“By Mars and by Apollo!” he said, “I was minded to wed with thee if I could no other way. But now, like Phaeton, I will cast myself from the window and die, or like the wretches thrown from the rock, called Tarpeian. I was minded to a folly: now I am minded rather for death.”
“How nobly thy tongue doth wag, husband,” she said, and cried in French for the rogues to be gone. When the door closed upon the lights she said in the comfortable gloom: “I dote upon thy words. My first was tongue-tied.” She beckoned him to her and folded her arms. “Let us discourse upon this matter,” she said comfortably. “Thus I will put it: you wed with me or spring from the window.”
“I am even trapped?” he asked.
“So it comes to all foxes that too long seek for capons,” she answered.
“But consider,” he said. He sat himself by the fireside upon a stool, being minded to avoid temptation.
“I would have your magistership forget the rogues that be without,” she said.
“They were a nightmare’s tale,” he said.
“Yet forget them not too utterly,” she answered. “For I am of some birth. My father had seven horses and never followed the plough.”
“Oh buxom one!” he answered. “Of a comfortable birth and girth thou art. Yet with thee around my neck I might not easily climb.”
“Magister,” she said, “whilst thou climbest in London town thy wife will bide in Paris.”
“Consider!” he said. “There is in London town a fair, large maid called Margot Poins.”
“Is she more fair than I?” she asked. “I will swear she is.”
He tilted his stool forward.
“No; no, I swear it,” he said eagerly.
“Then I will swear she is more large.”
“No; not one half so bounteous is her form,” he answered, and moved across to the couch.
“Then if you can bear her weight up you can bear mine,” she said, and moved away from him.
“Nay,” he answered. “She would help me on,” and he fumbled in the shadows for her hand. She drew herself together into a small space.
“You affect her more than me,” she said, with a swift motion simulating jealousy.
“By the breasts of Venus, no!” he answered.
“Oh, once more use such words,” she murmured, and surrendered to him her soft hand. He rubbed it between both of his cold ones and uttered:
“By the Paphian Queen: by her teams of doves and sparrows! By the bower of Phyllis and the girdle of Egypt’s self! I love thee!”
She gurgled “oh’s” of pleasure.
“But this Margot Poins is tirewoman to the Lady Katharine Howard.”
“I am tirewoman to mine own self alone,” she said. “Therefore you love her better.”
“Nay, oh nay,” he said gently. “But this Lady Katharine Howard is mistress to the King’s self.”
“And I have been mistress to no married man save my husbands,” she answered. “Therefore you love this Margot Poins better.”
He fingered her soft palm and rubbed it across his own neck.
“Nay, nay,” he said. “But I must wed with Margot Poins.”
“Why with her more than with me or any other of your score and seven?” she said softly.
“Since the Lady Katharine will be Queen,” he answered, and once again he was close against her side. She sighed softly.
“Thus if you wed with me you will never be Chancellor,” she said.
“I would not anger the Queen,” he answered. She nestled bountifully and warmly against him.
“Swear even again that you like me more than the fair, large wench in London town,” she whispered against his ear.
“Even as Jove prized Danaë above the Queen of Heaven, even as Narcissus prized his shadow above all the nymphs, even as Hercules placed Omphale above his strength, or even as David the King of the Jews Bathsheba above. …”
She murmured “Oh, oh,” and placed her arms around his shoulders.
“How I love thy brave words!”
“And being Chancellor,” he swore, “I will come back to thee, oh woman of the sweet smiles, honey of Hymettus, Cypriote wine. …”
She moved herself a little from him in the darkness.
“And if you do not wed with Margot Poins. …”
“I pray a plague may fall upon her, but I must wed with her,” he answered. “Come now; come now!”
“Else the Lady Katharine shall be displeased with your magistership?”
He sought to draw her to him, but she stiffened herself a little.
“And this Lady Katharine is mistress to the King of England’s realm?”
His hands moved tremblingly towards her in the darkness.
“And this Lady Katharine shall be Queen?”
A hiss of exasperation came upon his lips, for she had slipped from beneath his hands into the darkness.
“Why, then, I will not stay your climbing,” she said. “Good night,” and in the darkness he heard her sob.
The couch fell backwards as he swore and sprang towards her voice.
“Magister!” she said. “Hands off! Unwed thou shalt not have me, for I have sworn it.”
“I have sworn to wed seven and twenty women,” he said, “and have wedded with none.”
“Nay, nay,” she sobbed. “Hands off. Henceforth I will make no vows—but no one but thee shall wed me.”
“Then wed me, in God’s name!” he cried, and, screaming:
“Ho là! Apportez le prestre!” she softened herself in his arms.
The magister confronted the lights, the leering scullions and the grinning maids with their great mantles; his brown, woodpecker-like face was alike crestfallen and thirsty with desire. A lean Dominican, with his brown cowl back and spectacles of horn, gabbled over his missal and took a crown’s fee—then asked another by way of penitence for the sin with the maid locked up in another house. When they brought the bride favours of pink to pin into her gorget she said:
“I long had loved thee for thy great words, husband. Therefore all these I had in readiness.”
With that knot fast upon him, the magister, clasping his gown upon his shins, looked askance at the floor. Whilst they made ready the bride, with great lights
