She took a stool and sat near his feet to listen to him.
“Now,” he began again, “if I be in truth a spy for Thomas Cromwell, Lord Privy Seal, where can I spy better for him than here? For the Cleves people are befriended with Privy Seal; then why come they to France, where bide only Privy Seal’s enemies? Now Norfolk is the chiefest enemy of Privy Seal; then wherefore cometh Norfolk to this land, where abide only these foes of Privy Seal?”
She set her elbows on her knees and her knuckles below her chin, and gazed up at him like a child.
“Tell me, husband,” she said; “be ye a true spy for Thomas Cromwell?”
He glanced round him with terror—but no man stood nearer than the meat boards across the kitchen, so far out of earshot that they could not hear feet upon the bricks.
“Nay, ye may tell me the very truth of the very truth,” she said. “These be false days—but my kitchen gear is thine, and nothing doth so bind folks together.”
“But other listeners—” he said.
“Hosts and hostesses are listeners,” she answered. “ ’Tis their trade. And their trade it is, too, to fend from them all other listeners. Here you may speak. Tell me then, if I may serve you, very truly whether ye be a true spy for Thomas Cromwell or against him.”
Her round face, beneath the great white hood, had a childish earnestness.
“Why, you are a fair doxy,” he said. He hung his head for some more minutes, then he spoke again.
“It is a folly to speak of me as Privy Seal’s spy, though I have so spoken of myself. For why? It gaineth me worship, maketh men to fear me and women to be dazzled by my power. But in truth, I have little power.”
“That is the very truth?” she asked.
He nodded nonchalantly and waited again to find very clear words for her understanding.
“But, though it be true that I am no spy of Cromwell’s, true it is also that I am a very poor man who craves very much for money. For I love good books that cost much gold; comely women that cost far more; succulent meats, sweet wines, high piled fires and warm furs.”
He smacked his lips thinking of these same things.
“I am, in short, no stoic,” he said, “the stoics being ancient curmudgeons that were low-stomached.” Now, he continued, the Old Faith he loved well, but not over well; the Protestants he called busy knaves, but the New Learning he loved beyond life. Cromwell thwacked the Old Faith; he loved him not for that. Cromwell upheld in a sort the Protestants; he little loved him for that. “But the New Learning he loveth, and, oh fair sharer of my dreams o’ nights, Cromwell holdeth the strings of the moneybags.”
She scratched her cheek meditatively, and then unfolded her arms.
“How then ha’ ye come by his broad pieces?”
“It is three years since,” he answered, “that Privy Seal sent for me. I had been cast out of my mastership at Eton College, for they said—foul liars said—that I had stolen the silver saltcellars.” He had been teaching, for his sins, in the house of the Lord Edmund Howard, where he had had his best pupil, but no more salary than what his belly could hold of poor mutton. “So Privy Seal did send for me—”
“Kat Howard was thy best pupil?” his wife asked meditatively.
“By the shrine of Saint Eloi—” he commenced to swear.
“Nay, lie not,” she cut him short. “You love Kat Howard and six other wenches. I know it well. What said Privy Seal?”
He meditated again to protest that he loved not Katharine, but her quiet stolidity set him to change his mind.
“It was that the Lady Mary of England needed a preceptor, an amanuensis, an aid for her studies in the learned language.” For the King’s Highness’ daughter had a great learning and was agate of writing a commentary of Plautus his plays. But the Lady Mary hated also virulently—and with what cause all men know—the King her father. And for years long, since the death of the Queen her mother—whom God preserve in Paradise!—for years long the Lady Mary had maintained a treasonable correspondence with the King’s enemies, with the Emperor, with the Bishop of Rome—
“Our Holy Father the Pope,” his wife said, and crossed herself.
“And with this King here of France,” Udal continued, whilst he too crossed himself with graceful waves of his brown hand. He continued to report that the way in which the Lady Mary sent her letters abroad had never been found; that Cromwell had appointed three tutors in succession to be aid to the Lady Mary in her studies. Each of these three she had broken and cast out from her doors, she being by far the more learned, so that, though Privy Seal in his might had seven thousand spies throughout the realm of England, he had among them no man learned enough to take this place and to spy out the things that he would learn.
“Therefore Privy Seal did send for thee, who art accounted the most learned doctor in Christendom.” His wife’s eyes glowed and her face became ruddy with pride in her husband’s fame.
The magister waved his hand pleasantly.
“Therefore he did send for me.” Privy Seal had promised him seven hundred pounds, farms with sixty pounds by the year, or the headship of New College if the magister could discover how the Lady Mary wrote her letters abroad.
“So I have stayed three years with the Lady Mary,” Udal said. “But before God,” he asseverated, “though I have known these twenty-nine months that she sent away her letters in the crusts of pudding pies, never hath cur Crummock had word of it.”
“A fool he, to set thee to spy upon a petticoat,” she answered pleasantly.
“Woman,” he answered hotly, “crowns I have made by
