, 'my lies will help you well when the time
comes.'

PART THREE

THE KING MOVES

I

March was a month of great storms of rain in that year, and the
river-walls of the Thames were much weakened. April opened fine enough
for men to get about the land, so that, on a day towards the middle of
the month, there was a meeting of seven Protestant men from Kent and
Essex, of two German servants of the Count of Oberstein, and of two
other German men in the living-room of Badge, the printer, in Austin
Friars. It happened that the tide was high at four in the afternoon,
and, after a morning of glints of sun, great rain fell. Thus, when the
Lord Oberstein's men set out into the weather, they must needs turn
back, because the water was all out between Austin Friars and the
river. They came again into the house, not very unwillingly, to resume
their arguments about Justification by Faith, about the estate of the
Queen Anne, about the King's mind towards her, and about the price of
wool in Flanders.

The printer himself was gloomy and abstracted; arguments about
Justification interested him little, and when the talk fell upon the
price of wool, he remained standing, absolutely lost in gloomy dreams.
It grew a little dark in the room, the sky being so overcast, and
suddenly, all the voices having fallen, there was a gurgle of water by
the threshold, and a little flood, coming in between sill and floor,
reached as it were, a tiny finger of witness towards his great feet.
He looked down at it uninterestedly, and said:

'Talk how you will, I can measure this thing by words and by print.
Here hath this Queen been with us a matter of four months. Now in my
chronicle the pageants that have been made in her honour fill but five
pages.' Whereas the chronicling of the jousts, pageants, merry-nights,
masques and hawkings that had been given in the first four months of
the Queen Jane had occupied sixteen pages, and for the Queen Anne
Boleyn sixty and four. 'What sort of honour is it, then, that the
King's Highness showeth the Queen?' He shook his head gloomily.

'Why, goodman,' a woolstapler from the Tower Hamlets cried at him,
'when they shot off the great guns against her coming to Westminster
in February all my windows were broken by the shrinking of the earth.
Such ordnance was never yet shot off in a Queen's honour.'

The printer remained gloomily silent for a minute; the wind howled in
the chimney-place, and the embers of