In the
distance beyond the river to the southward, Ridley pointed to the
tall square tower of Monks Wearmouth Church dominating the great
monastery around it, which had once held the venerable Bede, though
to both Ridley and Grisell he was only a name of a patron saint.
The harbour formed by the mouth of the river Wear was a marvel to
Grisell, crowded as it was with low, squarely-rigged and gaily-
coloured vessels of Holland, Friesland, and Flanders, very new sights
to one best acquainted with Noah's ark or St. Peter's ship in
illuminations.
"Sunderland is a noted place for shipbuilding," said Ridley.
"Moreover, these come for wool, salt-fish, and our earth coal, and
they bring us fine cloth, linen, and stout armour. I am glad to see
yonder Flemish ensign. If luck goes well with us, I shall get a
fresh pair of gauntlets for my lord, straight from Gaunt, the place
of gloves."
"GANT for glove," said Grisell.
"How? You speak French. Then you may aid me in chaffering, and I
will straight to the Fleming, with whom I may do better than with
Hodge of the Lamb. How now, here's a shower coming up fast!"
It was so indeed; a heavy cloud had risen quickly, and was already
bursting overhead. Ridley hurried on, along a thoroughfare across
salt marshes (nowdocks), but the speed was not enough to prevent
their being drenched by a torrent of rain and hail before they
reached the tall-timbered houses of Wearmouth.
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