“Ay, that’s always the case,” observed Peter Trusbut; “though I must do my dame the justice to say that she did not disguise her qualities during my courtship.”
“I will not hear a word uttered in disparagement of Dame Potentia,” cried Ribald, who at that moment entered the kitchen, “even by her husband. Ah! Master Cholmondeley, I am right glad to see you. I heard of your release to-day. So, the pretty bird is flown you find—and whither none of us can tell, though I think I could give a guess at the fowler.”
“So could I,” replied Cholmondeley.
“I dare say both our suspicions tend to the same mark,” said Ribald, “but we must observe caution now, for the person I mean is protected by Simon Renard, and others in favour with the queen.”
“He is little better than an assassin,” said Cholmondeley; “and has detained a wretched woman whom he has driven out of her senses by his cruelty a captive in the subterranean dungeons beneath the Devilin Tower.”
And he proceeded to detail all he knew of the captive Alexia.
“This is very dreadful, no doubt,” remarked Ribald, who had listened to the recital with great attention. “But as I said before, Nightgall is in favour with persons of the greatest influence, and he is more dangerous and vindictive than ever. What you do, you must do cautiously.”
By this time, the party had been increased by the arrival of Og and Xit, both of whom, but especially the latter, appeared rejoiced to meet with the young esquire.
“Ah! Master Cholmondeley,” said the elder giant, heaving a deep sigh. “Times have changed with us all since we last met. Jane is no longer queen. The Duke of Northumberland is beheaded. Cicely is lost. And last and worst of all, Magog is married.”
“So I have heard from Gog,” replied Cholmondeley, “and I fear not very much to your satisfaction.”
“Nor his own either,” replied Og, shrugging his shoulders. “However it can’t be helped. He must make the best of a bad bargain.”
“It might be helped though,” observed Xit. “Magog seems to have lost all his spirit since he married. If I had to manage her, I’d soon let her see the difference.”
“You, forsooth!” exclaimed Dame Potentia, contemptuously. “Do you imagine any woman would stand in awe of you?”
And before the dwarf could elude her grasp, she seized him by the nape of the neck, and regardless of his cries, placed him upon the chimney-piece, amid a row of shining pewter plates.
“There you shall remain,” she added, “till you beg pardon for your impertinence.”
Xit looked piteously around, but seeing no hand extended to reach him down, and being afraid to spring from so great a height, he entreated the dame’s forgiveness in a humble tone; and she thereupon set him upon the ground.
“A pretty person you are to manage a wife,” said Dame Potentia, with a laugh, in which all, except the object of it, joined.
It being Cholmondeley’s intention to seek out a lodging at one of the warder’s habitations, he consulted Peter Trusbut on the subject, who said, that if his wife was agreeable, he should be happy to accommodate him in his own dwelling. The matter being referred to Dame Potentia she at once assented, and assigned him Cicely’s chamber.
On taking possession of the room, Cholmondeley sank upon a chair, and for some time indulged the most melancholy reflections, from which he was aroused by a tremendous roar of laughter, such as he knew could only be uttered by the gigantic brethren, proceeding from the adjoining apartment. Repairing thither, he found the whole party assembled round the table, which was, as usual, abundantly, or rather superabundantly, furnished. Amongst the guests were Magog and his wife, and the laughter he had heard was occasioned by a box administered by the latter to the ears of her spouse, because he had made some remark that sounded displeasing in her own. Magog bore the blow with the utmost philosophy, and applied himself for consolation to a huge pot of metheglin, which he held to his lips as long as a drop remained within it.
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