“We had good doings in Queen Jane’s reign,” remarked Peter Trusbut, offering the young esquire a seat beside him, “but we have better in those of Queen Mary.”
And, certainly, his assertion was fully borne out by the great joints of beef, the hams, the pasties, and pullets with which the table groaned, and with which the giants were making their accustomed havoc. In the midst stood what Peter Trusbut termed a royal pasty, and royal it was, if size could confer dignity. It contained two legs of mutton, the pantler assured his guests, besides a world of other savoury matters, enclosed in a wall of rye-crust, and had taken twenty-four hours to bake.
“Twenty-four hours!” echoed Magog. “I will engage to consume it in the twentieth part of the time.”
“For that observation you shall not even taste it,” said his arbitrary spouse.
Debarred from the pasty, Magog made himself some amends by attacking a gammon of Bayonne bacon, enclosed in a paste, and though he found it excellent, he had the good sense to keep his opinion to himself. In this way, the supper passed off, Ribald jesting as usual, and devoting himself alternately to the two dames, Peter Trusbut carving the viands and assisting his guests, and the giants devouring all before them.
Towards the close of the repast, Xit, who always desired to be an object of attention, determined to signalise himself by some feat. Brandishing his knife and fork, he therefore sprang upon the table, and striding up to the royal pasty, peeped over the side, which was rather higher than himself, to take a survey of the contents.
While he was thus occupied, Dame Placida, who was sitting opposite to the pasty, caught him by the skirts of his doublet, and tossed him into the pie, while Peter Trusbut instantly covered it with the thick lid of crust, which had been removed when it was first opened. The laughter which followed this occurrence was not diminished, as the point of Xit’s knife appeared through the wall of pastry, nor was it long before he contrived to cut a passage out.
His re-appearance was hailed with a general shout of merriment. And Magog was by no means displeased at seeing him avenge himself by rushing towards his plump partner, and before she could prevent him, throw his arms round her, and imprint a sounding kiss upon her lips, while his greasy habiliments besmeared her dress.
Xit would have suffered severely for this retaliation, if it had not been for the friendly interference of Ribald, who rescued him from the clutches of the offended dame, and contrived with a tact peculiar to himself not only to appease her anger, but to turn it into mirth. Order being once more restored, the dishes and plates were removed, and succeeded by flagons and pots of ale and wine. The conversation then began to turn upon a masque about to be given to the queen by the Earl of Devonshire, at which they were all to assist, and arrangements were made as to the characters they should assume. Though this topic was interesting enough to the parties concerned, it was not so to Cholmondeley, who was about to retire to his own chamber to indulge his grief unobserved, when his departure was arrested by the sudden entrance of Lawrence Nightgall.
At the jailer’s appearance, the merriment of the party instantly ceased, and all eyes were bent upon him.
“Your business here, Master Nightgall?” demanded Peter Trusbut, who was the first to speak.
“My business is with Master Cuthbert Cholmondeley,” replied the jailer.
“State it then at once,” replied the esquire, frowning.
“It is to ascertain where you intend to lodge, that I may report it to the lieutenant,” said Nightgall.
“I shall remain here,” replied Cholmondeley, sternly, “in Cicely’s chamber.”
“Here!” exclaimed Nightgall, starting, but instantly recovering himself, he turned to Peter Trusbut, and in a voice of forced composure, added, “You will be responsible then for him, Master Pantler, with your life and goods to the queen’s highness, which, if he escapes, will both be forfeited.”
“Indeed!” cried Trusbut, in dismay. “I—I—”
“Yes—yes—my husband understands all that,” interposed Dame Potentia; “he will be answerable for him—and so will I.”