at it would have been a very
different thing to go home to the old man when he first came back with a
pouch full of ransoms and plunder, whereas now he had barely enough to
carry him to the place of meeting with his Badgers. And there was the
wench too--he had fairly forgotten her name. Women were like she wolves
for greed when they had a brood of whelps.

Stephen satisfied him that there was no danger on that score, and heard
him muttering, that it was no harm to secure a safe harbour in case a
man hadn't the luck to be knocked on the head ere he grew too old to
trail a pike. And he would fain see the old man.

So permission was asked for Stephen to show the way to Master Randall's,
and granted somewhat reluctantly, Master Headley saying, "I'll have thee
back within an hour, Stephen Birkenholt, and look thou dost not let thy
brain be set afire with this fellow's windy talk of battles and sieges,
and deeds only fit for pagans and wolves."

"Ay!" said Tibble, perhaps with a memory of the old fable, "better be
the trusty mastiff than the wolf."

And like the wolf twitting the mastiff with his chain, the soldier was
no sooner outside the door of the Dragon court before he began to
express his wonder how a lad of mettle could put up with a flat cap, a
blue gown, and the being at the beck and call of a greasy burgher, when
a bold, handsome young knave like him might have the world before him
and his stout pike.

Stephen was flattered, but scarcely tempted. The hard selfishness and
want of affection of the Condottiere shocked him, while he looked about,
hoping some of his acquaintance would see him in company with this tall
figure clanking in shining armour, and with a knightly helmet and gilt
spurs. The armour, new and brilliant, concealed the worn and shabby
leathern dress beneath, and gave the tall, spare figure a greater
breadth, diminishing the look of a hungry wolf which Sir John Fulford's
aspect suggested. However, as he passed some of the wealthier stalls,
where the apprentices, seeing the martial figure, shouted, "What d'ye
lack, sir knight?" and offered silk and velvet robes and mantles, gay
sword knots, or even rich chains, under all the clamour, Stephen heard
him swearing by Saint George what a place this would be for a sack, if
his Badgers were behind him.

"If that poor craven of a Warbeck had had a spark of valour in him,"
quoth he, as he passed a stall gay with bright tankards and flagons, "we
wou