“The great vase you made for the cardinal! Tall as a man, and a wreath of silver dancers! And he would have you to sup with him—and even I in the hall had venison pasty and marchpane and such wine as Saint Vulcan drinks!”
“Let us go to the owner.”
Five days ago Wander Forest.
Owner of the house, heir of the dead man’s furnishings, was found. Yes, yes! let and sell on easy terms, Jankin, who was responsible, answering for Richard or Diccon Dawn, and the latter’s gold pieces also answering. The long June day saw the whole completed, key in the hand of Diccon Dawn, and still two hours lacking of sunset.
Quoth Jankin, “I can get you plain work to start on.”
He stood a middle-aged, surly, doggedly faithful man. “If you chose to work with me again, Jankin—?”
Jankin regarded workroom, regarded street through wide, low window. “Well, I will! I’d like to watch tree break flowerpot!”
Through the street alone, into the outer street near the river, a poor street also, filled with a great clanging noise. Men-at-arms poured by, going for some reason to the Tower. When they were passed he met a country cart, two girls, sisters, seated and a boy walking beside the horse. They had strawberries and they were crying them. “Strawberries! Strawberries! Make you young again! Strawberries!”
Down a cross street he saw the river and it was running sunset gold with beds of violets. He entered a poor house where lodged sailors’ wives, and here he sought and found Morgen Fay. “Come with me! I want to show you something.”
After a moment of silence she moved toward him and they went out together. They went through the street, a tall man and a woman very poorly clad, tall almost as he, and of a rich beauty. There was a great sunset this eve, bathing London and Thames and these two.