“Husband,” she uttered, with her face set expressionlessly, “knew ye that the Frenchman’s cook that made the pudding pies had been taken and cast into the Tower gaol?”
Udal’s arms flew above his head; his eyes started from their sockets; his tongue came forth from his pale mouth to lick his dry lips, and his legs failed him so that he sat himself down, wavering from side to side in the window-seat.
“Then the commentary of Plautus shall never be written,” he wailed. He wrung his hands. “Whom have they taken else?” he said. “How knew ye these things when I nothing knew? What make of house is this where such things be known?”
“Husband,” she answered, “this house is even an inn. Where many travellers pass through, many secrets are known. I know of this cook’s fate since the fate of cooks is much spoken of in kitchens, and this was the cook of a Frenchman, and this is France.”
“Save us, oh pitiful saints!” the magister whispered. “Who else is taken? What more do ye know? Many others have aided. I too. And there be friends I love.”
“Husband,” she answered, “I know no more than this: three days ago the cook stood where now you stand—”
He clasped his hair so that his cap fell to the ground.
“Here!” he said. “But he was in the Tower!”
“He was in the Tower, but stood here free,” she answered. Udal groaned.
“Then he hath blabbed. We are lost.”
She answered:
“That may be the truth. But I think it is not. For so the matter is that the cook told me.” He was taken and set in the Tower by the men of Privy Seal. Yet within ten hours came the men of the King; these took him aboard a cogger, the cogger took them to Calais, and at the gate of Calais town the King’s men kicked him into the country of France, he having sworn on oath never more to tread on English soil.
Udal groaned.
“Aye! But what others were taken? What others shall be?”
She shook her head.
The report ran: a boy called Poins, a lady called Elliott, and a lady called Howard. Yet all three drank the free air before that day at nightfall.
Udal, huddled against the wall, took these blows of fate with a quiver for each. In the back of the kitchen the servers, come down from the meal of the Cleves envoy, made a great clatter with their dishes of pewter and alloy. The hostess, working with her comfortable sway of the hips, drove them gently through the door to let a silence fall; but gradually Udal’s jaw closed, his eyes grew smaller, he started suddenly and the muscles of his knees regained their tension. The hostess, swishing her many petticoats beneath her, sat down again on the stool.
“Insipiens et infacetus quin sum!” the magister mused. “Fool that I am! Wherefore see I no clue?” He hung his head; frowned; then started anew with his hand on his side.
“Wherefore shall I not read pure joy in this?” he said, “save that Austin waileth: ‘Inter delicias semper aliquid saevi nos strangulat.’ I would be joyful—but that I fear.” Norfolk had come upon an embassy here; then assuredly Cromwell’s power waned, or never had this foe of his been sent in this office of honour. The cook was cast in the Tower, but set free by the King’s men; young Poins was cast too, but set free—the Lady Elliott—and the Lady Howard. What then? What then?
“Husband,” she said, “have you naught forgotten?”
Udal, musing with his hand upon his chin, shook his head negligently.
“I keep more track of the King’s leman than thou, then,” she said. “What was it Longstaffe said of her?”
“Nay,” Udal answered, “so turned my bowels were with jealousy that little I noted.”
“Why, you are a fine spy,” she said. And she repeated to him that Longstaffe had reported the King’s commanding Katharine and Privy Seal to join hands and be friends. Udal shook his head gloomily.
“I would not have my best pupil friends with Cromwell,” he said.
“Oh, magister,” she retorted, with a first touch of scorn in her voice; “have you, who have had so much truck with women, yet to learn that you may command a woman to be friends with a man, yet no power on earth shall make her love him. Nevertheless, well might Cromwell seek to win her love, and thence these pardons.”
Udal started forward upon his tiptoes.
“I must to London!” he cried. She smiled at him as at a child.
“You are come to be of my advice,” she said.
Udal gazed at her with a wondering patronage.
“Why, what a wench it is,” he said, and he crooked his arm around her ample waist. His face shone with pleasure. “Angel!” he uttered; “for Angelos is the Greek for messenger, and signifieth more especially one that bringeth good tidings.” Out of all this holus bolus of envoys, ambassadors, cooks and prisoners one thing appeared plain to view: that, for the first time, a solis ortus cardine, Cromwell had loosened his grip of some that he held. “And if Crummock looseneth grip, Crummock’s power in the land waneth.”
She looked up at him with a coy pleasure.
“Hatest Cromwell then full fell-ly?” she asked.
He put his hands upon her shoulders and solemnly regarded her.
“Woman,” he said; “this man rideth England with seven thousand spies; these three years I have lived in terror of my life. I have had no bliss that fear hath not entered into—in very truth inter delicias semper
