Black Bartlemy's Treasure Part 4

"Aye!" says I, and my heart warmed to him by reason of his good Kentish tongue--the like of which I had not heard these many weary years; but at sight of that white-clouted bundle my mouth watered and hunger gnawed with sharper tooth. "What have ye here?" I questioned, touching this with my staff.

"Nou't but my dinner, master, 's ever was!"

"Nay," says I scowling, "I think not!"

"Aye, but it be, master!" he nodded. "Bread and beef wi' a mossel of cheese like, 's ever was!"

"Bread!" says I. "Beef! Cheese! Liar--here is no dinner o' yours!"

"Aye, master, but it do be so, sure!" quoth he, staring. "My very own dinner cut by my very own darter, beef an' bread an' a mossel o'

cheese--I take my bible oath t' it, I do--bread an' beef an' a mossel--"

"Show me!" With notable haste he undid the wrapping, discovering a good half-loaf, a thick slice of roast beef and a slab of yellow cheese.

"Ha, man!" quoth I 'twixt shut teeth. "So you lied to me then."

"Lied to 'ee, master?" says he faintly.

"You told me 'twas your dinner!"

"Aye, and so it be, so it be, I lay my oath--beef, d'ye see, an' a mossel--"

"Nay," says I gathering up the viands, "here's my breakfast."

"Is it?" says he, gaping.

"It is! Would ye deny it?"

"Not for a moment!" says he, eyeing my staff and the gleaming knife in my belt. "Lordy, no! Only how was I to know 'twere yourn, master--when my darter cut it for her very own feyther--"

"We live and we learn!" says I, turning away. "What might your name be?"

"Full-o'-j'y Tucker, master."

"Why then, Full-of-joy, though my gain be your loss take comfort in that 'tis more blessed to give than receive. Moreover, though you lack a dinner you have a daughter and a roof to shelter you and I neither one nor other--a poor, hungry rogue. Methinks of the two of us you have the better of life."

"Why, look'ee now, master," says he, scratching his shaven chin, "since you've got your breakfus' surely, if you're minded t' step along t' my cottage down t' lane, I can give ye a jug of good ale to wash it down."

Now as he spoke thus, seeing the st.u.r.dy manliness of him I dropped my staff and reached out my hand.

"Full-of-joy," says I, "a starving man must eat by hook or crook, but if you'll give your honest hand to a thief--there's mine!"

The man stared from my hand to my face, his wide mouth curved, then rubbing hand on snowy smock he grasped my fingers and wrung them heartily--a clean and honest grip, such as I had not known for many a long day.

"Will 'ee come, master?" he questioned. I shook my head. Quoth I:

"You have a daughter and I'm no fit company for a good, sweet maid--nor ever shall be for that matter!" So saying, I dropped his hand and turning, strode away down the road, his dinner beneath my arm; and when at last I glanced back I saw him standing where I had left him, staring after me chin in hand. Presently, turning in at a gate beside the way, I sat down beneath a hedge in the warm, level beams of the sun and fell to eating with huge appet.i.te and (stolen though it was) never tasted food more sweet. I was thus rapturously employed when I heard a dolorous whine and, starting about, beheld a ragged creature on the opposite side of the hedge who glared at the food with haggard eyes and reached out claw-like hands in supplication.

"O for the love o' Christ, spare a crust!" she wailed. "Spare a bite to a grannam as dieth o' hunger. O sweet Jesu--a mouthful to a poor soul as do be pined for lack o' food--"

"Off!" cries I fiercely, "What know you of hunger? Away, hag!" and I reached for my staff, whereupon she wailed and wept, and clawing her dismal rags about her, crept away moaning.

But now while my jaws champed ravenously, the food had lost its savour; wherefore I cursed and choked and, springing to my feet, made after her, but, seeing me follow at speed, she cried out in fear and, striving to flee from me, sank on feeble knees.

"Old hag!" quoth I, "Be d.a.m.ned for spoiling a hungry man's appet.i.te and robbing him of what he was at pains to rob for himself!" Then I thrust the well-filled napkin into her clutching fingers and hasted away, but her raptured cry followed me as I went.

I trudged on slow and heavy through the mud, being very weary for lack of sleep and mightily down cast, heedless of gladsome morn and the fair, fresh world about me, conscious but of my own most miserable estate; insomuch that I presently sank down on the gra.s.s by the road and, with heavy head bowed between my hands, gave myself up to black despond.

But now as I sat thus, very sick and sorrowful, I heard a sound of wheels and plodding hoofs drawing slowly near, and lifting my head at last, espied a great wain piled high with fragrant hay whereon the driver sprawled asleep, a great fat fellow whose snores rose above the jingle of harness and creak of wheels. Now hearkening to his snoring, beholding him so gross and full-fed (and I starving!!) my sadness gave place to sudden, hot anger and, as the waggon lumbered by, I swung myself up behind, and clambering over the hay, raised my staff, minded to drub the fellow into wakefulness; but even then I stayed the blow, for I spied a wallet that hung to the driving-seat, a large wallet of plump and inviting aspect. Reaching it down I opened it forthwith and found therein a new-baked loaf, a roast capon delicately browned and a jar of small beer. And now, couched luxuriously among the hay, I fell to work (tooth and nail) and though I ate in voracious haste, never before or since have I tasted aught so delicate and savoury as that stolen fowl. I was yet busied with what remained of the carca.s.s when the fat fellow choked in his snoring, sighed, grunted, propped himself on lazy elbow and, catching sight of me, fell a-gaping. So whiles he watched open-mouthed, I finished what remained of the capon and tossed the bones over the hedge.

"Ecod!" quoth he faintly. "O, ecod--my dinner!" As for me, having my mouth full, I spake not. "Ad's bobs!" says he, "A rascally, robbing thief of the roads!"

"Even so!" I nodded and took a long draught of his beer.

"A-eating and a-drinking of a honest man's dinner, by the Lord!" says he, clenching fat fists. "O ecod--a h.e.l.l-fire rogue--a very lousy, scurvy dog as shall be carted and whipped and set in Sir Richard's new pillory!" At this, being engaged with the bread, I reached out my foot and kicked him (very featly) in the belly; whereat he gasped and growing thoughtful, dolefully watched me make an end.

"If there is aught left to eat," says I, "show it me!"

"As fine a capon as was ever plucked, by the Lord!" he groaned.

"Most true!" says I, stretching myself in the hay.

"O!" quoth he, as to himself, "O the pity on't--so foul an end to so fair a bird!"

"Never whine!" says I, "but tell me how far hence lieth Lamberhurst."

"Better nor six mile!" he sighed, heaving himself into the driving-seat.

"Why then, do you carry me thither."

"Ad's love!" he mourned. "'Tis manifest shame a rogue should thieve the food of an honest man--a man like I be as do slave morning, noon and--"

"Slave!" says I, frowning. "What know you of slavery? Be curst for a great, fat fool that speaketh lies!" Now watching him as I lay, I saw his hand close stealthily on his heavy whip, but or ever he could turn to strike, I rose and fetched him a buffet 'neath the ear that pitched him sprawling upon the broad backs of his horses, whence (with much groaning and puffing) he presently got him safely into the road; seeing the which, I took the reins, whipping the team to faster gait, so that to keep pace he must needs trot it in the mud.

"Hold!" cries he. "What would ye wi' my waggon?"

"Ride in 't!"

"Hold! Then suffer me to ride likewise, for I'm scant o' breath--"

"Good! I've been scant o' breath ere now!"

"Show a little pity, master!" he groaned.

"None ever showed pity on me!"

"Nay, but--what harm have I--ever--done thee?"

"Begrudged food to a starving wretch!"