Master Cross-Eyes looked up without any change in the sullen expression of his face.
“The young mistress saved me from the hangman when yonder big-nosed woman would have put a halter on my neck,” he retorted bluntly, conscious that his night’s work would protect him; “and I sent the warning to Sir William, despatched my comrades, who hated Henge, for he was ever a hard master, full of blows and curses and slow to pay, and I stayed to protect Mistress Carew.”
“By Saint Thomas, ’tis the valiant beggar that I had scourged at Wildrick!” cried old Madam; “may Heaven forgive me for it! You shall have a gold piece for every blow and more,” she added. “Here, Sir Leech, look to his wounds at my cost.”
“His service has atoned his fault,” Cromwell said gravely; “but look you, varlet, being strong enough to fight and shrewd enough to catch a traitor, if you do not work henceforth, you shall hang at Tyburn.”
“My lord,” interposed Raby, “he will be taken into my service for his lifetime, and that is not enough to pay the debt.”
“Ay,” said Carew, “and he is like to make a better servant than the knave we have in jail, who served you as I foretold. My lord, you owe me the wager.”
“It shall be paid,” Raby answered heartily; “yet do I think you never dreamed that he was as bad as he has proved.”
“’Tis as I told you,” Sir William retorted dryly.
While this was passing, Cromwell gave some brief directions to the captain of the watch and his assistants, who were lifting Henge’s still unconscious form upon a stretcher.
“To the Tower,” said the king’s minister, “and keep him safe; to-morrow he will have to answer to the Council if he lives,—he and Zachary Sanders.”