“There was a holy father there who would have urged me, but the knight stopped him, and said a promise was binding, and that the king’s word was ever ‘Keep covenant.’”
Gervase’s eyes glistened. “It was well, it was well. Hadst thou been set upon it, Hugh, I had not withstood thee, but I should have grieved. No blessing comes from self-seeking. And hast thou,” he added more cheerily, “hast thou forgotten the corbels thou hast to do for the bishop?”
His words put fresh heart into the boy, and he felt that even had he followed his own longings it would have cost him much to leave Master Gervase. Then Joan ran in, warmly and daintily dressed, gathering up her little skirts to show Hugh her new long pointed shoes, all her tears forgotten, and her mind running upon the king and his knights. Her mother, though sharp with Hugh, would trust her little maid anywhere with him, and the two set forth down the narrow streets where was a throng of villeins, of country people who had poured in for miles round, of guild-brothers in their distinctive dresses, of monks from the monasteries of Saint Nicholas and Saint James, grey and black friars, Kalendar sisters, while mingling with these graver dresses were the more brilliantly clad retainers of the nobles who had accompanied or come to meet the king, most gorgeous among whom were those of the household of Dame Alicia de Mohun, who had journeyed in great state from Tor Mohun, near Torbay, and the trappings of whose palfrey caused the citizens much amazement. As many minstrels, dancing girls, and jongleurs had collected as if it had been fair time, and the bakers who sold bread by the Carfax were so pressed upon that they were forced to gather up their goods and remove them hastily.
Joan did not find it as delightful as she expected. Not all Hugh’s efforts could keep the crowd from pressing upon her, and he looked anxiously about for some safer means of letting her see the show. He spied at last a projection from one of the houses where he thought she might stand, and from whence she could look over the shoulders of the crowd, and there with much difficulty and pushing he managed to place her, standing himself so that he could both shield and hold her. There was no chance of seeing anything himself, for he was hedged in by a moving crowd, and more than one looked rather angrily upon him for having secured this standing-point before they had discovered its advantages. But Joan was mightily pleased. She was out of the press, and could see all that was to be seen, upon which she chattered volubly to her faithful guard below.
They had long to wait, but there was enough amusement for her not to weary, and when at last she became a little silent and Hugh wondered whether she would be content much longer, a cry of “The king!” was raised, and heads were eagerly stretched to see him turn out from Broad Gate. Down came the gay train, larger than that of the day before, owing to the many nobles and knights, Champernownes, Chudleighs, Fulfords, Pomeroys, Courtenays, and others, who had come into the city, and very noble they looked turning down the steep hill between the old houses.
But Hugh could neither see nor think of them, he was in so much dread that Joan would be swept or dragged off her standing place. The people were wild to have sight of the king, and those who were behind looked covetously at the projection. One or two pressed violently by Hugh, muttering that children were best left at home, and at last, as the cavalcade drew nearer and the excitement heightened, a wizened little man pushed the girl off and would have clambered into the place if a stronger fellow had not collared him and climbed there himself. Joan meanwhile was in danger of being trampled under foot, though Hugh fought and kicked with all the vigour in the world, shielding her at the cost of many hard blows on himself from those who were bent only upon pushing forward without heeding what was in their way. Joan, however, was not one to be maltreated without protest, and the instant she realised what had happened, she uttered a series of piercing shrieks, which caused the king and his train to look in her direction. Edward pulled up, and two or three of the men-at-arms, hastily parting the crowd, disclosed Joan clinging to Hugh, uttering woeful cries and prayers to be taken home. One of them would have raised her in his arms, but this was fresh terror, and whispering to Hugh, “Bring her thyself,” he pushed them gently along towards the royal party.
“Is the child hurt?” asked Edward hastily, and then recognising Hugh, who was red with shame at his own plight, and to have Joan hanging round his neck, the king smiled, and beckoned to him. Hugh bent on his knee as well as he could for Joan, and answered the king’s brief questions clearly. Someone had pulled the little maid down, and she was afraid of being trampled upon, and Joan, convinced now that she was in safety, relaxed her hold and gazed from one to the other with eyes full of innocent awe.
“She is a fair little maiden,” said Edward, kindly, “and thou art a brave prentice. Ever keep on the side of the weak. Now, my lords,” he added, “as the matter is not serious, we will ride to the bridge.”
The people cheered lustily as he passed on, and Hugh and Joan were the hero and heroine of the hour.
“What said he? What said he?”