In the Days of the Guild Part 20

"There is a poppet for thee, small one," Quentin said smiling.

Joan's hands clasped tight and her eyes grew big and dark. "For me?"

she cried.

"It is a poor return for the kindness that I have had in this house,"

answered Quentin brus.h.i.+ng the chips into the brazier.

The poppet seemed to bring luck to the hurer's household. Through Gilles, Master Gay had heard of Quentin's work, and he ordered a coffret for his wife, and a settle. The arms of the settle were to be carved with little lady-figures like Joan's, and Master Gay asked if they could not all be portraits of Princesses. Joan's own poppet was named Marguerite for the daughter of the French King, who had married the eldest son of Henry II. Quentin had copied the face from Matteo's sketch upon the wall, and in one room or the other were all the other members of the royal family. But as it would not be suitable to show Queens and Princesses upholding the arms of a chair in the house of a London merchant, Quentin suggested that they change the design, and use the leopards of Anjou for the arms, while the statuettes of the Princesses were ranged along the top of the high back. There could be five open-work arches with a figure in each, and plain linen-fold paneling below. Where the carving needed a flower or so he would put alternately the lilies of France and the sprig of broom which was the badge of the Plantagenets. Thus the piece of carving would commemorate the fact that the family of the King of England was related to nearly every royal house in Europe through marriage. It would be a picture-chronicle.

In the middle arch was Marguerite, who would be Queen of England some day if her husband lived. At her right hand was Constance of Brittany, wife of Geoffrey, who through her would inherit that province. The other figures were Eleanor, who was married to Alfonso, King of Castile; Matilda, who was the wife of Henry the Lion, Duke of Saxony, the most powerful va.s.sal of the German Emperor; and Joan, the youngest, betrothed to William, called the Good, King of Sicily.

"There will be two more princesses some day," said Joan, cuddling Marguerite in her arms as she watched Quentin's deft strokes. "Prince Richard is not married yet, and neither is Prince John."

"The work cannot wait for that, little one," Quentin answered laughing.

"Richard is only sixteen, and John still younger. Yet they do say that the King is planning an alliance with Princess Alois of France for Richard, and is in treaty with Hubert the Duke of Maurienne for his daughter to wed with John. I think, myself, that Richard will choose his own bride."

Joan said nothing, but in her own mind she thought it would be most unpleasant to be married off like that, by arrangements made years before.

"The marriage with Hubert's daughter," Quentin added half to himself, "would keep open the way into Italy if it were needed. It is a bad thing to have an enemy blocking your gate."

Although her poppet was carved so that the small out-held hands and arms were clear of the body, and dresses could be fitted over them, Joan found that there were but few points or edges that were likely to be chipped off. The wood was well seasoned, and the carving followed the grain most cunningly. Neither dampness nor wood-boring insects could easily get into the channels where sap once ran. This was part of the wisdom of wood-carving.

When Joan grew too old to play with her poppet she sometimes carried her to some fine house to show a new fas.h.i.+on, or style of embroidery.

Marguerite had a finer wardrobe than any modern doll, for the little hats, hoods and head-dresses had each a costume to go with it, and all were kept in a chest Quentin had made for her, with the arms of Milan on the lid. No exiled Milanese ever quite gave up the hope that some day the city would be rebuilt in all its splendor, and the foreign governors driven from Lombardy. Joan used to hear her father talking of it with their next lodger, Giovanni Bergamotto, who was a peddler at fairs.

Gilles had had steady work for a long time, and was making not only the rough caps he used to make, now turned out by an apprentice, but fine hats and caps for the wealthy. A carved and gilded hat swung before the door, and Joan learned embroidery of every kind. She saw Quentin now and then, and one day he sent word to her, by the wool-merchant Robert Edrupt, that Queen Eleanor wished to see the newest court fas.h.i.+ons, and that Joan might journey with Edrupt and his wife to the abbey where she was living. It was one of the best known houses in England, and the Abbess was of royal blood. It was not at all unusual for its guest-rooms to be occupied by Queens and Princesses.

Quentin had been sent there to do some work for the Abbey, and in that way the Queen, through Philippa, her maid of honor, had heard of Joan.

"I suppose it is a natural desire in a woman," Master Edrupt said when they talked of the matter, "but somehow I would stake my head it is not the fas.h.i.+ons she is after."

Barbara his wife smiled but said nothing. She agreed.

When Joan had modestly shown her wares, and the little wooden court lady had smiled demurely through it all, the Queen dandled Marguerite on her knee and thoughtfully looked her over.

"The face is surely like the Princess of France," she said. And Joan felt more than ever certain that there was a reason for this interest in poppets.

Later in the day she found out what it was. Quentin was carving other little lady-figures like those he had made years ago for Master Gay. He had also made the figures of a Bishop, a King, a Monk, and a Merchant; with a grotesque hump-backed hook-nosed Dwarf for the Jester. It looked as if a giant were about to play chess. Padraig, an Irish scribe who had made some designs for the Queen's tapestry-workers, was using his best penmans.h.i.+p to copy certain letters on fine parchment. Giovanni, who had sprung up from somewhere, was making a harness-like contrivance of hempen cords, iron hooks and rods, and wooden pulleys. When finished it went into a small bag of tow-cloth; if stretched out it filled the end of a rough wooden frame. Joan began to suspect that the figures were for a puppet-show.

"It is time to explain," Quentin said to the others. "We can trust Joan.

She is as true as steel."

Joan's heart leaped with pride. If Milan had only honor left, her children would keep that.

"It is this, Joan," Quentin went on kindly. "In time of war any messenger may be searched, and we do not know when war will come.

King Henry desires above all things the peace of his realm. He will not openly take the side of the Lombard cities against Frederick Barbarossa--yet. But he will throw all his influence into the scale if he can. The Queen has. .h.i.t upon a way by which letters can be sent safely to the courts of Brittany, France, Castile, Sicily, and even to Saxony, which is in Barbarossa's own domains. Giovanni will travel as a peddler, with the weaver-boy Cimarron as his servant or companion, as may seem best. He will have a pack full of such pretty toys as maidens love,--broidered veils, pomanders, perfumed gloves, girdles--nothing costly enough to tempt robbers--and these wooden poppets of ours. We cannot trust the tiring-women in times like these, but he may be able to give the letters into the hands of the Queens themselves. No one, surely, will suspect a poppet. These gowns and wimples will display the fas.h.i.+ons, and I had another reason for telling you to bring them all.

If he cannot get his chance as a peddler he can hang about the court with a puppet-show. Now, look here."

Quentin took the softly smiling poppet and began to twist her neck. When he had unscrewed the dainty little head a deep hole appeared in the middle of the figure. Into this Padraig fitted a roll of parchment, and over it a wooden peg.

"May she keep it?" Quentin asked gently. "There is need for haste, and I have not time to make another figure."

Joan swallowed hard. Marguerite had heard many secrets that no one else knew. "Aye," she said, "I will let her go."

Then each little figure in turn received its secret to keep, and Joan, Lady Philippa, and the other maids sewed furiously for a day and a half.

Each Princess was gowned in robes woven with the arms of her kingdom.

The other figures were suitably dressed. The weights which made the jester turn a somersault were gold inside a lead casing--Giovanni might need that. There were jewels hidden safely in his dagger-hilt and Cimarron's, but to all appearance they were two common chapmen.

They were gone for a long time, but Marguerite--the only poppet to return--came back safely, and inside her discreet bosom were letters for the King. Cimarron brought her to the door of Gilles the hurer, and told Joan that Giovanni, after selling the puppet-show, had stayed in Alexandria to fight for Milan.

ARMORER'S SONG

By the armorer's tower the fire burned bright In the long black shadows of coming night.

Quoth Franklin to Tomkyn, "Twenty to one We shall both be gone ere to-morrow's sun-- Shoot a round for the love o' the game!"

By Ascalon towers the sun blazed red Where one stood living and twenty were dead,-- Quoth Roger to Raimond, "We be but few, Yet keener the triumph when steel rings true-- Break a lance for the Faith and the Name!"

By London Tower the watch-fires glowed On the troops that marched by the Roman Road.

Quoth Drake to Howard, "Armadas be tall, Yet the proudest oak in a gale may fall,-- Take a chance for Belphoebe's fame!

"They live in Valhalla who fought for their land With dauntless heart and ungrudging hand, They went to the task with a laugh and a jest,-- Peace to their souls, wherever they rest!

And we of their blood, wherever we go, By the Carib Seas or the Greenland floe, With heart unwearied and hand unstayed, Must win or lose by the law they made,-- Strike hard--for the love o' the game!"

XIX

d.i.c.kON AT THE FORGE

HOW A SUSs.e.x SMITH FOUND THE WORLD COME TO HIM IN THE WEALD

The smithy was very small compared with a modern foundry. It was not large even for a country blacksmith's shop; the cottage close by was hardly bigger; yet that forge made iron-work which went all over England. It was on one of the Suss.e.x roads leading into Lewes. Often a knight would stop to have something done to his own armor or his horse's gear, for the war-horse also wore armor,--on head and breast at least.

Some of the work of old Adam Smith had gone as far as Jerusalem. d.i.c.kon felt occasionally that if he were a spear-head or a dagger, he would stand more chance of seeing the world than he did as the son of his father.

Adam was secretly proud of the lad who at thirteen could do nearly as much as he himself could. That was saying more than a little, for Adam Smith had the knack of making every blow count by putting it in exactly the right place. A man who can do that will double his strength.

d.i.c.kon had inherited the knack, but he had something else besides, of which his father knew nothing. He never did a piece of work that he did not try to make it look right. He could see that when the bar that latched a gate was of a certain length, not too small or too large, it pleased both eye and hand. He did not consider the hinges on the door better looking for being made into an elaborate pattern, unless the pattern was a good one. In short, d.i.c.kon had what is known as a sense of beauty. Some have it and some have not. Those who have can invent beautiful patterns, while those who have not can only copy,--and they do not always copy accurately.

It may seem strange to speak of beauty in the iron-work of a little country smithy, but nothing is more beautiful in its way than good iron-work. There are gates, hinges, locks, keys and other furnis.h.i.+ngs which are so well designed that one is never weary of studying them.

Armor has been made beautiful in its time; so have swords, halberds, daggers, fire-baskets, and fire-dogs.

Because iron is so simple, and there is no chance of getting an effect by using color or gilding, the task of making it beautiful is unlike that of painting a picture. The beauty of iron-work is the line, the curve, the proportion. If these are wrong one sees it at once; and the same is true when the work is right. Most of the work of Adam Smith, while strong and well wrought, was only by accident good to look at.

d.i.c.kon was not allowed to do anything that his father did not oversee, and Adam Smith saw to it that no job left his shop which was not well done. d.i.c.kon had found out, little by little, that when a thing is strong enough for its use, with no unnecessary clumsiness, and the handles, catches and rivetings are where they ought to be for strength and convenience, it usually looks very well. That is to say, beautiful iron-work is useful and economical.

d.i.c.kon was hammering away, one golden autumn morning, on the latch for a gate. The cattle had broken into the Fore Acre again, and Adam, who had to go to Lewes on business, told d.i.c.kon to make that latch and do it properly, so that it would keep the gate shut. Old Wat had gone into the forest for some wood, for the great belt of woodland called the Weald was all around, and the oak from it served for fuel. d.i.c.kon had never seen a coal fire in his life. Forges like this were scattered all through the Weald, and what with the iron-workers and the s.h.i.+p-builders, and the people who wainscoted their houses with good Suss.e.x oak, there is no Weald left nowadays. That part of the country keeps its name, and there are groves of oak here and there, but that is all.