"I know him well," the smith said."There are many who do a larger business, and hold their heads higher; but Giles Fletcher is well esteemed as a good workman, whose wares can be depended upon.It is often said of him that did he take less pains he would thrive more; but he handles each bow that he makes as if he loved it, and finishes and polishes each with his own hand.Therefore he doeth not so much trade as those who are less particular with their wares, for he hath to charge a high price to be able to live.But none who have ever bought his bows have regretted the silver which they cost.Many and many a gross of arrowheads have I sold him, and he is well-nigh as particular in their make as he is over the spring and temper of his own bows.Many a friendly wrangle have I had with him over their weight and finish, and it is not many who find fault with my handiwork, though I say it myself; and now, madam, I am at your service."During the night the wayfarer's clothes had been dried.The cloak was of rough quality, such as might have been used by a peasant woman; but the rest, though of sombre colour, were of good material and fashion.Seeing that her kind entertainers would be hurt by the offer of money, the lady contented herself with thanking Madge warmly, and saying that she hoped to come across the bridge one day with Dame Fletcher; then, under the guidance of Geoffrey, who insisted on carrying the boy, she set out from the smith's cottage.They passed under the outer gate and across the bridge, which later on was covered with a double line of houses and shops, but was now a narrow structure.Over the gateway across the river, upon pikes, were a number of heads and human limbs.The lady shuddered as she looked up.
"It is an ugly sight," the smith said, "and I can see no warrant for such exposure of the dead.There are the heads of Wallace, of three of Robert Bruce's brothers, and of many other valiant Scotsmen who fought against the king's grandfather some twenty years back.But after all they fought for their country, just as Harold and our ancestors against the Normans under William, and I think it a foul shame that men who have done no other harm should be beheaded, still less that their heads and limbs should be stuck up there gibbering at all passers-by.There are over a score of them, and every fresh trouble adds to their number; but pardon me," he said suddenly as a sob from the figure by his side called his attention from the heads on the top of the gateway, "I am rough and heedless in speech, as my sister Madge does often tell me, and it may well be that I have said something which wounded you.""You meant no ill," the lady replied; "it was my own thoughts and troubles which drew tears from me; say not more about it, I pray you.
They passed under the gateway, with its ghastly burden, and were soon in the crowded streets of London.High overhead the houses extended, each story advancing beyond that below it until the occupiers of the attics could well-nigh shake hands across.They soon left the more crowded streets, and turning to the right, after ten minutes walking, the smith stopped in front of a bowyer shop near Aldgate.
"This is the shop," he said, "and there is Giles Fletcher himself trying the spring and pull of one of his bows.Here I will leave you, and will one of these days return to inquire if your health has taken ought of harm by the rough buffeting of the storm of yester-even."So saying he handed the child to its mother, and with a wave of the hand took his leave, not waiting to listen to the renewed thanks which his late guest endeavoured to give him.
The shop was open in front, a projecting penthouse sheltered it from the weather; two or three bows lay upon a wide shelf in front, and several large sheaves of arrows tied together stood by the wall.A powerful man of some forty years old was standing in the middle of the shop with a bent bow in his arm, taking aim at a spot in the wall.Through an open door three men could be seen in an inner workshop cutting and shaping the wood for bows.The bowyer looked round as his visitor entered the shop, and then, with a sudden exclamation, lowered the bow.
"Hush, Giles!" the lady exclaimed; "it is I, but name no names; it were best that none knew me here."The craftsman closed the door of communication into the inner room."My Lady Alice," he exclaimed in a low tone, "you here, and in such a guise?""Surely it is I," the lady sighed, "although sometimes I am well-nigh inclined to ask myself whether it be truly I or not, or whether this be not all a dreadful dream.""I had heard but vaguely of your troubles," Giles Fletcher said, "but hoped that the rumours were false.Ever since the Duke of Kent was executed the air has been full of rumours.Then came news of the killing of Mortimer and of the imprisonment of the king's mother, and it was said that many who were thought to be of her party had been attacked and slain, and I heard -"and there he stopped.
