“Nay, send him not for wine, I pray thee, good Master Ratcliffe,” cried Hepborne; “I trow I have already drank as much as may be seemly for this night.”
“Chut,” cried the wine merchant, with a face of glee, “all that may be; yet shall we drain a flask to our better acquaintance. Fly, sirrah Jehan! This way, Sir Knight. Would that Heaven mought send us a flight of such rare birds as thou art; thine ensample mought peraunter work a change on these all-devouring vultures of King Richard’s Court. This way, Sir Knight. Have a care, there be an evil step there.”
Master Lawrence Ratcliffe ushered Hepborne into a very handsomely furnished apartment, the walls of which were hung round with costly cloths. It was largely supplied with velvet and silk covered chairs, and with many an ancient cabinet, and it was lighted by a small silver lamp. They were hardly seated, when a lacquey brought in a silver basket of sweetmeats and dried fruits, and soon afterwards Jehan Petit appeared with the venerable flasks for which Master Ratcliffe had despatched him. It was with some difficulty that Hepborne could prevent the liberal Englishman from ordering a sumptuous banquet to be prepared, by declaring that repose, not food, was what he now required; but he made up for this check on his hospitality by giving ample directions for the comfort of all the members of Hepborne’s retinue, quadrupeds as well as bipeds. The wine [[493]]was nectar, yet Hepborne drank but little of it; but Master Ratcliffe did ample duty for both.
“I fear, Sir Knight, that thy people were but scurvily treated ere thou camest,” said he to Hepborne; “but, in good verity, I have too much of this free quartering thrust upon me by the Court. I promise thee, King Richard is not always content with his two tuns out of each of my wine ships. By’r Lady, he doth often help himself to ten tuns at a time from these cellars of mine, and that, too, as if he were doing me high honour all the while. It did so happen lately that he lacked some hundred of broad pieces for his immediate necessities. Down came my Lord of Huntingdon with his bows and fair words. ‘Master Lawrence Ratcliffe,’ said he, ‘it is His Majesty’s Royal pleasure to do thee an especial honour.’ ‘What,’ cried I, ‘my Lord of Huntingdon, doth the King purpose to make an Earl of me?’ ‘Nay, not quite that,’ replied his Lordship, somewhat offended at my boldness, ‘not quite that, Master Ratcliffe, but, knowing that thou art one of the richest merchants of his good city of London, he hath resolved to prefer thee to be his creditor rather than any other. Lend him, therefore, five hundred pieces for a present necessity. And seeing it was I who did bring this high honour upon thy shoulders, by frequently enlarging to the King of thy princely wealth, thou mayest at same time lend me fifty pieces from thine endless hoards, for mine own private use.’ ‘My Lord,’ replied I, ‘seeing that thou thyself hast been altogether misinformed as to my wealth, thou mayest hie thee back speedily to undeceive the King, else may the Royal wrath peradventure be poured out upon thee, for filling his ear with that which lacketh foundation. I have no money hoards to play the Jew withal.’ ‘Nay, then,’ replied Huntingdon, with a threatening aspect, ‘thou mayest look for the King’s wrath falling on thine own head, not on mine. By St. Paul, thou shalt repent thee of this thy discourteous conduct to the King.’ The profligate Earl was hardly gone when I felt that I had permitted my indignation to carry me too far, and that it would have been wiser to have paid five times the demand, and I soon had proof of this. I judged it best to pay the money; yet hardly hath a week elapsed sithence that I have not been tormented in a thousand ways by orders from the Court. But, by’r Lady, such a state of things may not last,” said he, after a pause; and then starting, as if he thought he had perhaps said too much, “for what poor merchant’s coffers may stand out against such drafts as these? And now, Sir Knight, thou mayest judge why I was resolved to receive thee [[494]]so vilely. But thou mayest thank thine own courtesy for so speedily disarming my resolution.”
On the ensuing morning the Lord Welles came, by the King’s order, to wait on Sir David Lindsay, and to invite him and his companions to a Royal banquet, to be given that day at the Palace of Westminster, whither they were to go in grand procession by land, and to return by water to the Tower at night. The Scottish knights, therefore, joined the Royal party, and leaving the city by Ludgate, descended into the beautiful country which bordered the Thames, their eyes delighted, as they rode along, by the appearance of the suburban palaces and gardens which lay scattered along the river’s bank. Passing through the village of Charing, they approached the venerable Abbey and Palace of Westminster, and were received within the fortified walls of the latter. The entertainment given in the magnificent hall was on a scale of extravagance perfectly appalling, both as to number of dishes and rarity of the viands; and the aquatic pageant of painted boats was no less wonderful. It was impossible for the poor commons to behold the money wrenched from their industry thus scattered in a useless luxury that but little nourished their trade or manufactures, or at least could not appear to their ignorance to have such a tendency, without their becoming disaffected; and, accordingly, every new pageant of this kind only added to the mass of the malcontents.
The handsome Courtenay had this day outshone all his former splendour of attire.
“Didst thou mark that popinjay Sir Piers Courtenay?” demanded Sir William de Dalzel, as they were returning in the boat; “didst thou mark the bragging device on his azure silk surcoat?”
“I did note it,” replied Halyburton; “a falcon embroidered in divers silks, that did cunningly ape the natural colours of the bird.”
“Yea, but didst thou note the legend, too?” continued Sir William de Dalzel. “It ran thus, methinks—
I bear a falcon fairest of flight: