“But are you, then? I thought you were a farmer and raised cabbages.” And, smiling, Leicester passed on.
For a moment the seigneur stood pondering the earl’s words and angrily wondering at his obtuseness. Then suddenly he knew he had been mocked, and he turned and ran after his enemy; but Leicester had vanished into the Queen’s apartments.
The Queen’s fool was standing near, seemingly engaged in the light occupation of catching imaginary flies, buzzing with his motions. As Leicester disappeared he looked from under his arm at Lemprière. “If a bird will not stop for the salt to its tail, then the salt is damned, Nuncio; and you must cry David! and get thee to the quarry.”
Lemprière stared at him swelling with rage; but the quaint smiling of the fool conquered him, and, instead of turning on his heel, he spread himself like a Colossus and looked down in grandeur. “And wherefore cry David! and get quarrying?” he asked. “Come, what sense is there in thy words when I am wroth with yonder nobleman?”
“Oh, Nuncio, Nuncio, thou art a child of innocence and without history. The salt held not the bird for the net of thy anger, Nuncio; so it is meet that other ways be found. David the ancient put a stone in a sling, and Goliath laid him down like an egg in a nest—therefore, Nuncio, get thee to the quarry. Obligato, which is to say Leicester yonder, hath no tail—the devil cut it off and wears it himself. So let salt be damned, and go sling thy stone!”
Lemprière was good-humored again. He fumbled in his purse and brought forth a gold-piece. “Fool, thou hast spoken like a man born sensible and infinite. I understand thee like a book. Thou hast not folly, and thou shall not be answered as if thou wast a fool. But in terms of gold shalt thou have reply.” He put the gold-piece in the fool’s hand and slapped him on the shoulder.
“Why now, Nuncio,” answered the other, “it is clear that there is a fool at court, for is it not written that a fool and his money are soon parted? And this gold-piece is still hot with running ‘tween thee and me.”
Lemprière roared. “Why, then, for thy hit thou shalt have another gold-piece, gossip. But see”—his voice lowered—“know you where is my friend, Buonespoir the pirate? Know you where he is in durance?”
“As I know marrow in a bone I know where he hides, Nuncio; so come with me,” answered the fool.
“If De Carteret had but thy sense we could live at peace in Jersey,” rejoined Lemprière, and strode ponderously after the light-footed fool, who capered forth, singing: