Transcriber's Note.
This is the Second book of the trilogy, The Fifth Queen, by Ford Madox Ford. The other books are The Fifth Queen and The Fifth Queen Crowned.
| part one | |
| The Rising Sun, | 1 |
| part two | |
| The Distant Cloud, | 75 |
| part three | |
| The Sunburst, | 153 |
The Magister Udal sat in the room of his inn in Paris, wherecustomarily the King of France lodged such envoys as came at hisexpense. He had been sent there to Latinise the letters that passedbetween Sir Thomas Wyatt and the King's Ministers of France, for hewas esteemed the most learned man in these islands. He had groanedmuch at being sent there, for he must leave in England so manyloves—the great, blonde Margot Poins, that was maid to KatharineHoward; the tall, swaying Katharine Howard herself; Judge Cantre'swife that had fed him well; and two other women, with all of whom hehad succeeded easily or succeeded in no wise at all. But the missionwas so well paid—with as many crowns the day as he had had groats forteaching the Lady Mary of England—that fain he had been to go.Moreover, it was by way of being a favour of Privy Seal's. Themagister had written for him a play in English; the rich post was thereward—and it was an ill thing, a thing the magister dreaded, torefuse the favours of Privy Seal. He consoled himself with the thoughtthat the writing of letters in Latin might wash from his mouth thesavour of the play he had written in the vulgar tongue.
But his work in Paris was ended—for with the flight of Cardinal Pole,who had left Paris precipitately upon news that the King of Englandhad sent a drunken roisterer to assassinate him, it was imagined thatsoon now more concord between Francis and England might ensue, and the[2]magister sat in his room planning his voyage back to Dover. The roomwas great in size, panelled mostly in wood, lit with lampwicks thatfloated in oil dishes and heated with a sea-coal fire, for though itwas April the magister was of a cold disposition of the hands andshins. The inn—of the Golden Astrolabe—was kept by an Englishwoman,a masterful widow with a broad face and a great mouth that smiled. Shestood beside him there. Forty-seven she might have been, and shecalled herself the Widow Annot.
The magister sat over his fire with his gown parted from his legs towarm his shins, but his hands waved angrily and his face wascrestfallen.
'Oh, keeper of a tavern,' he said. 'It is set down in holy writ thatit is not good for a man to be alone.'
'That a hostess shall keep her tavern clean is w