"And that's true, o' conscience!" smiled the buxom Cicely.
"And ye'll find no better brew than our own!" quoth Roger.
"And that I'll swear to!" laughed the peddler. "Cram me wi' spiders else!"
So the good ale was brought and Godby, lifting his tankard, smiled and nodded over the creamy foam: "Here's a griping colic to every catchpoll, harmon-beck and the like vermin 'twixt this and London town!" says he, and lifted the ale to his lips; but suddenly he sat it down untasted and rose: "Friends, I'm took!" quoth he. "See yonder!" As he spake the narrow doorway was darkened and two rough fellows entered, and each bore a formidable bludgeon.
"Aye," says one, a big, surly-voiced fellow, "here be us, peddler, and there be you, so best come easy--an' no tricks, mind!"
"Then easy does it, lads!" says Godby, no whit abashed. "No lamb could come milder than Godby, aye lambs, doves and babes is roaring lions compared wi' Godby--so easy does it. What is't this time, codgers?"
"Fower hours i' the pillory, three i' the stocks, and a month in Maidstone jail and that's what!"
"And enough too!" growled Roger the landlord, clenching hairy fist and glancing furtively towards a rusty sword suspended above the hearth.
"Let be, Roger--I'm a lamb!" sighed the peddler. "And I wouldn't ha' you in trouble by me--besides this room o' yourn, though snug, ain't fit for struggling nor striving! So, friends--good-bye!" Then he turned away between his two captors, but as he did so, his bright eyes for one moment met mine and in his look I read appeal.
Now scarce were they gone when I got me to my feet, whereat the landlord, Roger, did the like: "What's to do?" he questioned, glancing yearningly from me to the rusty sword.
"Why now," says I, counting out my reckoning, "bide you here--for your good wife's sake."
"Aye, do now, Roger!" she pleaded. "'Twould be ruination to us!"
"Moreover," says I, reaching for my cudgel, "they are but two, so bide you here." Then I stepped forth of the tavern and very soon came up with the two fellows, their prisoner walking betwixt them meekly enough. But, as I approached, they halted all three.
"And what be you after?" demanded the surly fellow.
"You!"
"And what d'ye want of us--hey?"
"Your prisoner!"
"Ha! And what for him?"
"I've a mind to him!"
"O! Ye have, eh?"
"I have. Do I get him?"
"Be curst for a black, ugly rogue."
"That's no answer!"
"'Tis all you'll get o' we, save 'ard knocks!" says the man, spitting in his hand and taking firm grip of his bludgeon.