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Updated: May 16, 2025
Richard Pynson, therefore, though he may seem to occupy a subordinate position, is in every respect the equal of Margery. The morning on which Master Sastre was to deliver his homily was one of those delicious spring days which seem the immediate harbingers of summer.
The Abbot and the sheriff were extremely annoyed, but they did not dare to silence her, for the multitude hung breathlessly on her words. "There's none so much harm in that, any way!" said a woman who stood near Richard Pynson. "Wilt thou confess, sinful heretic?" asked the Abbot. "To God I will and have done," answered Margery; "to man I will not."
Near her was Mistress Katherine, scraping almonds into a bowl; while Margery, occupied with her distaff, sat at a little distance. On a wide oaken settle on the opposite side of the fire lay Friar Andrew, taking a nap, as was his afternoon custom; while on another settle drawn up before the fire, Sir Geoffrey and Richard Pynson sat conversing with the ladies.
As the King spoke, the eyes of the dying man suddenly turned to Geoffrey Marnell, who sprang lightly from his horse to fulfil the royal order. He knelt down by the shield, and lifted it up to examine the arms; and as he turned it, the well-known cognisance of Pynson of Pynsonlee the three silver arrows met his eye. An exclamation of mingled sorrow and surprise burst from Geoffrey's lips.
Parson Leggatt is not much given to preaching, meseemeth." "I will go with you, Master Pynson," said Margery, resuming the concoction of the dainty dish before her, "with a very good will, for I should like greatly to hear the Reverend Father. I never yet heard preach a scholar of Oxenforde."
"Hath my Lord my husband been here sithence I took sick?" "Every day, my Lady; and I trow he sent away the boy for that reason, lest his coming hither should give him the sickness." "Knoweth my mother of my sickness?" "I wis not, my Lady, but I trow that my Lord would tell her, when he sent the child down with Master Pynson." "Master Pynson! Hath he been hither?"
Gutemberg, Fust, and Schoeffher, the Inventors of the Art of Printing. William Caxton, the Father of the British Press. Dame Juliana Berners, and the St Albans Press. Wynkyn de Worde, and Richard Pynson, the Illustrious Successors of William Caxton. The Aldine Family, at Venice. The Giunta Family, at Florence. The Society of the Bibliophiles at Paris. The Prosperity of the Roxburghe Club.
And so Richard Pynson and Margery Marnell parted, never more to speak to each other on this side of the Happy City. Any reader acquainted with mediaeval hymns will recognise in this "Urbs coelestis! urbs beata! Super petram collocata." I have translated a few lines of the hymn for the benefit of the English reader; but my heroine must be supposed to sing it in the original Latin.
Sir Geoffrey presented his wife and daughter to Lord Marnell, and Sir Ralph came forward with a cordial greeting; after which they took their seats at table, for Richard Pynson was already bringing in the "farsure of hare," and Mistress Katherine following with the pottage.
Dame Lovell herself was standing on the steps of Lovell Tower, apparently looking out for the riders, for as soon as they came within hearing distance she raised her voice to say, "Richard Pynson! Sir Geoffrey would speak with you. Come in quickly, I pray you, and leave the handmaidens to help Mistress Margery from her pillion."
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