death old Martin swore that he was a
son of King Edward's, and they came home again with the men the Duchess
of Burgundy gave Perkin--came bag and baggage, for young Fulford had
wedded a fair Flemish wife, poor soul! He left her with his father nigh
to Taunton ere the battle, and he was never heard of more, but as he was
one of the few men who knew how to fight, belike he was slain. Thus old
Martin was left with the Flemish wife and her little one on his hands,
for whose sake he did what went against him sorely, joined himself to
this troop of jugglers and players, so as to live by the minstrelsy he
had learnt in better days, while his daughter-in-law mended and made for
the company and kept them in smart and shining trim. By the time I fell
in with them his voice was well-nigh gone, and his hand sorely shaking,
but Fire-eating Nat, the master of our troop, was not an ill-natured
fellow, and the glee-women's feet were well used to his rebeck.
Moreover, the Fire-eater had an eye to little Perronel, though her
mother had never let him train her--scarce let him set an eye on her;
and when Mistress Fulford died, poor soul, of ague, caught when we
showed off before the merry Prior of Worcester, her last words were that
Perronel should never be a glee-maiden. Well, to make an end of my
tale, we had one day a mighty show at Windsor, when the King and Court
were at the castle, and it was whispered to me at the end that my Lord
Archbishop's household needed a jester, and that Quipsome Hal had been
thought to make excellent fooling. I gave thanks at first, but said I
would rather be a free man, not bound to be a greater fool than Dame
Nature made me all the hours of the day. But when I got back to the
Garter, what should I find but that poor old Martin had been stricken
with the dead palsy while he was playing his rebeck, and would never
twang a note more; and there was pretty Perronel weeping over him, and
Nat Fire-eater pledging his word to give the old man bed, board, and all
that he could need, if so be that Perronel should be trained to be one
of his glee-maidens, to dance and tumble and sing. And there was the
poor old franklin shaking his head more than the palsy made it shake
already, and trying to frame his lips to say, `rather they both should
die.'"

"Oh, uncle, I wot now what thou didst!" cried Stephen.

"Yea, lad, there was nought else to be done. I asked Master Fulford to
give me Perronel, plighting my word