In about an hour, the hangings of the tent were drawn back, and the two kings re-appeared; ready to separate for the day. The grooms led up the horses; and Francis and Henry, embracing with many professions of amity, mounted and turned their steps each to his several dwelling.
The English procession marched back in the same order as it came, and arrived without interruption at the green plain of Guisnes, where Henry, ordering the band of footmen to halt, rode along before them, making them a gay and familiar speech, and bidding them be merry if they loved their king. Shouts and acclamations answered the monarch's speech, and the nobles, joining in his intent, showered their largesse upon their retainers as they followed along the line. The last band that Henry came to was that of the privileged tradesmen of the court, most of whom he recognised, possessing, in a high degree, that truly royal quality of never forgetting any one he had once known. To each he had some frank, bluff sentence to address; while they, with heads uncapped and bending low, enjoyed with proud hearts the honour of being spoken to by the king, and thought how they could tell it to all their neighbours and gossips when they got to England. As he rode on, Henry perceived in the second rank a face that he remembered, which, being attached to a very pliable neck, kept bending down with manifold reverences, not unlike the nodding of a mandarin cast in china-ware.
"Ha! my good clothier, Jekin Groby!" cried the king; "come forth, man! What! come forth, I say!"
Jekin Groby rushed forward from behind, knocking on one side the royal honey merchant, and fairly throwing down the household fishmonger who stood before him; then, casting himself on his knees by the side of the king's horse, he clasped the palms of his hands together, and turned up his eyes piteously to the monarch's countenance, exclaiming, "Justice! justice! your grace's worship, if your royal stomach be full of justice, as folks say, give me justice."
"Justice!" cried Henry, laughing at the sad and deplorable face poor Jekin thought necessary to assume for the purpose of moving his compassion. "Justice on whom, man--ha? Faith, if any man have done thee wrong, he shall repent it, as I am a king; though, good Jekin, I sent for thee a month ago to furnish cloth for all the household, and thou wert not to be found."
"Lord 'a mercy!" cried Jekin, "and I've missed the job! but it ought all to be put in the bill. Pray, your grace's worship, put it in the bill against that vile Sir Payan Wileton, who kidnapped me on your own royal highway, robbed me of my bagfull of angels, and sent me to sea, where I was so sick, your grace; you can't think how sick! And then they beat me with ropes' ends, and made me go up aloft, and damned me for a land-lubber, and a great deal more: all on account of that Sir Payan Wileton!"
"Ha!" cried the king; "Sir Payan Wileton again! I had forgot him. However, good Jekin, I cannot hear you now; come to my chamber to-morrow before I rise--ha, man! then I will hear and do you justice, if it be on the highest man in the land. There is my signet: the page will let you in. At six o'clock, man, fail not!"
"I told you so!" cried Jekin, starting upon his feet, and looking round him with delight as the king rode away; "I told you he would make that black thief give me back my angels. I knew his noble heart; Lord 'a mercy! 'tis a gracious prince, surely."
CHAPTER XXXIX.
Let some o' the guard be ready.