“Yes, they left here late in the day. His taborer and two pretty dancers were with him,” said Bartol.
“They were performing on the bridge as I rode across it. I reined in my horse near the center of the bridge before the chapel of St. Thomas. There they danced in the narrow way, with nearly every inhabitant of the bridge either standing crowded in a circle around them or looking out of the windows of their darksome shops. It delayed me long.”
“But not against thy will, I am sure,” remarked Frazer, looking searchingly at the speaker, over his raised cup.
“And why so?”
“Were the fair dancers no attraction? If they were not, there must have been something pulling thee strongly in this direction. Perhaps it is a fairer lady.”
He seemed to speak advisedly.
“True,” chuckled the landlord to himself, “and I wonder does he know that she who was once the sweet maid of Canterbury lieth here?”
“If so,” returned Marlowe with some irritation caused by the tones of Frazer, “it is not a matter either for mention or discussion.”
“We will drink to her,” interrupted Bartol, “be she fair or plain, maid or spouse, young or old. Here is to thy loadstone, Kit.”
“Not without mention of her name,” said Frazer, coldly.