“Oh, not I,” said Dickens, shaking his head emphatically. “I fear I may be overmatched.”
“You need fear no match for bluster, nor yet for arrogance,” said Molly.
“The lady would seem to bear you little love,” said Corwin to his friend.
“Bear you a mountain, sir,” she said to him, “then I assure you, ‘twould be as a kernel next to the love he bears for his own self.”
“I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, Molly,” said Dickens, throwing his hands up in surrender. “I know you of old, and I see now you have not changed.”
“Aye, nor have you, and more’s the pity,” she said, as she picked up the empty tankards and departed.
Dickens looked after her and sighed. “Go as you will, Molly,” he said. “Keep your way, for I have done.”
“And well done, I should think,” said Corwin. “The lady’s temper is as fiery as her hair.”
“Ah, you noted that, did you?”
“I did, indeed. As I did also note that Master Leonardo has a daughter of surpassing beauty. I meant to ask you about her. Did you mark her when they left together in his carriage?”
Dickens shrugged. “I recall a dusky-looking wench with long, dark tresses, but beyond that, I did not mark her in any one particular. In truth, she did not strike me as any great beauty.”
“Then you must not have marked her well,” protested Corwin, “for to me she was the sweetest lady that ever I had looked on, a girl with a temperament as modest as your Molly’s is tempestuous.”
“Think you so?” He turned to the players with a smirk. “How do you like my friend here? So astute a judge of character and nature is he that he may deduce a lady’s temperament merely by observing how she sits inside a carriage! Faith, and I would swear that she did never utter but one word, modestly or otherwise, in the brief time that we saw her!”
“You may jest, Ben,” said Corwin, “but her demeanor was demure and sweet, ‘twas clear and evident to me. I tell you that I have never seen such a rare jewel.”
“You speak as if this were a jewel you would possess,” said Dickens.
“Indeed, I would, if there were a way to make her mine,” said Corwin, “for after seeing her, I do not believe that I could suffer to have any other man but me possess her.”
“This lady must be a jewel of great rarity, indeed, to make a man so covet the possession of her,” Smythe said.
“Had you but seen her, sir, then you would have had no doubt upon that score, despite what my friend Ben says. He sees no special virtue in any one woman, as he loves all the fair sex equally. Or so he claims.”
“Well, some better than others,” Dickens said, with a grin. “Or at least more often.”
“Again, you jest, but I remain in earnest,” Corwin said. “I was hoping that you would speak on my behalf to Master Leonardo.”
“Odd’s blood, but you must truly be in earnest! Do you mean to turn husband, then?”
“Though I had often sworn the contrary, I daresay I would forswear myself if sweet Hera would agree to be my wife.”
“Good Lord! Has not the world but one man who will wear his cap with suspicion? Shall I never see a bachelor of threescore again? Why do you come to me with this? Why not ask Master Peters to speak on your behalf, instead?” asked Dickens.
“I shall, indeed, ask him to speak for me. But Master Leonardo knows you better, and I could see that he held you in high respect.”
“You flatter me from selfish motives. I see you are a knave, sir.”
“Nay, Ben, truly____________________”
“Oh, very well then, thrust your neck into a yoke and wear the print of it if that is what you wish. I shall speak to Master Leonardo for you.”
“Who is this Master Leonardo, Ben?” asked Burbage.
“He is a merchant trader with his own ship, lately come from Genoa,” Dickens replied. “I sailed from the Netherlands with him. He has made his fortune in voyages to the New World and has now come to make his home in London.”
Burbage looked as if he might have had another question, but at that moment, their attention was distracted by all the noise coming from outside. The sounds of people shouting, screaming, and running rose rapidly outside on the street, followed by the sounds of hoofbeats clattering on the cobblestones.
“Another bloody riot,” Courtney Stackpole said gruffly, coming out from behind the bar with a thick adze handle in his hand. “If they break my windows once again, so help me, I’ll have somebody’s guts for garters!”
“It sounds as if the sheriffs men are riding them down to break it up,” said Fleming.
No sooner had he spoken than the front door was flung open with a bang and two tough-looking young men came stumbling in, out of breath from running. They slammed the door behind them and leaned against it, as if to hold off pursuit. One of them, Smythe noticed, was brandishing a club, while the other held a good-sized dagger.
2
I‘LL BE THANKING YE TO turn right around and haul your carcasses back out into the street, afore I break both of your heads open,” Stackpole said, in a voice that clearly brooked no argument.
The two apprentices glared at him belligerently, but his imposing presence made them think twice about making any rude retorts. “We want no trouble, see?” one of them said. He smiled and made a show of sheathing his knife. He put his hands out to his sides, then nudged his pockmarked friend to drop his club. “Nice and peaceful, eh? We have no quarrel with you, Innkeeper, nor would we be wanting one. We’d just like to buy ourselves a pint or two now, with your kind permission, and then be on our way, right?”
Stackpole pointed at them with the adze handle. “A pint apiece,” he said gruffly, “and then be off with ye. And mind, I’ll be remembering your faces. If I get me windows broken once again, ‘tis you that I’ll be looking for.”
“Well now, what if ‘twasn’t us who broke ‘em then, eh?” the pockmarked apprentice said. Smythe noted that he had one of those unpleasant, sneering sorts of faces that wore a perpetual expression of insolent aggression.
“I suppose ‘twould add incentive then for you to persuade the other Steady Boys you run with to leave Master Stackpole’s windows well enough alone,” said Dickens.
They glanced toward him sharply, then Smythe saw recognition dawn on both their faces. “Well, smite me, if it ain’t Ben Dickens!” the first one said. Unlike his pockmarked friend, he was rather handsome in a pugnacious sort of way, with a thick shock of black hair and deeply set, dark eyes that glinted with insolent amusement.
“ ‘Allo, Jack,” said Dickens. “ ‘Allo, Bruce.”
“When did you get back, then?” asked Jack, approaching him.
“Only just this morning,” Dickens replied.
“Come back to visit some of your old friends, I see,” said Bruce, who seemed to have a whiney, spiteful tone no matter what he said. “But there were some old friends I suppose ye couldn’t be bothered with, eh?”
“Nothing of the sort,” Dickens replied. “I first went to pay my respects to Master Peters, as ‘twas only right and proper. ‘Twas there I encountered my new friend, Will Shakespeare here. Upon discovering that he had joined the Queen’s Men, my old company, why I at once informed him that I would next be coming here to pay them my respects. Now, had I encountered you and Jack first, then I might well have stopped by at your shop before ever coming here, although ‘twould seem from what I heard outside just now that I would not have found you there. Either way, lads, never let it be said that Ben Dickens would slight any of his old friends. Not even you, Bruce.”
“Oh, and what’s that supposed to mean then, eh?” asked Bruce, taking a step towards him belligerently. However, his fellow apprentice quickly intervened.
“It means that he remembers his old friends, Bruce. Just as he remembers still how easily you can be baited. Don’t get your back up. It’s just our old friend Ben, see?”