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Updated: June 21, 2025
But he had been ruined, too, by Thomas Culpepper, who had sold Durford and Maintree and Sallowford which last was Hogben's father's farm. For why? Selling the farm had let in a Lincoln lawyer, and the Lincoln lawyer had set the farm to sheep, which last had turned old Hogben, the father, out from his furrows to die in a ditch there being no room for farmers and for sheep upon one land.
Culpepper was bursting with pride and satisfaction because he was a made man and would have all the world to know it. He swung his green bonnet round his red head and called for huzzays when the friar shewed fear. Hogben called for huzzays for Squahre Tom of Lincoln, and many men cheered.
'For and Nick Hogben shook his head sagaciously, 'Stamford town believed the more and the manner of it, and Kat Howard's name is up in the town of Stamford. But I have not yet chiselled out the great piece that shall come from my pike when certain sure I am that Kat Howard is down under a man's foot. Culpepper rose suddenly to his feet and wagged a finger at Hogben.
'Nay, I know not, Poins answered. 'Like to be what? Hogben persisted. 'I know no Kat Howard, Poins muttered sulkily. For he knew well that the Lady Katharine's name was up in the taverns along of Thomas Culpepper.
The liquor that Culpepper and Hogben had distributed had rendered them curious or full of mutiny and discontent, and they surrounded Throckmorton's brilliant figure in its purple velvet, with the gold neck-chains and the jewelled hat, and some of them asked for money, and some called him 'Frenchman, and some knew him for a spy, and some caught up stones and jawbones furtively to cast at him.
And this Lincolnshire cow-dog was a knave too of Thomas's; therefore the one Kat Howard who was like to be the King's wench and the other Kat Howard known to Hogben might well be one and the same. 'Nay; if you will not, neither even will I, Hogben said. 'You shall have no more of my tale. Poins kept his blue eyes along the road.
In the great place of Smithfield, towards noon, Thomas Culpepper sat his horse on the outskirts of the crowd. By his side Hogben, the gatewarden, had much ado to hold his pikestaff across his horse's crupper in the thick of the people.
It was, as it were, a point of honour that he should be asked for all the information that he gave; and he thirsted to tell his tale. His tale had it that he had been ruined by a wench who had thrown her shoe over the mill and married a horse-smith, after having many times tickled the rough chin of Nicholas Hogben.
But it had chanced that one of the gatewardens was a man from Lincolnshire a man, once a follower of the plough, whose father had held a farm in the having of Culpepper himself. But he sold 'un, Nicholas Hogben said, 'sold 'un clear away. He made a wry face, winked one eye, and drawing up the right corner of his mouth, displayed square, huge teeth.
But here, shivering across plains and seas why, I will wed with her. 'Talkest like a Blind God Boy, Hogben said sarcastically. 'How knowest she be thine to take? He pointed at the young Poins. 'Here be another hath had doings with a Kat Howard, though I cannot well discern if she be thine or whose. Culpepper sprang, a flash of green, straight at the callow boy.
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