“Nay,” said Ambrose, “it may have been that the Cardinal hoped to secure a true friend at the King’s ear, as well as to provide for thee.”
“Had he but said so—”
“Nay, perchance he trusted to thy sharp wit.”
A gleam came into Hal’s eyes. “It might be so. Thou always wast a toward lad, Ambrose, and if so, I was cur and fool indeed to baulk him.”
Therewith one of the other fools danced back exhibiting a silver crown that had just been flung to him, mopping and mowing, and demanding when Patch would have wit to gain the like. Whereto Hal replied by pointing to Ambrose and declaring that that gentleman had given him better than fifty crowns. And that night, Sir Thomas told Ambrose that the Quipsome one had recovered himself, had been more brilliant than ever and had quite eclipsed the other fools.
On the next opportunity, Ambrose contrived to pack in his cloak-bag, the cap and loose garment in which his uncle was wont to cover his motley. The Court was still at Windsor; but nearly the whole of Sir Thomas’s stay elapsed without Ambrose being able to find his uncle. Wolsey had been very ill, and the King had relented enough to send his own physician to attend him. Ambrose began to wonder if Hal could have found any plea for rejoining his old master; but in the last hour of his stay, he found Hal curled up listlessly on a window seat of a gallery, his head resting on his hand.
“Uncle, good uncle! At last! Thou art sick?”
“Sick at heart, lad,” said Hal, looking up. “Yea, I took thy counsel. I plucked up a spirit, I made Harry laugh as of old, though my heart smote me, as I thought how he was wont to be answered by my master. I even brooked to jest with the night-crow, as my own poor lord called this Nan Boleyn. And lo you now, when his Grace was touched at my lord’s sickness, I durst say there was one sure elixir for such as he, to wit a gold Harry; and that a King’s touch was a sovereign cure for other disorders than the King’s evil. Harry smiled, and in ten minutes more would have taken horse for Esher, had not Madam Nan claimed his word to ride out hawking with her. And next, she sendeth me a warning by one of her pert maids, that I should be whipped, if I spoke to his Grace of unfitting matters. My flesh could brook no more, and like a born natural, I made answer that Nan Boleyn was no mistress of mine to bid me hold a tongue that had spoken sooth to her betters. Thereupon, what think you, boy? The grooms came and soundly flogged me for uncomely speech of my Lady Anne! I that was eighteen years with my Lord Cardinal, and none laid hand on me! Yea, I was beaten; and then shut up in a dog-hole for three days on bread and water, with none to speak to, but the other fools jeering at me like a rogue in a pillory.”
Ambrose could hardly speak for hot grief and indignation, but he wrung his uncle’s hand, and whispered that he had hid the loose gown behind the arras of his chamber, but he could do no more, for he was summoned to attend his master, and a servant further thrust in to say, “Concern yourself not for that rogue, sir, he hath been saucy, and must mend his manners, or he will have worse.”
“Away, kind sir,” said Hal, “you can do the poor fool no further good! but only bring the pack about the ears of the mangy hound.” And he sang a stave appropriated by a greater man than he—