slowly,
but not less joyfully.
Yes, Stephen himself it was, who had quietly walked into the court.
Master Hope and Master Todd had brought the order for Jasper’s release,
had paid the captain’s exorbitant fees for both, and, while the sick
boy was carried home in a litter, Stephen had entered the Dragon court
through the gates, as if he were coming home from an errand; though the
moment he was recognised by the little four-year old Smallbones, there
had been a general rush and shout of ecstatic welcome, led by Giles
Headley, who fairly threw himself on Stephen’s neck, as they met like
comrades after a desperate battle. Not one was there who did not claim
a grasp of the boy’s hand, and who did not pour out welcomes and
greetings, while in the midst, the released captive looked, to say the
truth, very spiritless, faded, dusty, nay dirty. The court seemed
spinning round with him, and the loud welcomes roared in his ears. He
was glad that Dennet took one hand, and Giles the other, declaring that
he must be led to the grandmother instantly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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