impute nothing, lad. I cry shame upon them both.”
“‘Swounds!” swore Master Peter. “Do you malign the dead?”
“If I do, I malign them both. But I do not. I no more than condemn a fault that both must acknowledge could they return to life.”
“Then, Sir, confine your condemnings to your own father with whom no man of honour could have lived at peace....”
“Softly, softly, good Sir....”
“There’s no call to go softly. Ralph Tressilian was a dishonour, a scandal to the countryside. Not a hamlet between here and Truro, or between here and Helston, but swarms with big Tressilian noses like your own, in memory of your debauched parent.”
Sir Oliver’s eyes grew narrower: he smiled. “I wonder how you came by your own nose?” he wondered.
Master Godolphin got to his feet in a passion, and his chair crashed over behind him. “Sir,” he blazed, “you insult my mother’s memory!”
Sir Oliver laughed. “I make a little free with it, perhaps, in return for your pleasantries on the score of my father.”
Master Godolphin pondered him in speechless anger, then swayed by his passion he leaned across the board, raised his long cane and struck Sir Oliver sharply on the shoulder.
That done, he strode off magnificently towards the door. Half-way thither he paused.
“I shall expect your friends and the length of your sword,” said he.
Sir Oliver laughed again. “I don’t think I shall trouble to send them,” said he.
Master Godolphin wheeled, fully to face him again. “How? You will take a blow?”
Sir Oliver shrugged. “None saw it given,” said he.
“But I shall publish it abroad that I have caned you.”
“You’ll publish yourself a liar if you do; for none will believe you.” Then he changed his tone yet again. “Come, Peter, we are behaving unworthily. As for the blow, I confess that I deserved it. A man’s mother is more sacred than his father. So we may cry quits on that score. Can we not cry quits on all else? What can it profit us to perpetuate a foolish quarrel that sprang up between our fathers?”
“There is more than that between us,” answered Master Godolphin. “I’ll not have my sister wed a pirate.”
“A pirate? God’s light! I am glad there’s none to hear you for since her grace has knighted me for my doings upon the seas, your words go very near to treason. Surely, lad, what the Queen approves, Master Peter Godolphin may approve and even your mentor Sir John Killigrew. You’ve been listening to him. ‘Twas he sent you hither.”
“I am no man’s lackey,” answered the other hotly, resenting the imputation—and resenting it the more because of the truth in it.
“To call me a pirate is to say a foolish thing. Hawkins with whom I sailed has also received the accolade, and who dubs us pirates insults the Queen herself. Apart from that, which, as you see, is a very empty charge, what else have you against me? I am, I hope, as good as any other here in Cornwall; Rosamund honours me with her affection and I am rich and shall be richer still ere the wedding bells are heard.”
“Rich with the fruit of thieving upon the seas, rich with the treasures of scuttled ships and the price of slaves captured in Africa and sold to the plantations, rich as the vampire is glutted—with the blood of dead men.”
“Does Sir John say that?” asked Sir Oliver, in a soft deadly voice.
“I say it.”
“I heard you; but I am asking where you learnt that pretty lesson. Is Sir John your preceptor? He is, he is. No need to tell me. I’ll deal with him. Meanwhile let me disclose to you the pure and disinterested source of Sir John’s rancour. You shall see what an upright and honest gentleman is Sir John, who was your father’s friend and has been your guardian.”
“I’ll not listen to what you say of him.”
“Nay, but you shall, in return for having made me listen to what he says of me. Sir John desires to obtain a licence to build at the mouth of the Fal. He hopes to see a town spring up above the haven there under the shadow of his own Manor of Arwenack. He represents himself as nobly disinterested and all concerned for the prosperity of the country, and he neglects to mention that the land is his own and that it is his own prosperity and that of his family which he is concerned to foster. We met in London by a fortunate chance whilst Sir John was about this business at the Court. Now it happens that I, too, have interests in Truro and Penryn; but, unlike Sir John, I am honest in the matter, and proclaim it. If any growth should take place about Smithick it follows from its more advantageous situation that Truro and Penryn must suffer, and that suits me as little as the other matter would suit Sir John. I told him so, for I can be blunt, and I told the Queen in the form of a counter-petition to Sir John’s.” He shrugged. “The moment was propitious to me. I was one of the seamen who had helped to conquer the unconquerable Armada of King Philip. I was therefore not to be denied, and Sir John was sent home as empty-handed as he went to Court. D’ye marvel that he hates me? Knowing him for what he is, d’ye marvel that he dubs me pirate and worse? ‘Tis natural enough so to misrepresent my doings upon the sea, since it is those doings have afforded me the power to hurt his profit. He has chosen the weapons of calumny for this combat, but those weapons are not mine, as I shall show him this very day. If you do not credit what I say, come with me and be present at the little talk I hope to have with that curmudgeon.”
“You forget,” said Master Godolphin, “that I, too, have interests in the neighbourhood of Smithick, and that you are hurting those.”
“Soho!” crowed Sir Oliver. “Now at last the sun of truth peeps forth from all this cloud of righteous indignation at my bad Tressilian blood and pirate’s ways! You, too, are but a trafficker. Now see what a fool I am to have believed you sincere, and to have stood here in talk with you as with an honest man.” His voice swelled and his lip curled in a contempt that struck the other like a blow. “I swear I had not wasted breath with you had I known you for so mean and pitiful a fellow.”
“These words....” began Master Godolphin, drawing himself up very stiffly.
“Are a deal less than your deserts,” cut in the other, and he raised his voice to call—“Nick.”
“You shall answer to them,” snapped his visitor.
“I am answering now,” was the stern answer. “To come here and prate to me of my dead father’s dissoluteness and of an ancient quarrel between him and yours, to bleat of my trumped-up course of piracy and my own ways of life as a just cause why I may not wed your sister whilst the real consideration in your mind, the real spur to your hostility is not more than the matter of some few paltry pounds a year that I hinder you from pocketing. A God’s name get you gone.”
Nick entered at that moment.
“You shall hear from me again, Sir Oliver,” said the other, white with anger. “You shall account to me for these words.”
“I do not fight with... with hucksters,” flashed Sir Oliver.
“D’ye dare
