The Armourer's Prentices Page 11

  CHAPTER ELEVEN.

  AY DI ME GRENADA.

  "In sooth it was a thing to weep If then as now the level plain Beneath was spreading like the deep, The broad unruffled main. If like a watch-tower of the sun Above, the Alpuxarras rose, Streaked, when the dying day was done, With evening's roseate snows." Archbishop Trench.

  When Mary Tudor, released by death from her first dreary marriage,contracted for her brother's pleasure, had appeased his wrath at hersecond marriage made to please herself, Henry the Eighth was only tooglad to mark his assent by all manner of festivities; and Englishchroniclers, instead of recording battles and politics, had only towrite of pageantries and tournaments during the merry May of the year1515--a May, be it remembered, which, thanks to the old style, was atleast ten days nearer to Midsummer than our present month.

  How the two queens and all their court had gone a-maying on Shooter'sHill, ladies and horses poetically disguised and labelled with sweetsummer titles, was only a nine days' wonder when the Birkenholts hadcome to London, but the approaching tournament at Westminster on theWhitsun holiday was the great excitement to the whole population, for,with all its faults, the Court of bluff King Hal was thoroughly genial,and every one, gentle and simple, might participate in his pleasures.

  Seats were reserved at the lists for the city dignitaries and theirfamilies, and though old Mistress Headley professed that she ought tohave done with such vanities, she could not forbear from going to seethat her son was not too much encumbered with the care of little Dennet,and that the child herself ran into no mischief. Master Headley himselfgrumbled and sighed but he put himself into his scarlet gown, holdingthat his presence was a befitting attention to the king, glad to gratifyhis little daughter, and not without a desire to see how hisworkmanship--good English ware--held out against "mail and plate ofMilan steel," the fine armour brought home from France by the new Dukeof Suffolk. Giles donned his best in the expectation of sitting in theplaces of honour as one of the family, and was greatly disgusted whenKit Smallbones observed, "What's all that bravery for? The tilting-match quotha? Ha! ha! my young springald, if thou see it at all, thoumust be content to gaze as thou canst from the armourers' tent, ifTibble there chooses to be cumbered with a useless lubber like thee."

  "I always sat with my mother when there were matches at Clarendon,"muttered Giles, who had learnt at least that it was of no use tocomplain of Smallbones' plain speaking.

  "If folks cocker malapert lads at Sarum we know better here," was theanswer.

  "I shall ask the master, my kinsman," returned the youth.

  But he got little by his move. Master Headley told him, not unkindly,for he had some pity for the spoilt lad, that not the Lord Mayor himselfwould take his own son with him while yet an apprentice. TibbleSteelman would indeed go to one of the attendants' tents at the furtherend of the lists, where repairs to armour and weapons might be needed,and would take an assistant or two, but who they might be must depend onhis own choice, and if Giles had any desire to go, he had better don hisworking dress.

  In fact, Tibble meant to take Edmund Burgess and one workman for use,and one of the new apprentices for pleasure, letting them change in themiddle of the day. The swagger of Giles actually forfeited for him thefirst turn, which--though he was no favourite with the men--would havebeen granted to his elder years and his relationship to the master; buton his overbearing demand to enter the boat which was to carry down alittle anvil and charcoal furnace, with a few tools, rivets, nails, andhorse-shoes, Tibble coolly returned that he needed no such gay birds;but if Giles chose to be ready in his leathern coat when StephenBirkenholt came home at mid-day, mayhap he might change with him.

  Stephen went joyously in the plainest of attire, though Tibble in furcap, grimy jerkin, and leathern apron was no elegant steersman; andEdmund, who was at the age of youthful foppery, shrugged his shoulders alittle, and disguised the garments of the smithy with his best flat capand newest mantle.

  They kept in the wake of the handsome barge which Master Headley sharedwith his friend and brother alderman, Master Hope the draper, whoseyoung wife, in a beautiful black velvet hood and shining blue satinkirtle, was evidently petting Dennet to her heart's content, though thelittle damsel never lost an opportunity of nodding to her friends in theplainer barge in the rear.

  The Tudor tilting-matches cost no lives, and seldom broke bones. Theywere chiefly opportunities for the display of brilliant enamelled andgilt armour, at the very acme of cumbrous magnificence; and of equallygorgeous embroidery spread out over the vast expanse provided byelephantine Flemish horses. Even if the weapons had not been purposelyblunted, and if the champions had really desired to slay one another,they would have found the task very difficult, as in effect they did inthe actual game of war. But the spectacle was a splendid one, and allthe apparatus was ready in the armourers' tent, marked by Saint Georgeand the Dragon. Tibble ensconced himself in the innermost corner with a"tractate," borrowed from his friend Lucas, and sent the apprentices togaze their fill at the rapidly filling circles of seats. They saw KingHarry, resplendent in gilded armour--"from their own anvil, true Englishsteel," said Edmund, proudly--hand to her seat his sister the bride, oneof the most beautiful women then in existence, with a lovely anddelicate bloom on her fair face and exquisite Plantagenet features. Nomore royally handsome creatures could the world have offered than thatbrother and sister, and the English world appreciated them and made thelists ring with applause at the fair lady who had disdained foreignprinces to wed her true love, an honest Englishman.

  He--the cloth of frieze--in blue Milanese armour, made to look asclassical as possible, and with clasps and medals engraven from antiquegems--handed in Queen Katharine, whose dark but glowing Spanishcomplexion made a striking contrast to the dazzling fairness of heryoung sister-in-law. Near them sat a stout burly figure in episcopalpurple, and at his feet there was a form which nearly took away allStephen's pleasure for the time. For it was in motley, and he couldhear the bells jingle, while the hot blood rose in his cheeks in thedread lest Burgess should detect the connection, or recognise in thejester the grave personage who had come to negotiate with Mr Headleyfor his indentures, or worse still, that the fool should see and claimhim.

  However, Quipsome Hal seemed to be exchanging drolleries with the youngdowager of France, who, sooth to say, giggled in a very unqueenly mannerat jokes which made the grave Spanish-born queen draw up her statelyhead, and converse with a lady on her other hand--an equally statelylady, somewhat older, with the straight Plantagenet features, and by herside a handsome boy, who, though only eight or nine years old, wastonsured, and had a little scholar's gown. "That," said Edmund, "is myLady Countess of Salisbury, of whom Giles Headley prates so much."

  A tournament, which was merely a game between gorgeously equippedprinces and nobles, afforded little scope for adventure worthy ofrecord, though it gave great diversion to the spectators. Stephen gazedlike one fascinated at the gay panoply of horse and man, with the hugeplumes on the heads of both, as they rushed against one another, and heshared with Edmund the triumph when the lance from their armoury heldgood, the vexation if it were shivered. All would have been perfect butfor the sight of his uncle, playing off his drolleries in a manner thatgave him a sense of personal degradation.

  To escape from the sight almost consoled him when, in the pause afterthe first courses had been run, Tibble told him and Burgess to return,and send Headley and another workman with a fresh bundle of lances forthe afternoon's tilting. Stephen further hoped to find his brother atthe Dragon court, as it was one of those holidays that set every onefree, and separation began to make the brothers value their meetings.

  But Ambrose was not at the Dragon court, and when Stephen went in questof him to the Temple, Perronel had not seen him since the early morning,but she said he seemed so much bitten with the little old man'sscholarship that she had small doubt that he would be found poring overa book in Warwick Inner Ward.

  Thi
ther therefore did Stephen repair. The place was nearly deserted,for the inhabitants were mostly either artisans or that far too numerousrace who lived on the doles of convents, on the alms of churchgoers, andthe largesses scattered among the people on public occasions, and thesewere for the most part pursuing their vocation both of gazing andlooking out for gain among the spectators outside the lists. The doorthat Stephen had been shown as that of Ambrose's master was, however,partly open, and close beside it sat in the sun a figure that amazedhim. On a small mat or rug, with a black and yellow handkerchief overher head, and little scarlet legs crossed under a blue dress, alllighted up by the gay May sun, there slept the little dark, glowingmaiden, with her head bent as it leant against the wall, her rosy lipshalf-open, her long black plaits on her shoulders.

  Stepping up to the half-open door, whence he heard a voice reading, hisastonishment was increased. At the table were his brother and hismaster, Ambrose with a black book in hand, Lucas Hansen with somepapers, and on the ground was seated a venerable, white-bearded old man,something between Stephen's notions of an apostle and of a magician,though the latter idea predominated at sight of a long parchment scrollcovered with characters such as belonged to no alphabet that he had everdreamt of. What were they doing to his brother? He was absolutely inan enchanter's den. Was it a pixie at the door, guarding it?"Ambrose!" he cried aloud.

  Everybody started. Ambrose sprang to his feet, exclaiming, "Stephen!"The pixie gave a little scream and jumped up, flying to the old man, whoquietly rolled up his scroll.

  Lucas rose up as Ambrose spoke.

  "Thy brother?" said he.

  "Yea--come in search of me," said Ambrose.

  "Thou hadst best go forth with him," said Lucas.

  "It is not well that youth should study over long," said the old man."Thou hast aided us well, but do thou now unbend the bow. Peace be withthee, my son."

  Ambrose complied, but scarcely willingly, and the instant they had madea few steps from the door, Stephen exclaimed in dismay, "Who--what wasit? Have they bewitched thee, Ambrose?"

  Ambrose laughed merrily. "Not so. It is holy lore that those good menare reading."

  "Nay now, Ambrose. Stand still--if thou canst, poor fellow," hemuttered, and then made the sign of the cross three times over hisbrother, who stood smiling, and said, "Art satisfied Stevie? Or wilthave me rehearse my _Credo_?" Which he did, Stephen listeningcritically, and drawing a long breath as he recognised each word,pronounced without a shudder at the critical points. "Thou art safe sofar," said Stephen. "But sure he is a wizard. I even beheld hisfamiliar spirit--in a fair shape doubtless--like a pixie! Be notdeceived, brother. Sorcery reads backwards--and I saw him so read fromthat scroll of his. Laughest thou! Nay! what shall I do to free thee?Enter here!"

  Stephen dragged his brother, still laughing, into the porch of thenearest church, and deluged him with holy water with such good will,that Ambrose, putting up his hands to shield his eyes, exclaimed, "Comenow, have done with this folly, Stephen--though it makes me laugh tothink of thy scared looks, and poor little Aldonza being taken for afamiliar spirit." And Ambrose laughed as he had not laughed for weeks.

  "But what is it, then?"

  "The old man is of thy calling, or something like it, Stephen, beingthat he maketh and tempereth sword-blades after the prime Damascene orToledo fashion, and the familiar spirit is his little daughter."

  Stephen did not however look mollified. "Sword-blades! None have aright to make them save our craft. This is one of the rascailleSpaniards who have poured into the city under favour of the queen tospoil and ruin the lawful trade. Though could you but have seen,Ambrose, how our tough English ashwood in King Harry's band--from ourown armoury too--made all go down before it, you would never upholdstrangers and their false wares that can only get the better bysorcery."

  "How thou dost harp upon sorcery!" exclaimed Ambrose. "I must tell theethe good old man's story as 'twas told to me, and then wilt thou ownthat he is as good a Christian as ourselves--ay, or better--and hathlittle cause to love the Spaniards."

  "Come on, then," said Stephen. "Methought if we, went towardsWestminster we might yet get where we could see the lists. Such a rareshow, Ambrose, to see the King in English armour, ay, and MasterHeadley's, every inch of it, glittering in the sun, so that one couldscarce brook the dazzling, on his horse like a rock shattering all thatcame against him! I warrant you the lances cracked and shivered likefaggots under old Purkis's bill-hook. And that you should liefer poreover crabbed monkish stuff with yonder old men! My life on it, theremust be some spell!"

  "No more than of old, when I was ever for book and thou for bow," saidAmbrose; "but I'll make thee rueful for old Michael yet. Hast heardtell of the Moors in Spain?"

  "Moors--blackamoors who worship Mahound and Termagant. I saw ablackamoor last week behind his master, a merchant of Genoa, in Paul'sWalk. He looked like the devils in the Miracle Play at Christ Church,with blubber lips and wool for hair. I marvelled that he did not writheand flee when he came within the Minster, but Ned Burgess said he was achristened man."

  "Moors be not all black, neither be they all worshippers of Mahound,"replied Ambrose.

  However, as Ambrose's information, though a few degrees more correct andintelligent than his brother's, was not complete, it will be better notto give the history of Lucas's strange visitors in his words.

  They belonged to the race of Saracen Arabs who had brought the arts oflife to such perfection in Southern Spain, but who had received thegeneral appellation of Moors from those Africans who were continuallyreinforcing them, and, bringing a certain Puritan strictness ofMohammedanism with them, had done much towards destroying the highestcultivation among them before the Spanish kingdoms became united, andfinally triumphed over them. During the long interval of two centuries,while Castille was by Italian occupied by internal wars, and Aragonconquests, there had been little aggression on the Moorish borderland,and a good deal of friendly intercourse both in the way of traffic andof courtesy, nor had the bitter persecution and distrust of new convertsthen set in, which followed the entire conquest of Granada. Thus, whenRonda was one of the first Moorish cities to surrender, a great merchantof the unrivalled sword-blades whose secret had been brought fromDamascus, had, with all his family, been accepted gladly when hedeclared himself ready to submit and receive baptism. Miguel Abenaliwas one of the sons, and though his conversion had at first been merecompliance with his father's will and the family interests, he hadbecome sufficiently convinced of Christian truth not to take part withhis own people in the final struggle. Still, however, the inbredabhorrence of idolatry had influenced his manner of worship, and when,after half a lifetime, Granada had fallen, and the Inquisition had begunto take cognisance of new Christians from among the Moors as well as theJews, there were not lacking spies to report the absence of all sacredimages or symbols from the house of the wealthy merchant, and thatneither he nor any of his family had been seen kneeling before theshrine of Nuestra Senora. The sons of Abenali did indeed feel stronglythe power of the national reaction, and revolted from the religion whichthey saw cruelly enforced on their conquered countrymen. The Moor hadbeen viewed as a gallant enemy, the Morisco was only a being to bedistrusted and persecuted; and the efforts of the good Bishop ofGranada, who had caused the Psalms, Gospels, and large portions of theBreviary to be translated into Arabic, were frustrated by the zeal ofthose who imagined that heresy lurked in the vernacular, and perhapsthat objections to popular practices might be strengthened.

  By order of Cardinal Ximenes, these Arabic versions were taken away andburnt; but Miguel Abenali had secured his own copy, and it was what hethere learnt that withheld him from flying to his countrymen andresuming their faith when he found that the Christianity he hadprofessed for forty years was no longer a protection to him. Havingknown the true Christ in the Gospel, he could not turn back to Mohammed,even though Christians persecuted in the Name they so little understood.

&nbs
p; The crisis came in 1507, when Ximenes, apparently impelled by the dreadthat simulated conformity should corrupt the Church, quickened thepersecution of the doubtful "Nuevos Cristianos," and the Abenali family,who had made themselves loved and respected, received warning that theyhad been denounced, and that their only hope lay in flight.

  The two sons, high-spirited young men, on whom religion had far lesshold than national feeling, fled to the Alpuxarra Mountains, andrenouncing the faith of the persecutors, joined their countrymen intheir gallant and desperate warfare. Their mother, who had long beendead, had never been more than an outward Christian; but the second wifeof Abenali shared his belief and devotion with the intelligence andforce of character sometimes found among the Moorish ladies of Spain.She and her little ones fled with him in disguise to Cadiz, with theprecious Arabic Scriptures rolled round their waists, and took shelterwith an English merchant, who had had dealings in sword-blades withSenor Miguel, and had been entertained by him in his beautiful Saracenichouse at Ronda with Eastern hospitality. This he requited by givingthem the opportunity of sailing for England in a vessel laden with Xeressack; but the misery of the voyage across the Bay of Biscay in a shiplit for nothing but wine, was excessive, and creatures reared in thelovely climate and refined luxury of the land of the palm and orange,exhausted too already by the toils of the mountain journey, wereincapable of enduring it, and Abenali's brave wife and one of herchildren were left beneath the waves of the Atlantic. With the onelittle girl left to him, he arrived in London, and the recommendation ofhis Cadiz friend obtained for him work from a dealer in foreign weapons,who was not unwilling to procure them nearer home. Happily for him,Moorish masters, however rich, were always required to be proficients intheir own trade; and thus Miguel, or Michael as he was known in England,was able to maintain himself and his child by the fabrication of bladesthat no one could distinguish from those of Damascus. Their perfectionwas a work of infinite skill, labour, and industry, but they were socostly, that their price, and an occasional job of inlaying gold inother metal, sufficed to maintain the old man and his little daughter.The armourers themselves were sometimes forced to have recourse to him,though unwillingly, for he was looked on with distrust and dislike as aninterloper of foreign birth, belonging to no guild. A Biscayan orCastillian of the oldest Christian blood incurred exactly the sameobloquy from the mass of London craftsmen and apprentices, and Lucashimself had small measure of favour, though Dutchmen were less alien tothe English mind than Spaniards, and his trade did not lead to so muchrivalry and competition.

  As much of this as Ambrose knew or understood he told to Stephen, wholistened in a good deal of bewilderment, understanding very little, butwith a strong instinct that his brother's love of learning was leadinghim into dangerous company. And what were they doing on this fine Mayholiday, when every one ought to be out enjoying themselves?

  "Well, if thou wilt know," said Ambrose, pushed hard, "there is oneMaster William Tindal, who hath been doing part of the blessed Evangelinto English, and for better certainty of its correctness, MasterMichael was comparing it with his Arabic version, while I overlooked theLatin."

  "O Ambrose, thou wilt surely run into trouble. Know you not how nurseJoan used to tell us of the burning of the Lollard books?"

  "Nay, nay, Stevie, this is no heresy. 'Tis such work as the greatscholar, Master Erasmus, is busied on--ay, and he is loved and honouredby both the Archbishops and the King's grace. Ask Tibble Steelman whathe thinks thereof."

  "Tibble Steelman would think nought of a beggarly stranger callinghimself a sword-cutler, and practising the craft without prenticeship orlicense," said Stephen, swelling with indignation. "Come on, Ambrose,and sweep the cobwebs from thy brain. If we cannot get into our owntent again, we can mingle with the outskirts, and learn how the day isgoing, and how our lances and breastplates have stood where the knavesat the Eagle have gone like reeds and egg-shells--just as I threw GeorgeBates, the prentice at the Eagle yesterday, in a wrestling match at thebutts with the trick old Diggory taught me."