Of course it was rubbish. "Latin be damned," said
I gleefully. "Nothing counts but life and love."
There was more than a pinch of swagger in me as I made my way back to the
passage overlooking the yard. Arrived there, I cautiously opened the
nearest lattice and peered out. The inn-yard was dark and silent, and I
was on the point of closing the window when I heard the clatter of hoofs
on the stone-paving under the archway. A moment later a man on foot came
in sight, and was followed into the yard by two men on horseback, one of
them in charge of a led horse.
At once all was bustle. Ostlers ran up with lanterns, and the host came
forward, candle in hand and a multitude of words on his tongue, to order
things aright.
The man afoot was Master Freake, and it was clear that the riders were
men of his, for I heard him ask them if they were quite clear as to their
instructions, and both answered respectfully that they were. I could see
they wore swords and that their horses were splendid, powerful animals,
not much inferior to Sultan himself. Who and what was this man--"plain
John Freake," as he called himself,--who carried large sums of money,
domineered over self-important burgesses and mayors, who was served by
such well-appointed horsemen, whom Master Dobson, a parliament man,
feared, and my Lord Brocton had thought it worth while to attempt to put
out of the way?
It was a riddle I could not read, but as I stood there, peering round the
half-open lattice at the scene below, I was happier than ever I had been
in my life.
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