The queen wrote an order on the officer thus referred to, who was no other than her own father, Lord Rivers; and Alwyn, putting up his goods, was about to withdraw, when the duchess said carelessly, “Good youth, the dealings of our merchants are more with Flanders than with France, is it not so?”
“Surely,” said Alwyn; “the Flemings are good traders and honest folk.”
“It is well known, I trust, in the city of London, that this new alliance with France is the work of their favourite, the Lord Warwick,” said the duchess, scornfully; “but whatever the earl does is right with ye of the hood and cap, even though he were to leave yon river without one merchant-mast.”
“Whatever be our thoughts, puissant lady,” said Alwyn, cautiously, “we give them not vent to the meddling with state affairs.”
“Ay,” persisted Jacquetta, “thine answer is loyal and discreet. But an’ the Lord Warwick had sought alliance with the Count of Charolois, would there have been brighter bonfires than ye will see in Smithfield, when ye hear that business with the Flemings is surrendered for fine words from King Louis the Cunning?”
“We trust too much to our king’s love for the citizens of London to fear that surrender, please your Highness,” answered Alwyn; “our king himself is the first of our merchants, and he hath given a gracious answer to the deputation from our city.”
“You speak wisely, sir,” said the queen; “and your king will yet defend you from the plots of your enemies. You may retire.”
Alwyn, glad to be released from questionings but little to his taste, hastened to depart. At the gate of the royal lodge, he gave his caskets to the servitors who attended him, and passing slowly along the courtyard, thus soliloquized:
“Our neighbours the Scotch say, ‘It is good fishing in muddy waters;’ but he who fishes into the secrets of courts must bait with his head. What mischief doth that crafty queen, the proud duchess, devise? Um! They are thinking still to match the young princess with the hot Count of Charolois. Better for trade, it is true, to be hand in hand with the Flemings; but there are two sides to a loaf. If they play such a trick on the stout earl, he is not a man to sit down and do nothing. More food for the ravens, I fear,—more brown bills and bright lances in the green fields of poor England!—and King Louis is an awful carle to sow flax in his neighbour’s house, when the torches are burning. Um! Where is fair Marmaduke. He looks brave in his gay super-tunic. Well, sir and foster-brother, how fare you at court?”
“My dear Nicholas, a merry welcome and hearty to your sharp, thoughtful face. Ah, man! we shall have a gay time for you venders of gewgaws. There are to be revels and jousts, revels in the Tower and jousts in Smithfield. We gentles are already hard at practice in the tilt-yard.”