“Here is a quill, if your Grace be pleased withal. It is but an old one, yet I have no better,” he said, modestly.
“It shall full well serve me, my son,” was the answer; “and I thank thee for thy courtesy.”
For his day the Archbishop was a skilful penman, which does not by any means convey the idea of covering sheet after sheet of paper with rapid writing. The strip of parchment was about fourteen inches by four. He laid it lengthwise before him, and the letters grew slowly on it, in the old black letter hand, which took some time to form. Thus ran his letter:—
“Alexander, by Divine sufferance elect of York, to the Lady Basset of Drayton wisheth peace, health, and the blessing of God Almighty.
“Very dear Lady,—
“Let it please you to know that the bearer hereof hath tidings to deliver of serious and instant import. We pray you full heartily to hear him without any delay, and to give full credence to such matter as he shall impart unto you: which having done, we bid you, as you value our apostolical blessing, to come hither with all speed, and we charge our very dear son, your lord, that he let not nor hinder you in obeying this our mandate. The matter presseth, and will brook no delay: and we affy ourself in you, Lady, as a woman obedient to the Church, that you will observe our bidding. And for so doing this shall be your warrant. Given at Hazelwood Manor, in the county of Derby, this Wednesday after Candlemas.”
The Archbishop laid down his pen, folded his letter, and asked for silk to tie it. Matthew Foljambe ran off, returning in a moment with a roll of blue silk braid, wherewith the letter was tied up. Then wax was needed.
“Ha, chétife!” said Father Jordan. “The saints forgive me my sins! Never a bit of wax had I lacked for many a month, and I gave the last to Richard, butler.”
“Hath he used it all?” asked Matthew.
“Be sure he so did. He should have some left only if none needed it,” responded his brother.