Master Skylark: A Story of Shakspere's Time Read online

  MASTER SKYLARK

  A Story of Shakspere's Time

  BY

  JOHN BENNETT

  ILLUSTRATIONS BY REGINALD B. BIRCH

  1897

  "'MASTER SKYLARK, THOU SHALT HAVE THY WISH,'SAID QUEEN ELIZABETH."]

  ALL THAT NICHOLAS ATTWOOD'S MOTHER WAS TO HIM, AND MORE, MY OWN MOTHER HAS BEEN TO ME AND TO HER HERE I INSCRIBE THIS BOOK WITH A NEVER-FAILING LOVE

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER

  I THE LORD ADMIRAL'S PLAYERS II NICHOLAS ATTWOOD'S HOME III THE LAST STRAW IV OFF FOR COVENTRY V IN THE WARWICK ROAD VI THE MASTER-PLAYER VII "WELL SUNG, MASTER SKYLARK!" VIII THE ADMIRAL'S COMPANY IX THE MAY-DAY PLAY X AFTER THE PLAY XI DISOWNED XII A STRANGE RIDE XIII A DASH FOR FREEDOM XIV AT BAY XV LONDON TOWN XVI MA'M'SELLE CICELY CAREW XVII CAREW'S OFFER XVIII MASTER HEYWOOD PROTESTS XIX THE ROSE PLAY-HOUSE XX DISAPPOINTMENT XXI "THE CHILDREN OF PAUL'S" XXII THE SKYLARK'S SONG XXIII A NEW LIFE XXIV THE MAKING OF A PLAYER XXV THE WANING OF THE YEAR XXVI TO SING BEFORE THE QUEEN XXVII THE QUEEN'S PLAISANCE XXVIII CHRISTMAS WITH QUEEN BESS XXIX BACK TO GASTON CAREW XXX AT THE FALCON INN XXXI IN THE TWINKLING OF AN EYE XXXII THE LAST OF GASTON CAREW XXXIII CICELY DISAPPEARS XXXIV THE BANDY-LEGGED MAN XXXV A SUDDEN RESOLVE XXXVI WAYFARING HOME XXXVII TURNED ADRIFTXXXVIII A STRANGE DAY XXXIX ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

  LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

  "MASTER SKYLARK, THOU SHALT HAVE THY WISH," SAID QUEENELIZABETH

  THE LORD ADMIRAL'S PLAYERS. THE TRUMPETERS AND THEDRUMMERS LED, THEIR HORSES PRANCING, WHITE PLUMESWAVING IN THE BREEZE

  "WHUR BE-EST GOING, NICK?" ASKED ROGER DAWSON

  "WHAT! HOW NOW?" CRIED THE STRANGER, SHARPLY. "DOSTLIKE OR LIKE ME NOT?"

  "NICK THOUGHT OF HIS MOTHER'S SINGING ON A SUMMER'S EVENING--DREWA DEEP BREATH AND BEGAN TO SING

  "NOBODY BREAKS NOBODY'S HEARTS IN OLD JO-OHN SMITHSESSHO-OP," DRAWLED THE SMITH, IN HIS DEEP VOICE; "NORSTEALS NOBODY, NOTHER"

  "DICCON HAD OFTEN MADE NICK WHISTLES FROM THE WILLOWSALONG THE AVON WHEN NICK WAS A TODDLER"

  NICK PUT ONE LEG OVER THE SILL AND LOOKED BACK

  "OH, NICK, THOU ART MOST BEAUTIFUL TO SEE!" CRIED CICELY

  "THAT VOICE, THAT VOICE!" NAT GILES PANTED TO HIMSELF

  NICK GAVE THE SILVER BUCKLE FROM HIS CLOAK TO A BOY WHOSTOOD CRYING WITH COLD AND HUNGER IN THE STREET

  SO NICK RODE HOME UPON THE BACK OF THE EARL OF ARUNDEL'SMAN-AT-ARMS

  "WHY, SIR, I'LL SING FOR THEE NOW," SAID NICK, CHOKING

  "DO NA THOU STRIKE ME AGAIN, THOU ROGUE!" SAID NICK

  "OH, NICK, WHAT Is IT?" SHE CRIED

  MASTER SHAKSPERE MET THEM WITH OUTSTRETCHED HANDS

  MASTER SKYLARK

  CHAPTER I

  THE LORD ADMIRAL'S PLAYERS

  There was an unwonted buzzing in the east end of Stratford on that nextto the last day of April, 1596. It was as if some one had thrust a stickinto a hive of bees and they had come whirling out to see.

  The low stone guard-wall of old Clopton bridge, built a hundred yearsbefore by rich Sir Hugh, sometime Mayor of London, was lined withstraddling boys, like strawberries upon a spear of grass, and along thelow causeway from the west across the lowland to the town, brown-faced,barefoot youngsters sat beside the roadway with their chubby legsa-dangle down the mossy stones, staring away into the south across thegrassy levels of the valley of the Stour.

  Punts were poling slowly up the Avon to the bridge; and at the outletsof the town, where the streets came down to the waterside among theweeds, little knots of men and serving-maids stood looking into thesouth and listening. Some had waited for an hour, some for two; yetstill there was no sound but the piping of the birds in white-thornhedges, the hollow lowing of kine knee-deep in grassy meadows, and thelong rush of the river through the sedge beside the pebbly shore; andnaught to see but quiet valleys, primrose lanes, and Warwick orchardswhite with bloom, stretching away to the misty hills.

  But still they stood and looked and listened.

  The wind came stealing up out of the south, soft and warm and sweet andstill, moving the ripples upon the river with gray gusts; and, scuddingfree before the wind, a dog came trotting up the road with wet pinktongue and sidelong gait. At the throat of Clopton bridge he stopped andscanned the way with dubious eye, then clapped his tail between his legsand bolted for the town. The laughing shout that followed him into theWarwick road seemed not to die away, but to linger in the air like thedrowsy hum of bees--a hum that came and went at intervals upon theshifting wind, and grew by littles, taking body till it came unbroken asa long, low, distance-muffled murmur from the south, so faint asscarcely to be heard.

  Nick Attwood pricked his keen young ears. "They're coming, Robin--hark'e to the trampling!"

  Robin Getley held his breath and turned his ear toward the south. Thefar-off murmur was a mutter now, defined and positive, and, as the twofriends listened, grew into a drumming roll, and all at once above itcame a shrill, high sound like the buzzing of a gnat close by the ear.

  Little Tom Davenant dropped from the finger-post, and came running upfrom the fork of the Banbury road, his feet making little white puffs inthe dust as he flew. "They are coming! they are coming!" he shriekedas he ran.

  Then up to his feet sprang Robin Getley, upon the saddle-backedcoping-stones, his hand upon Nick Attwood's head to steady himself, andlooked away where the rippling Stour ran like a thread of silver besidethe dust-buff London road, and the little church of Atherstone stoodblue against the rolling Cotswold Hills.

  "They are coming! they are coming!" shrilled little Tom, and scrambledup the coping like a squirrel up a rail.

  A stir ran out along the guard-wall, some crying out, some starting up."Sit down! sit down!" cried others, peering askance at the watergurgling green down below. "Sit down, or we shall all be off!"

  Robin held his hand above his eyes. A cloud of dust was rising from theLondon road and drifting off across the fields like smoke when the oldricks burn in damp weather--a long, broad-sheeted mist; and in it werebits of moving gold, shreds of bright colors vaguely seen, and silverygleams like the glitter of polished metal in the sun. And as he lookedthe shifty wind came down out of the west again and whirled the cloud ofdust away, and there he saw a long line of men upon horses coming at aneasy canter up the highway. Just as he had made this out the line camerattling to a stop, the distant drumming of hoofs was still, and as thelong file knotted itself into a rosette of ruddy color amid the Aprilgreen, a clear, shrill trumpet blew and blew again.

  "They are coming!" shouted Robin, "they are coming!" and, turning, wavedhis cap.

  A shout went up along the bridge. Those down below came clambering up,the punts came poling with a rush of foam, and a ripple ran along theedge of Stratford town like the wind through a field of wheat. Windowscreaked and doors swung wide, and the workmen stopped in thegarden-plots to lean upon their mattocks and to look.

  "They are coming!" bellowed Rafe Hickathrift, the butcher's boy,standing far out in the street, with his red hands to his mouth for atrumpet, "they are coming!" and at that the doors of Bridge street grewalive with eager eyes.

  At early dawn the Oxford carrier had brought the news that the playersof the Lord High Admiral were coming up to Stratford out of London fromthe south, to play on May-day there; and this was what had set the townto buzzing like a swarm. For there were in England then but three greatcompanies, the High Chamberlain's, the Earl of Pembroke's men, and thestage-players of my Lord Charles Howard, High Admiral of the Realm; andthe day on which they came into a Midland market-town to play was one tomark with red and gold upon the c
alendar of the uneventful year.

  Away by the old mill-bridge there were fishermen angling for dace andperch; but when the shout came down from the London road they droppedtheir poles and ran, through the willows and over the gravel, splashingand thrashing among the rushes and sandy shallows, not to be last whenthe players came. And old John Carter coming down the Warwick road witha load of hay, laid on the lash until piebald Dobbin snorted in dismayand broke into a lumbering run to reach the old stone bridge in time.

  The distant horsemen now were coming on again, riding in double file.They had flung their banners to the breeze, and on the changing wind,with the thumping of horses' hoofs, came by snatches the sound of akettledrummer drawing his drumhead tight, and beating as he drew, andthe muffled blasts of a trumpeter proving his lips.

  Fynes Morrison and Walter Stirley, who had gone to Cowslip lane to meetthe march, were running on ahead, and shouting as they ran: "There'sforty men, and sumpter-mules! and, oh, the bravest banners andattire--and the trumpets are a cloth-yard long! Make room for us, makeroom for us, and let us up!"

  A bowshot off, the trumpets blew a blast so high, so clear, so keen,that it seemed a flame of fire in the air, and as the brassy fanfaredied away across the roofs of the quiet town, the kettledrums clanged,the cymbals clashed, and all the company began to sing the famous oldsong of the hunt:

  "The hunt is up, the hunt is up, Sing merrily we, the hunt is up! The wild birds sing, The dun deer fling, The forest aisles with music ring! Tantara, tantara, tantara!

  "Then ride along, ride along, Stout and strong! Farewell to grief and care; With a rollicking cheer For the high dun deer And a life in the open air! Tantara, the hunt is up, lads; Tantara, the bugles bray! Tantara, tantara, tantara, Hio, hark away!"

  The first of the riders had reached old Clopton bridge, and the bannersstrained upon their staves in the freshening river-wind. The trumpetersand the drummers led, their horses prancing, white plumes waving in thebreeze, and the April sunlight dancing on the brazen horns and thesilver bellies of the kettledrums.

  Then came the banners of the company, curling down with a silky swish,and unfurling again with a snap, like a broad-lashed whip. The greatestone was rosy red, and on it was a gallant ship upon a flowing sea,bearing upon its mainsail the arms of my Lord Charles Howard, HighAdmiral of England. Upon its mate was a giant-bearded man with a fish'stail, holding a trident in his hand and blowing upon a shell, the Tritonof the seas which England ruled; this flag was bright sea-blue. Thethird was white, and on it was a red wild rose with a golden heart, thecommon standard of the company.

  THE LORD ADMIRAL'S PLAYERS. "THE TRUMPETERS AND THEDRUMMERS LED, THEIR HORSES PRANCING, WHITE PLUMES WAVING IN THE BREEZE."]

  After the flags came twoscore men, the players of the Admiral, thetiring-men, grooms, horse-boys, and serving-knaves, well mounted on goodhorses, and all of them clad in scarlet tabards blazoned with thecoat-armor of their master. Upon their caps they wore the famous badgeof the Howards, a rampant silver demi-lion; and beneath their tabards atthe side could be seen their jerkins of many-colored silk, theirsilver-buckled belts, and long, thin Spanish rapiers, slapping theirhorses on the flanks at every stride. Their legs were cased inhigh-topped riding-boots of tawny cordovan, with gilt spurs, and thehousings of their saddles were of blue with the gilt anchors of theadmiralty upon them. On their bridles were jingling bits of steel, whichmade a constant tinkling, like a thousand little bells very far away.

  Some had faces smooth as boys and were quite young; and others woresharp-pointed beards with stiff-waxed mustaches, and were older men,with a tinge of iron in their hair and lines of iron in their faces,hardened by the life they led; and some, again, were smooth-shaven, sooften and so closely that their faces were blue with the beard beneaththe skin. But, oh, to Nicholas Attwood and the rest of Stratford boys,they were a dashing, rakish, admirable lot, with the air of somethingeven greater than lords, and a keen knowingness in their sparkling,worldly eyes that made a common wise man seem almost a fool beside them!

  And so they came riding up out of the south:

  "Then ride along, ride along, Stout and strong! Farewell to grief and care; With a rollicking cheer For the high dun deer And a life in the open air!"

  "Hurrah! hurrah! God save the Queen!"

  A dropping shout went up the street like an arrow-flight scattering overthe throng; and the players, waving their scarlet caps until the longline tossed like a poppy-garden in a summer rain, gave a cheer thatfairly set the crockery to dancing upon the shelves of the stalls inMiddle Bow.

  "Hurrah!" shouted Nicholas Attwood, his blue eyes shining with delight."Hurrah, hurrah, for the Admiral's men!" And high in the air he threwhis cap, as a wild cheer broke from the eddying crowd, and the arches ofthe long gray bridge rang hollow with the tread of hoofs. Whiff, camethe wind; down dropped the hat upon the very saddle-peak of one tallfellow riding along among the rest. Catching it quickly as it fell, helaughed and tossed it back; and when Nick caught it whirling in the air,a shilling jingled from it to the ground.

  Then up Fore Bridge street they all trooped after into Stratford town.

  "Oh," cried Robin, "it is brave, brave!"

  "Brave?" cried Nick. "It makes my very heart jump. And see, Robin, 'tisa shilling, a real silver shilling--oh, what fellows they all be! Hurrahfor the Lord High Admiral's men!"