My lord maintained an unyielding front. “Do you count such foreign tricks a gain? What else have you to show for these years of junketting abroad?”
“A rare Toledo blade, brother,” returned Nicholas, unabashed. “A blade tempered in the waters of the Tagus, and inscribed with the name of Andrea Ferrara between eight crowns. Yet another such blade, from the hand of Sahagom. What, more? Why, then, a suit of Jacobi armour you yourself did not despise; an acquaintance with our cousins in France; an intimate knowledge of the French, the Spanish, and the Italian tongues—which I think ye lack—”
“The English of my forefathers sufficeth me,” said my lord grimly.
“You’ve no ambition, Gerard,” mourned Beauvallet.
“I’ve no vagrant spirit,” said my lord tartly. “Will you never be still? I pass over the Grand Tour; I may pass over even that mad emprise ye set forth on with Drake—”
“A thousand thanks!” Beauvallet’s eyes were alight.
“I grant you it was worth the doing,” said my lord grudgingly. “Ay, a rare feat, and all honour to you for compassing it.”
“Give honour to Drake, where it is due,” said Beauvallet, and lifted his glass. “We drink his health! To Drake, the master-mariner!”
My lord drank the toast, but without enthusiasm. “It’s very well, but why ye must needs cleave so fast to this same Sir Francis passeth my comprehension.”
“Does it so?” Beauvallet said. “But then, brother, you have not sailed the world round in his company, nor learned seacraft of him, nor faced sack, battle and wreck at his side.”
“Ye have imbibed unfit notions from him. A voyage round the world! Very well, very well, a feat indeed, and duly we honoured it. Ye brought home a store of riches, moreover, enough for any man. Then was the time to call an end to this wandering fever. But did ye? Nay, ye built your fine ship, and must needs be off again. A madness! A most damnable folly, Nick, give me leave to say!”
Sir Nicholas bowed his raven head in mock contrition. “I cry your pardon, good my lord!”
“Ay, and sit there as graceless as the day ye were first breeched,” said my lord, a hint of humour in his deep voice. “Nay, Nick, I speak advisedly. Ye have laid up a goodly treasure, as I know who husband it for you. Treasure come by in a way I like not, but let it go. There is the manor of Basing waiting for you any time you choose to go to it. My lady brings me no heirs, nor is not like to. I look to you. What comes to our house if you be slain or drowned? Get a wife, and be done with this roystering!”
Sir Nicholas lifted his pomander to his nose. “Give me joy, brother, I am about to get me a wife.”
My lord was momentarily surprised, but he hid it quickly. “In good time. My lady hath her eye upon a likely maid for you. We had thought on the Lady Alison, daughter of Lord Gervais of Alfreston, but there are others beside. Ye might go into Worcestershire for a bride. My sister writes sundry names might please you.”
Beauvallet held up his hand. His eyes were fairly brimful now with that secret jest. “Hold, hold, Gerard! I am going to look in Spain for my bride.”
My lord set down his glass with a snap that came near to breaking it. He stared under his projecting brows. “What’s this? What new folly?”
“None, I swear. My choice is made. Give me joy, brother! I shall bring home a bride before a year is out.”
My lord sat back in his chair. “Expound me this riddle,” he said quietly. “Ye jest, I think.”
“Never less. I give you a new toast.” He came to his feet and lifted his glass on high. “Doña Dominica de Rada y Sylva!”
My lord did not drink it. “A Spanish Papist?” he asked. “Do you ask me to believe that?”
“No Papist, but a dear heretic.” Sir Nicholas leaned on the goffered-leather back of his chair. With a sinking heart my lord noted the scarce curbed energy of him, the exultant look in his face. He feared the worst. The worst came. “I took her and her father aboard the Venture after the sack of the Santa Maria. More of that anon. Since she would have it so, and since to that I pledged my word, I set them ashore on the northern coast of Spain. But I swore I would ride into Spain to seek her, and so I shall do, brother, never doubt me.”
My lord sat still in his chair, looking up at Nicholas. His face was set. “Nick, if this be indeed no jest—”
“God’s my pity, wherefor should I jest?” Beauvallet cried impatiently. “I am in earnest, in deadly earnest!”
“Then ye are mad indeed!” my lord said, and struck the table with his open palm. “Mad, and should be clapped up! Fool, do ye think to ride scatheless into Spain in these days?”
The smile flashed out; Sir Nicholas nodded. “Ay, I think to come out of Spain with a whole skin.”
My lord got up out of his chair. “Nick, Nick, what devil rides you? We have no ambassador in Spain today. How should you fare?”
“Alone. The stars always fight for me, Gerard. Will you take a wager that I do not come home with a bride on my arm?”
“Nay, have done with laughing! To what a pass has this senseless love of
