“’Tis not you, captain. ’Tis”—his voice sank lower—“she,” and he pointed toward his shop. “Have you a wife yourself?”
“Nay, Tom, nor never shall have.”
“’Tis well. The thousand new statutes that are imposed upon us by her Majesty, the queen—God preserve her!—since you left, are not one whit so hard to bear as them her majesty—God preserve me!—Gammer Watkins, imposes.”
“There are two sides to every difference, Tom. Now, a little less at the ‘Tabard’—but tell me, do the citizens grow uneasy beneath these numerous decrees?”
“Nay; many are but slight annoyances seldom put in force. The wearing of a rapier longer than three feet is forbidden by law; the wearing of a woman’s ruff too large is prohibited by law. And our caps should be of cheaper stuff than velvet by law, and we must not blow upon horns or whistles in the streets by law—’uds precious, there is no end to it. But there is no statute against the flogging of blinded bears, captain—I had almost forgot this afternoon’s exploit of thine. I saw it not, for when they had brought King Lud to such a pass I could not sit there, but went to the bear-house in the garden to show a country lad Old Sarcason at closer quarters. Yet I might have known it was you when Peter Sharp described the adventure.”
Vytal laughed. “I’m sorry you so soon forgot. I meant the thing to be a lasting lesson. But come, I want a pair of breeches. I go again abroad, but westward now, to the new country.”
They walked across to the shop. “I fear,” said Watkins, his voice sinking to a whisper, “you should not tarry long. Those bear-wards will not readily forgive you.”
“Now, Thomas, what has that to do with breeches?”
“Nothing, indeed,” returned the leather-seller, with a dry, crisp laugh. “Oh, but you never change, Master Vytal.”
They were but just within the shop when the needle-maker came hurrying to the bridge excitedly, with young Frazer, Marlowe, Alleyn the actor, Gorm, and a dozen others at his heels, St. Magil slowly following in the rear.