CHAPTER VIII
THE ADMIRAL’S COMPANY

HE ancient city of Coventry stands upon a little hill,
with old St. Michael’s steeple and the spire of Holy
Trinity church rising above it against the sky; and as the
master-player and the boy came climbing upward from
the south, walls, towers, chimneys, and red-tiled roofs
were turned to gold by the glow of the setting sun.

To Nick it seemed as if a halo overhung the town—a
ruddy glory and a wonder bright; for here the Grey Friars
of the great monastery had played their holy mysteries
and miracle-plays for over a hundred years; here the
trade-guilds had held their pageants when the friars’ day
was done; here were all the wonders that old men told by
winter fires.

People were coming and going through the gates like
bees about a hive, and in the distance Nick could hear
the sound of many voices, the rush of feet, wheels, and
hoofs, and the shrill pipe of music. Here and there were
little knots of country folk making holiday: a father and

mother with a group of rosy children; a lad and his lass,
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