News of the imprisonment of this celebrated Edmund Campion had been circulated about this time through the country, and stories of the manner in which he had been mercilessly tortured to extract from him the confession of a plot against Elizabeth's life.
On the Sunday after Ascension Day there were to be great shows and games in the village of Penshurst, and Ambrose, hearing of them from his friend Ned the cowherd, on Saturday evening, begged his mother to let him see the sports.
'There's a wrestling match,' he urged, 'on the green, and a tilting between horsemen in the outer park. Mother, I'd like to see it; do take me down to see it. Oh! mother, do; I'll hold your hand all the time; I won't run away from you, no, not an inch. I am six years old. I am big enough now to take care of you, if there's a crowd or the horses plunge and kick. Ned says it will be a brave show.'
'I will go down to church with you, Ambrose,' his mother said, 'and if I can secure a safe place I will wait for a part of the sports, but you must not fret if I do not stay to see the sports end, for I am tired, Ambrose, and I would fain have rest on Sunday.'
The child looked wistfully into his mother's face.
'I'll be a very good boy, mother. I have been a good boy,' he said, 'and you will tell Mr Sidney that I didn't plague you, and tell Master Humphrey too. He said I was a plague to you, and I hate him for saying it.'
'Hush, Ambrose, Master Ratcliffe will be a good friend to you, if—'
'If what? if I am good?
'I meant, if ever you had no mother to care for you.'
'No mother!' the child repeated, only dimly catching her meaning. 'No mother!' and there was a sudden change in his voice, which told of something that was partly fear and partly incredulity. 'No mother! but you said we should always have each other. I have you, and you have me. You said I must not leave you, and,' with vehemence, 'you sha'n't leave me.'