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diff --git a/42176-0.txt b/42176-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2e6d97c --- /dev/null +++ b/42176-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12911 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42176 *** + + Everyman, I will go with thee, and be thy guide, + In thy most need to go by thy side. + + +This is No. 328 of Everyman's Library. A list of authors and their +works in this series will be found at the end of this volume. The +publishers will be pleased to send freely to all applicants a +separate, annotated list of the Library. + + + J. M. DENT & SONS LIMITED + 10-13 BEDFORD STREET LONDON W.C.2 + + E. P. DUTTON & CO. INC. + 286-302 FOURTH AVENUE + NEW YORK + + + + + EVERYMAN'S LIBRARY + + EDITED BY ERNEST RHYS + + + + + FICTION + + + + + LONG WILL + + BY FLORENCE CONVERSE + + + + + _All rights reserved_ + + _Made in Great Britain + at The Temple Press Letchworth + and decorated by Eric Ravilious + for + J. M. Dent & Sons Ltd. + Aldine House Bedford St. London_ + + _First Published in this Edition 1908_ + + _Reprinted 1911, 1917, 1919, 1923, 1926 + 1929, 1933_ + + + + + EDITOR'S NOTE + + +This story forms a very tempting by-way into the old English life and +the contemporary literature which gave us Chaucer's _Canterbury +Tales_ and Langland's _Vision of Piers Plowman_. It deals with +those poets and with many figures of the fourteenth century whose +names still ring like proverbs in the twentieth--Wat Tyler and Jack +Straw, John Wycliff, John of Gaunt, and Richard II.--and it summons +them to real life in that antique looking-glass of history which is +romance. It begins in its prologue very near the evil day of the Black +Death, when the fourteenth century had about half run its course; and +in its epilogue it brings us to the year when the two poets died, +barely surviving the century they had expressed in its gaiety and its +great trouble, as no other century has ever been interpreted. To read +the story without wishing to read Chaucer and _Piers Plowman_ is +impossible, and if a book may be judged by its art in provoking a new +interest in other and older books, then this is one of an uncommon +quality. First published in 1903, it has already won a critical +audience, and it goes out now in a second edition to appeal to a still +wider public here and in America. + + _April 1908._ + + + + + To .......... + + _Lo, here is felawschipe: + One fayth to holde, + One truth to speake, + One wrong to wreke, + One loving-cuppe to syppe, + And to dippe + In one disshe faithfullich, + As lamkins of one folde. + Either for other to suffre alle thing. + One songe to sing + In swete accord and maken melodye. + Right-so thou and I good-fellowes be: + Now God us thee!_ + + + + + "Why I move this matere is moste for the pore, + For in her lyknesse owre lord ofte hath ben y-knowe." + + _The Vision Concerning Piers Plowman._ + B. PASSUS XI. + + + + + Contents + + + PROLOGUE + PAGE + + I. _The Lark and the Cuckoo_ 3 + + II. _The Hills_ 11 + + III. _Kingdoms Not of This World_ 17 + + + PART I. The Malcontents + + I. _The Miracle_ 27 + + II. _The Rose of Love_ 31 + + III. _They That Mourn_ 39 + + IV. _A Vow_ 46 + + V. _A Disciple_ 48 + + VI. _Food for Thought_ 61 + + VII. _A Progress to Westminster_ 65 + + VIII. _An Embassage_ 75 + + IX. _The King's Secret_ 80 + + X. _Plot and Counterplot_ 94 + + XI. _Midsummer Eve_ 107 + + XII. _Sanctuary_ 114 + + XIII. _The Man o' Words_ 121 + + + PART II. The Pilgrimage + + I. _In the Cloisters_ 131 + + II. _In Malvern Chase_ 137 + + III. _By a Burn's Side_ 147 + + IV. _A Boon_ 156 + + V. _The Adventure in Devon_ 164 + + VI. _The Adventure in Cheshire_ 180 + + VII. _The Adventure in Yorkshire_ 196 + + VIII. _The Believers_ 217 + + IX. _The Adventure in Kent_ 228 + + X. _The Poets Sing to Richard_ 242 + + + PART III. The Rising + + I. _The Beginning_ 265 + + II. _Blackheath_ 271 + + III. _In the City_ 280 + + IV. _In the Tower_ 286 + + V. _Mile End_ 296 + + VI. _Free Men_ 307 + + VII. _Reaction_ 315 + + VIII. _The Friday Night_ 319 + + IX. _Smithfield_ 324 + + X. _The Old Fetters_ 338 + + XI. _The Prisoner_ 349 + + XII. _Y-Robed in Russet_ 358 + + + EPILOGUE 369 + + + + + PROLOGUE + + + "'I am Ymagynatyf,' quod he, 'idel was I nevere.'" + + _The Vision Concerning Piers Plowman._ + B. PASSUS XII. + + + + + I + + The Lark and the Cuckoo + + +There were a many singers on the hill-top. They twittered in the +gorse; they whistled from the old hawthorn tree, amid the white may; +they sprang to heaven, shaking off melody in their flight; and one, +russet-clad, lay at his length against the green slope, murmuring +English in his throat. + +"'T was in a May morning," he said, "'T was in a May morning,"--and he +loitered over the words and drew out the "morwening" very long and +sweet. Then, because there was a singing mote of a lark in the misty +blue above him, his own song dropped back into his breast, and he +waited. + +He was young and lank, and his hair was yellow-red. He followed the +lark up into the bright heaven with wide, unblinking eyes. The bird +fell to earth; somewhere unseen a cuckoo chanted. Three sheep on the +brow of the hill moved forward, slowly feeding. + +"'T was on a May morning, on the Ma'vern Hills," whispered the singer, +"on the Ma'vern Hills;" and he fell in a dream. + +The Great Hill of the Malverns stood over against the dreamer, a bare, +up-climbing majesty, a vasty cone, making its goal in long green +strides. Below, a wrinkle hinted a pass, and on the high flat saddle +between the Great Hill and the Small, the grass was trodden, albeit +not worn away. A bell called softly from a valley hidden eastward; and +up from the southwest, slantwise across a corner of the hill, a child +came running into the dream, a gay lad in scarlet hosen and a green +short coat, and shoes of fine leather. His eyes made a wonderment in +his face, but his lips curled a smile at the wonder. A dark elf-lock +danced on his forehead. + +The dreamer moved no whit, but waited, level-eyed. + +"What be these tricks?" cried the child in a voice betwixt a laugh and +a gasp. "I saw thee from yonder hill, and thou wert distant a day's +journey. Then the bell rang, and lo! I am here before the clapper 's +swung to rest." + +He in the russet smiled, but answered nothing. + +The little lad looked down and studied him. "I 've missed my way," he +said. + +"What is thy way?" + +"'T was the way o' the hunt, but marry, now 't is the way of a good +dinner,--and that 's a short road to the Priory. I am of Prince +Lionel's train." + +"Ay," returned the other, as who should say, "No need to tell me +that;" and he added presently, "The hunt is below in the King's +Forest; how art thou strayed? Thou 'rt midway the top o' the Great +Hill." + +The child laughed, but, though his eyes were merry, yet were they shy, +and the red mounted to his brow. He came a pace nearer. + +"I made a little rondel to my lady; and it must be as my thought flew +up, so clomb my feet likewise, and I was not aware." + +He plaited his fingers in his belt and flushed a deeper red, half +proud and half dismayed of his confession. "I trust thee for a secret +man, shepherd," he added. + +The eyes of the dreamer laughed, but his lips were circumspect. He sat +up and nursed his knee with his two long arms. + +"Ay, of a truth, a secret man, young master; but no shepherd," he +answered. + +The little lad eyed him, and questioned with a child's simplicity, +"What art thou, then?" + +The youth looked onward to the Great Hill. "I know not, yet," he said. + +So for a little space he sat, forgetful of his questioner, until the +child came close and sat beside him, laying one hand upon his arm and +looking up to his face thoughtfully. + +"Thou long brown man, it may be thou 'rt a poet," he said at last. + +"It may well be," the dreamer acquiesced, and never turned his eyes +from the green hill. + +"In London, at the court of the king, there be poets," the child +continued; "but thou art of quite other fashion. Who is thy +lady-love?" + +"Saint Truth," the brown boy answered gravely. + +"Saint--Truth!" repeated the child; "and is she dead, then?" + +"Nay, I trow not; God forbid!" + +"I marvel that thy lady chide thee not for thy mean apparel. In London +is not a friar plays his wanton lute beneath a chamber window but he +goeth better clad than thou." + +"Hark you, young master, I follow not the friars!" the dreamer cried +with a stern lip. "And for my lady, she careth for naught but that my +coat be honestly come by. So far as I may discover, she hath not her +abode in the king's palace." + +"Forsooth, a strange lady!" said the child; and then, leaning his head +against that other's shoulder, "Poet, tell me a tale." + +"I pipe not for lordings, little master," the youth returned, anger +yet burning in his eyes. + +"Nay, then, I 'm no lord," laughed the child; "my father is a vintner +in London. He hath got me in Prince Lionel's household by favour of +the king; for that the king loveth his merchants of the city; and well +he may, my father saith. There be others, lordings, among the children +of the household; but I am none. I am a plain man like to thee, poet." + +The dreamer shook his head with a mournful smile. "Not so close to the +soil, master merchant, not so close to the soil. I smell o' the +furrow." + +"Nay, I 'm no merchant, neither," the lad protested. "Hark in thine +ear, thou long brown stranger,--and I 'll call thee brother! My lady +saith I 'll be a poet. She 's a most wise and lovely lady. Come,--tell +me a tale!" + +"I am no troubadour," sighed the brown youth; "I know one tale only, +and that is over long for a summer day." + +But the child was angered; his eyes flashed, and he clenched one hand +and flung it backward, menacing:-- + +"I 'll believe thou mockest me," he cried. "Lying tongue! No poet +thou, but a lazy hind." + +Then the gray, smouldering eyes of the dreamer shot fire, and a long +brown arm jerked the lad to his knees. + +"I tell no lies. My lady is Saint Truth," the dreamer said. "Poet or +no poet, as thou wilt, I 'll not gainsay thee. But a truthteller +ever." + +A little lamb that strayed near by looked up with startled face, and +scampered down the hill, crying "Ba-a-a!" The huntsman's note came +winding up from the green depths. The child arose and dusted his +knees. + +"There be poets that yet lie amazingly,--and boast thereof," he +observed shrewdly; "but now I rede thy riddle of Saint Truth. 'T is a +sweet jest. I love thee for it, and by that I know thee for a poet. +Tell me thy tale, and we 'll be friends again. Of a surety thou art no +hind; Prince Lionel's self is not more haughty of mien than thou. Sing +then, poet,--smile!" + +The dreamer cleared his brow but half unwillingly: "Who could not +choose but smile on such a teasing lad?" he asked; and then, "My tale +is but begun, and what the end shall be, or whether there be an +end,--who shall say? Hearken! + + In a summer season when soft was the sun, + I set me in a shepherd's coat as I a shepherd were; + In the habit of a hermit, yet unholy of works, + Wandered I wide in this world wonders to hear. + But in a May morning on Malvern Hills + There befel me a wonder, wonderful methought it; + I was weary of wandering and went me to rest + Under a broad bank by a burn side, + And as I lay and leaned and looked on the waters, + I slumbered in a sleep"-- + +"No, no! not thus, not thus!" cried out the child on a sudden; "never +thus! An thou come to court they 'll not hearken thy long slow +measures. Thou shalt make thy verses the French way, with rhyme. Needs +must thou learn this manner of the French ere thou come to court." + +"I have no mind to come to court," the dreamer answered. "I have no +mind to learn the manner of the French. There be a many souls in +England that know not such light songs. It is for them I sing,--for +the poor folk in cots. Think you that a poet may sing only for kings?" + +"Nay, I trow he singeth neither for kings, nor for any manner wight, +but for his own soul's health," quoth the child right solemnly; "and +yet, 't were well for him if he have the good will of a king. My +rhymes will not match an my belly be empty. But tell on thy tale. I +like thine old fashion of singing." + +And he listened the while the poet told of a high tower called Truth, +and an evil place to the north, where the devil dwelleth,--and a great +plain between. And here foregathered all kind of people that ever were +in this world,--pardoners, and merchants, and knights, and friars, and +cooks crying "Hot pies--hot!"--and fine ladies. And all these listened +to Repentance that preached them a sermon. + +The child laughed out aloud. "Thy men are puppets, O poet!" he cried. +"Where is the breath of life in them? Didst never see a man, that thou +canst make him so like to a wooden doll? The stone abbot down yonder, +on his tomb in the Priory, is more alive than these. Hast seen the +Miracle Play in Paul's Churchyard at Whitsuntide? There will be a +crowd alive for thee. Hast never seen the 'prentices breaking each +other his pate of a holiday in London streets? There be men! Thine are +a string o' names my lord Bishop might be a-reading before the altar +to shame their owners." + +"Men be but little more than names for me, young master. I dwell among +the hills. I know the sheep, the birds I know,--and Brother Owyn in +the Priory, that learned me to sing." + +Again the child laughed. "And wilt thou sing o' the bare hill-tops, +and the sheep? Poets must sing of a fair launde where flowrets +blossom,--of a green pleasaunce,--of my lady's garden. But here 's a +waste! What wilt find for a song? And under, in the King's Forest, 't +is a fearsome place at nightfall. Come thou to court, to London, +brother. I 'll show thee the king's gardens. I 'll show thee men! I +'ll teach thee the French manner." + +A lark ran up the sky a-caroling, and the child and the dreamer waited +with their two heads thrown backward, watching. Then, when the bird +was nested, the child leaped up and waved his little arms, his eyes +shone, and "I 'll sing like to that one," he cried; "I 'll soar very +high, and sing, and sing, the world beneath me one ear to hearken. Let +us be larks, brother!" + +But the dreamer shook his head. "I am the cuckoo. I sing but two +notes, and them over and over," he answered mournfully. + +The little lad caught up the fantasy and played with it betwixt his +ripples of sweet laughter. "A brown bird, and it singeth hid,--two +soft and lovely notes. Nay, come thou to London and turn nightingale." + +"Alas!" said the dreamer, and again, "Alas!" + +And the Priory bell rang soft in the valley, ten clear strokes. + +"Dinner!" exclaimed the child, "and my lady's rondel lacking of three +rhymes!" + +"Yon 's the pass," said the dreamer, "between the two hills. 'T is a +straight road." + +"Ay, and a long one, is 't? And the monks feed fast, and clean the +platter." + +"Nay, 't is nearer than thou deem'st. Thy legs will carry thee to the +gate ere the first dish is empty. The mist that is ever on Ma'vern +Hills, even though the sun shine, maketh a near thing stand afar off. +Haste thee! And hearken; to-night, an thou 'lt have a merry tale of a +Green Knight and Sir Gawaine of Arthur's Court, see thou beseech +Brother Owyn. Himself hath been a knight one while." + +The lad was twinkling down the pass, when he turned about, and "God +keep thee, cuckoo!" quoth he. + +"God keep thee, little lark!" said the dreamer. + + + + + II + + The Hills + + +There are four chief hills of the Malverns: a round hill, a high hill, +a long hill, and a green deep-furrowed stronghold whither the +desperate Britons withdrew them once on a time, shrinking within the +greedy clutch of Rome. And here they beaconed the warning to their +fellows in the plain; and here they fought the losing battle, and +here, in the grassy upward-circling trenches, they laid them down to +sleep their last sleep. + +But of these and their well-nigh forgotten defeat the dreamer recked +little as he lay on the sun-warmed slope of the Round Hill. He looked +inward, as dreamers will; and onward, as dreamers should; but +backward, not yet. The past was a bit of yellow parchment at the +bottom of an oak chest in the scriptorium of Malvern Priory. The +dreamer had touched it reverently, as one touches a dead thing, and +laid it away again. And Brother Owyn, looking on, had sighed. He too +had his dreams, but they came out of the joy and the sorrow that lay +at his back. Brother Owyn had chosen to live as one dead, but he could +not slay his past. + +"I will sing of life that is, and is to come. I will prophesy!" said +the dreamer to Brother Owyn; and he went forth on the hills to wait +for the Still Small Voice. But a little child came upon him and +convicted him of his youth; and he was left on the hillside troubled, +discomfited, uncertain. + +So, presently, he arose and skirted the slope to the flat saddle, and +set his face toward the summit of the Great Hill, and climbed up +thither with the long steady stride of one who knows the ground +beneath his feet. Straight up he went, a smooth green way for the most +part, with bare bones of rock breaking through here and there. He had +his world before him at the top, his little world of hill and river +and plain, all misty dim about the edges, or where the edges must have +been, all blue with the haze, and something like the sea. Close under +the hill the brown church of the Priory stood up proudly, out of the +midst of its lesser halls, its kitchen and guesten house. And all +round and about the King's Forest billowed away into the mist, east +and south. Neglected tillage, here and there a farm cut out of +woodland, bubbled up on little low near hills to westward; and in the +north,--its roof a sun-glance and its tower a shadow,--the cathedral +of Worcester rose, very far, very faint behind the veil of Malvern +mist,--and yet, a wonder in the plain. + +The dreamer looked to east and west and north, and down the ridge of +the little range to the south; and then, because it was given him to +know that he should go away and leave all this, and mayhap never look +on it again, he lay down with his face in the short grass, shutting +out all; and so was silent a long while. + +The wind blew strong from the northeast, lifting his heavy hair; the +Priory bell rang eleven; and the dreamer arose and went onward along +the ridge, Hereford way. He did not cease to speak in a low brooding +voice as he strode, for that was his solitary hill-fashion; and if +ever he was at pause in the way he cast out his arms to right and to +left, or clasped them on his breast; or he would lift up his young +troubled face to the sky. + +"O my lady, Saint Truth," he murmured, "I am not afraid,--but of +myself only." And he went more slow, sinking his head on his breast. + +"There be two kind of poets: and one dwelleth in monastery and maketh +long tales of saints, or it may be he furbisheth old matter of +history. But this is not my place. And another sort abideth in a +king's palace; he is a jongleur, and deviseth merry tales of love, and +adventure of war, to please the ladies in hall. But I am not of these +neither." + +Then after a little space the dreamer flung out his right hand and +spoke aloud with a great passion, saying:-- + +"The people are dead of the pestilence, and they that live will die, +for they starve and the lord of the manor refuseth them bread. But how +shall one man drive three ploughs? His wife hungers and his sons are +born dead. Who shall help him?" + +And hereupon he smiled, but a sound as of tears was in his voice, +and-- + +"Lo! here is matter for a new song!" cried he; "Shall I sing it, Dame +Truth,--shall I sing it? Yea, the little lad spake well. For my soul's +health I will." + +He drew his arm across his eyes, as who should clear away a mist. "Now +lead me down into the valley, O Truth, where the world dwelleth! I +will follow. I will come down from the hill-top. Men shall be more +than a name for me before I am done. A child hath found me out." + +He had gone over upon the west side of the ridge a little way, and +between him and the pearl-tinged rampart of the Welsh mountains were +many little hills and cup-like valleys; and in a valley of these a +single ploughman ploughed. And the midday sun was hot. + +The dreamer drew in his breath a long way, a-gazing; but then he +lifted an arm straight out and pointed with his finger. "Yon 's a +man," he said, "no name only, but a very man; my bloody brother. Now +answer for me, Peter, that I do know thee, body and soul. Have I not +dwelled with thee? Did I not cover up thy face when thou wert dead? +Oh, here 's a very simple and true piece of God's handicraft I 've +watched in the making. Little lad, an I chose to sing o' the ploughman +thou 'lt never say puppet! An' I chose--An' I chose?--A-ah! Here 's no +choosing! I see! I see!" + +And anon, in the glory of that vision, he forgot himself, and cried +out: "Lord, send a great singer to sing this song!" + +He stood with both his arms flung up to heaven, and his head went +backward as at that other time when he had watched the lark. The +brightness of the noonday sky, and something inward, made his face to +shine. So, for a moment, he rested, and then plunged upward, forward, +on the ridge again, swiftly, with a flying motion in his skirts. But +for the rest of that day, until the hour came when he kneeled down to +pray, his lips were sealed; only his wide, unwavering eyes spake the +vision. + +The sky thickened toward afternoon, and the dreamer, wandering in the +valley to the southwest of the Long Hill, had got beyond the sound of +the Priory bell. In the wood where he lay the ground was blue with +hyacinths; the cuckoo called, and called, and called again; and the +thrush quavered. When he came out into the open the sun hung low in +the west, a dull red ball, mist-swathed; and presently it was snuffed +out and the dreamer was circling up and up in the green trenches of +the British camp. Night, and a struggling, cloud-baffled moon found +him at the summit, on his knees, facing east; and now he prayed very +earnestly. + +"Lord Jesus, Prince of poor men, let me be thy jongleur, for all poor +men's sake! With their misfortune am I right well acquaint. I have +dwelled in their cots. I have eat of their hard bread of pease. How +shall the king know this, that sleepeth within silken curtains? But +kings give ear to a poet; ladies weep over a sad tale in hall. Who +shall sing this song if not I? Lord, I will go forth and learn a way +to set these matters straight. I will sing this in my song: how to +live well, so that poor men be not so cast down, as now they are. +Sweet Jesu, I will not cease to sing this one song. I will tell my +tale, and the king shall find a way to succour his poor men. Now glory +be to God, and praise and thanksgiving, that He hath given me a +vision. For my brother's sake I sing; he is dumb; he is so fast in +prison that he cannot get forth; but I will sing beneath his window, +and the Lord shall show him a way. The poor man shall kiss the king +and eat at his high table. Thanks be to God, and glory and praise! O +Jesu, God the Word, make my whisper a mighty voice! Bless me, Lord; +bless thy singer!" + +And now the dreamer crossed himself and went down over the edge and +lay in a trench, sleeping and waking the night through. + + + + + III + + Kingdoms Not of This World + + +Brother Owyn sat in the cloister-garth in the shadow of the sun-dial, +his little colour-pots on a flat stone beside him, his vellum on a +board across his knees. A ring of narcissus-flowers, close-planted +round the sun-dial, starred the edge of his black gown. + +Brother Owyn was a poet, and the prior of Malvern had found this out. +When less favoured brothers grumbled the abbot chid them with, "What +need hath a copy-clerk of sunshine and fair flowers to fresh his +wit,--that hath no wit? But how may a true poet, and a right true +romancer, make his melody with the din of a dozen schoolboys knocking +at his ear?" And for this cause did Brother Owyn sit with his feet +among the narcissus-flowers. + +Here he had written at the bidding of the prior--but this prior was a +dull man--two homilies: the one concerning Chastity, which was a +virtue wherein Brother Owyn excelled,--and this the prior knew, for he +had confessed him; the other concerning Patience, wherein Brother Owyn +excelled not at all, and none knew this better than himself,--albeit +he passed for a patient man. But, indeed, there was little known of +Brother Owyn among the brethren. They said that no man might so tell +the stormy mishap of Jonah, except he had sailed the sea; and no man +might so sing Belshazzar's Feast except he had dined in a king's +palace; and when they had heard the tale of Sir Gawaine and the Green +Knight, they averred that haply Brother Owyn came of Arthur's family, +and some said that he was own great-grandson to Sir Gawaine. But +Brother Owyn never said so. He was abashed that the brethren would +hear this tale more often than the homilies. + +"I will do penance," said Brother Owyn, "for that I divert the +brethren." + +"Yea," quoth the prior, "assuredly! Wherefore, copy out this romance, +and paint in the beginning of each part an initial letter in gold and +scarlet and blue."--The prior had his gleams in the midst of his +dulness. + +But the tale that Brother Owyn loved best he had not yet sung to the +brethren. + +To-day he painted a little picture of a maiden by a river-side, where +shining cliffs rose up, and a city shone golden beyond. And these +cliffs might well have been the white cliffs of Wales, but they were +meant for a more holy place. And the maiden was clad in a white +garment with a semblance of pearls at her girdle and on her fair +forehead. + + "A crown that maiden wore withal + bedecked with pearls, with none other stones," + +whispered Brother Owyn. + + "Her look was grave, as a duke's or an earl's; + whiter than whalebone was her hue. + Her locks shone then as bright pure gold,-- + loose on her shoulders so softly they lay,"-- + +There was a trick of his tongue that ever betrayed him that he came +out of the west,--and bending, he kissed the little picture where the +paint had dried. + +From the cloister floated the low, buzzing murmur of children conning +a task. This, and the snip-snip of the gardener's shears, were the +only sounds. At intervals, good Brother Paul went past the cloister +doorway in his slow pacing up and down behind the young scholars. Now +and again a lad came out into the garth and crossed the grass to gain +Brother Owyn's approval for an illuminated letter, or to have the +hexameters lopped off his Latin hymn. + +Then, around three sides of the cloister swift footsteps echoed, and +the dreamer strode down the school, brushed past Brother Paul, looked +out into the garth, and presently stood before Brother Owyn,--the +light of the vision shining in his eyes, the mist of the Malverns +clinging about his damp hair. + +"I go forth a pilgrimage to Truth," he said. + +"And the prior withhold not his blessing," added Brother Owyn, with a +smile. + +But the dreamer fell on his knees,--he was past smiling. He laid his +hands prayerwise upon the little painting-board; and Brother Owyn, +intent upon him wholly, with the loving, expectant eyes of one to whom +these raptures were no new thing, yet slipped aside the vellum from +the board, lest the picture come to harm from the dew-stained russet. + +"I am no monk of Malvern!" cried the dreamer; "neither shall the prior +clap me in cloister. I have had a vision. I must sing it." + +"I sing," said Brother Owyn; and he looked about him at the grass and +the cloister walls. + +"Yea, of yesterday and its glory," returned the dreamer. "A tuneful +song, whereof the joy and the rightwisnesse is manifest. But to-day +and to-morrow are mine to sing. I must go forth to look upon the world +and live therein. I have had a vision concerning Peter the +ploughman,"--Brother Owyn's eyes laughed mockingly, and his lips +curled, also he tapped his foot upon the ground. But the dreamer's +eyes were on the narcissus-flowers,--"I have seen him in the forefront +of a great train of pilgrimage, of all kind people ever there were in +this earth; and he their guide to Truth. He, a poor ploughman! I have +seen him where he set all crooked ways straight; and the flower o' +knighthood did the bidding o' the ploughman in the vision. Now, tell +me,--what abbot is he in all England will give me leave to sing this +song over his abbey wall? For he holdeth the land in fee, and the +villeins sweat for him.--Nay, more,"--and the dreamer bent his lips to +Brother Owyn's ear and sunk his voice,--"I have seen this Piers where +he jousted in Jesus' armor, red as with blood,--and in His likeness. +Hark you, master, the day is to the poor man. For Jesus Christ, of +poor men the Prince,--He saith, 'I am the Truth.'" + +"An I knew thee not this five year," quoth Brother Owyn, "I had said +thou art mad,--mad from very pride. The ploughman a leader of men! +Wilt thou bring chaos about our ears? Oh, boy, foolish and proud! God +hath ordered the way of man and it is thus and so. He is Emperor of +heaven and earth, and Christ is King's Son of heaven and sitteth up on +high at the right hand of the Father. Of right royal human seed he +springeth, David's seed,--born in David's city. At His name every knee +shall bow. Kings have worshipped Him a babe. What! wilt thou strike +down the very immutable and fixed laws of God Himself whereby He hath +ordained that kings shall reign? Prate not to me of poor men. Yea, +there shall be hewers of wood and drawers of water." + +Then said the dreamer: "Whether is greater, he that sitteth at meat or +he that serveth?" + +"The king is the perfectest servant," cried Brother Owyn, "but the +king is king, he is no dullard serf. The King's Son came to earth and +put on this garment of a poor man, and for this reason wilt thou say +the poor man shall wear the garment of the king? Thou art no +schoolman." + +"Ah, master, master, this that thou sayst I said it again and yet +again to mine own self," the dreamer sighed; "for what know I of life +wherein is no kings and no knighthood? Verily it is thus and so; God +made the king. So did I cry to the vision, wrestling the night through +on the misty hill. I cannot see clear, but whether I be convinced or +no, the vision hath conquered and I must sing it. The ploughman +knoweth the way to truth; the king shall crave his company." + +"Nay, thou dost not see clear. I doubt me if ever thou wilt," said +Brother Owyn. "Thou hast got the Malvern mist in thy head, boy. Who +shall profit by a vision in a mist?" + +"'T is larger than life, seen thus," quoth the dreamer. "Natheless, +let me go forth into a new land. How may I rid me of the mist if I +dwell within it? Let me go to London, and if the vision fade, if it be +proven a temptation, I 'll cast it from me. How may I know men in the +wilderness? How may I touch their hearts if I know them not?" + +Brother Owyn smiled and laid his hand upon the dreamer's shoulder: +"And art thou crying out for knowledge of men?--Thou that fleest into +the hills if a merchant ask night's shelter of the prior, thou that +hast played truant these three days because, forsooth, the young +Prince Lionel and his train are come hither to hunt in the King's +Forest?" + +The dreamer hung his head: "Yet must I go," he said. "There came a +little lad across the round hill yesterday,--a very manikin of wisdom +with the heart of a child,--no doubt they breed such in palaces. He +boasted himself a poet and would have me tell him a tale. He +quarrelled with the measure, his ear being attuned to French foibles, +but for that I care not; but he saith my men be no better than dolls +of wood.--Master, 't is a true word. Whether the vision be false or +no, God will discover to me; but this, that I am not fit to touch +men's hearts, because I am stranger to them,--thou knowest. The little +lad turned away from my tale. He laughed.--Thou hast seen thy world. +Thou hast a tale to tell. But I,--what may I sing but the +mist? Hark you, Brother Owyn, I shall bring naught of glory to Malvern +Priory till I be let forth. Say this to the prior." + +"There is wisdom in it, truly," said the monk. "Thou art not all fool, +and poet. Natheless, thou canst not come at knowledge my way. What I +was needs not to remember, but I was not such as thou, I climbed not +upward to my present estate. But thou must climb through the church, +'t is thy one way. With thy little learning what art thou fit for +else? Doth it suit thee to turn ploughman?" + +The dreamer looked at his scholar's hands and wiped his scholar's +brow: "But I will not climb as a monk," he cried. "There 's work to do +out-o'-doors to make the church clean. Let me go!" + +Then Brother Owyn wiped his brushes on the grass and covered his +little paint pots; and to a boy that came forth of the cloister he +said: "I have business with the prior, keep thy task till I come +again;" and rising up he made so as to lay a cloth of fair linen over +the little picture. + +"Who is 't?" asked the dreamer, and gazing, he minded him of the day +when Brother Owyn came first to Malvern Priory. He was a knight that +day; his mail was silver; he rode a white horse; in his helmet there +was set a great pearl in the midst of a ringlet of gold hair, one +ring, as 't were severed from the head of a babe. + +"Who is 't?" quoth the dreamer. + +And Brother Owyn answered him: "Neither do I write but only +yesterdays. I have my vision of the morrow. 'T is of a Holy City, and +the Lord is King thereof. 'T is a true vision, for John, the beloved, +he had it afore my time." + +"But this is a fair damsel," said the dreamer. + +"This is my little daughter dear, that was dead at two years old. The +King hath chosen her for his bride. I live seeking after her." + +"Here, likewise, hast thou fellowship with thy kind," the dreamer +sighed. "Little wonder thy songs touch the hearts of men. Master, thou +hast my confession this five year; thou knowest me, that I am no hot +man; yet, do I yearn to fathom these mysteries, for fellowship's sake, +and to help all them that seek truth. But how may a man climb to +fatherhood through Holy Church?" + +Brother Owyn laid his hand on the dreamer's lip, and "Hush!" said he; +"here's question for one higher than I, and to be spoke whispering. +For all the man I am to Godward, am I by the love of a little two +years' child, long dead. Go; say thy prayers! I 'll come to thee in +the church. Haply the prior may give thee a letter to a London priest, +will see thee clerked and set to earn, thy bread." + +But then Brother Owyn looked on the little picture where it lay +uncovered, and he said:-- + +"If thou hast ever a golden-haired daughter, send her hither to tell +me wherein God hath blessed thee most." + +And that day the dreamer set forth on his pilgrimage. + + + + + PART I + + The Malcontents + + + "For one Pieres the Ploughman hath inpugned us alle." + + _The Vision Concerning Piers Plowman._ + B. PASSUS XIII. + + + + + CHAPTER I + + The Miracle + + +All the good people, fresh-blessed, came forth into the churchyard +with a great pushing and striving. There was a Miracle Play toward, +and to stand at the back of five-and-twenty score of tiptoeing +Londoners was to see nothing. Sweating shopkeepers jostled and swore, +women squealed, and 'prentices drove their elbows into any fat paunch +that was neighbourly. Here and there, above the press, a child rode on +its father's shoulder, and if 't was a merry child it kicked off the +women's headgear and tweaked the ears of Robyn and Hikke and Jack. + +"Stand off,--stand off, a four-foot space from Hell Mouth!" cried +Beelzebub, coming to earth unexpected; "there be sparks! I 'll not +answer for 't if ay one take fire." + +"Look ye, look ye!" roared Sathanas, thrusting up his head, "here's +some thieving fellow hath filched my tail while I was to Mass. 'T is a +poor jest. Now, by St. Christopher, I swear I say no word o' my part +if the tail lack." + +There went up a laugh from the company, and one cried: "Give the dumb +beast his tail that he may speak!" And, on a sudden, flew over the +heads of the people a something red, in shape like an eel, and fell +upon Sathanas' head, whereat he grunted and withdrew head and tail +together. + +And now Hell Mouth opened and spat fire, and after tumbled forth a +rout of devils, big and little, that pranced and mowed, the while the +people laughed and cast them back jest for jest. Was one brawny fiend, +a blacksmith by trade, that came to the edge of the stage and, looking +backward, with chin uppermost, through his squatted legs, set his +fingers in the corners of his mouth and his eyes, and did so make of +himself a monster that a little maid which stood in the forefront of +the multitude must needs shriek and start, so that her kerchief fell +awry. + +Saith a yeoman, blinking on her ruffled hair: "I cannot see for the +sun in my eyen," and laid his great hand on her fair head that +perforce she must turn her face would she or no. + +"By St. Jame!" cried the man, thereupon; "here's no ba'rn, but a maid, +with a mouth ripe for kissing!" And so bent to taste her lips. But she +cried out and struggled to be free, and swift, a gloved hand thrust +the yeoman's face aside, and a voice that had a twist of French in it +rated him so that he shrank backward glowering. + +The blacksmith, meanwhile, being set right side forward, stood nodding +a genial horned approval: + +"An I had not been so be-twisted, I had given him a crack!" he said, +and, turning rueful, added: "Dost not know me, child? I be Hobbe Smith +that dwell two doors below thee. I did but mean to make thee merry." + +And the maid gave him a pale smile. + +"If thou stand o' this side, out of the press, still mayst thou see," +said he of the gloved hand. + +"I came not so close to see the devils," answered the maid, blushing, +"but for that cometh after;" and she followed him apart. + +Then come Mercy and Truth across the middle stage, and are met +together, and Peace and Rightwisnesse, that kissed the one the other, +prating sweetly of Christ risen from the dead. And the devils are +begun to make moan, and they have locked Hell Mouth with a great key +and laid a bar across. And said this squire that stood beside the +maid:-- + +"By 'r Lady!--who writ this is no common patcher o' miracles, but a +true poet!" + +"'T is my father," quoth she. + +And he: "Nay, then, I knew thee for a poem. Is thy name Guenevere? +Such eyes had Guenevere,--such hair." + +"I am Will Langland's daughter; I am Calote," she said. + +There had lately come two men through the crowd. By their aspect they +were not Londoners, yet they seemed acquainted well enough with what +they saw. Now one of these, a black-browed fellow with thin, tight +lips, large nose, and sallow visage, spoke to the squire, saying:-- + +"All poets of England do not pipe for John o' Gaunt. This one hath +chose to make music for the ears of common folk." + +"Natheless 't is tuned to ears more delicate," the squire made answer, +looking always on the maiden; and then, "Calote, thou sayst? 'T is +Nicolette in little, is 't not?" And presently after, "Nicolette had a +squire.--I would I were thy squire." + +But Calote had turned her to the Miracle, and the youth saw only a +flushing cheek. + +"'T is a long while that Mercy and Truth are not met together in +England, Jack," said the countryman to his fellow, sourly. + +"Yea, Wat," the other answered; "and afore Peace cometh War." + +"And afore Rightwisnesse"--said he of the black brows, and paused, and +looked about him meaningly, and cast his arms to right and left. And +now the Miracle was done, and Christ had narrowed Hell, and sat on +high with the Trinity. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + The Rose of Love + + +The bell of Paul's had rung the Angelus an hour past. The gabled +shadows of the houses crossed the street slantwise, and betwixt them +long pale fingers of evening sunshine brightened the cobbles. Pigeons +from the corn market waddled hither and thither in search of dribbled +grain,--unreasoning pigeons, these, for of a Sunday no manna fell on +Cornhill. The ale-stake above the tavern door rustled in a whisper; 't +was a fresh-broken branch, green and in full leaf, set out for this +same feast of the Trinity. Calote had caught the withered bough when +it fell, and made off with it under the alewife's very nose. + +"Little roberd!" Dame Emma cried, "'t would have cooked a hungry man +his dinner." + +"And shall!" quoth Calote; whereat the alewife burst out a-laughing +and swore she 'd switch her with the new stake. And Calote, like an +ant at the end of a long straw, tugged her prize indoors. + +The dinner was cooked and eaten by now, and a bit of a supper as well. +The long June day was done. Dame Emma came to her tavern door and +stood beneath the ale-stake, looking out across to her neighbor's cot, +where a yellow-haired maid sat in the window. + +"I saw thee in Paul's churchyard, Calote," Dame Emma called cheerily; +and she smiled a sly smile. + +"Yea," said Calote, "methinks all the world was there;" but her colour +came. + +"He is of the household of the Earl of March; even a kinsman by 's +bearing," renewed Dame Emma. + +"I rede not the riddle," Calote answered her; but Dame Emma laughed. + +Then down the middle of the way, to left and right of the runnel +ditch, rode three horsemen of sober visage; and though they rode a +slow pace, they took no heed of Dame Emma where she stood and cried +out:-- + +"A taste for naught! Come dine! White wine of Oseye! Good ale!" + +They held their heads in a knot, speaking soft, and went their slow +way down the street. + +"They be 'potecaries," said Calote. "Now the plague is on again we see +many such. He of the taffeta-lined gown, with scarlet, is Doctor of +Phisick, is 't not so?" + +"'T is physician to the Black Prince. Must needs eat at king's table, +forsooth!" And Dame Emma flounced her skirts in a huff and turned her +indoors. + +The shadows faded along with the sunshine. The little maid sat long in +the deep window, agaze on the street. Gray were her eyes, +dark-lashed, beneath straight brows, pencilled delicately. Slim and +small she was, all eyes and golden hair,--the hair that flies out at a +breath of wind like rays of light, and is naught of a burden though it +fall as far as a maid's knees. A tress flew out of window now, like to +a belated sunbeam. The smoke from the tavern turned to rose as it left +the chimney mouth. The pink cloud wreathed upward and melted, and +wreathed again. + +"Oh, father, come and see the tavern-smoke! It groweth out o' +chimney-pot like a flower. I mind me of the rose o' love in the +Romaunt. 'T is of a pale colour." + +At the far end of the room, in a doorway, his head thrust outward to +catch the light, there sat a man with a shaven crown, and thick +reddish locks that waved thereabout. His eyes--the long, gray, +shadow-filled eyes of Calote--were bent upon a parchment. He wrote, +and as his hand moved, his lips moved likewise, in a kind of rhythm, +as if he chaunted beneath his breath. A second roll of parchment, +close-written, lay beside him on a three-legged stool, and ever and +anon he turned to this and read,--then back to the copy,--or perchance +he sat a short space with head uplifted and eyes fixed in a dream, his +lips ever moving, but the busy hand arrested in mid-air. So sitting, +he spoke not at once to his daughter; but, after a space, as one on a +hill-top will answer him who questions from below, all unaware of the +moments that have passed 'twixt question and reply, he said:-- + +"The rose of love is a red rose; neither doth it flower in a tavern." +And his voice was of a low, deep, singing sort. + +"A red rose," murmured Calote; "yea,--a red rose. The rose of love." + +Then Calote left the window and went down the dim room. Her feet were +bare; they made no noise on the earthen floor. + +"Twilight is speeding, father," said she. "Thou hast writ since +supper,--a long while that. Thou hast not spoke two words to thy +Calote since afore Mass, and 't is a feast day. Us poor can't feast of +victual,--tell me a tale. The tale o' the Rose, and how the lover hath +y-kissed it, and that foul Jezebel hight Jealousy hath got +Fair-Welcome prisoned in a tower,--a grim place,--the while Evil +Tongue trumpeteth on the battlement." + +The dreamer rested his eyes on his daughter's face a tranquil moment, +then drew her to his knee and smiled and stroked her hair. + +"An thou knowest the Romaunt so well, wherefore shall I tell it thee?" +he asked. + +"What cometh after, where Reason prateth, I know not. I do never +know." + +"Then I 'll not waste raisonable words upon thee," laughed her father. +"Come, tell me of thyself! Was 't a plenteous feast day, or a hungry +one?" + +"Not hungry," she cried, with eyes alight. "There was one praised +thee. 'T is not every day I taste honey." + +She waited, watching him, but he said nothing; he only leaned his chin +upon his hand and looked out of the doorway. + +"Thou wilt not ask a share o' my feast? Yet is it all thine," she +coaxed. "If any spake fair words of me, how should I pine to know!" +She pressed his face betwixt her two hands and looked close, merrily, +into his eyes. "But thou shalt hear, whether or no. Hearken! 'T was in +Paul's churchyard where they played the Miracle, thy Miracle, the +Harrowing o' Hell,--a yeoman made as he would kiss me,"-- + +Her father was attentive now; his eyes were sombre. + +"I was fair sick with the touch of him. I cried out. And there was one +standing by thrust off the yeoman." + +She lost herself, musing. Meanwhile, her father watched her, and +presently, "Where is my little feast of praise?" he asked. + +She started and took up the tale, but now her eyes were turned from +his to the twilight space outside the door, and beyond that, and +beyond. + +"He was young," she said,--"he was young; he wore a broidered coat; +green it was, all daiseyed o'er with white and pink. He doffed his cap +to me,--never no one afore did me that courtesy. He wore a trailing +feather in his cap. 'If thou stand o' this side, out o' the press, +still mayst thou see and hear,' saith he. And after, he saith 't was +no common patcher, but a poet, wrote that Miracle. And I did tell him +'t was my father. Then he would have my name as well, and, being told, +he must needs recall how Nicolette, in that old tale, had a squire. He +saith--he saith--'I would I were thy squire.'" + +"Anon?" her father questioned, rousing her. + +"Is no more to tell: 't was the end o' the Miracle." + +"A poor maid in a cot may not have a squire." said Will Langland +slowly. + +"I know that right well; and yet I know not wherefore," she answered; +and now she turned quite away her face, for that her lip trembled. + +He made no answer to her wistful question, and there was silence +between them while the twilight deepened. But she was busy with her +thoughts meanwhile. + +"Father," she began, and laid her hand upon the written parchment by +his side, "father,--here in the Vision, thou dost write that the +ploughman knoweth the truth. He is so simple wise he counselleth the +king how to renew his state which is gone awry. If the knight do the +bidding of the ploughman, wherefore shall not Piers' daughter wed the +son o' the knight?" + +He looked within her eyes most tenderly, his voice was deep with pity; +he held her two hands in his own. + +"My Calote,--'t is not King Edward, nor King Edward's son, shall be +counselled of the ploughman. 'T is a slow world, and no man so slow as +the man at the plough. He hath his half acre to sow. Not in my day, +nor in thine, shall the knight bethink him to set the ploughman free +for pilgrimage to Truth." + +"But if he read thy Vision, father, he will." + +"The knight is likewise slow, Calote. He believeth not on the Vision. +I shall be dead afore that time cometh,--and thou." + +"Yet there be them that say the hour is not far distant when the +people shall rise and rule," she persisted. "Wat Tyler ever +threateneth the wrath of the people. He saith the land is full of +villeins that have run from the manors, for that the Statute maketh +them to labour for slave wage. He saith the people will make +themselves free. John Ball goeth about to hearten men to rise against +oppression." + +"In my vision I saw neither war nor the shedding of blood," Langland +answered. + +"Oh, father!" she cried, and cast her arms about his neck, "art thou +content to wait,--so idly?" + +"Nay, I am not content," he said; "I am not content." + +He kissed her and they were silent, thinking their several thoughts, +until Calote said:-- + +"If the knight wed the peasant, and there come a child,--is that a +knight or a peasant?" + +"Most like the next of kin doth make a suitable complaining to the +Pope, and so the child is a bastard." + +"Thou mockest me, father; I see thee smile," she protested. + +"Nay, 't is not thee I mock, my sweet,--not thee. But hark, Calote: +this love of knights and damosels is not the one only love. Read thy +Reason in the Romaunt,--and she shall tell thee of a love 'twixt man +and man, woman and woman, that purifieth the soul and exalteth desire; +nay, more: Reason shall tell thee of a love for all thy fellows that +haply passeth in joy the love for one. The King's Son of Heaven,--He +knew this love." + +"And thou," whispered Calote. + +"I dream more than I love," he said; "I do consider my passion." + +"Yet is it a very passion, father. Wherefore wilt thou ever humble +thyself?" + +"And there is a love betwixt the father and the child," he continued; +and those two kissed each other. + +"I would know all these loves," cried Calote. + +"Yet wilt thou do well to pray the Christ that no knight come to woo." + +She hung her head; and the long day trembled to latest dusk. + + + + + CHAPTER III + + They That Mourn + + +Now as these two sat silent, the door at the far end of the room, +looking on Cornhill, opened, and a man came in and shut it again, and +stood in the shadow. + +"Wat?" said Langland. + +"Art thou he men call Long Will?" asked the man out of the dark. + +"Yea, I am he. Who art thou that fearest light? I took thee for Wat +Tyler that is my friend." + +"I am another friend," said the man, and came down the room. "My name +is Peter. I have run from Devon." + +"So,--Peter!" quoth Langland, and rose up to meet him. "And for that +is thy name, and haply thou art a ploughman, dost thou believe that +the truth resteth with thee?" + +Calote, who knew her father's voice, saw also the grim smile that +curled his lip, but the man could not see because of the twilight. + +"I believe thou art a true prophet," he made answer; "I have heard thy +Visions; many read them and tell them again." + +"Even so," retorted the lank priest; "I did not counsel thee to run." + +"Nay, 't was mine own wit counselled me there," the man replied; "mine +own wit, fed on the Statute o' Labourers." + +"'T is famine fare," said Langland. "Calote, if there be aught in the +cupboard, bring it hither.--And now, friend Peter, wherefore art thou +come?" + +"Lead us poor!" cried the man. "Arise, and strike down the unjust!" + +"I am a prophet," said Langland. "I abide by my calling. Thou must go +elsewhere for one shall do deeds. I only prophesy. 'T is safe; and I +had ever a gift for song." + +The man lifted an uncertain hand and scratched his rough head. So, for +a moment, he stood irresolute. At last he said:-- + +"I am a dull fellow; but dost thou mock me?" + +Then Langland came to him swiftly, pressing his hands on the bowed +shoulders and saying:-- + +"Thou art my brother." + +"'T is a word one understands," replied the man; "God and Mary bless +thee!" and turned at the sound of a footstep. 'T was a woman came in +with a bowl in her hands, and Calote followed her, bringing bread. + +"This is thy wife Kitte," said the man, "and this is thy daughter +Calote." + +The poet smiled,--"Thou dost read, Peter?" + +"Nay, I have a young son will be a parson one day. Thy Vision +concerning the ploughman is meat and drink to him." + +"To us, likewise," said Kitte. "There be days we taste little else; 't +is a dish well spiced. Natheless, for this is Holy Trinité, we've fed +on whey and bread; it maketh an excellent diversité. Wilt eat?" + +As she passed her husband he turned her face to the light, whereat she +smiled on him,--and in her smile was yet another kind of love made +manifest. + +The man ate his bread and whey noisily the while his host leaned +against the door-frame. Kitte withdrew into the inner room, and Calote +sat in the window looking on the street. The moon rose and cast the +poet's shadow thin along the floor. There was a murmur in the street. + +"Father," called Calote, "there is some ill befallen. Men stand about +by twos and threes, so late, and speak low. And now,--oh, +father!--Dame Emma hath fell a-weeping and shut her tavern door. Here +'s Wat!--Here 's Wat and another!" + +Two men ran in from Cornhill, hurriedly. They were as shadows in the +room until they came to the patch of moonlight, where shadow and +substance fell apart. + +"The Prince is dead in Kennington Palace," said the taller, darker +man; "the Black Prince is dead!" And he struck the door-jamb with his +clenched fist and burst forth into one loud, sharp cry. There was rage +in the sound, disappointment, and grief. + +"Art silent, thou chantry priest?" said the other man gloomily. "Here +'s occasion to ply thy trade; but where 's thy glib prayer for the +dead?" + +"Who am I that I should pray for this soul?" cried Langland bitterly. +"Here 's the one brave man in all England--dead. Now is it time to +pray for the living, Jack Straw; for my soul, and thine, and all these +other poor, that be orphaned and bereaved o' their slender hope by +this death. Oh, friend Peter, thou art run too late from Devon! The +doer o' deeds, the friend o' ploughmen and labourers, he is dead." + +"One told me he did not welcome death. He was fain to live," said Wat +Tyler. + +"Doth a good prince go willingly into heaven's bliss if he must leave +a people perplexed,--a nest of enemies to trample his dreams?" asked +the poet. + +"I have heard them that served yonder in the war with France, who say +the Prince hath a sin or two of 's own to answer for," said Jack +Straw. "Who shall rest secure o' heaven's bliss?" + +"Were I so honest a sinner as he that is gone, e'en punishment and +stripes were a taste o' blessing!" Langland exclaimed, and bent his +head in his hands. + +The rustic had stared at one then another of these men, and now he +opened his great mouth, and the words came forth clumsily:-- + +"I be grieved full sore for this death, and for the King's sake that +is an old man. Natheless, 't was no prince led the wildered folk in +the Vision." + +"Oh, Piers!" said Langland; and suddenly he laughed, and still with +eyes bent upon this rude, shock-headed, and slow creature, he laughed, +and laughed again, merrily, without malice, like a child. + +But Wat Tyler leapt to his feet and paced the room back and forth:-- + +"'T is a true word," he cried. "He that delivereth the poor out of his +misery shall taste that misery; he shall be one of those poor. Hath +the Black Prince encountered cold and hunger as I have so +encountered,--not for a siege's space, but to a life's end and with +tied hands? Hath he oped his eyen into the world chained to a +hand's-breadth o' soil? Nay, England was his heritage, and he had +leave to get France likewise, if he might. Can the overlord rede the +heart of the villein that feedeth him? The Black Prince hath died +disappointed of his kingdom"-- + +"And thou wilt die disappointed of thine," said Langland, gravely +intent upon him. + +"Nay, but I live in disappointment daily,--and Jack Straw, and this +honest fellow, and"-- + +"Who may the honest fellow be?" queried Jack Straw. + +This Jack Straw had lint locks that glistened under the moon; the +lashes of his eyes were white. His was a dry utterance. + +"'T is a villein hath run from his hand's-breadth o' soil," answered +Langland. "One of many." + +"I plough, I reap, I ditch," said Peter; "somewhile I thatch. I am of +Devon." + +"They have a quaint device of thatching in Devon," quoth Jack Straw. + +"Ay, they set a peak like to a coxcomb above the gable. Art a Devon +man?" asked Peter eagerly. + +"Nay, but I be thatcher. I learned of a Devon man. 'T was the year +next after the great pestilence. Like thee, he had run." + +Wat Tyler had been pacing up and down, but now he stood before his +host and asked uneasily, albeit his voice was bold and harsh:-- + +"Will, what's thy meaning,--that I shall die disappointed of my +kingdom?" + +"Ah, Wat, Wat!" said Langland, "and wilt thou lead the people? And +wherefore?" + +Jack Straw edged farther within the moonlight and peered into his +comrade's dark and lowering countenance:-- + +"Now which o' they seven deadly sins doth he call to repent?" he +drawled, and with a sudden change to sharp speech, keeping his eye +ever upon Wat's face: "A day cometh when there shall be no king, nor +no overlord, nor no rich merchant to buy food away from the people, +and store it up, and sell it at a price. But every man shall be leader +of his own soul, and every man king. There shall not be poverty nor +richesse, but one shall share as another, and nothing shall be mine +nor thine." + +Peter rested his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands, such +fashion that his jaw hammered upward and downward; and the table, that +had one leg a bit short, hammered likewise. Said he:-- + +"Christ came a poor man, poor men to comfort. He suffereth my sorrow. +I knew not there was question of any kingdom, but only Christ's. And +if Christ is King, how then do ye say there will be no leader?" + +Will Langland looked at the other two with a strange smile; but Wat +turned to the ploughman and cried:-- + +"Yet if Christ delay His second coming, must another lead till he +come. How else shall folk know His way?" + +"Of a surety," answered Peter; "I am come to Long Will." + +And Long Will covered his face and so remained. And they all sat +silent and as it were ashamed, till Kitte put her head in and said:-- + +"Calote, get thee to bed, child!" + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + A Vow + + +Calote slipped out at the back door into a weedy lane full of +moonlight. She set her feet ankle-deep in grass and dew. A muck heap +cast a shadow from one side to the other of the lane and filled the +air with pungent odour. There was a stair against the wall of Will +Langland's cot, and Calote climbed up this to a little gabled chamber +that had a window looking on Cornhill. The street was white and silent +under the moon. There was no light in any house as far as Calote could +see. Even the tavern was dark: Dame Emma had shut out her roisterers +and made her house a house of mourning, for that the Black Prince was +dead. Calote let slip her strait russet gown and stood at the window +in her kirtle, shaking out her hair. + +"Such hair had Guenevere," she said thoughtfully; "yet am I Calote.--A +kinsman to the Earl of March?--Mayhap to-night he weeps the death of +the Black Prince. Yet, I know not.--Wat Tyler saith these nobles be +aye at one another's throat.--When there be so many kind of love i' +the world, wherefore do some folk make choice of hating?--So many kind +of love!--Wherefore may not I essay all?--Wherefore be there +Calotes--and Gueneveres?--Yet, there be a many left for me. I will +leave thinking o' squires and knights. I will listen to Dame Reason in +the Romaunt,--and Wat, and the ploughman, and my father." + +She crossed herself and said her Pater Noster, then dropped her kirtle +and lay down upon her pallet. For coverlet she had a frayed old +cassock of her father's. She lay beneath the window, and the moon came +about to look on her. + +"I will love all I may," said Calote; "but I will forget to be loved." + +And so she fell asleep. + +She did not wake an hour after when Long Will came up to bed, stooping +among the rafters. He crossed the room to look upon her where she lay +full in the light of the moon. Because the night was close she had set +free her arms from the warmth of the old cassock, but the golden +mantle of her hair veiled her white breast that rose and fell ever so +lightly. + +Will Langland beckoned to his wife and she came to stand beside him:-- + +"'T is now a woman,--and yesterday a child," said he. "Mayhap I am +dull-eyed, noting little that's not writ on parchment, yet meseems I +have never seen woman so fair as this my daughter. Is 't true?" + +"Yea, Will; it is true," said Kitte. + +Then Calote opened her eyes upon her father and mother, and she was +dreaming. + +"O red rose!" said she, and shut her eyes again. + +And Will Langland and Kitte his wife went down on their knees to pray. + + + + + CHAPTER V + + A Disciple + + +The second time Calote saw the squire he bore a hooded falcon on his +wrist and he rode a little white horse, in the fields beyond +Westminster. He sang a pensive lyric in the French tongue; and when he +saw Calote he lighted down from his horse and held his cap in his +hand. She was gathering herbs. + +He told her he had got him a copy of her father's poems, and he kept +it in a little chest of carven ivory and jade that his mother gave him +afore she died. And Calote, being persuaded, went and sat with him +beneath a yew tree. He said that she might call him Stephen, if she +would, or Etienne; men spoke to him by the one or the other +indifferently, but they were the same name. It was his mother that was +cousin german to the Earl of March; his father being a gentleman of +Derbyshire, Sir Gualtier Fitzwarine, of a lesser branch of that name. +And both his father and his mother were dead, but the Earl of March +was his godfather. + +But when Calote questioned him of the poem, he could say little, +excepting that his man had bought it of a cook's knave in the palace, +that was loath to part with it; and it smelled frightful of sour +broth, but Etienne had sprinkled it with flower of lavender. Moreover, +he had searched therein for Calote and her golden hair and her gray +eyes; he marvelled that her father had not made mention of these +things. + +Then Calote took up her knotted kerchief with the herbs, and gave him +good day. And whether she were displeased or no she could not +determine, nor could he. But he went immediately to his chamber and +read diligently, with a rose of sweet odour held beneath his nose. + +The third time Calote saw the squire was on the day when London +learned that Peter de La Mare was cast into prison in Nottingham +Castle. London growled. London stood about in groups, ominously +black-browed,--choking the narrow streets. Certain rich merchants even +shut up their shops and barred their doors, for it was not against the +nobles only that London had a grievance. + +Now this fair child, Stephen Fitzwarine, knew that Peter de la Mare +was seneschal to the Earl of March, and, hearing of the good man's +imprisonment, he set it down that this was yet another grudge to be +fought out 'twixt his godfather and John of Gaunt, and he prayed that +he might be in at the affray. But of the Good Parliament, its several +victories, and present sore defeat, Stephen knew little. He was of the +household of young Richard, son to the Black Prince, and all that +household was as yet in leading-strings. In the laws of fence and +tourney Stephen was right well instructed; twice had he carved before +Richard at table; he could fly a hawk more skilfully than Sir John +Holland, the half-brother to the Prince; he knew by heart the argument +and plea whereby we made our claim upon the crown of France; he knew +by heart also the half of the Romaunt of the Rose, and all of Sir +Gawaine and the Green Knight, and more than one of the tales of Dan +Chaucer. Richard loved him, and hung upon him as a little lad will on +a bigger one. And Stephen loved Richard, and slept before the door of +Richard's bedchamber with a naked sword at his side; this for his own +and Richard's sake. But at that time there were other warders before +this door, that slept not at all; for after the Black Prince died, the +guard in Kennington Palace was doubled, and a certain armourer in the +city had sent the heir to the throne a gift of a little shirt of mail, +the which so delighted him that he wore it night and day; and if by +any fortune he forgot it, his mother, caressing him, would say:-- + +"Where is thy chain coat, Richard? Wilt not wear it to-day to pleasure +the kindly armourer?" + +Moreover, the little Prince was seldom let abroad, and his household +must needs keep him company; wherefore Stephen Fitzwarine might not go +into the city except he slipped leash and braved the displeasure, nay, +the stripes even, of Sir Simon de Burley, who was Richard's tutor. +Nevertheless, on this ill-fated day when London was scarce in the mood +to see young gentlemen in broidered coats a-walking her streets, he +dropped his lute into a rosebush and went adventuring. + +When he came on London Bridge,--for Kennington Palace was t' other +side of the river by Lambeth, and who would go to the city must cross +by this way,--he found a great crowd of idle people blocking the +street; and because none moved to right or left to let him pass, he +must needs elbow it like any prentice; and this he did as far as +Cornhill. Now, although young Stephen did not yet know the Vision +concerning Piers Ploughman so well as the Romaunt of the Rose, one +thing he had discovered, namely, that Will Langland dwelt on Cornhill; +and he would have slackened his pace to scan the houses. But the +unmannerly throng that had followed him across the bridge would not +have it so, and pushed and pressed upon him that he must wag his legs +briskly or be taken off them altogether. And in this fashion he went +the length of Cornhill, and had he been discreet he had gone yet +farther in Cheapside and sheltered him in St. Paul's. But Etienne was +a valiant lad, and wilful. He had come out to see a certain cot on +Cornhill, and his desire was yet unsatisfied. He turned him back and +faced a grinning crew of prentice lads and artisans, some merry, all +mischievous, and not a few malicious. + +"Give me room, good fellows," he said. + +Then mocking voices rose and pelted him:-- + +"Yonder 's thy way, flower-garden." + +"Hath missed his road,--call 's nursie!" + +"There be no palaces o' Cornhill." + +"Here 's not the road to the Savoy." + +"We harbour not John of Gaunt nor his ilk i' the city." + +"Nay, we ha' not men at arms sufficient to keep him in safety." + +"I am not for John of Gaunt. Give way!" said Etienne. + +"Ay, friends," bawled a six-foot lad with a carpenter's mallet in his +hand; "we mistook; the lording hath come hither to give himself as +hostage for the safety o' Speaker Peter." + +A part of the crowd laughed at this speech, and others cursed, and +some said:-- + +"Take him! Take him!" + +"Yea, take him!" roared the throng, closing in; and above this sea of +sound Etienne sent his voice shrilly:-- + +"Disperse! Disperse, I say! I come a peaceful errand. Who will point +me the dwelling of one they call Long Will, I 'll give him three +groat." + +"So, 't is Long Will must follow good Peter de la Mare?" shrieked a +woman from a window. + +"What dost thou with Long Will?" + +There were no smiles now. + +"Will Langland louteth not to such as thou." + +"Spy!" + +"Spill 's brains!" + +"Hath none, to come o' such errand." + +"To the river!" + +"Ay, take him down Cornhill an he will!" + +A brawny smith that had pushed his way inward at mention of Langland +stood now in the forefront of the mob, eyeing Etienne. + +"So ho!" he said, bracing his back for the nonce against them that +would have rushed upon the lad; "so ho! Is 't thou, green meadow? +Methought I knew thee." + +Then he set his fingers in the corners of his mouth and eyes, and +leered; and the mob, not comprehending, yet laughed. + +"Thou wilt see Will Langland, wilt thou?" he resumed. "Yea, I trow +thou art a-dying to see Will Langland. He hath long yellow hair, hath +he not, and"-- + +"Scum!" cried Etienne, and drew his sword; and even as he drew it, +there went a thrill down his spine; for Etienne had never drawn his +sword in wrath before; 't was a maiden blade, had drunk no blood. + +At the shine of it the crowd fell a-muttering. Every eye darkened; +mockery died; there was naught left but black hatred. + +"My way lies on Cornhill," said Etienne. "Let him bar who dare!" + +Then some one laid a hand on his shoulder, and a voice said:-- + +"Sheathe thy weapon, my lord!" + +The squire turned to see a tall man standing at his side, clad in a +dingy cassock and carrying a breviary. Long Will was come from saying +mass for the soul of a wool merchant. + +"What then? Wilt have me soil my hands with such as these?" cried +Etienne. + +"Nay, my lord, nor thy spirit neither," answered Langland. + +"Let be, Will!" said one in the crowd. "'T is a spy that prisoneth +honest men. Is 't not enough that Peter de la Mare is cast in chains, +but puppets like to this must play the sentinel on Cornhill?" + +"If I mistake not, this gentleman weareth the badge of the Earl of +March," interrupted Langland; "wherefore our grievance is his +likewise; for Peter is seneschal to the Earl." + +Heads were thrust forward eagerly, and one and another cried:-- + +"'T is true!" + +"Let me set mine eye o' the badge!" + +"Methought one said 't was John o' Gaunt's man." + +"The badge!" + +And the six-foot prentice, craning his neck, questioned:-- + +"Art thou for the Earl o' March, friend? If so be, speak and make an +end on 't. I be not one to bear malice." + +The mob roared with laughter, and Etienne, slipping his sword within +its scabbard, answered in excellent good temper:-- + +"I am indeed godson to that most noble earl, and gentleman of the +bedchamber to son altesse the Prince Richard, heir to the throne of +England and son to our lamented Edward, Prince of Wales, of beloved +memory." And Etienne uncovered his head, as did all them that had caps +in that assembly. + +"So!" said Langland, looking on him with approval. "'T is spoke in a +spirit most prudent, wise, and Christian. And does your way lie o' +Cornhill, sir? With your good-will I 'll bear you company." + +The crowd dispersed to right and left, but Hobbe the smith lingered +yet a moment to say:-- + +"'T was with thee the gentleman had business, Will. Zeal to look upo' +thy countenance hath brought him hither." + +And after, albeit the squire and Langland paid him no heed, this Hobbe +followed on behind, ever and anon voicing some pleasantry, as:-- + +"That I should live to hear thee sweeten thy tongue to tickle a +lording, Will!" + +Or:-- + +"Look out at window, good neighbours, afore the sky fall. Here 's Will +Langland, that never lifted his eye to do lordships and rich men a +courtesy, walketh London streets to-day with a flowering sprig o' +green from the court." + +Or he sang from Long Will's Vision:-- + + "'By Christ, quoth the knight then, thou learnest us the best! + Save o' time truly, thus taught was I never! + But teach me, quoth the knight, and I shall know how to plough; + I will help thee to labour while my life lasteth.'" + +As Langland opened his house-door, Stephen saw Calote laying trenchers +of black bread on a bare table; a pot bubbled on the hearth, and the +room was full of smoke. Calote stood still and rubbed her eyes and +stared. + +"Sir," said Langland, "you were seeking me? Wherefore?" + +It was a simple question, yet the squire, looking on Calote, found not +his answer ready; so Langland waited, glancing from the youth to the +maid, until Stephen stammered in a weak, small voice, greatly +differing from those bold tones in which he had defied the +prentices:-- + +"I have read thy Vision concerning Piers"-- + +"I must commend you for an ardent disciple," said the poet. "'T is not +every noble in England would brave the London mob solus for a sight o' +me." + +"'T is he that rebuked the yeoman in the churchyard, father," +interposed Calote, "and after praised thee for a poet." + +"Is 't so?" assented Langland. There was a cloud on his brow, but he +spoke in kindly fashion. "'T would appear that my daughter and I are +alike beholden to you for courtesy, wherefore, I would beseech you, +fair sir, since you are come so far and have so manfully encountered +perils, will you bide and dine with us,--if a pot o' beans be hight +dinner?" + +"Nay, I will not so trespass," protested Stephen. "The Prince refuseth +to eat an I be not by to fill his cup." + +"Yet must you bide, I fear me," said Langland gravely. "How shall I +answer to the Prince if one he love go forth to harm? At a later hour, +when taverns fill and streets are emptied, you may walk abroad with +the more ease." + +And now, with his adventure succeeded past imagination, the ungrateful +Stephen stood disconsolate, a-hanging his head. + +Kitte came whispering to her husband, with:-- + +"Dame Emma will give me a fresh-laid egg, and gladly, if she know we +have so fine a guest." + +"Nay, wife, we will not flaunt our honours abroad," Langland answered. +"'T were as well Dame Emma do not know." + +So Kitte was fain content herself with a sly smoothing of Calote's +hair in the midst of Langland's Latin blessing. + +The cook in Kennington Palace was one had learned his trade in France +a-following the Black Prince. He had a new sauce for each day of the +year. Stephen looked with wonder upon the mess of beans that Kitte +poured out for him. His trencher bread was all the bread he had; yet +even the trenchers at Richard's table were not such bread as +this,--black, bitter, hard. He ate his beans off the point of his +dagger, and looking across at the fair flower of Calote's face, he +marvelled. He had a little mug of penny-ale, and Langland kept him +company. Kitte and Calote drank whey and nibbled their trenchers. The +meal was silent and short. At the end none poured water over his +fingers nor gave him a towel of fine linen to wipe his lips. Excepting +the half of his own hard trencher, and this Kitte set away on a shelf, +there were left no crumbs wherewith to comfort the poor. Then Kitte +lifted the charred sticks off the fire and laid them aside, and Calote +scoured the iron pot, and Langland set himself to discourse to his +disciple upon the Vision concerning Piers Ploughman. + +"And now the Vision 's ended dost dream a new song?" quoth the squire, +but his eyes were on Calote. + +"I have but one song," said Long Will. "I write it anew, it changeth +ever as the years run, yet in the end 't is the same song." + +He drew forth two rolls of parchment from a pouch at his girdle and +looked on them:-- + +"Since the death of the Black Prince I have changed the old, somewhat. +Here"--and he pointed with his finger--"I have a mind to set in a new +fable." + +Calote had come to lean against his shoulder, and now she said:-- + +"Is 't o' the rats and how they would have belled the cat, father?" + +He glanced aside at her with a smile:-- + +"Calote hath the Vision by heart," he said. + +"This gentle keepeth the parchment in a carven box, father." + +Langland fingered the pages of his manuscript, and presently took a +quill from his pouch, opened his ink-horn, and crossed out a word. + +"An my father would tell thee the tale of the rats, 't would pleasure +thee," said Calote to the squire. + +"Nay, I have hindered enough," protested Stephen,--"but wilt not thou +tell the tale?" + +Her father, looking up, smiled, but Calote shook her head, and clasped +her hands, and unclasped them, shyly. + +From the lane came a snapping sound, as Kitte broke twigs from a brush +heap for the fire. Langland, pen in air, studied his parchment. The +squire wandered to the window. + +"'T is quiet now," said he; "methinks I 'll set forth." + +"Not yet," the poet answered; "I will go with you." + +"What danger hast thou braved?" asked Calote in wonder. "What 's the +meaning? Methought 't was father's jesting." + +"Thy father saved my life this day from a rout of prentices that would +have mauled me as I came hither,--because, forsooth, the seneschal to +the Earl of March is cast in prison. But wherefore the good people of +London should so concern them about the Earl's servant is riddle too +deep for my guessing." + +"The seneschal of the Earl of March?" quoth Calote, wrinkling her +brow: "who 's he?" + +"A worthy man, one the Earl hath in esteem; 's name's Peter de la +Mare." + +"Peter de la Mare!" cried Calote. She stared incredulous, and then her +eyes blazed big with indignation. "Seneschal to the Earl of March, +forsooth! What didst thou this five month? Hast heard o' the Good +Parliament?" + +"Assuredly!" the squire made answer, amazed. + +"Assuredly!" retorted she. "And yet thou marvellest that the people is +angry for the sake of Peter de la Mare? Shall I instruct thee? +Hearken: in this same Parliament 't was Peter spoke for the Commons. +'T was Peter dared tell the King his counsellors were thieves, and the +people of England should be no more taxed for their sakes. 'T was +Peter brought John o' Gaunt to terms, and did fearlessly accuse that +rascal merchant, Richard Lyons, and those others. 'T was Peter charged +my Lord Latimer with his treachery and forced the Duke to strike him +off the council. He dared even meddle 'twixt the old King and Alice +Perrers,--and she a witch! But now that's all o'erthrown, for that the +Black Prince is dead.--Natheless, when young Richard, thy master, +cometh to his kingdom, see thou 'mind him 't was this same Peter de la +Mare, with the Commons at 's back, did force the King to make Richard +heir to the throne. And this decree--John o' Gaunt dare not +overthrow." + +She paused for breath, and the bewildered Stephen, round-eyed, with +open mouth, awaited helpless the renewal of her instructing. + +"Methought ye nobles were but too busy with affairs of state," she +resumed bitterly; "yet 't would appear otherwise." + +"I am no noble, mistress," said Stephen, finding his tongue, "but a +poor gentleman, owner of a manor there be not villeins enough left to +farm. Young Richard is not yet eleven years of age. It suiteth ill the +purpose of his uncles and guardians that he and his household should +busy themselves in the kingdom. Mayhap, if we could learn our lesson +of lips as fair as thine, we 'd prove apt pupils; but the ladies of +our household are busied in matters feminine." + +"I am no lady," said Calote, grown rosy red; "I am a peasant maid. I +have no idle gentles to woo me all day long, nor never shall. The poor +is my Love." + +"Mayhap I am an idle gentle," Stephen answered, "yet I woo no lady in +Kennington Palace." He came a step nearer and kneeled on one knee. + +"An 't please you, fair sir," said the voice of Langland, "the time's +as fitting now for departure as 't will be an hour hence. Shall we set +forth?" + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + Food for Thought + + +Langland and the squire made their way to the river by narrow, muddy +lanes and unfrequented alleys. The poet, sunk in reverie, sped onward +with the free stride of the hill-shepherd, a gait he had not lost in +all the five and twenty years of his sojourn in London; and Stephen +walked beside him hurriedly, marvelling at himself that he dared not +break the silence and ask the many questions that tingled at the tip +of his tongue. For this fine young gentleman, who could be pert enough +with Sir Simon de Burley, the tutor of Richard's household, or even +with his godfather, the Earl of March, yet found himself strangely +abashed in the presence of the lank peasant-priest. Although Stephen +knew not its name, 't was reverence stirring in him, an emotion little +encountered among courtiers. The very silence of this grave, dingy +figure seemed to him more pregnant than the speech of other men. + +On the middle part of London Bridge, where was the drawbridge, +Langland paused and leaned upon the parapet to look in the water. + +"'T is the key that unlocketh the city," he said. "Let the bridge be +taken, and London is taken." + +He spoke as to himself,--moodily; but Stephen answered at his elbow:-- + +"The French are not like to venture so far as London." + +"England hath need to be afeared o' them that's nearer home than the +French," returned the poet, and went on across the bridge. + +In Southwark a shorter way led through a street of ill-repute, and +here a young harlot plucked Stephen by his hanging sleeve and looked +on him, and smiled. Langland, out of the corner of his eye, saw, yet +took no notice. But the squire, taking a piece of silver from his +purse, gave it into the girl's hand, saying:-- + +"Thine is a poor trade. I am sorry for thee." + +And the girl hung her head; and presently when they looked back they +saw that she sat on a doorstone, sobbing. + +"England is in a sad way," said Stephen, "with an old king far gone in +his dotage, and a woman like Alice Perrers to 's mistress. When young +blood cometh to the throne, I trow such-like disgrace as this will be +swept away." + +"Do you so?" said Langland grimly. "Sir, these stews are owned of the +Bishop of Winchester; they are a valuable property." + +"William Wykeham!" cried the squire; "that pious man, friend to my +godfather! he that goeth about to found the new college in Oxford?" + +"Even so," said Langland. "Yet I do him a small injustice; a part of +these houses is owned of Walworth the fishmonger." + +"Sir, you feed me with thoughts!" Stephen exclaimed sadly. + +"I am right glad," said Langland; "I had been a churlish host to give +thee but only beans." + +And his guest knew not whether to laugh or no. + +At the gate of the palace Langland gave the squire good-day, and +turned him back to London without further pause, and Stephen would +have run after him to thank him for his courtesy, but there came down +from the gate-house a half score of young gentlemen that fell upon the +squire with shout and laughter, and when he had set himself free, the +priest was past the turn of the road. + +"Ho, ho,--Etienne! So thou art not eaten up of John of Gaunt?" + +"What adventure?" + +"Here 's a half ell o' mud on thy hosen." + +"What adventure?" + +"The Prince kept the dinner cold an hour." + +"The Prince would not eat a morsel." + +"Threw the capon out o' the dish over the floor, and the gravy hath +ruined Sir John Holland's best coat of Flemish broadcloth." + +"Who was yon tall clerk, disappeared but now?" + +"The Prince hath not ceased to weep these three hours." + +"Sir Simon de Burley hath sworn he will have thee birched like any +truant schoolboy." + +"He hath ridden forth much perturbed." + +"'T is thought the Prince is in a fever; the physician is sent for." + +"Tell 's thy tale! Tell 's thy tale!" + +"_Mes amis_" said Stephen, "I dined of beans,--plain beans,--sans +sauce, sans garniture. My Lord of Oxford, thou art my friend, and the +cook's, couldst discover if the capon was injured by 's fall?" + +A shout of laughter greeted the question, and all cried, "Beans!--Tell +us thy tale!" + +But here a page, running down the courtyard, bade say that the Prince +Richard called for Etienne Fitzwarine; and the importunate young +gentlemen gave place. + +By the Tabard in Southwark, Langland met two horsemen a-riding, and, +as was his custom, he passed them by without obeisance. They noted +him, for they were scanning earnestly all persons who met them; and +one that was seneschal to the Prince said:-- + +"A rude fellow!" + +And the other:-- + +"Some malcontent. 'T is so with many of these poor parsons, I hear." + +But a voice called to them from behind, and turning, they saw the +clerk, who endeavoured to come up with them. + +"Sirs," he called, "if ye seek one Stephen Fitzwarine, I have but now +seen him safe at Kennington Palace." + +"Here 's silver for thy courtesy, master clerk," said the seneschal, +and tossed a white piece on the ground, then turned and galloped off +with his comrade. + +Long Will stood looking at the silver in the mud:-- + +"Eh, well!--'t will buy parchment," said he, and picked it up and +wiped it on his sleeve. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + A Progress to Westminster + + +Throughout that uneasy winter following the death of Edward the Black +Prince, Jack Straw and Wat Tyler were much in London. None knew their +business, but they hung upon the skirts of all public disturbance and +would seem to have been held in esteem by certain of the citizens. +They slept, of nights, on the floor of that lower room in Langland's +cot, and here Peter, the Devonshire ploughman, kept them company. He +had got him a job to blow the bellows for Hobbe Smith, and he stood in +a dark corner all day, earning his meat and drink, and biding his time +till the law might no more hale him back to Devon for a runaway. For +this was the law, that if a 'scaped villein should dwell in any town a +year and a day and his lord did not take him, he was free of his lord. + +Once, at midnight, Peter awoke with a light in his eyes, and after a +moment of blinking discovered Jack Straw and Wat a-sprawling on their +bellies, head to head, and a rushlight betwixt them. They had a square +of parchment spread out, and Wat drew upon it with a quill. + +"Now here I make Mile End," said he, "and just here i' the wall 's +Aldgate,--and they that come by this road"--But here he was 'ware of +Peter's shock-head that shaded the light. + +"Thou hast spoiled a page o' Long Will's Vision wi' hen-tracks," said +Peter; "and he hath much ado to save 's parchment out of 's victual." + +"'T is a plan of London, fool!" answered Wat, and would have displayed +his handiwork, but Jack Straw blew out the light. + +Calote did not like Jack Straw. Thrice, of late, he would have kissed +her when her father was not by, but she slipped from his hand. At the +feast of St. Nicholas he gave her a ribbon. Jack Straw was a widower +with two little lads. "And their grandam is old, poor soul," he was +wont to say with a sigh, looking on Calote from beneath his white +eyelashes. + +Calote took the ribbon with an ill grace:-- + +"I am daughter to a poor man; I do not wear fallals," she objected. +And at night, when she and her mother had come to bed, she spread the +ribbon on her knee with discontent. + +"He smelleth ever o' mouldy thatch," she murmured. "I 'll warrant he +beat his wife." + +And Kitte answered drily:-- + +"No doubt but she deserved all she got." + +"My father doth never beat thee," Calote averred. + +"Thy father is no common man," said Kitte, "but a poet,--and a +priest." + +"I 'll not marry a common man," cried Calote, tossing the ribbon on +the floor. + +"Thou wilt not find another like to thy father," quoth Kitte. She laid +her hand upon her daughter's shoulder and looked down for a moment on +the yellow hair; then, as she had taken resolve, she said, "Natheless, +an' 't were to live again, I 'd take t' other man." + +Calote looked up, white; there was a question in her eyes. + +"Ah, no!" said Kitte, answering, "'t was thy father I loved, fast +eno'. The other man was a lord's son; he did not woo me in way of +marriage. But I was desperate for love of thy father. I said, 'What +matter? I will give myself to this lord, and forget.' Then my mother +watched; and she betrayed me to Will; for that all our women were +honest and she feared for my soul. And Will came to me and said, +'Choose! shall it be marriage with a clerk in orders,--a poor sort of +marriage and hopeless,--but yet a marriage? Or shall it be the other, +with this lording?' And his humilité and sweet pleasure that I had +sighed for him so played upon me that I mistook; I thought he loved +me. But a priest with a wife is a maimed creature. To marry the man we +love is not alway the best we may do for him. Were thy father free, he +might be well on to a bishopric by now." + +"Bishops be not so enviable," answered Calote. "Here 's Wykeham thrust +forth by John of Gaunt, all his estates confiscate, and he hunted +hither and yon by the king's men. My father envieth not such." + +"Thou art wilful," said Kitte sternly. "Kneel down and pray that thou +mayst never know the bitterness it is to drag down thy best beloved, +that was born to mount higher than thou,--be he priest or knight." + +"My father would not be but a poor man, ever," cried Calote. "Bishops +and great abbots they oppress the people and acquire lands"-- + +"Hold thy tongue and say thy prayers!" said Kitte, and shook her. + +"How may I do both?" answered Calote. + +"One learns," Kitte made reply coldly. And Calote, her prayers said, +went to her mother's bed and kissed her. + +"Thou shouldst marry a prince the morrow morn, had I my way," Kitte +did murmur wistfully. + +Nevertheless, on a day in late January, when Jack Straw said he would +take Calote to see the Prince Richard and his train ride forth to +Westminster, for Parliament was to be opened that day, Calote went +with him gladly. + +The old King was very sick in Kent; and John of Gaunt, to pleasure the +people and so further his cause with them, had obtained that the +Parliament be opened by the Prince. This was John of Gaunt's +Parliament,--he had it packed; there was scarce a knight of any shire +but was his creature. The town was full of lords and their retainers, +of knights and burgesses. + +'T was in a jostling crowd, and none too good-natured, that Calote and +Jack Straw, Hobbe the smith, Peter from Devon, and Wat Tyler stood to +see the heir pass. They were by Charing Cross, meaning to follow on to +Westminster with the train when it came from the city. All about the +people grumbled, and trod upon one another's toes. Prentices sang lewd +songs and played vile pranks; anon the babel rose into a guffaw or +lapsed to a snarl. Ploughman Peter squatted on the top step of the +Cross, within a forest of legs, and slept. Hobbe gave entertainment to +himself, and many beside, with mows and grins and gibberings out of +the devil's part in the Miracle; yet he was mindful of Calote, and +turned him to her now and again with:-- + +"Yon fellow 's of the household of Northumberland; dost mark his +badge?"--or, "See, mistress! the black horse is one I shod yesterday; +an ill-conditioned beast as ever champed bit;" and such-like +information. + +Wat Tyler and Jack Straw whispered together of certain oppression +committed of late by Earl Percy and his retainers, and hinted at what +should hap when the people claimed freedom for itself, and put down +all such packed Parliaments as this was like to be. + +"But, Wat," said Calote, who paid more heed to these two than to Hobbe +and his pranks; "in my father's Vision nobles and common folk laboured +side by side in amity. Dost not mind the fine lady with the veil, how +she sewed sacking and garments, and broidered altar-cloths? And the +knight came to Piers in friendly wise to know what he might do. Yet +thou wilt have it that the people is to do all, and moreover they will +cast down the nobles from their place, with hatred. How can this be +when Christ the Lord is Leech of Love? Why wilt thou not have the +nobles into thy counsel; speak to them as they were thy brothers, and +gain their love?" + +Wat Tyler laughed aloud, and Jack Straw set his finger beneath +Calote's chin and smiled upon her. + +"Sweet preaching lips," quoth he, and would have kissed her; but she +struck him, and Wat said:-- + +"Let be! Why tease the maid?" + +But they ceased their whispering, for the crowd was making a great +roar, and some said they could see the Prince. So many rude folk +clambered up the steps of the Cross that Calote was pressed upon and +well-nigh breathless, and she could see naught but the broad backs of +men and the wide caps of women; so Jack Straw made as to lift her in +his arms; but she, in haste, cried:-- + +"Wat shall hold me; he 's taller." + +And Wat, laughing, swung her to his shoulder, for she was but a slip +of a child. + +"I 've a maid of mine own in Kent rides often thus," said tall Wat. +And Jack Straw smiled; yet, though he smiled, he cursed. + +Now there came by trumpeters, and gentlemen in arms, a-many; and this +and that and the other great lord. And then there came a little lad on +a great horse. + +He was all bejewelled, this little lad; he had a great ruby in his +bonnet, and three gold chains about his neck, and a broad ribbon +across his breast. His little legs stood out upon the back of the +great horse, and his long mantle of velvet spread as far as the +horse's tail. He had a fair and childlike countenance and a proud +chin. His mien was serious, and he bore himself with a pretty +stateliness, yet was nowise haughty. And the people cheered, and +cheered, and cheered again; men laughed with love in their eyes, and +women blessed him and sobbed. On his right hand rode the great Duke, +smiling and affable; on his left, but sourly, the Earl of March. Close +after came young Thomas of Woodstock. At Richard's bridle-rein there +walked a young squire very gaily clad, and when the great horse came +opposite Charing Cross and the place where Calote was lifted above the +heads of the people, this squire said somewhat to the little Prince; +whereupon Richard, forgetful, for the nonce, of Parliament and +kingdom, stretched upward, turned his head like any eager child, with +"Where?" upon his lips, and looked until he found--Calote. + +He looked on her with a solemn curiosity, as a child will, and she +from her high seat looked on him. Wat Tyler was moving on with the +crowd, so the two kept pace, holding each other's glance. Once, +Calote's eyes fell to the squire, whereupon he lifted his cap. All +about her was shouting, but she heard only her own thoughts, which +were, of a sudden, very loud and clear.--If this little child could +learn to love and trust the poor, might not the Vision indeed be +fulfilled? Might not the king and the ploughman indeed toil together, +side by side, for the good of the people? Oh, if there were some one +to teach this child! If she, Calote, might speak to him and tell him +how far poverty differed from riches! The squire must have spoken +concerning her, else why should the boy keep his eyes so fixed on her +face? If she could but speak to him and tell him of the Vision, and +what a king might do! He was so little, so noble,--he would assuredly +learn. + +But now Wat, jostled amid the throng, was not able to keep pace with +the Prince, and fell behind. And they were before Westminster, where +the Duke lifted his nephew off the horse and led him within the Abbey; +and other lords dismounted to follow, and there was confusion and +shouting of pages. All this while, the ploughman, being waked when the +Prince came past the Cross, had followed on behind Wat, agape on the +splendour and forgetful of his own safety. But when the Earl of Devon +and his retainers made a stand to dismount, on a sudden a stocky, +red-faced knight sware a great oath and, leaping off his horse, came +and took Peter by the ear:-- + +"A villein! A 'scaped villein!" he cried. "'T is mine! Bind him!" + +And all the crowd was echoing, "A villein 'scaped!" when Hobbe, +thrusting men and women to right and left, laid his hand upon Peter's +shoulder and bawled:-- + +"A lie! A very villainous lie! 'T is my prentice that 's served me +faithful this year and more." + +"Hobbe's prentice!" cried the mob. "Good fellows, stand by the smith!" +And they closed about the knight, so that he had no room to draw his +sword. + +But one came riding from the old Earl of Devon to question concerning +the affray, and the knight cried: "Justice! Justice, my lord! Here 's +mine own villein kept from me by a rabble!" + +"Justice!" bellowed the smith. "Oh, good citizens of London, do ye +stand idly by and see the rights of prentices and masters so +trampled?" + +"Nay!--Nay!--Nay!--Nay!" said many voices; and the people surged this +way and that. + +"Rescue! Rescue!" + +"Stand on your rights!" + +"Does Devon rule because a Courtney 's Bishop o' London?" + +The burly smith and the no less redoubtable knight stood a-glaring, +each with his hand upon his claimed property. + +"'T is mine!" cried the knight. "He ran not six months agone." + +"'T is mine!" roared the smith. "Hath blowed my bellus this year and +six." + +One said the Bishop of London was sent for to quell the mob. A clot of +mud caught the knight on the side of his bullet head. It could be seen +where Devon consulted with his sons and retainers, for 't was no light +matter to wrest away a London prentice, on whichsoever side lay the +right. + +"The smith speaks truth!" said Jack Straw, lifting up his voice. "When +do the lords aught but lie to the people?" + +Some one threw a stone. + +Then Calote leaned down and laid her hand on Peter's head. "O sir!" +she said to the knight, "this is a man. Christ came in his likeness. +He is thy bloody brother. Will ye not love one another?" + +They that were near at hand stood agape. Others beyond said, "What is +'t?" "Who is 't?"--and others again answered them, "'T is Long Will's +little maid." "'T is a maid with hair like the sun." Those at the edge +of the throng thought an angel was sent, and they crossed themselves. + +The knight lifted his purple face, and his mouth dropped wide open. + +All this while had Peter stood silent, passive, hopeless; but now he +spoke:-- + +"In five months I were a free man," he said, "but to-day I am this +man's villein. He saith true." + +"Fool!" cried Hobbe; "I would have delivered thee." + +"Fool!" cried Jack Straw. + +"Fool!" laughed the crowd. "Bind him!" "Give him to 's master!" "Bind +him!" "Hobbe 's well rid!" "Bind him!" + +So they bound him fast, and two stout knaves set him on the knight's +horse, and the knight went into Westminster. + +"Take me to him," said Calote; and Wat carried her to the side of the +horse. + +"Good-by, mistress," said Peter; "God bless thee!" + +"Good-by, Peter," said Calote. "'T is very true what my father saith, +how that Truth resteth with the ploughman." + +"Heh?" asked Peter; but she was gone on her way. + +In a moment she bade Wat set her down, and when he did so she looked +in his face, for throughout this hubbub he had uttered nor word nor +sound. + +There was foam upon his lip. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + An Embassage + + +The winter days that followed were full of stir and strife, and the +devil with the long spoon was ever John of Gaunt. 'T was he set the +people agog that day John Wyclif was sent for before the bishops in St. +Paul's. For the people were friendly enough to this great preacher; +they liked right well to hear him say that abbots and bishops should +be landless and dwell in Christian pauvreté. But they did not like +that John of Gaunt should be his friend; for in those days the Duke +had put it in the old King's heart to take away the rights of the +people of London, that were theirs since old time, and set over them a +mayor who was none of their choosing. And when the people heard this, +is no wonder they made a riot that day in St. Paul's, and in the +streets of the city. And they would have burned John of Gaunt's Palace +of the Savoy, that stood betwixt Charing Cross and Temple Bar, but the +Bishop of London persuaded them, and they left it for that time. + +Jack Straw got a broken head in this riot and lay in Langland's cot +three days, and Calote quarrelled with him; for she said, if he and +his like went about burning and destroying all the fair palaces and +sweet gardens, in the end, when his day came and all men should hold +in common, there would be naught left that anybody would care to have. + +Said he, her head was turned with seeing so many fine gentlemen about +the town, and because the little Prince had looked on her that day of +Parliament. She was like all women with her vanity. She would sell +herself for a gewgaw. + +"Natheless," answered Calote, "I 've not been in haste to wear the +ribbon thou gavest me." + +And Jack Straw swore at her, and cursed his lame head that kept him +helpless. 'T was a rough wooing. Calote minded her of the squire, and +her heart sickened against Jack Straw. + +At Eastertide she saw Stephen again. He was come to St. Paul's to hear +Mass, and she thought peradventure he had forgotten her. But then he +looked in her eyes. + +She found him awaiting her beneath the north porch when she came out, +and he took her hand and begged leave to walk with her. In the +beginning she said him nay, but when he told her he was bearer of a +message from the Prince Richard, she let him have his way, and they +went out through the Aldersgate into Smithfield, under the shadow of +the convent wall by St. Bartholomew's. + +"O Calote!" said the squire. "O white flower! At night in my dream +thou hast come to me; and when I awoke I thought that no maid--nay, +not thyself even--could be so fair as wert thou in the dream. And +now,--and now,--behold! thou art more beautiful than thy dream-self." + +"Is 't the message of the Prince?" quoth Calote. She held one hand +against her breast, for something fluttered there. + +"Sweet heart, thou art loveliest of all ladies in England and in +France," said Stephen. "Since I saw thee my heart is a white shrine, +where I worship thee." + +"Hast thou forgotten that day in our cot?" asked Calote, very sad. +"There was no lady's bower. Wilt leave me, sir? I may not listen. +Betake thee to the palace with thy honeyed words!" + +They stood in an angle of the wall, and Stephen knelt there and kissed +the ragged edge of Calote's gown. While his head was bent, she put out +her hand and had well-nigh touched his hair. But when he looked +upward, she had both hands at her breast. + +"O rose! O rose of love!" he murmured; and did not rise, but stayed +kneeling, and so looking up. + +"In that Romaunt," said Calote, "a maiden opened the gate. She bare a +mirror in her hand, and she was crowned and garlanded. Her name was +Idlelesse. But I am not she. I am not any of those fair damsels in +that garden." + +"Thou art the rose," he said. + +"I do not dwell in a garden." + +"Thou art the rose." + +"O sir!" she cried, and flung her arms wide. "There be so many kind of +love in the world! But this one kind I may not know. Do not proffer +it. The Lord hath made me a peasant. Love betwixt thee and me were not +honourable." + +"'T is true, I am in tutelage," Stephen answered. "But one day I shall +come to mine own. Meanwhile, I serve thee. 'T is the device of my +house, 'Steadfast.'" + +"I am of the poor," said Calote. "I will not eat spiced meats while my +people feed of black bread. I will not lie in a soft bed if other +maids must sleep o' the floor." + +"I will serve thee!" cried Stephen. "My villeins shall be paid good +wage. Yea, I have read the Vision. The memory of thy father's words is +ever with me." + +"Yet thou canst prate of _thy villeins_" she returned. + +"But who will till my fields, else?" he asked of her most humbly. + +And she answered him, "I do not care." + +So he rose up from his knees a-sighing, and presently he said:-- + +"This is my motto: 'Steadfast.' And the message of the Prince is that +he would fain speak with thee. One day he will send and bid thee to +the palace; when the tutor and his lady mother shall be well +disposed." + +"Sayst thou so?" cried Calote. "Ah, here 's service!" + +But the squire was amazed and sorrowful. + +"Art thou of the poor," he exclaimed, "and wilt none of me? But thou +canst clap thy hands for joy of being bid to the palace?" + +"Nay, nay!" Calote protested. Tears came to her eyes; she laid her +hand upon the squire's gay broidered sleeve. "But when I saw the +little Prince a-going to Westminster, methought--'T is a fair child +and noble; if he had one at his ear to tell him of the wrongs of his +poor, he might learn to love these poor. Piers could learn him much. +Mayhap I might wake this love in 's heart. Then would there be neither +poverty nor riches, when the king is friend to the ploughman." + +"And if I serve thee faithful? If I bring thee to the Prince? If I make +these wrongs my wrongs, and plead to him?--Then--Calote--then--what wilt +thou?" + +"How can I tell?" she whispered. + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + The King's Secret + + +Yet the days passed, and 't was mid-June when there came to the door +of the house on Cornhill a slender young squire on a slow and sober +hack, with a stout and likewise sober gentlewoman afore him on the +saddle. The youth had much ado to see his horse's head by peering this +way and that around the circuit of his lady, the while he kept one +hand at her waist in semblance of protection. And the good folk on +Cornhill failed not to find, in all this, food for a jest. + +A shoemaker's prentice came running to lend an awl, with:-- + +"An thou 'lt punch her with this and set thine eye to hole, thou 'lt +not need wag thy head so giddily." + +"Nay, master, my tools will serve thee better," cried a carpenter. +"What's an awl to pierce three feet o' flesh?" + +"Hold, hold! Thy lady's a-slipping!" laughed another. "Lean on him, +mistress,--he hath a stout arm!" + +"Look how amorously he doth embrace the maid!" + +And Hobbe, coming to the front of his shop, cried out:-- + +"A rape! a rape!--Rescue the damsel!" + +"Ma foy, Etienne!" the lady protested, indignant. "Here 's a sweet +neighbourhood to bring an unprotected damosel." + +"Nay, madame, but thou dost me wrong," said the squire. "Am I not here +to defend thee?" + +He had pulled up his willing steed and lighted down, and now was come +to the lady's side to assist her to dismount. Hobbe also was drawn +nigh, and heard these words. + +"Yea, mistress, thou dost most foully slander this knight," said he. +"I have seen him with his single arm put to rout a two thousand men +and mo'. He 's well known i' these parts, and greatly feared." + +They that stood by roared with laughter; and Stephen, crimson, and +biting his nether lip,--yet not in anger,--made as to assist the lady +from her saddle. Seeing this, Hobbe thrust himself to the fore, and +said he:-- + +"Mistress, though you pity not this stripling, yet pity your own +neck," and caught her by the middle with his two hands and set her on +the ground, they both staggering. And the squire hurried her within +doors. + +When she had caught her breath, she saw a bare, damp room, and a man +writing. + +"Mother of God! What kennel is this, Etienne?" she gasped. "Didst not +assure madame 't was a poet's daughter?" + +"Yea, and truly, Dame Marguerite! This is the poet's self." + +She looked on Langland, who was come up the room, and shook her head, +saying:-- + +"I fear me thou hast fallen in evil company, Etienne. 'T will go ill +with thee if aught befal me." + +But Stephen had turned away and louted low before the clerk. + +"Sir, since that day you gave me entertainment in your house I have +many time related mine adventure to the Prince Richard, the puissant +and noble. It is the tale he most delighteth in. I have likewise read +to him from the Vision; there be parts he much affecteth. These +several months he will give madame his mother no peace, but he will +see your daughter, and hear from her lips concerning the poor, and the +manner of her life." + +"Wherefore my daughter?" asked Langland. + +"I--I--sir, I have spoke of your daughter, she is very fair. The +Prince, who is walled about with tapestry and richesse, he hath +desired to see one, like himself young, who knoweth not these things. +To-day, for the old King afar in his manor is mayhap at death's door, +and the gentlemen of our household are much occupied, the Prince hath +got his way with madame. She is a most gentle lady and a true mother. +She sendeth this, her waiting-woman, to bring the maiden safe to the +palace." + +Long Will sunk his chin in his breast, and mused, the while the +waiting-woman stood with her skirts upgathered off the floor. Then he +lifted up his head and called:-- + +"Calote!--Calote!--Kitte!" + +And presently there was a sound of pattering overhead, and down an +outside stair, and the two came in from the alley. + +"Here 's a message for Calote," said her father shortly. "She is +bidden to Kennington Palace." + +Kitte, just risen from a deep curtsey before the fine lady, showed +more of consternation than joy in her visage; but the little maid +caught Will's hand in both of hers and cried:-- + +"Oh, father, I may go?" + +He looked gloomily upon her:-- + +"What wilt thou there?" + +"Tell the Prince of us poor, father; teach him the Ploughman's tale; +beg him to come on pilgrimage with us to Truth. Let me go!" + +"'T is the Prince commandeth, wench," the waiting-woman interrupted. +"Is no need to ask leave." + +"Madame," said Langland, "you mistake. Is great need. The Prince is +not the King; neither is he mine overlord: I owe him no duty. +Natheless, the child may go. Yet"--and he turned him to Stephen, "if +there come any evil to this my daughter"-- + +"Sir," said Stephen, "I pledge my life for to keep the honour of this +maid." + +"And of what use is thy life to me?" quoth Langland. + +But Calote, who had fled away immediately, came now, walking softly. +She had put on her shoes of gray cloth, but she had no stockings. She +had smoothed her yellow braids and set a clean kerchief atop. + +"I am ready to go with you, madame," she said, and curtseyed. + +Langland and the smith together got the waiting-woman upon her saddle, +and Hobbe tossed Calote lightly up afore. So, with Stephen leading the +horse, they went out of Cornhill. + +Now, though this waiting-woman's soul was strait, her heart was big +enough and kind, and when she had perforce to set her arms about +Calote, and she felt that slim little body of the child, and the +little breasts a-fluttering, because Calote's breath came too quick, +and because her heart beat fast,--the Dame Marguerite could not but +grow warm to the maid, and wiled the way with tales of the palace, +and, "When thou art come into the presence of the Prince thou wilt do +thus and so," and, "Thou art never to sit," and so with many +instructions of court modes and manners. + +They found the little Prince in a round chamber in one of the turrets, +where he sat on a cushion within the splay of a narrow window, reading +a book. + +"Ah, coeur de joie!" he cried, slipping down and running to embrace +Stephen. "What a lifetime hast thou been, Etienne, mon chéri. See, I +have sent them all away, the others, they were consumed with envy. I +said I would hold a private audience." + +Still holding by Stephen's arm he turned him to Calote and, looking in +her face, was seized with a shyness: wherefore he ceased his prattle +and pressed yet more close to his squire. Then, because the hand of +the waiting-woman was heavy on her shoulder, Calote made her curtsey. + +"I have seen thee," quoth Richard. "The day of Parliament I saw thee;" +and Calote smiled. "I have read thy father's book,--not all,--there be +dull bits; but some I like. Come hither to the window and I 'll show +it thee." + +Here one came with a message to Dame Marguerite, and she, glancing +irresolute at the maid, at last shrugged her shoulders, and muttering, +"'T is but a beggar wench," went out at the door; but in a moment she +came again, and admonishing Stephen, bade him see to it that he played +no pranks while she was gone. He, bowing, held the tapestry aside for +her. + +"Etienne, Etienne!" called Richard. "Bring yet another cushion! The +maid shall sit beside me in the window where is light, and the sun +falls on her hair." + +"I--I may not sit," stammered Calote. + +"Yea, sweet; if the Prince Richard desire it," Stephen assured her. +And lifting her in his arms, he set her on the cushion by the side of +the Prince. The colour came into her face at his touch, and he too was +rosy. He busied himself with drawing her narrow gown about her ankles. + +"Mine Etienne saith thou art his bien-aimée," quoth Richard, and laid +a little jewelled hand upon hers that was bare and roughened at the +fingertips. + +She was silent. The squire leaned against the wall at Richard's +side:-- + +"Yea, my lord," said he. + +"Did I not love Etienne," the child continued, "and 't would grieve +him, I 'd take thee for mine own. Thou art most wonderful fair." + +"O Prince!" cried Calote, "there be a many maids as fair as I, and +fairer; but they go bent neath heavy burdens; they eat seldom; the +winter cometh and they are as a flower that is blighted. These are thy +people. Are not all we thine own, we English?" + +"The book saith somewhat of this," mused the boy. He took up the +parchment and turned the pages. + +And Calote said:-- + + "'The most needy are our neighbours, and we take good heed: + --As prisoners in pits and poor folk in cots,-- + Burdened with children and chief lords' rent, + What they spare from their spinning they spend it in house hire, + Both in milk and in meal to make a mess o' porridge, + To satisfy therewith the children that cry out for food.'" + +"Yea, 't is here!" said Richard, pointing with his finger. "Read on!" + +"I do not read, my lord," she answered. "I have no need to read, I +know my father's Vision: + + 'Also themselves suffer much hunger, + And woe in winter-time with waking of nights, + To rise 'twixt the bed and the wall and rock the cradle: + Both to card and to comb, to patch and to wash, + To tub and to reel, rushes to peel; + That pity 't is to read or to show in rhyme + The woe of these women that dwell in cots.'" + +"Natheless," said Richard, "I have heard mine uncle, the Duke, say +that the people do not feel these hardships, for that they know naught +else." + +"Think you I feel, O my lord?" Calote answered him. "Yet I am of these +people. 'T is to-day the first day ever I sat on a cushion." + +The boy stared. + +"But thou shalt hereafter," he said. "Etienne will clothe thee in +silk, and feed thee dainties. I will give thee a girdle with a blue +stone in it." + +"Nay, not so!" she cried. "How can I take mine ease if the people +suffer? Oh, sweet child, wilt thou walk in silk, and the half of thy +kingdom go naked? 'T is for thee they suffer. The white bread thou +dost eat, the people harvested. They gathered it into thy barns. And +yet thou wilt let them go hungry." + +"No, surely I will not when I am King," he answered with trouble in +his voice. + +"Hearken!" said Calote; and mindful only that he was a little child +who must be made to pity and to love, she took his two hands in her +own and so compelled his eyes to hers. "Didst mark, that day thou +wentest to the Abbey, how the people cheered thee, and blessed thee, +and smiled on thee?" + +"Yea," answered Richard. + +"And didst mark how they that were nighest the great Duke in that +throng were silent, or else they muttered?" + +"Yea." + +"He hath beggared the people, this man. 'T was he gave leave to that +thief Richard Lyons and the Lord Latimer to buy away all victual they +might lay hand to. And then, what think you, did they give this to the +poor? Nay! But they set it forth at such price that no poor man could +buy. In the midst of plenty there was famine. 'T is several years gone +now, yet I mind me how I sat in our lane and chewed the stems of the +rank grass. Our neighbour had a little babe,--and she could not give +it suck. So it died. Was no flesh o' the bones at all, only skin." + +Richard's eyes were fixed upon her face with horror. His little hands +were cold. + +"I hate mine uncle, John of Gaunt," he said. + +"Sweet Prince, waste no time hating. Christ the King, He hated no man, +but He was Leech of Love. Learn thou of Him!" + +"But I will not love mine uncle," cried the child. + +"Love the people! Love us poor! If Christ is King, and He our brother, +art not thou likewise little brother to every man in England? Hearken +to Holy Church in the Vision:-- + + 'Wherefore is love leader of the lord's folk of heaven,' + +"And this saith Reason, that counselleth the King:-- + + 'If it were so + That I were King with crown to keep a realm, + Should never wrong in this world that I might know of, + Be unpunished in my power, for peril of my soul.' + +"Give the common folk new law! Last Trinité a year, there came to us a +countryman had run from his place for that he starved on the wage that +the law allowed. Yet that same day of Parliament his master found him +out, in open street, and haled him away. Oh, is 't not shame in a +Christian kingdom that men be sold with the soil like maggots? Set the +people free when thou art King! Set the people free!" + +"I have heard my father say, before he died," said Richard, "that no +man is free, not the king even, for the nobles do bind his hands. I +hate the great nobles! They come and look on me and chuck me under +chin,--and anon they whisper in corners. They shall not bind my +hands!" + +"My father saith the common folk is three times more than the nobles," +said Calote eagerly. "If thou art friend to the poor, they will serve +thee. They will bind the nobles and learn them to love. Oh, hearken to +Piers! The Vision of Truth is with him. Take the poor man to thy +friend!" + +Richard leaped down from the window; his cheeks were red, his eyes +were very bright. + +"I will swear an oath!" he cried. "Etienne, give me thy sword!" + +Now was the tapestry by the door thrust aside and a little page came +in, out of breath. Calote sat on the cushion, Etienne leaned against +the wall. Richard had the sword midway of the blade in his two hands, +and the cross-hilt upheld before him. + +"Oh--oh!" gasped the little page. "The old King is dead!" + +Richard lowered the sword. The colour went out of his cheeks. + +"Etienne," he said, "Etienne,--am I--King?--What makes the room turn +round?" + +Then the squire, coming out of his amaze, ran and knelt on one knee, +and set his King on the other. + +"Imbécile!" he cried to the page, "bring His Majesty a cup of water!" + +Meanwhile Calote sat in the window-seat. + +"Do not hold me on thy knee, Etienne," said Richard presently; +"methinks 't is not fitting. I will stand on my feet. Where is the +maid?" + +"Drink, sire!" said Etienne. "'T will cure thy head." And he steadied +the goblet at the lips of the King. + +The page stood by, grinning. + +"I listened," quoth he. "I was behind the arras when the messenger +spake. I ran like the wind. Why doth yonder maid sit in the King's +presence?" + +"Mother of God!" exclaimed Calote, and jumped down in haste, very red. +And Richard laughed. + +But in a moment he was grave again. + +"Mayhap I should weep for my grandfather," he said. "I know he was a +great king. But my father would have been a greater than he, an he had +lived. I weep still, of nights, because my father is dead." + +"Begone!" whispered Etienne to the page. "Haply they seek the King. +Tell the Queen-Mother he is here." + +Calote came and knelt on both her knees before Richard. + +"Thou, also, shalt be a great king," she cried. + +But he shook his head. + +"I do not know," he mused. "How little am I! The nobles are great, and +they do not love me,--not as my father loved. Men say mine uncle hath +it in his heart to kill me." + +"O sire! the people love thee!" cried Calote. "The people is thy +friend; they hold to thee for thy father's sake; and if thou be friend +and brother to them, be sure they will hold to thee for thine own. +Wilt thou be king of common folk, sire? Wilt thou right the wrongs of +thy poor? Now God and Wat Tyler forgive me if I betray aught. But +hearken! The people has a great plot whereby they hope to rise against +this power of the nobles, this evil power that eateth out the heart of +this kingdom. If this thing come to pass, wilt thou go with the +nobles, or wilt thou go with thy poor?" + +"I hate the nobles!" cried Richard passionately. "Have I not told +thee? I hate mine uncle the Duke, and Thomas of Woodstock that tosseth +me in air as I were a shuttlecock. I hate Salisbury, and Devon,--yea, +even the Earl of March, Etienne. They do not love me. Their eyes are +cold; and when they smile upon me I could kill them. I will go with +the common folk, they are my people." + +"There will not be a king so great as thou, nor so beloved!" cried +Calote. "But this that I told thee is secret." + +"Is 't?--Well!" said Richard eagerly,--"I do love a secret. Etienne +will tell thee how close I have kept his own." + +He swelled his little chest and spread his legs. + +"Now am I right glad. Mine uncles have their secrets. So will I +likewise. And I am King." + +Then the tapestry lifted, and there came into the room a noble lady, +and two other following after; and all these had been a-weeping. + +"O madame!" cried Richard, and went and cast himself into the arms of +this lady. "My grandfather is dead, and we are in sore straits. Would +God my father were alive this day." So he began to sob; and the +Queen-Mother took him up in her arms and bore him away, and her ladies +went also. + +But of three young gentlemen that stood in the doorway with torches, +for now the day was spent, one only departed,--and he perforce, for +the passage was darker than this room, and the ladies called for +light. But the other two came in, and:-- + +"Here 's where thou 'rt hid!" they cried. "By St. Thomas o' +Canterbury, a fair quarry!" + +They thrust their torches in Calote's sweet face and set their +impudent young eyes upon her. Yet did her loveliness somewhat abash +them. + +"Sirs," said Etienne, "ye do annoy this damosel. Pray you, stand +farther off!" + +"Is 't thy leman, or dost instruct the Prince?" asked he that was +elder of these two lads. + +"For shame, Sir John!" said Etienne. "Moreover, I beseech you use more +reverence toward the King, since he is come to his inheritance." + +"Ah!" cried Calote. The other lording had taken off her kerchief, so +that her hair was loosened; and now he knelt to lift her ragged skirt +where her white ankle showed, and he touched this little ankle +delicately, the while he looked up in her face and said:-- + +"Shall I kiss thy foot, mistress? Yet, say the word and I 'll kiss thy +lips. Wilt play with me? Thou shalt find me more merry paramour +than"-- + +But Etienne caught him by the collar as he knelt, and flung him off, +so that his head struck by the wall. He arose with a rueful +countenance and would have drawn his sword, but Sir John Holland went +to him and they two whispered together and departed. + +"Come!" said Stephen, "the street is safer for thee. If I know aught +of the young Earl of Oxford, they will return and play some devil's +trick. Come! Wilt trust me? I know a way not by the gate." + +She was weeping soft, but she gave her hand into his and let him lead +her through dark ways to a garden and a hedge; and so he crawled +through a small hole and drew her after him, and they ran across a +field to the high road. + +"Do not weep!" he whispered. "I will protect thee with my life." + +"I am not afeared," she answered him; "but, alas! who would be a maid +and not weep?" + +They came upon the road where it made a turning away from the great +gate of the palace, and here was a tall man pacing in the dusk. + +"Father!" Calote cried joyfully. + +But though the squire made as he were content, yet he sighed. +Natheless, when he was come back to the round chamber, he found a +white something on the floor, which was Calote's little kerchief. And +this he put to his lips many times, and folded it, and thrust it +inside his jerkin, on the left side. + + + + + CHAPTER X + + Plot and Counterplot + + +Now Richard was not yet crowned before he--or they that put words in +his mouth--had set free Peter de la Mare from Nottingham Castle. And +for this there was great rejoicing. Peter came up to London as he had +been Thomas à Becket returned out of exile. London gave him gifts; he +was honoured of the city; merchants feasted him. + +'T was on the night after the merry-making that Wat Tyler and Jack +Straw came again to Cornhill, and they were not much elate. They said: +"New brooms sweep clean;" and "Well eno' to watch the kitten at play, +but 't will grow a cat;" and that this folk was a fool: 't saw no +further than its own nose; let it laugh now, but presently there would +be more taxing. And so on, of this man and that, in Kent and Sussex +and Norfolk, that followed John Ball and would be ready--when the time +was come. + +Meanwhile Calote sat on her father's knee and listened. This secret +that she had discovered to the King was no true plot at that time; +nevertheless, it began to be one. Since the year of the first +pestilence, which year was the two and twentieth in the reign of +Edward III., and the third after the Black Prince gained the victory +over the French at Crécy,--since this year, the common folk did not +cease to murmur. And this was the beginning of their murmuring, +because in that dire pestilence more than the half of all the people +of England died, and the corn rotted in the field for lack of +husbandry. + +Now it was an old law in England that the villein, which was bound to +the soil where he was born, must till the soil for his lord, giving +him service in days' labour; and, in return therefor, the villein had +leave to till certain acres for his own behoof. But this law was +fallen into disuse in a many places afore the pestilence time, and if +a villein would, he might discharge his service in a payment of money +to his lord, and so be quit; and the lord's bailiff hired other +labourers to till the manor. And this was a good way, for the villein +got more time wherein to till his own land, or to ply his trade, and +the lord's bailiff got better men,--they that laboured doing so of +free-will for hire, and without compelling. + +Then came pestilence and knocked at every man's door; and where there +had been ten men to till the soil there was one now, and the one would +not work for the old wage, for he said, "Corn is dear." And this was +true, there being none to harvest the corn. So every man served him +who would pay the highest wage,--whether his own lord or the lord of +another manor. But the lords, becoming aware, said, "How shall this +be? For by the law the villein is bound to the soil and must labour on +the manor where he was born; yet here be villeins that journey from +place to place like free men, and barter service; neither will they +labour for their own lord except it like them, and for hire." + +After this there was passed in Parliament the Statute of Labourers, +whereby it was declared that:-- + +"Every man or woman of whatsoever condition, free or bond, able in +body, and within the age of threescore years ... and not having of +his own whereof he might live, nor land of his own about the tillage +of which he might occupy himself, and not serving any other, should be +bound to serve the employer who should require him to do so, and +should take only the wages which were accustomed to be taken in the +neighbourhood where he was bound to serve, two years afore that plague +befel." + +And this law was amended and made more harsh other years after. + +But the villeins, having tasted freedom, were loth to return into +bondage. They fled away from the manors; they hid in the woods; they +gathered them into companies and would do no work except their demand +of wage and liberty were granted. Moreover, certain men of a quick wit +went about and preached against kings and lords. They said all men +were brothers and free, they must share as brothers. One of these +preachers was John Ball, a priest, a good man, fearless and fervent. +For a score of years he traversed England calling men to fellowship; +and for this he was persecuted of Holy Church. Rich prelates had no +mind to share their wealth with villeins. But and because John Ball +suffered, the common folk loved him the better and believed on him. +Langland knew him and had speech of him many a time; nevertheless, +Langland said that John Ball would not make England new. Mayhap 't was +by John Ball and his ilk that Langland's Vision came into the +countryside and spread among cottagers; and Wat Tyler heard it, and +Jack Straw,--and came out of Kent to learn more of this doctrine. So +they found Will Langland and loved him; but for understanding of him, +that was another matter. There were few men at that time could rede +this chantry priest. + +So it was that the thought of fellowship grew up out of all these +rhymings and prophecies of John Ball and Long Will: and how that one +man of himself was well-nigh powerless before unrighteous rule, but if +many men were joined together to persuade the King and Parliament, +there might be pause and parley; and if all the villeins and artisans +and prentices in the wide realm of England were so banded--That was a +great thought! 'T was too big for the breast of Wat Tyler and Jack +Straw; it must out. Already it spread; it lodged in other breasts. But +this was all,--a thought like a thistledown flying from man to man; +and one blew it this way, and another blew it that; and if by chance +it made as to fall on the earth, there was always Jack Straw, or Wat +Tyler, or John Ball, to blow a great breath and set it off again. + +"Natheless, in the end, naught will come of 't," said Long Will, that +night. + +"Wherefore?" Wat Tyler questioned hotly. + +"Who shall lead?" Will asked him. + +Wat Tyler looked at Jack Straw and Jack Straw at him, yet neither in +the eyes of the other. + +"There shall be a many leaders," said Jack Straw presently. "Of every +hundred, and of every shire, a leader." + +"And the grievance of every leader shall differ from the grievance of +every other leader; yea," Langland added, "one only desire shall they +have in common,--to lead,--to put themselves in the place of power." + +"For the people's sake," protested Wat. + +"Their leader is God and the king; and wilt thou learn them another +lesson?" + +"Yea, by"--But Wat Tyler looked on Jack Straw and swore no oath. + +"The people of England is a loyal people," said Langland, "and slow +witted, loth to swallow a new thought." + +"'T is no new thought," cried Wat in a great passion. "Hast thou not +sung it like a gnat in our ear these many years? By Christ, Will, but +I 'm past patience with thee! Wilt thou blow hot and cold? Cease thy +lies, if lies they be; but if thou say soth, act on 't!" + +"Though thou art mazed, Wat, yet art thou not more mazed than I," said +Long Will wearily. + +"I am not mazed," quoth Wat; "I see right clear. The nobles are our +oppressors, and 't is us poor folk pay. We till their fields, fight +their battles, give good money for their French war. Wilt thou tell us +to-day a tale of the ploughman that ruleth the kingdom, and to-morrow +prate of kings?" + +"Thou art no ploughman, Wat," said Long Will, "but an artisan, +well-to-do, able to pay head-money to the bailiff and so be quit of +the manor when thou wilt to ply thy trade elsewhere." + +"A quibble! A poor quibble!" Wat retorted. "With copying of charters +and drawing of wills thou 'rt tainted; thou 'rt half man o' law; thou +'rt neither fish nor flesh, nor good red herring." + +"I marvel thou hast not found me out afore," said Langland quietly. +"Hast thou not heard me rail right prettily, many a time, against +those priests that come to London to earn silver by singing prayers +for the dead,--a lazy life; when they might, an they would, be +a-starving in country villages for the sake o' the souls o' living +poor wights that need comfort and counsel? Let God take care o' the +dead, say I, and if a man pray for those, let him pray for love's +sake. Yet here be I a chantry clerk in London,--I, that hold it akin +to simony to take money for such-like Masses. And there 's silver in my +pouch; not much,--for I 've not had the singing o' prayers for the +Black Prince,--yet silver: 't comes off black on my fingers." + +"Father!" cried Calote, and clasped him round his neck; but he paid +her no heed. + +"Am I of those, the disciples of John Wyclif, that begin to go about +and whisper that priests may marry without sin? Nay,--though I be in +accord somewhat with his doctrines of poverty,--conscience hath not +assoiled me that I am married, and my daughter sits on my knee." + +"Ah, Will!" said Kitte, and she arose heavily and went out of the +room. + +Calote set her finger upon his lips, but he drew away her +hand:-- + +"How have I cried out upon the begging friars! But thrice in the month +I sit and feed at my Lord Latimer's table,--my Lord Latimer that +betrayeth the poor,--I and a friar we dip our fingers into the same +dish for alms' sake. I live in London and on London both. I praise +Piers Ploughman for his diligence, yet have I no wish to bow my back +to his toil. I live like a loller. I am one of those that sits and +swings 's heels, saying: 'I may not work, but I 'll pray for you, +Piers.' Yet am I not minded to go hungry, neither. This is thy +prophet, Wat. Saint Truth, she is my lady. Bethink thee, but she 's +proud o' such a lover?" + +Wat Tyler drew his hand across his eyes, there was water in them. +"Beshrew me, but I do love thee," he said. "Natheless, I believe thou +'rt mad; mad of thy wrongs. God! I could slay and slay and slay! I 'm +thirsty." + +"Poor Wat--poor Wat!" said Langland. "'T is not all ambition with +thee, I know well.--But wrongs? My wrongs? Yea, truly they are mine, +for I 've made them." + +"'T is the times makes them!" muttered Wat; "the times that do beset +us round with custom and circumstance, till there 's no help for 't +but to live lies. Thou canst not scape." + +"Yea, I 'm in a net, but may I not tear with beak and claw? Yet I do +not so. And still thou believest on me?" + +"Thou art truest man alive!" said Wat. + +"Yet I tell thee in one breath the ploughman shall show the people the +way to truth,--and next breath, the king's the leader.--What sayest +thou; that I 'm mad? Which word is the mad word,--rede me which?" + +Then Calote left her father's knee and came and stood in their midst. +Her cheeks were of the colour of scarlet, her eyes very bright. + +"Hearken!" she said. "'T is both of them a true word. The King is our +leader, shall learn of the ploughman. The King and the ploughman is +friends together. The King shall right our wrongs, the ploughman +leading him to truth." And she told them of Richard. + +Wat Tyler listened with a frown, Jack Straw with a smile that was not +near so pleasant as any frown. Kitte, in the doorway, stood +open-mouthed. Only Long Will sat unmoved. He had heard this tale. + +When it was ended they all looked upon one another. Will smiled, but +Jack Straw laughed, a most unkindly laugh. + +"An thou wert my wench, I 'd beat thee," said Wat. "Thou shouldst not +walk abroad but with a gag atween thy teeth." + +"Soft--soft!" Jack Straw interposed him. "Milk's spilt: let 's lap it +up as best we may! Let 's consider to make the best on 't! Methinks I +see a way"-- + +"Send the maid to her bed, Will, an thou 'lt not lay on the rod," +growled Wat Tyler. "Here 's enough o' long ears and blabbing tongues." + +"Thou cruel Wat!" cried Calote. "Thou art no true man! What care hast +thou of the poor? Dost think to be king thine own self? A pretty king, +thou"-- + +"Chut, chut!" Long Will rebuked her. "Get thee to thy mother!" + +"Nay, let her bide!" said Jack Straw gently. "Let her bide! She hath +brought us into this mishap, so may she help us forth." + +"Thou fool!" cried Wat. "Thou lovesick fool! Wilt come a-courtin', +leave me at home!" + +"I will," Jack Straw made answer, with narrow eyes. "But to-night I 'm +no lover, nor no fool neither; natheless, the maid shall bide. Never +fear, Calote, we 'll mend thy mischief." + +"'T is no mischief," Calote retorted. "'T is a true loyalty to tell +the King." + +"Yea, so! And if thou 'lt hearken, I 'll give thee more news to tell +him. Thou shalt never be naught but loyal, Calote." + +"Mark you, Will!" cried Wat Tyler, "I 'm mum! If there 's aught else +to be betrayed, 't is he plays tattle-tongue. My rough speech is not +fit to be carried to court." + +"So be it!" Jack assented. "Thou hast spoke to no purpose this hour +and more; 't is now my turn. Hearken!" + +Jack Straw spoke not overloud at any time; yet folk heard him always. +To-night there was a half-smile hovering on his thin, long lips. +Calote turned her eyes away from his, that sought her; but though 't +was against her will, she listened. + +"Will is in the right," said he; "Will is in the right ever. The King +is leader of us English. He may ride across our sown fields when he +goes a-hunting; he may send forth his provisor to take away our geese +and our pigs, our sheep and other cattle, to feed his idle courtiers +what time he maketh a progress through the realm; we 'll go hungry, +but we 'll cry God save him, as he passeth by. 'T will be a many years +afore common folk cease to honour the King. Here a man, there a man, +with rage in his heart, will be found to follow Wat Tyler or Jack +Straw; but England 'll never rise up as one man but at the bidding o' +the King." + +Langland nodded and Wat Tyler ground his teeth. + +"And 't is England as one man--the poor as one man--that must rise, if +that 's done that must be done to make us free men.--Now, look you! we +have the ear o' the King. 'T is a child,--a weakling, but what +matter?--the name 's enough. Wherefore may we not one day bid the +people to rise, in the name o' the King?" + +Will Langland smiled, but he spoke no word, he waited on Jack Straw. + +"In good time, we 'll send a messenger from shire to shire shall warn +the people secretly of this thing. There 'll be certain knights and +gentles, I ken, will cast in their lot with common folk, in the King's +name. 'T is not only ploughmen and prentices see truth in John Ball's +doctrine and Long Will's dream. We 'll send one shall convince them of +vérité." + +"Must be a fair persuading messenger," quoth Long Will, mocking. "Is +'t thou, or Wat, will undertake to convince the cotters of England +that ye 're privy to the counsel o' the King? Who is 't we 'll send?" + +Jack Straw, sitting on a long oaken chest with his head by the wall, +thrust his fingers in his belt and spread his legs. + +"Why,--Calote," said he. + +The girl and her father got to their feet in the same moment; also +they spoke in the same breath. + +"Yea!" said Calote, very soft, as she were gasping. + +"By Christ, not so!" cried Long Will, with a strong voice that +quenched her little "yea" but not the light in her eyes, nor the +tumult in her breast, where she held her two hands across. + +The priest took a step toward the oaken chest, then, "Tush!" he said, +clenching his hands and stopping still. "Tush!--thou hast no daughter. +I 'll forgive thee. Thou canst not know. An 't were Wat Tyler had +spoke so foul counsel I 'd--I 'd--by the Cross o' Bromholme--I 'd"-- + +"Disport thee like Friar Tuck in the ballad, no doubt," smiled Jack +Straw easily. "Calote, wilt go?" + +"Yea, will I!" she answered. + +"Who will believe a slip of a child?" Long Will asked scornfully, and +turned his back and paced down the room. "Moreover, the King hath not +given this counsel. Thou wilt not speak a lie, Calote?" + +"Yet he shall give it," pursued Jack Straw. "Calote shall learn him 's +lesson, and ask a token of him, whereby men may know that she is a +true and secret messenger." + +"Calote goeth not again to the palace," cried Langland harshly. "'T is +no place for a peasant maid." + +"Men will be persuaded if thou show the King's token; if thou speak to +them, Calote; if thine eyes shine, and thy voice ring like a little +chapel bell," said Jack Straw, "'t will work more magic than three +sermons o' John Ball." + +"Thou cold-blooded snake, hast thou no bowels?" Long Will asked him, +coming close. "Wilt send forth a tender maid to such dangers as thou +knowest lie by the road? Nay, I 'll not believe 't!" + +"Yet, there 's more danger at the palace, and that thyself +knowest,--there 's a certain hot-blood squire"--he glanced upon Calote +and turned his speech--"One other audience with the King will do 't: +then away in villages and ploughmen's huts where she belongs. Mark +you, I purpose not to send her forth to-night. 'T is not this year nor +next that the men shall rise; 't will take time to go afoot or in a +cart throughout the countryside. Then for our plan, to gather all poor +men of England around about London town,--and the young King shall +come forth to meet them, and they 'll hail him leader,--sweet pretty +lad!--Here 's a Vision for thee, Will!" + +"Is 't so, thou Judas?" quoth Wat. "Then where 's thy plot to kill the +King and all nobles,--and share every man equal?" + +"Methought thou wert sworn mum?" said Jack Straw in his dry voice. + +"'T is I shall have last word. She is my daughter," Langland said. So +he took her by the hand and led her away, and his wife followed him. +But Jack Straw and Wat Tyler whispered together till dawn; and when +Kitte came down to go to Mass, she found them lying on the floor +asleep. + + + + + CHAPTER XI + + Midsummer Eve + + +"And no word o' this matter to King or common man till thou 'rt bid," +admonished Wat Tyler when he bade Calote good-by next day. "If thou +keep faith, haply I 'll believe thou art not all blab." + +"Likewise, leave thy father in peace," counselled Jack Straw. "Thou +'lt not be the first maid that slipped out when the door was on the +latch: there be not many go on so honest errand." + +"An thou wert my father, I might do so," answered Calote. "But thank +God for that thou 'rt not!" + +"Amen!" said Jack Straw with a grin. + +Yet was there little need to warn Calote of her tongue at that time, +for a many days were gone by, and months even, before she again saw +Stephen or the King. And meanwhile John Wyclif came up to London, and +his name was in every man's mouth. Some said his doctrine was +heresies, and others believed on what they could understand, which was +much or little according as they had wit. But whether they believed on +Wyclif or no, there were few men at that day in England who spoke a +good word for the Pope. And although the little King Richard was a +pious child, and so continued till his life's end, and a right +faithful violent persecutor of heretics, yet did he not scruple--or +his counsellors did not for him--to require of John Wyclif to prove to +the nobles and commons of England--which they needed no proof, being +convinced afore--that they ought not to send money and tribute to the +Pope, when England was in sore straits for to meet her own taxes, and +charity begins at home. And this was a scandal, because Wyclif was +then under the Pope's ban; so it was sin for any man to crave his +counsel. But of how he played prisoner in Oxford in the midst of his +scholars that loved him; and how he came to Lambeth Palace and stood +before Simon Sudbury the Archbishop of Canterbury, and Courtenay the +Bishop of London, to make his defence; and how the Queen-Mother sent a +message so that they feared to do him any hurt,--this Book needeth not +to tell, save and to say that time passed. And Will Langland copied +his Vision and sang his Masses for the dead, and Calote, his daughter, +spun, and wove, and baked, and watched, and waited. Stephen came no +more to hear Mass in St. Paul's, and the King was kept close. + +"He will forget," she said to herself after a long while; "he will +forget, and there will be none to learn him more, for Stephen will +forget likewise. Why should Stephen remember? Why--should +Stephen--remember? He hath forgot already, and 't is all come to +naught." + +Ofttimes she would go out of the Aldersgate into Smithfield and stand +beneath the shadow of St. Bartholomew's wall, and wait, and remember +how he had knelt and kissed the hem of her russet gown. + +So the winter passed, and the spring, and summer was come. And Calote +lay in her bed on Midsummer Eve and heard the merrymakers singing in +the street, and thought of other Junes: thought of the day the Black +Prince died, and Stephen said he would he were her squire; of the day +when she was sent for to the palace, and she sat on a cushion by +Richard's side and told him of the poor. + +"June is a fateful month for me," she said. + +Then underneath her window a lute tinkled and a voice sang:-- + + "The birdies small + Do singen all, + The throstle chirpeth cheerly to his make, + The lark hath leave to carol to the sun: + I would I were that joly gentil one, + Piping thy praise unchid! + I 'd wake, + To climb my heav'n or ever day doth break. + But I 'm forbid. + + "The birdies small + Do singen all, + The trilly nightingale doth tell the moon + His love-longing, nor hush him all the night: + I would I were that tuneful manner wight, + Within a rose-tree hid! + So soon + Thou wouldst be wishing every night were June! + But I 'm forbid. + + "The birdies small + Do singen all, + No throstle, I, nor nightingale, nor lark,-- + Yet fain to twitter, fain to softly peep + Of love; and needs must loathly silence keep: + Ne never no bird did. + 'T is dark; + 'T is sleepy night,--I 'll whisper only, 'Hark!' + But I 'm forbid." + +Calote lay still as a stone: only her hair moved where it veiled her +lips. From the tavern across the way there came sounds of merriment +and a banging of doors. The light from passing torches flickered up +among the shadows in the gabled ceiling of the little room. Then the +footsteps died away. Calote sighed, and made as to rise; and again the +lute tinkled. This second song was in the swinging measure that the +common folk loved, a measure somewhat scorned in Richard's court; but +the squire had good reason for the using of it He twanged his lute +right loud and sang:-- + + "It fell upon Midsummer's Eve, + When wee folk dance and dead folk wake, + I wreathed me in a gay garland, + All for my true love's sake. + + "I donned my coat with sleevès wide, + And fetysly forth I stole:-- + But first I looked in my steel glass, + And there I saw my soul. + + "I blinkèd once, I blinkèd twice, + I turned as white as milk: + My soul he was in russet clad, + And I was clad in silk. + + "Now prythee tell me, soul of mine,-- + Wherefore so sober cheer?-- + To-night is night of love's delight, + And we go to see my Dear. + + "Put on, put on thy broidered gown, + Thy feathered cap, thy pointed shoon; + The bells have rung eleven past, + Let us begone right soon. + + "O Master, Master, list my word! + Now rede my riddle an ye may: + My ladye she is a poor man's daughter. + And russet is my best array. + + "Tilt and tourney needs she not, + Nor idle child that comes to woo: + But an I might harry her half acre,-- + O that were service true! + + "Now prythee learn me, soul of mine, + Now prythee learn me how;-- + And forth I 'll fare to the furrowed field, + And meekly follow the plough. + + "And I 'll put off my silken coat, + And all my garments gay. + Lend me thy ragged russet gown, + For that 's my best array, + Ohè! + For that 's my best array." + +Calote sat up, a-smiling, with her golden hair falling about her +brightly. So with her hands clasped across her white breast, she +waited. Beneath the window there was a footstep, a faint rustle. She +could smell roses. And now a third time the lute sounded. In the midst +of this last song Calote arose somewhat hastily, a small, slim, fairy +creature, cloaked in her golden hair. She caught up the old cassock +from the pallet, but always noiselessly, and slipped her two arms in +the long sleeves, and after smothered her soft whiteness in the rough +brown folds. Yet was she minded to draw out her hair. So she stood +within the room, at her bed's head, till the song was ended. + + "So soon as I have made mine orisoun, + Come night or morn, I 'dress me hastily, + T' endite a ballad or a benisoun + Unto my ladye dear: right busily + I fashion songs and sing them lustily: + Each morn a new one and each night a new, + And Sundays three,--what more may lover do? + + "What though I woo her all night long, I guess + I 'll never need to sing ay song twice over; + And every song bespeaketh sothfastnesse, + And every song doth boldèly discover + My heart, and how that I 'm a very lover. + Now, Cupid, hear me, this I swear and say: + I 'll sing my ladye two new songs each day." + +He was looking up, and he saw her come to the window and stand there, +very still. He saw her fair face and her shining hair, like a lamp set +in the dark window. And she, by the light of his torch which he had +stuck upright in the ground at his side, saw him. He was twined all +round his head and neck, and across his breast and about his middle, +with a great garland of red roses, and the end of it hung over his +arm. + +"O my love!" said he, and went down on his knees in the mud. + +But she shook one arm forth from the cassock sleeve, and laid a finger +on her lip. + +"Alas, alack!" he sighed, and then: "'T is so many months. And may I +never speak with thee? How shall I do thy bidding, and learn the King +his lesson, if I learn it not first from thee?" + +She stayed by the window looking down, but always she was silent, and +she held her finger fixed at her lip. + +"I am at Westminster to hear Mass,--I cannot tell when 't shall +be,--but I 'll come as often as I may. Dost never come to Westminster? +Dost never come? Oh, say--wilt thou? Do but move thy lovely head, that +I may know." + +So she moved her head, slow, in a way to mean yes; and he rose up off +his knees, and unwound the rose garland very carefully, and hung it +looped thrice across the door, 'twixt the latch and the rough upper +hinge. Then he took up his torch and went his way; and when the watch +came past after a short space,--five hundred men and more, all +wreathed with posies and singing lustily, making the street light as +day,--the squire was one of these. Will Langland awoke with this +hubbub, and his wife also, and they two came to the window, nor +thought it strange that Calote already stood there looking out. + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + Sanctuary + + +Thrice in June Calote went to the Abbey church, and thrice in July, +but 't was not till August that she saw the squire. + +There was High Mass in the choir that day, and she knelt a little way +down the nave, beside a pillar. Immediately without the choir there +was a knight kneeling. He was a most devout person; and near by were +two servants of his. These were all that were in the church at that +time, save and except the monks in their choir stalls, the celebrant +and his acolytes at the altar, and Calote,--until the squire came in. + +He looked up and down, and Calote lifted her head, for she knew that +some one was come in by the north door. The knight also lifted his +head, and his two servants half arose from off their knees, as they +were watchful and expectant. But then they all three crossed +themselves and addressed them again to their devotions. The squire +went lightly down the nave to Calote's pillar, and kneeled by Calote's +side; and so, shutting his eyes, he made a short prayer. But presently +he opened his eyes again and turned his head;--the monks were +chanting. + +"I am in so close attendance upon the King that I do never go into the +city," he whispered. + +"'T is well," answered Calote. + +"'T is not well; 't is very ill," said the squire. + +"Doth the King forget the wrongs of the poor?" asked Calote. + +"Do I forget that thy hair is golden and thine eyes are gray?" the +squire retorted. "Thrice in the week, at the very least, he will have +me come to his bed at night and read thy father's Vision till he +sleeps." + +"Alas! and doth he sleep when thou read'st that book?" murmured +Calote. + +"Ah, my lady! wherefore wilt thou so evil entreat me?" Stephen +pleaded. "I may not open my lips but thou redest my meaning awry. The +King hath a loving heart and a delicate fancy, but he is over-young. +Thy father's Vision is a sober tale; 't is an old-fashioned music; +haply I read it ill. Natheless, Richard is constant. When he is in a +great rage with his uncles, or the Council, or the Archbishop, and +they require of him what he is loth to perform, I do soothe him of his +weeping with the memory of that secret. But of late he groweth +impatient; there be stirrings in him of manhood; he is taller than +thou, albeit not yet thirteen. He demandeth to know when the people is +to rise up. He saith, 'Seek out thy bien-aimée and bid her tell the +people I am weary with waiting; I want to be a king,--for I am a +king.' Last month he spake to me very lovingly of Walworth and Brembre +and sundry others, merchants of London, that come often to the palace. +'I will be friend with merchants,' he saith; 'thy Calote spake truth, +they are more loving than mine uncles.'" + +"But the merchants be not the poor!" said Calote. "Oh, tell me true, +hath he revealed aught to these rich merchants?" + +"Nay, I trow not," Stephen answered. "But how may Richard know aught +of the poor, save and except beggars? How may I know, that live in the +palace and see the might and wit of nobles? How may I know that this +Rising will ever be arisen? Ah, Calote, do they play upon thy pity, +these dullard poor? I have seen my father, when I was a little child, +quell a dozen of rebellious villeins with but a flash of his eye. They +dared not do him hurt, though he stood alone. Power is born with the +noble, 't is his heritage." + +"Wilt thou leave thy palace folk and come to us, and we 'll learn thee +to believe that the poor he hath virtue also," cried Calote, and was +'ware of her own voice, for the gospeller stood to be censed. + +So Stephen and Calote rose up from their knees to hear the +Gospel,--albeit they might hear little at so great distance. And in +the midst of the Gospel the north door went wide, and a great company +of men, armed, stood on the threshold as they were loth to enter. The +knight, which was also standing, for he was very devout, turned to +look on these men, and immediately, as it were in despite of his own +will, he drew his sword; and then he made two running steps to the +choir. + +Dogs will rest uncertain and look on the quarry if it stand, but if it +turn to flee they are upon it. So now, when the knight ran up into the +choir like the hunted man he was, all they at the door forgot their +unwillingness to enter, and came on pell-mell. + +"Sanctuary! Sanctuary!" cried the knight. + +"In the name of the King!" cried the armed men, and some ran to the +cloister door and others to the west door, and spread themselves about +so that there was no chance to escape, and others went up into the +choir after the knight. + +There was a great tumult, with screaming of monks, and bits of Latin +prayer, and stout English curses,--and "Sanctuary! Sanctuary!" and "In +the King's name!" The servants of the knight ran before and after him +and got in the way of his pursuers, which once laid hands on him but +he beat them back with his sword. Round the choir they went, tripping +over monks and over each other. The gospeller fell down on his knees, +and the acolyte that held the candles to read by dashed them down and +fled away. Round the choir they went twice. "Sanctuary! Sanctuary!" + +"O God!" cried Calote; "O God!--what is this they do in the King's +name?" + +Then she saw how one stabbed the knight, and all those others crowded +to that spot where he lay. They panted, and hung over his dead body +like fierce dogs. Then they laid hold on it by the legs and dragged it +bleeding down the aisle, and so cast it out at the door. + +Stephen took Calote by the wrist and led her forth. She was shaking. + +"In the King's name!" she said; "O Christ!" + +By the altar there was another dead body, a monk, and other monks +knelt beside, wringing their hands and wailing. + +Stephen pushed through the gaping crowd at the door, past the dead +knight, and would have led Calote away into the fields, but she +said:-- + +"Let be! I will go home. I am very sick." + +"'T was not the King's fault; be sure of that!" cried Stephen. "They +do so many wicked things in his name. He is but a weakling child." + +"It is time the people arose!" answered Calote. "Ah, how helpless am +I, and thou, and the little King! How helpless is this country of +England, where men slay each other before God's altar!" + +"'T is John of Gaunt's doing," said Stephen. "'T was concerning a +Spanish hostage that was in the hands of this knight and another, and +the King's Council said they would take the hostage, for that they +might claim the ransom; but the knights hid him and would not say +where he was hid." + +"O Covetise!" sobbed Calote. "Of what avail that my father called thee +to repent in his Vision! All prophecies is lies. 'T is a wicked world, +without love. All men hate one another, and I would I were dead." + +"Nay, nay!" Stephen protested. "I love!--I 'll prove my love!" + +"Thou canst not. Thou art bound to the King,--and the King is in +durance to the covetous nobles. King and people is in the same +straits, browbeat both alike." + +But here they were 'ware of a man that watched them, and when he came +nigh 't was Jack Straw. + +"So, mistress! Wert thou in the church?" he asked. + +"'T is a friend of my father's," said Calote to Stephen. "I will go +into the city with him. Fare thee well!" + +"I 'll go also," Stephen made answer; but she would not have it so. + +"Thy place is with the King," she said. "Go learn him of this new sin; +how men defile churches in his name!" + +And to Jack Straw, on the homeward way, she would say nothing but:-- + +"Prate to me not of thy plot, and thy Rising! I 've no faith in thee, +nor any man. The people is afraid to rise; all 's words. O me, alas! +'T is now a year, and am I gone on pilgrimage to rouse the people? Do +not the great lords slay and steal as they have ever done? Do not the +people starve? Ye are afeared to rise up; afeared of the Duke and his +retainers. Poor men are cowards." + +"I would have sent thee forth six months agone," said Jack Straw, +soothing her; "but Wat would not. Patience, mistress!" + +And a month after, Jack Straw came to Calote and told her the time was +nigh. + +"The Parliament meets in Gloucester next month," he said; "for that +the quarrel 'twixt the King and the monks of Westminster is not yet +healed, and the church is not re-consecrate since the sacrilege.--Now +the people will see the King as he goeth on his progress to +Gloucester, and this is well. They will see his face and know him in +many shires and hundreds. Their hearts will be warmed to him. Do thou +follow and get thy token from him, and they 'll believe thee the more +readily that thou art seen about Gloucester and those villages in that +same time. But have a care not to speak thy message till Parliament is +dissolved and the knights returned home; only do thou be seen here and +there." + +"When do I go?" asked Calote, trembling. + +"I have a friend, a peddler and his wife, that go about in a little +cart. They 'll be like to follow in the tail of the King's retinue, +for the better protection. Meanwhile, an thou 'rt wise, thou wilt not +mingle lightly with the King's household; but with the peasants in the +villages 't is another matter." + +"Yea, I know," she answered. + +"That gay sprig--that squire"--began Jack Straw. + +"Hold thy peace!" said Calote. "But for him, how had I come at the +King?" + +And Jack Straw shut his lips and gulped down his jealousy, but it left +a bitter smart in his throat. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII + + The Man O' Words + + +One night, when Long Will was gone forth to copy a writ of law for a +city merchant, Calote sat up to wait for him in the moonlight by their +door that opened on the lane. Calote and her father had not spoke +together of her pilgrimage since that night, now more than a year +past, when Long Will was so wroth with Jack Straw. Nevertheless, each +one knew that the other had not forgotten. But now the time was short; +there must be unlocking of tongues. + +Calote braided her hair in a tress, unbound it, braided it anew, the +while she waited and pondered the words that she would speak. In the +lane something grunted and thrust a wet snout against her bare foot; +one of Dame Emma's pigs had strayed. It was a little pig; Calote took +it up in her arms and bore it through the dark room and out on +Cornhill. The tavern door was shut, but there was a noise of singing +within, and Dame Emma came at the knock. + +Hobbe Smith sat in the chimney trolling a loud song, and two or three +more men sprawled on a bench by the wall, a-chaunting "Hey, lolly, +lolly," out of time and out of tune. One of these, that was most +drunk, came running foolishly so soon as he saw Calote, and made as to +snatch a kiss, but Dame Emma thrust piggie in his face; and when +Calote turned about at her own door, breathless, she saw where Hobbe +had the silly fellow on the floor and knelt upon his belly, and +crammed the pig's snout into his mouth; and Dame Emma beat Hobbe over +the noddle with a pint-pot, for that he choked her squealing pig. +Calote bethought her, sorrowful, that there would be no Dame Emma and +kindly Hobbe to take up her quarrel in other taverns. So she went back +to the braiding of her hair until her father came in. + +Then she said:-- + +"Father,--they do affirm 't is full time for me to begone on the +King's errand. Thou wilt not say me nay? Thou wilt bless me?" + +He sat down on the doorstone and took her in his arm. He was smiling. + +"Sweet, my daughter; and dost thou truly think that this puissant +realm of England shall be turned up-so-down and made new by a plotting +of young children and rustics?" + +"Wherefore no, if God will?" + +"Nay, I 'll not believe that God hath so great spite against us +English," he made answer, whimsical. + +"But the Vision, father? If thy ploughman be no rustic, what then is +he?" + +"I fell eft-soon asleep," quoth Long Will,-- + + "'and suddenly me saw, + That Piers the Ploughman was painted all bloody, + And come in with a cross before the common people, + And right like, in all limbs, to our Lord Jesus; + And then called I Conscience to tell me the truth. + "Is this Jesus the Jouster?" quoth I, "that Jews did to death, + Or is it Piers the Ploughman?--Who painted him so red?" + Quoth Conscience, and kneeled then, "These are Piers arms, + His colours and his coat-armour, and he that cometh so bloody + Is Christ with his Cross, conqueror of Christians."'" + +"Who is 't, then, we wait for?" Calote cried. "Is it Christ, or is it +Piers? O me, but I 'm sore bewildered! An' if 't were Christ, yet may +not Piers do his devoir? Do all we sit idle with folded hands because +Christ cometh not? Surely, 't were better He find us busy, a-striving +our weak way to come into His Kingdom! What though we may not 'do +best,' yet may we do well." + +"Yea, do well," her father answered. "But now tell me, dost believe +Jack Straw and Wat seek Truth,--or their own glory?" + +"How can I tell?" she asked. "But for myself, I do know that I seek +Truth. To gain mine own glory, were 't not easy to go another way +about? May not I wear jewelled raiment and be called Madame? But I +will not. And Wat Tyler and Jack Straw, they believe that they are +seekers of Truth." + +"Thou wilt not trust thy little body in the hand of Jack Straw, my +daughter; and yet wilt thou give up all this thine England into his +clutch?" + +"'T is the King shall rule England," she faltered. + +"And who shall rule the King?" + +"Is 't not true, that the ploughman shall counsel the King? There be +honest ploughmen." + +"Peter of Devon is an honest man," assented Langland; "he cannot read +nor write, almost he cannot speak. Wilt thou give over the kingdom +into his keeping?" + +"Wilt not thou?" she said; and her father made no answer. + +Suddenly she arose and stood before him, and laid her two hands on his +shoulders as he sat on the doorstone. + +"'T is well enough to say, 'Wait!' 'T is well enough to say, 'Not this +ploughman,--Not this King,--Not thou,--Nor I.' 'T is well enough to +say, 'Not to-day!' But a man might do so forever, and all the world go +to wreck." + +"Not if I believe in God,--and Christ the King's Son of heaven." + +"And is this the end of all trusting in God, that a man shall fold his +hands and do nothing?" + +He winced, and she had flung her arms about his neck, and pressed her +cheek to his, and she was sobbing; he tasted the salt of her tears +against his lips. + +"Father, forgive me! Say thou dost forgive me!--But all my little +lifetime thou hast laboured on this poem--when I was a babe I learned +to speak by the sound of thy voice a-murmuring the Vision. All the +light o' learning I have to light me to Godward and to my fellows, I +got it from the Vision. All the fire o' love I have in my heart was +kindled at its flame;--yea--for all other love I quench with my tears; +I will not let no other love burn. And now, when the fire is kindled +past smothering, and the light burns ever so bright, thou dost turn +the Vision against itself, for to confound all them that have believed +on thy word. Wilt thou light a light but to snuff it back to darkness? +Wilt thou kindle a fire but to choke us with smoke? 'T is now too +late. Haply 't is thy part to sit still and sing; but I--I cannot +sing, and I cannot sit still. I am not so wise as thou, nor so +patient. Is 't kind to 'wilder me with thy wisdom, my father? Is 't +wise to cover me with a pall of patience, if I must needs die to lie +quiet?" + +"An I give thee leave, what is 't thou 'lt do?" he asked her, in a +level, weary voice. + +"I 'll follow the King to Gloucester, and there have speech of him and +a token. After, I 'll bid the people to know the King loveth +them,--and they are to come up to London to a great uprising, what +time John Ball, and Wat, and Jack Straw shall give sign. Then there +shall be no more poor and rich; but all men shall love one another, +the knight and the cook's knave, the King and the ploughman. Much more +I 'll say, out of the Vision; and of fellowship, such as John Ball +preacheth." + +"The clergy clap John Ball into prison for such words, whensoever they +may." + +"And for this reason is it better that I should be about when he may +not; for what am I but a maiden? Clergy will not take keep of me. I 'm +not afeared of no harm that may befal me;--though haply--harm may." + +"Knoweth that young squire aught of this journey?" + +"Nay, father." + +"Hast thou bethought thee of what folk will say if thou go to +Gloucester in the tail of the court? There be many on Cornhill have +seen that youth; they know whence he is.--If thou go, and come not +again for many months?" + +He felt her cheek grow hot against his own, and then she drew away +from him and looked in his eyes piteously:-- + +"Dost thou not believe I must do that Conscience telleth me is right, +father?" + +"Yea." + +"Then wherefore wilt thou seek to turn me from well-doing?" + +"Thou art my daughter," he answered gravely; "small wonder if I would +shield thee from dangers and evil-report. Shall I not be blamed of all +men, and rightly, if I let thee go o' this wild-goose chase?" + +"All thy life I have never known thee give a weigh of Essex cheese for +any man's praise or blame." + +"'T is very true!" he assented in moody fashion; and sat still with +his head bent. + +After a little she touched him, and "Thou 'lt bless me, father?" she +said. + +"To Gloucester, sayst thou?" he questioned absently; and then, "That +'s nigh to Malvern Priory, and the Hills,--the Malvern Hills." + +She had sat down below him on the ground and laid her chin upon his +knee, and so she waited with her eyes upon his face. + +"My old master that learned me to read and to write, and unloosed the +singing tongue of me, dwelleth in Malvern Priory. He said, if ever I +had a golden-haired daughter--Well, thou shalt take a copy of the +Vision to him, Calote. Give it to the porter at the gate,--and bide. +Thy mother shall say round and about Cornhill that thou art gone to +mine old home, to take the Vision to the old master. He is called +Brother Owyn." + +"Father, father!" she cried, "I am filled full of myself, and mine own +desire. Wherefore dost thou not beat me and lock me behind doors,--so +other fathers would do?" + +He smiled wistfully, and kissed her: "So! now thou hast thy will, thou +'lt play penitent. Nay,--hush thee, hush thee, my sweet! 'T is time +for laughter now, and joyousness. Thou 'rt going forth to learn all +men to love one another. Be comforted; dry thy tears!" + +"I am a very wicked wight!" she sobbed. "I will not leave thee." + +"Thou art aweary, my dear one, the dawn cometh. Go thou to rest, and +the morrow all will be bright. When dost thou set forth o' this +pilgrimage?" + +"On the morrow!" she whispered; and then with more tears, "But I will +not go, father,--forgive me!" + +He gathered her into his arms and carried her through the weeds and up +the wooden stair to the door of the gabled room. + +"Go in," he said, "and sleep! There are yet a fifty lines lacking to +the copy of the Vision that thou wilt take with thee; I must write +them in." + +But when he was come back to the long dark room, he lit no rush for an +hour or more; instead, he paced back and forth, talking with +himself:-- + +"Pity me, God! I am a weak man!--I did never no deeds but them I +thought not to do;--never, all my life long! Count my deeds, O +God,--they are so few,--and all of them have I condemned afore in +other men. Now, I let my daughter go forth on a fool's errand, and in +a child's plot that must fail; mayhap she will meet worse than death +on the road; but I give her my blessing. Jesu,--Mary,--guard this my +daughter that I have so weakly put forth upon the world! How may a man +dare say nay to his child, if she be a better man than he,--an actyf +man, a doer o' deeds? How may a man dare forbid any soul to follow +Conscience? Good Jesu, I am but a jongleur,--a teller o' tales,--I am +afeared o' deeds. I see them on so many sides that I dare move nor +hand nor foot. And if I do, I trip. Best never be doing.--If a man +might be all words, and no deeds!" + + + + + PART II + + The Pilgrimage + + "And I shall apparaille me in pilgrimes wise, + And wende with yow I wil til we fynde Treuthe." + + _The Vision Concerning Piers Plowman._ + B. PASSUS V. + + + + + CHAPTER I + + In the Cloisters + + +King Richard stretched himself and yawned, took off his velvet bonnet +and thrust his fingers through his long light-brown hair, rubbed his +left leg, and looked on his favourite squire with a smile +half-quizzical, half-ashamed. + +They two stood in the cloisters of the Abbey at Gloucester, in that +part of the cloisters that was not yet finished. The workmen carving +the fan-tracery--that Abbey's proud boast and new invention--looked +aside from their blocks of stone to the young King, then bent their +heads and went on chinking. From somewhere about came a kind of +clamorous noise that was the Commons still sitting in the Chapter +House,--though 't was past dinner time. John of Gaunt strode laughing +down the cloisters by the side of a gray-beard Oxford priest who +carried a parchment in his hand, and they went together into the +church. Lord Richard Scrope, the new-appointed chancellor, stood out +in the middle of the cloister garth, under the noon sun, and Master +Walworth and Philpot and other merchants of London with him, their +heads together, their speech now buzzing low, now lifted in protest, +now settling to a chuckle. + +Richard whacked his leg smartly and stiffened it. + +"My foot 's asleep," said he. "'T is a most deep-seated chair. An I +must listen many more days to mine uncle's long-winded friend from +Oxenford, thou wert best get me a fatter cushion. My legs do dangle +out of all dignity." + +"'T shall be found to-morrow, sire!" Etienne answered. + +"Nay, not to-morrow, mon ami; to-morrow I go a-hunting, and the next +day, and the next, if I will." + +"A-hunting!" exclaimed Etienne; "but Parliament sits." + +"Saint Mary!" cried Richard; "and who should know this better than I? +Sits!--One while methought I 'd sent forth rootlets and must go +through life a-sitting. Almost I 'll welcome old days, and Sir Simon +Burley's stinging birch, to start me out of my numbness." + +A stone-cutter laughed, and checked him short in his laughter; whereat +Richard smiled in the frank fashion that made the common folk his +friends, and went and looked over the man's shoulder. + +"What a pretty tracery is this, pardé," he said presently. "Why do we +not make a roof like to it at Westminster?" + +Etienne lifted his eyebrows; "Westminster?" he asked. + +And Richard coloured and bit his lip, saying, "True,--I had forgot +Westminster is not good friends with us. 'T was all mine uncle's +doing," he continued angrily. "Lord knows, I 've fallen asleep or ever +I 've done my prayers, each night since the poor wretch was slain. I +'ve prayed him out of Purgatory ten times over, and paid for Masses. +Dost thou not mind thee, Etienne, how I wept that day the murder was +done, and would have stripped me body-naked to be whipped for 't in +penance; but my confessor said was no need? Natheless, John Wyclif is +a wily cleric. Dost mark how he ever passeth over the murder, soft, +yet standeth on our right to make arrest in the church? For mine own +part I do believe he is in the right; for wherefore is a king a king, +if he may not do as him list, but is bound by time and place?" + +"Yea, sire!" said Etienne absently; he was looking across, through the +open door into the church. In the dim distance there he saw a little +kneeling figure, and a gleam of golden braided hair. Almost he thought +it was Calote, and his heart leaped; but he remembered that this could +not be if Calote were in London. There were other golden-haired maids +in England. + +"Yet do I not like his doctrine," the King mused. "For why?--the half +on 't I cannot understand. Yesterday I fell asleep, upright, +a-listening to the sound of his Latin. My confessor saith this Wyclif +turneth the Bible into the English tongue for common folk to +read,--and that 's scandal and heresy, to let down God's thoughts into +speech of every day. But Master Wyclif's own thoughts be not God's, if +all is true the Church teacheth, and I 'd liever listen to him in +English.--or better, in French. Etienne, I go a-hunting, I 'm aweary +of Latin, and Sanctuary, and all this cry of the Commons concerning +expense. How is 't my fault if mine uncles and Sudbury and the council +be spendthrifts? By Saint Thomas of Kent, I 'll stop this French war +when I 'm a man. Yea, and I 'll stop the mouth of Parliament that +talks me asleep." + +The workmen glanced at one another and grinned. Etienne made a step to +the church door; the maid within had risen up off her knees and now +crossed herself and went away down the nave. + +"Sire!" cried Etienne sharply; "methought I saw--Calote." + +One of the workmen looked up at the name, and let his work lie. + +"Calote?" said Richard. "Coeur de joie, but she 's in London." + +Etienne shook his head and peered into the dimness of the church, but +the maid was gone. + +"Ay, me," sighed Richard wistfully, "I would thou didst love thy King +but the half as well as thou lovest this peasant maid." + +"Beau sire," said Etienne, kneeling, "I am thy loyal servant. Trust +me, my heart plays no tricks." + +"Chéri," then smiled the King, and laid his hand on Etienne's +shoulder, "my head aches. Let us to my chamber and thou shalt sing me +a little song, and I 'll sleep. We have not spoke of Calote these +three weeks. Come, tell me a tale and be merry. To-morrow we 'll ride +up to the forest at Malvern, and hunt there the next day; the prior +yonder is a courteous gentleman, writes in French, and prays me +partake of his hospitality. After All Hallows we 'll come back and +hear the end of these great matters. I 'll pray mine uncle; I 'll fret +and fume. I 'll go, will he nil be. Come let 's say a prayer in church +beside my great-grandfather's tomb. Give you good-day, good fellows," +he said to the workmen, and went away hanging upon his squire's arm. + +"There 's a king!" said one of the stone-cutters. "His father's own +son!" + +"Sayst thou so?" grumbled another. "Didst mark how he would stop the +mouth o' Parliament when he 's a man?" + +"Pish!--'t was a jest turned in weariness," a third made excuse; "a +child's jest. For mine own part, I 'm none so fond o' Parliament with +its throngings, and setting a town topsy-turvy, and forever getting +under a man's feet when he 's at his stone work peaceable." + +"They say his mother's done her best to spoil him. I 've heard tell +she was a light woman." + +"Natheless, I 'd liever have him than another. He has a merry smile. I +could have took him o' my knee and kissed him and rubbed his sleepy +foot,--but I minded me he was a king." + +"And well for thee." + +"Now I wonder," said the workman who had lifted his head at mention of +Calote,--"now I wonder what the young squire meant by those words he +said? There 's a maid biding in my cot; her name 's Calote. She can +sing the Vision concerning Piers Ploughman better than any teller o' +tales ever I heard. 'T was her own father writ it. One Jack Straw sent +her my way. She goeth afoot to Malvern to-day, to give her father's +greeting to a monk at the Priory." + +"Jack Straw? Him that spake of the people's wrongs and these evil +taxings, at Tavern in January past?" + +"Yea." + +"Will such-like a maid be known to so fine a gentleman as yon squire?" + +"Haply not. Yet I 'll swear by Saint Christopher 't was her I saw in +the church when he looked through the door." + +"Eh, well,--the little King 's a good fellow, say I," quoth the man +that had first spoken, and added, "So is Jack Straw." + +Whereupon there fell silence upon all of them, and only the clinking +of hammer against stone was heard till the Commons came out of the +Chapter House with a great clatter. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + In Malvern Chase + + +The porter at the gate of Malvern Priory was a very old man, but he +had good eyes, and he knew a pretty thing when he saw it. + +"Thou wilt speak with Brother Owyn, wilt thou?" he said to Calote in +his toothless voice. "By my troth, I 'll have thee to know, hussy, +that this is no household of gadding friars, but a sober and +well-conducted priory. Our monks do not come and go at the bidding of +wenches." + +"Good brother, I come not of myself," said Calote, "I am sent a +message of my father." + +"And thy father, I make no doubt, is the Father of Lies,--Christ give +him sorrow!" + +"My father was put to school one while in Malvern Priory," answered +Calote. "Brother Owyn was his master and loved him well." + +"Sayst thou so?" the porter retorted, yet with something of curiosity +awaking within his bright eyes. "Is no lad hath gone in and out this +gate in forty year, but hath one day or other tasted my rod for a +truant. How do they call thy father?" + +"In London men call him Long Will, and Will Langland 's his name." + +The porter opened wide his mouth, and, "By Goddes Soul!" quoth he, +"Will Langland!--Let me look on thee,"--albeit he had done naught but +look on her for ten minutes past. "Yea, 't is true; I 'd know thee by +thine eyen, that are gray, and thoughtful, and dark with a something +that lies behind the colour of them,--and shining by the light of a +lamp lit somewhere within.--So! Will Langland hath got him a wench! 'T +is a hard nut to crack. Moreover, eyen may be gray as glass, and yet +speak lies. What for a token hast thou that thou 'rt true messenger?" + +"I have a poem," she answered. + +"Let 's see it." + +"Nay, 't is for Brother Owyn." + +"And how shall Brother Owyn have it, if not by me?" rejoined the +porter testily. + +"Wilt thou get me speech of him if I show it thee?" asked Calote. + +"Shall a lay-brother of Malvern stoop to play handy-dandy for +favours?" said the porter, casting up his chin in a way feebly to +imitate his prior; yet his curiosity overcame his pride and he added: +"Do thou show me first the poem. After, I 'll think on 't." + +Whereupon Calote drew forth the parchment from her breast, and he +unrolled it and spread it upon his knee, and "H-m-m, h-m-m!" said he. +But he could not read a word, being no scholar. + +"Find me a pretty passage," he bade her presently, "and say it me, the +while I follow with my finger." + +So she began;--and neither one of them knew the place in the +parchment:-- + + "'Right so, if thou be religious run thou never further + To Rome, nor to Rochemadour, but as thy rule teacheth, + And hold thee under obedience, that highway is to heaven.'" + +"Tut chut! Thou 'rt a bold wench! Wilt teach thy grandmother to suck +eggs?" cried the porter. + +Calote laughed, but began anew:-- + + "'Grace ne groweth not but amongst the low; + Patience and poverty is the place where it groweth, + And in loyal-living men, and life-holy, + And through the gift of the Holy Ghost as the gospel telleth'"-- + +"Lord, Lord, enough!" cried the porter. "'T is very true that never +none but Will Langland writ such-like twaddle." + +"But thou wilt bid Brother Owyn to the gate?" said Calote, rolling up +her parchment. + +"How may I bid him to the gate when he 's gone forth yonder in the +Chase with hook and line and missal to catch fish for supper?" + +"Ah! good brother, gramerci," laughed Calote. + +"Then kiss me," said he. "Nay, what harm? An old man that might be thy +father twice over!" + +But she shook her head and sprang swiftly from him. + +"I 've a long journey afore me," she said, "and if I kiss every man +that doeth me service, there 'll be no kisses left for my True Love." + +So she ran away among the trees, and the old man went into the +gate-house and sat chuckling. + +All about Malvern Priory was forest, and a part of this was the King's +Chase. The woodland climbed the hill part way, thinning as it climbed. + + "'I was weary with wandering and went me to rest + Under a broad bank by a burn's side.'" + +hummed Calote as she went upward. "Belike he 's there catching his +fish." + +The day was mild; Saint Martin's summer was at hand; all around trees +were yellowing, leaves were dropping. The little haze that is ever +among the Malverns dimmed the vistas betwixt the tree-trunks to +faintest blue. The voices of the hunt floated upward from the level +stretch of forest in the plain,--bellowing of dogs, a horn, a distant +shouting. + +"Please God I may not meet the King, nor Stephen," said Calote. "They +do say he came hither last night to hunt." + +Even as she spoke, a roe fled across her path, and immediately after, +two huntsmen came riding. + +"Which way went the--Coeur de joie!" cried a boy's voice. + +The other huntsman sat dumb upon his horse. Calote, rosy red, her lips +a-quiver, stood with her hands crossed on her breast, that frighted +but yet steadfast way she had. Then:-- + +"Light down, Etienne, thou laggard lover! 'T is thy true love hath +followed thee from London town these many miles," laughed Richard, and +flung himself off his horse. + +"Oh, me, harrow, weyl a way!" said Calote, covering up her face. "'T is +not true! I am not so unmaidenly; my heart is full of other matter +than light love." She turned to Stephen, who was also lighted off his +horse, and "Dost thou believe I followed for love of thee?" she cried. + +"Alas and alack!--but I would it were so!" answered Stephen. + +"Yet thou didst follow," said the King. "Wherefore?" + +She turned her eyes away from Stephen and looked on Richard, and as +she looked she sank down on her knees before him. + +"Thou art the King!" she gasped, "and I knew thee not!" + +In very truth, here was not the little lad she had known. The grace of +childhood was gone from Richard. Some of the mystery had gone out of +his eyes, though they were yet, and would ever be, thoughtful; all of +the shyness had gone out of his manner, albeit none of the courtesy. +He was well used to being a king; he was already, at thirteen years of +age or thereabout, the most of a gentleman in his very foppish and +gentleman-like court. Calote had sat still in the window-seat that +time he came to the crown by his grandfather's death, but to-day, +before she knew wherefore, she was on her knees. Then only were her +eyes opened, and she knew that this was the King. + +He looked upon her friendly-wise, half-laughing. Kingship and +comradeship were ever a-wrestle in Richard's heart to the end of the +chapter. He liked to be a king, none better; he kept his state as +never king kept it before in England,--as few have kept it since. But +also, he loved to be loved, not from afar and awesomely as subjects +love, but in the true human fashion that holds betwixt friends, +betwixt kindly master and friendly servant. + +Now, he put out his hand to Calote and lifted her up, and when they +stood face to face, his eyes were a-level with hers, so big was +he;--or haply she so small. + +"I am grown tall; is 't not so?" he said. "Very soon I shall be tall +as Etienne. No wonder thou didst not know me. But now, see thou tell +me true wherefore thou art so suddenly come to Malvern, and I 'll +forgive thy forgetting. Nay,--not on thy knees again." + +"Sire, hast thou forgot that I told thee--of a plot? And whether thou +wouldst be King of all the people of England, or only puppet to the +nobles?" + +"I am not so good at forgetting as thou," he made reply, and she could +not but marvel to hear him so froward of speech. She was aware that +this was no little child, but a boy that had listened, perforce, a +year and more, to the counsels of grown men, some of them wise, all of +them shrewd. + +"This plot moveth on," she continued, taking up her tale. "There is +forming, and shall be formed, a great society of men over all England. +I, and others, we go out across the land, one here, one there, north, +south, east, and west, to bind the people into brotherhood. And it is +my task to tell the people that the King is one of this +brotherhood,--if so be 't is true."--She paused, but Richard did not +speak, so she went on: "It is my task to tell the people that the King +approveth this gathering together of the people. And, when the time +cometh, he will stand forth and be their leader,--against those that +oppress them. If so be 't is true." + +"And the people want?"-- + +"Freedom, sire! Not to be a part of the land, like stocks and stones +and dumb cattle. Not to be villeins any longer, but freed men, with +leave to come and go of their own will." + +"But noblesse,--villeinage,--these are fixed,--may not be overthrown." + +"Not by the King?" asked Calote. + +Richard looked on her uncertain, then his face flushed and he struck +his long-bow vehement into the earth:-- + +"The King may do what he will!" he cried; "else wherefore is he King? +Tell me, will they aid me to put down mine uncle, John of Gaunt, and +all these that tie my hands, and the Council that now is the verray +governor of this realm? Will they do all these things for me, if I +make them free men?" + +"This and more than this, sire!" Calote exclaimed; "For they 'll build +up a kingdom whereof the foundation is love, and the law will be not +to take away by tax, but to see that every man hath enough." + +"Shall it be soon?" asked Richard. + +"That I cannot tell. The realm of England is a wide realm, not easy to +traverse." + +Richard turned hesitating to his squire: "I would it were wise, this +that the maid telleth. In vérité, is 't so? What dost say, Etienne? +I--I fear mine uncle and Sudbury would laugh." + +"I say, 't is a wicked and evil counsel that sendeth forth a young +maid to encounter perils. No love ruleth the hearts of them that send +her." + +"Art thou my true lover, in good sooth?" cried Calote, "and would undo +that I have most at heart?" + +"Moreover, 't is beside my question," Richard added fretfully. "I +would know but only if an uprising, like to this Calote stirreth, is +of power to succeed against nobilité?" + +"I am no prophet, sire." + +"Thou thinkest not of thy King, neither of his kingdom, but of thine +own self only," said Richard, in the sulks, driving an arrow +spear-fashion into the earth and wrenching it forth with a jerk that +snapped the shaft. + +"I think of her," Etienne answered him sadly. + +"There is more kinds of love than one," Calote protested. "Is there +not a love for the whole people that is as worthy as the love for one +woman? Yea, and more worthy, for 't is Christ's fashion of loving. +What matter if I lose my life, if so be the people is free?" + +Richard kindled to her words. "So must the King love!" he cried. "Fie, +for shame, Etienne! But only yesternight thou wert persuading me how +honourable 't is when a man lose his life for the world's sake and +Christ Jesu--as crusaders and such." + +"And what is this I preach, but a crusade," demanded Calote, "to free +the people?" + +"A crusade?" the King questioned. Then his face came all alight. "A +crusade!--And when the preaching 's done I 'll be the leader of the +crusade.--And I 'll make all England my Holy Land!"--For if Richard +had not been a king, he might have been a poet. + +"Now praise be to Christ and Mary Mother!" said Calote joyously. "And +what for a token dost give me, sire, that the people may know me a +true messenger?" + +"A token, pardé!" and he looked him up and down hastily. He had on a +green jerkin all embroidered over with R's entwined in a pattern of +gold threads, and buttoned with little bells of gold. His one leg was +scarlet, his other was green. About his neck, at the end of a long +jewelled chain, hung a little hunting-horn of silver, with his badge +of the white hart graven upon it and set round with pearls. + +"Take this!" he said, and flung the chain over her head. + +"By God's will, I 'll call the King's ményé to him with this horn," +quoth Calote, a-kissing it. + +The King laughed merrily then, and went and cast himself upon his +squire's neck:-- + +"Etienne, chéri, mignon,--be not so glum! When Richard is King in the +Kingdom of Love, not Dan Cupid's self shall dare to cross thy suit to +thy lady. Thou shalt be married to Calote, and I 'll make thee chief +counsellor. I 'll take mine Uncle John's land and richesse in forfeit +and give them to thee." + +"Ah, no, no!" Calote exclaimed. + +"But I will if I 'm King?" said Richard. + +And then did Stephen laugh. + +"Now wherefore so merry?" Richard asked, eyeing him in discontent. + +"Beau sire, you bade me be merry," Stephen made answer, and to Calote +he said "When dost thou start a-preaching, and whither?" + +"When Parliament is departed,--I go about in the villages to the south +and west of Gloucester. Meanwhile, I 'll lodge with a kindly +forester's wife in Malvern here. But now I must away to find an old +monk, my father's schoolmaster. My father was put to school in Malvern +Priory." + +"Why, 't is very true!" cried the King. "The Vision maketh a beginning +in the Malvern Hills." + +"I bring the Vision to this monk; and he 's a-fishing hereabout in +the Chase, the porter saith. Saw ye a burn as ye came hither?" + +"Yea, verily!" Richard answered her. "We crossed it but fifty paces +back, and 't was there the dogs went off the scent and back to the +pack and the other folk, in the lower chase. Hark to them now! We 've +lost the hunt; let us go with the maid, Etienne. If her father's +schoolmaster is the same that sat at my side yestere'en and told me +tales, he 'll wile an hour right prettily for us. He said Dan Chaucer, +our Chaucer, came hither a little lad years agone, afore mine Uncle +Lionel died. I 'd rather fish than hunt. Leave Robert de Vere and my +brother John Holland to slay the deer." + +So they went through the wood leading their jennets; and Calote, with +the King's horn about her neck, walked by the King's side. + + + + + CHAPTER III + + By a Burn's Side + + +Brother Owyn gazed dreamily into the flashing waters of the burn. His +fish-basket was empty; twice he had lost his bait. But if the hunger +and thirst of a man be in his soul, 't is little he recks if he have +not fish for supper. Forty years past, when Brother Owyn was a young +man, he had fled into the Church in the hope to escape the world. But +he learned that monastery gates are as gossamer; and the world, the +flesh, and the devil, all three, caper in cloister. To-day he was in +disgrace with his prior--not the old dull prior, but a newer, narrower +man--for defending the doctrine and opinions of Master John Wyclif, +concerning sanctuary, and the possession of property, and the wrong +that it is for prelates to hold secular office. + +"Dost thou defend a devil's wight that is under ban of Holy Church," +quoth the prior, "and yet call thyself a servant to God and the Pope?" + +"Which Pope?" saith Brother Owyn; for at this time there were two +popes in Christendom, the one at Avignon and the other at Rome, and +they were very busy cursing each other. + +"Such levity in one of thy years is unseemly, brother," the prior made +answer, and turned his back. + +Nevertheless, Brother Owyn was sore perplexed. Having that vision of +the Holy City ever before his eyes, and his daughter awaiting him on +the other side of the River of Death, he was altogether minded to keep +him from heresy. He began to be an old man now; haply the time was +short till he might enter into that other Kingdom. Was Master John +Wyclif the Devil, who taketh the word out of the mouth of Dame Truth? +Yet a many of those men, even his enemies who reviled him for his +doctrine, revered him for a holy man and a scholar. Some said there +was not so great a man in England, nor so good, as John Wyclif. Here, +then, was the old perplexity, to know what was truth. But Brother Owyn +erred in that he thought to save his soul alive by flight. + +"Malvern coveteth a hermit," he mused; "but if I go apart, and sleep +in a cave, and never wash me, nor cut my beard, straightway there 'll +be a flocking of great folk to look on me, and to question me of their +wives' honour, and of the likelihood of these French wars, for that I +'m a holy man. Alack, my Margaret, my Pearl, now lead me out of this +quandary away into a quiet place to pray, for John Wyclif's word +draweth. Soon I 'll be a heretic and accursed." + +Hereupon Brother Owyn lifted up his eyes, and suddenly cried out +aloud; for, on the other side of the burn, there stood a golden-haired +maid. + +"Ho! thou hast lost a fine fish, see him!--gone!" cried a merry +voice, and the boy that was the King of England came a-leaping and +laughing from stone to stone across the sun-flecked water. After +him tiptoed the maid, but the squire with the two horses bode on +the farther side. + +"Nay, climb not to thy feet, good brother," said the King. "Thy fright +hath shaken thee; in sooth, we meant it not." + +"My lord, my lord," murmured Brother Owyn, and there were tears in his +eyes; "methought 't was my young daughter come to take me home,--home +where a man sinneth no more, and the walls of the city are jasper, and +the gates are twelve pearls." He covered his face with his hands, and +the tears trickled down his beard. + +Richard knelt beside him and put his arm about the bent shoulders: +"Oh, but I 'm sorry!" he said distressfully. "Don't weep! prythee, +don't weep!" + +"If I be not thy daughter, yet my father was as a son to thee," Calote +assured him, kneeling at his other side. "'T was thou taught him to +sing, and to-day he 's sent his song to thee." + +Brother Owyn had lifted up his face to look on her, and now he touched +her bright hair, soft, with his finger, and "Will Langland's voice was +wonderly sweet," said he, "and low. 'T is nigh on thirty years since +he went out from Malvern, but his was not a voice to be forgot. His +daughter, thou?--He ever did the thing he had not meant to do." He +looked on her with a curiosity most benevolent, staying his gaze a +long while at her eyes; and:-- + +"Doth Will Langland sing at court?" he asked. + +Calote laughed, her father's image in the threadbare gown flashing +sudden in her mind. + +"Nay, he hath not yet; but he shall one day, when Calote cometh again +to London," declared the King. "'T is not so merry a poet as Master +Chaucer; but I do love his solemnité. Whiles he jesteth, but his +tongue 's a whip then,--stingeth." + +Brother Owyn nodded his head, as he were hearing an old tale; and +turned him again to Calote:-- + +"Will Langland went a-seeking Truth, his lady, thirty years past. Hath +he found her?" + +"She is here," Calote answered simply; and unrolled the parchment to +set it open before him. + +The old man looked on her keenly: "Thou hast a great trust in thy +father?" + +"More than in all men else," she said; and the squire on the other +side of the burn thrust his foot among the fallen leaves noisily, and +jingled the bridles of the horses. + +"I am in sore straits to find Truth," quoth Brother Owyn, with a +half-smile. "Many a man will thank Will Langland heartily, if so be he +hath found her." + +He turned the pages, slow, reading to himself a bit here and there. + +"Give me thy rod, brother," said the King, "I 'll fish." + +"There 's a-many horns blowing, sire," Stephen warned him from the +other side of the burn. "No doubt they seek thee and are troubled." + +"Coeur de joie! Let them seek!" replied Richard. "'T will give them +a merry half-hour to think I 'm come to hurt, or slain. Then would +there be one less step to the throne for mine Uncle Lancaster. Look +not so sourly, Etienne! I 'll catch but one little fish. Hist!--Be +still!" + +For a little while there was no voice but the brook's voice, and no +other sound but the slow turning of parchment pages. The monk busied +him with the poem and Richard looked into the water. Meanwhile, +Calote's gaze strayed to the squire and found his eyes awaiting her. +Straightway he plucked his dagger from his belt, flashed it in the sun +that she might see, and kissed it; after, he took it by the point and +held it out, arm's length, as he would give it to her; and so he stood +till she might rede his riddle. Presently, her eyes frowning a +question, she put forth her hand, palm upward, uncertain. The squire +smiled and nodded, and because their two hands might not meet across +the brook, he thrust the dagger in the trunk of a tree and wedged the +sheath betwixt the bark and the slant of the blade. All this very +silently. + +Brother Owyn pursed his lips, or shook his head, or turned the pages +backward to read again. The King wagged his fishing-line up and down +in the water, impatiently. The distant horns blew more frequent. + +"My lord," Stephen ventured once again. + +Richard got to his feet and threw away the rod. "Eh, well; let 's be +going, since thou wilt have it so," he agreed. "The holiday is over. +On the morrow Gloucester again, and to say whether Urban or Clement is +true Pope." + +Brother Owyn's face was grave; rebuke and displeasure trembled in his +voice:-- + +"My lord, and dost thou think 't is England maketh the Pope?" + +Richard was halfway across the burn; he laughed, and looked over his +shoulder:-- + +"Ma foy, but I 'm very sure 't is not France!" said he. + +After, when he was in the saddle, he felt for his horn, and, +remembering, called:-- + +"Prythee, Calote, blow thrice, that they may know whence I come. Now, +give thee good day, sweet maid, and success to thine adventure. +I 'll watch for thee in London." + +And Calote had not blown the third blast when king and squire were off +and away; and she turned to meet Brother Owyn's disapproving eye. + +"'T would seem that thou art well acquaint at court, though thy father +is not," he said. + +She opened her lips to speak, then hung her head and answered nothing. + +"Now, thanks be to Christ Jesus, the Lamb and the Bridegroom, that my +little daughter is dead, and safe away from this world of sin," said +Brother Owyn. "She dwelleth as a Bride in the house of the +Bridegroom,--in the Holy City that John the beloved and I have seen in +a vision. Thou art so fair that I could wish thou mightst dwell +therein likewise." + +"Yea, after I 'm dead, and my devoir is done," Calote assented to him. +"Beseech thee, judge me not, good brother! I carry a message of +comfort to all these poor English folk that sweat beneath the burden +of wrong. Haply, thy daughter, were she quick, would go along with me +this day." + +"Is this thy message?" he asked, pointing to the parchment. + +"This, and more. I may not tell all to thee, for thou 'rt a monk." + +"A strange reason," he averred. "'T must be a most unholy message. +Have a care of thy soul, maiden; the pure only shall see the +Bridegroom. Here am I sheltered in monastery, yet have I much ado to +withstand the Devil, that I may keep me clean and a true believer, and +so see Christ and my daughter at the last." + +"I cannot forever take keep of mine own soul, brother, when there be +so many other in peril to be thought on. Wilt thou that I hide my head +in monastery and sing plain-song, and watch perpetual at the altar +lest the lamp go out; and, all the while, without the gate, the poor +till the fields that I may have leisure to pray? The poor likewise be +anhungered after truth. They cry, 'Wherefore did God make us to be +starved of the fat prelates!'" + +"So did thy father rail in years gone by," answered the monk, "and +Master John Wyclif would have more preaching. But monasteries are +holy; they are ordained of God and the--the Pope. They shall endure." + +"Brother, what wilt thou do, thou and thy monastery, when the villeins +all are free, when they need no longer grind at the abbot's mill, nor +plough the abbey's fields, nay, nor even pay quit-rent to rid them of +service?" + +"Free!" cried Brother Owyn, "and who shall set them free?" + +"Themselves, and Piers Ploughman, and Christ the King's Son of Heaven, +which cureth all ills by love." + +The old man drew away from her: "Surely, thou hast a devil," he said. + +"Then an thou lov'st me, call it forth," quoth she; and smiled, and +spread her arms wide, waiting. + +But he cried, "Woe, woe!" and cast up his hands to heaven; and after, +"Lord, I 'm content my daughter died at two years old." + +"Had she lived, she might have saved souls other than her own." + +"She hath saved mine, mine most sinful," the monk interrupted her +sternly; "and dost thou think I 'll lose it now to thee? Get thee +gone, with thy strange beliefs and blasphemies!" + +She got to her feet very slow, and stepped down the bank to the edge +of the burn; so, standing close at his knee, she spoke once again:-- + +"In the city where the wall is jasper and the gates are twelve pearls, +will there be any villeins to labour while other men feast?" + +Her face was very near to his, her hand was on his arm. + +"Nay, but I trow we 'll all be villeins there," he answered gently; +"villeins of one Lord, and bound to the soil; and the streets of that +city are as pure gold." So saying, he made the sign of the cross upon +her brow. + +She trod the stepping-stones in silence, but on the other bank she +turned:-- + +"Natheless, though bond, yet we 'll be free!" she cried; and, catching +up the squire's dagger, was quickly gone. + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + A Boon + + +When Parliament was come to an end in Gloucester, and on the night +before the day that the court set out for London, Stephen craved a +boon of his King. + +Richard sat on his bed's edge in his shirt, humming a tune and picking +it out on his lute with:-- + +"Went it not this way, Etienne?" or "Was 't thus?" or "A plague on 't, +but I 'll have it yet!" And then would he begin again. + +The squire was setting forth the morrow's riding-coat and gloves and +furred hood by the light of a cresset, for the start was early. A pot +of charcoal stood by the window. The night was cold, and Richard, as +he played on the lute, tucked his bare feet under him. + +"My lord," said Stephen, on a sudden, coming across to the bed and +kneeling down, "I 've a grace to ask of thee." + +"Thou!" cried Richard, throwing away the lute. "Here 's a marvel!" and +he leaned out and flung his arms, linked, around Stephen's neck, and +so peered, mischievous, into his face. "The others are at it all day +long, but when hast thou asked aught of me? Be sure 't is granted or +ever 't is spoke, sweet friend." + +"Natheless, my heart doth not so assure me, sweet lord," made answer +Stephen, very sad. "Belike I 'm froward, but I do believe thou lovest +me dear, and for that cause 't will go hard with thee or thou grant +this boon." + +Richard wrinkled his brow. "What a riddle is here?" quoth he. "I 'll +love thee, and yet prove a churl to thy desire?" + +Stephen looked steadily beyond him for a moment before he began:-- + +"Is it fitting, _beau sire_, that one so young and fair and +helpless as Calote should go alone through this realm on perilous and +haply hopeless business?" + +"Do not many so?" asked Richard uneasily. + +"They are but seldom young, my lord, nor never so fair. They go to a +shrine to do penance for sins; they are old in the world's ways." + +There was a pause, then Richard broke forth hotly:-- + +"If 't is not good that she go forth on this emprise, if 't is not +true that the common folk is strong enough to put down the nobles, +wherefore didst not thou prevent me when I gave consent? Thou art +older than I. Is this thy loyauté, to let thy King play the fool?" + +"Oh, my lord!" said Stephen, and hung his head; but not for shame of +himself. Presently he looked up into the eyes of the sulky boy and +spoke on: "I do not know if the people be strong enough and wise +enough to do this thing. I do not know the people. I have lived among +courtiers since I was a little lad and my father died. But if they do +fail, my lord, the world will but wag as it did afore. Thine is not +the blame; thou art too young to bear blame for 't; 't is the people +that will be blamed." + +Richard flushed slowly, and looked away. + +"But I will not be laughed at neither," he said, with quivering lip. +"I wish I had not given her my hunting-horn." + +"Trust me, sire," said Stephen, "if the people do ever rise up in +England against the oppression of the nobles, 't will be no laughing +matter,--even though in the end it fail. And mayhap Calote knoweth +that she speaketh,--mayhap 't will win." + +"I 'll not tell any one I gave her leave to use the King's name," +half-whispered Richard, shamefaced and scarlet; "nor must thou." + +"Of surety, no; 't would spoil all, to tell," Stephen assented, but he +was so filled with his own thoughts and how he should ask the boon he +had to ask, that he failed to see how the King was ashamed. + +Richard gave a quick sigh of relief. "Nay,--we 'll not tell," he +repeated. "'T would not be wise for Calote's sake to tell." Yet his +cheeks did not cool. + +"Oh, my lord, and my King, this that I would ask of thee is likewise +for Calote's sake," Stephen cried. "Thou dost know well, Calote is my +love and my lady. I have tried, but I cannot love no other damosel. +And now she is going out to strange peril alone. My soul crieth shame +to me, sire; shame, for that I stay behind a-living easefully. Is this +knightly demeanour? Is this to be a defender of ladies?" + +Richard's hand closed tight upon Stephen's collar, as if he felt him +slipping away and would keep him. + +"My liege," the squire pleaded, "my lord, let me go follow my love!" + +The King sat up very straight on the bed; there was fright in his +eyes. It seemed almost he could not understand that he heard. + +"And leave me?" he said at last, in amaze. + +Stephen made no answer, and, after astonishment, anger came into +Richard's face. + +"A peasant maid!" he cried. "How am I scorned!" And then, "I hate +thee!--I hate, hate, hate thee!" + +He pushed the squire from him. He tore his linen shirt open at the +throat and sprang to the floor. + +"Hear me!" Stephen begged. + +"Nay; I 've heard enough!" screamed Richard, his teeth chattering +'twixt wrath and cold. "Go, an thou wilt! Go now; now! I 'll take +Robert de Vere to my love. I 'll make him thrice an earl and give him +my jewelled buckle. He 'll not leave me so cruel." + +"In pity, sire," protested Stephen; "the night is cold; thou 'lt take +an ague standing on the stone floor." + +"And if I do, what 's that to thee? Thou dost not love me!" shouted +the King, his voice breaking in a sob. "Nay, do not touch me! I 'll +not to bed,--I 'll not to bed! I 'll stand all night and shiver. Let +be!--Ah, woe, harrow!" + +He beat at Stephen with both hands, wildly, when the squire would have +wrapped a mantle round him. + +"My lord, thy gentlemen will hear." + +"I hope they may!" cried Richard, hoarse with screaming. "Mayhap I 'll +die of the cold, and then they 'll behead thee for a traitor, and +quarter thee, and hang thee up over London Bridge,--and I 'll laugh." + +Thereupon he did, noisily, with tears. + +Stephen looked on him for a space in silence and then went out at the +door and left him alone. + +When he came again, bringing wine, spiced and honeyed, in a cup, +Richard's mood had changed. He lay on the bed, weeping. + +"Here 's good clarré will warm thee, sire,--drink!" coaxed Stephen +gently. + +"No!" said the King, strangling in his sobs, "No!--take away!" and +struck the cup out of Stephen's hand so that the wine flew all about. +Then on a sudden he was in the squire's arms, shivering, clinging, +crying:-- + +"Etienne, Etienne, methought thou didst love me!" + +"And do I not so, my lord?" + +"Then stay with me. I am the King. What 's a peasant maid?" + +"What 's knighthood, my lord, what 's honour?" + +"Is no knighthood in following after a peasant," sobbed Richard. +"Such-like maids be for pleasure of the noblesse. Robert de Vere told +me." + +"I do never pattern my demeanour after his Lordship of Oxford," said +Stephen coldly. + +"When I was a little lad, they sang me tales of how all the world did +love to do the bidding of the King," said Richard; "but it is not +true. O me, it is not true! I hate Calote!" + +"Yet 't is she that puts body and soul in peril to do thee service." + +"I 'd liefer she stayed at home, and wedded thee peaceable." + +"God wot, so would I!" Stephen exclaimed. "But she will not." + +"I 'll bid her stay," cried Richard; "and I 'm the King." + +"The King is a truthteller, my lord; he may not give his word and +take it again. The King is pattern to his people and servant likewise; +doth not the Vision say this?" + +"I 'm sick of the Vision," whined Richard, and clung more close to his +squire. "Thou 'lt not go! Say thou 'lt not go! How alone shall I be, +and unloved, if thou go. Etienne, I want thee to stay with me." + +"And how alone will she be, that peasant maid that I have chose to +make my lady," said Stephen. "Think, sire! a kingdom is no plaything. +Be sure Christ Jesus, of all men the Judge, will not let thee off of +thy devoir to the least man or maid born in England,--when the last +day cometh. And when thou and Calote stand face to face, and the great +angel a-blowing his trump, and all the world rising up fearful out of +its grave, wilt thou say to the Judge: 'Christ, King of Heaven, this +was a maid that went out to do me service. My kingdom was full of a +quarrel 'twixt peasant and noblesse, 'twixt monk and friar, and +merchant. There was no man but had a grievance against his brother. +And this maid said, I will bring love out of this hate, and truth out +of this lying; the King and the peasant shall kiss the kiss of peace.' +And wilt thou say again, 'I had knights and nobles in my court to +guard me well and to do my will, O Christ! but I would not give one of +all these to go follow the maid and shield her from peril in her +lonely pilgrimage. I would not let go even a squire to be her +body-guard. If she hath come to harm, it is by me, and in my cause.'" + +"No, no, no!" whispered Richard very piteous; "I will not do so." He +had ceased his weeping, but now and again a sob shook him. "Etienne, I +will be a true King. Ah, who will learn me to be true when thou art +gone!" + +"The wisest men in the kingdom are at thy bidding, King Richard," +Stephen answered him gravely. + +"But they are too wise," the boy complained. "They weary me. I love +thee best." + +"Natheless, 't were scarce fitting that Master John Wyclif, or Lord +Percy of Northumberland, be sent to follow Calote in my stead," quoth +Stephen, half-mischievous. + +The King laughed a tearful little laugh. But presently he said:-- + +"Calote flouteth thee. She will not let thee go with her." + +"She shall not know," Stephen answered. "Will my lord hear what I +purpose? 'T is no wonted adventure." + +"Yea," Richard agreed. "But do thou first cover me in bed, and give me +a tippet; I 'm cold. Is there any of the clarré left in the cup?" + +Thereupon Stephen covered him and gave him the cup to drink, and after +told him what he purposed to do,--a long tale. + +"O Etienne, what a true lover art thou!" sighed Richard. "But I shall +miss thee sore." + +"And I 'll lodge in poor men's cots, and take them to be my friend, +and learn if they be strong enough to overcome the nobles." + +"I 'd rather be thou than the King," Richard said wistfully. "Here 's +a merry adventure, and 't is dull in the Palace at Westminster. Tell +on!" + +So they spoke peacefully together, and at the last the King fell fast +asleep, and Stephen kissed his hand very soft, and left him. + + + + + CHAPTER V + + The Adventure in Devon + + +Calote was in the south of England that winter, in Hampshire, and +Wiltshire, and Somerset; resting, now a week, now a night only, in +town or village or lonely hut. She travelled off the highway as much +as she might, and slept in poor folks' cots. She bought bed and +victual with a ballad or a gest, and because she could spin and bake +as well as tell a tale, the goodwives of the countryside harboured her +willingly, and sent her on her way with bread in her bag and milk in +her bottle, and her head bret-full of messages to distant friends; +as:-- + +"If thou 'lt take yon three fields as the crow flieth, then turn thee +on thy left hand, through a wood and up a hill and down again, thou +'lt come, in a good ten mile, to a river and a white thatched house on +t' other side; there be three yew trees behind. Do thou go in boldly +and call for Cristina atte Ford; she 's my brother's second wife. I +'ve not seen her this six year and more, but she was a kindly soul at +that time. Say 't was Cecily Ayr sent thee; and here 's a piece of new +linen for the latest baby and six new-laid eggs. God and Saint Mary +keep thee, wench! Yonder 's Roger Stokfisshe in his dung-cart a-going +thy way; he 'll give thee a ride." + +When she came into a village, she went and stood by the cross, or in +the street before the tavern, and blew a blast on the King's horn; and +when the people began to gather round, she sang a song of Robin Hood, +or Earl Randle of Chester; and after, of Piers Ploughman; and she said +as how she was Will Langland's daughter; and if there were but common +folk, or a knight or two in the company, she told of the Brotherhood, +and at the last of the young King. + +Whiles they were sullen and afraid; whiles they scoffed and would +believe but only that 't was a merry gest of a jongleuse; whiles they +waited not to hear the end, but drifted away by twos and threes +a-shaking their heads. Yet, more often, they stayed by, and crowded +closer, and fingered the silver horn curiously. A-many had heard +already something of this matter, as how the peasants should arise; +and these questioned her of when and where. Others told their +grievances loudly and said: "Will this be cured?"--"Will that be done +away?" Ofttimes she might not know all that they would say, for that +their speech was strange; and they on their part said: "What is +'t?"--"What 's that to mean?" for Englishmen spoke a diverse language +in that day. Nevertheless, because of the going to and fro of peddlers +and merchants and minstrels, of pilgrims and friars, over the land, +there began to be a scattering of words from one shire to another; and +Calote, being quick of wit, had soon the jargon of the south country +and the west at the tip of her tongue. + +'T would seem there was a young peddler journeying in these parts +about this same time; ever and anon Calote met him in tavern or +marketplace. There was never a lonely stretch of road but she found +him jogging on before, or looked behind to see him coming after. He +spoke not overmuch, and then with a grievous stammer. He was not +goodly to look upon, having no eyebrows and black hair very wild about +his head; yet, in his company Calote ever found her heart light with a +content and surety the which she was at a loss to understand. He wore +a tawny tabard, and a bright blue flannel hood of the kind that is +cape and hood in one, with a hole to thrust the face out. His hosen +were of coarse yarn, twixt white and gray, streaked. He carried a +light pack, with pins and ribbons and trinkets in it, and a lute slung +under his arm. Twice or thrice he had sat on the steps of a market +cross and twanged his lute that Calote might the better sing her +ballads, but if she thanked him, he would scowl. + +At Salisbury, in the spring, she came upon Wat Tyler a-walking the +High Street, and 't would be hard to tell which had more joy of other. +He caught her up and kissed her heartily; and she, laughing, with the +tears on her cheeks, had well-nigh choked him with her arms around his +neck. + +He told her as how her father was very silent, and ever busy with the +Vision. And her mother said: "If so be thou find Calote,"--for they +knew she was in that part of England where she was,--"here is a pair +of warm shoes for her feet." + +He told her also how 't was rumoured that a poll tax was toward; +because, forsooth, some fool averred that "the wealth of the kingdom +is in the hands of the workmen and labourers." Wat smacked his own +empty hands together loudly and laughed so that men turned in the +street to look on him. + +He lingered around and about Salisbury a month and more, and Calote +stayed with him, singing her songs in Wilton and Bemerton, and in the +taverns and at the poultry cross. That elfish peddler likewise rested +in the town, and ever he was at Wat's elbow, questioning of when the +people should rise; and how many shires were already awake to these +matters. But when May was come in, Wat set Calote on the road to +Exeter and himself turned his face to Londonward. And all that month +of May she was a-wandering over the moors of Devon, she and the +peddler, for he had never been in these parts and he lost his way. + +"I know a man of Devon," quoth Calote; "he lives by the sea. If we +could come at him, he 'd succour us and set us in the right road." + +They went in a circle ofttimes, and twice at nightfall they came back +to the same farm-house. Then the peddler bruised his foot, and they +stayed three nights under the open sky, in the heather. The silence of +the moors wrapped them round, and also the peddler's stammer was a +burden to his speech. The third evening a shepherd came upon them, and +gave them beans to eat. + +It was June the day they came out upon a great red foreland above the +sea. The chief colour of the water was a flashing blue, but at the +edges it changed to clear green, fringed white with foam; there were +cloud shadows of purple lying on that blue, and here and there a +wondrous rosy patch, as it might be apple blossoms were melted there. + +They followed along the cliffs after this, a dizzy way, and once +Calote was fain to lie down and cling to the short grass and cry. + +"G-get up," quoth the peddler; "f-for sh-sh-shame to cry. I-I-I-- +G-give me th-th-thy hand!" + +And so twixt coaxing and comforting he got her to her feet again, and +they went on, he walking on the side of the sea as much as he might. +Ever and anon they came upon a handful of fishermen's cottages in a +wooded coombe, and at one of these hamlets they heard that Calote's +friend Peter dwelt some three miles farther on, inland about a mile. +So when they were come to Peter's cot, which was wreathed all about +with a riot of honeysuckle and wild rose, the peddler gave Calote +good-day, and she leapt the dry ditch and went into the yard through +the gate; and there was Peter a-sitting on the doorstone, mending a +hoe. + +"O mistress!" he cried, and she laughed and shook him by the shoulders +and kissed him. And Peter's son, that was now a parson, came out of +the house with a book in his hand. + +When the peddler saw this parson in the doorway, and how young he was, +he half turned as he would go back; but then he thought better of it, +and went on till he came to the church of the parish. In the +churchyard he sat down to rest under an old yew tree, and here the +parson found him after vespers, and took him in to lodge in his own +house. + +Meanwhile, in Peter's cot, Calote went to bed supperless. + +"We ate our bread at noon," said Peter. "The morrow morn I 'll make +shift to sell our black cock to the steward of the manor-house. 'T is +an ancient bird, but I have heard tell the cook is wonderly skilful to +disguise tough meat." + +"Nay, not for my sake shalt thou sell it!" cried Calote. + +But Peter answered her: "We also must eat, mistress. I am in arrears +to Bailiff for that my plough broke in the furrow three days past; I +could not beg no wood to mend it, but Forester found me in the park +with mine axe. Wherefore I sat yesterday in the stocks." + +Peter had no shoes, and there were raw rings about his ankles where +the stocks had galled him, also his neck was bruised. He was very +ragged, his tabard full of holes. Nevertheless, he was not the only +one in that village went bare. + +So soon as all the people heard that this was Long Will's daughter, +who was Peter's friend in London, they came eagerly to see her. They +were a big and kindly and simple folk, slow and obstinate. They heard +Calote's tales in silence, stolidly; yet they came again and again to +hear. Now it was before the door of Peter's cot that they gathered; +now it was at the foot of the cliffs when the tide was out; now it was +in the churchyard of a Sunday after Mass, the parson sitting by +a-copying her words; for his own book of the Vision was a tattered +thing, never complete, that he had bought at a Devon fair. + +Meanwhile, the parson and the peddler were close comrades. The peddler +had to answer many questions; as, how did John Wyclif appear? And was +he so learned a man as John Ball? And did William Courtney, Devon's +son, still bear him arrogant, now he was Bishop of London? And was it +true, what the friars in these parts said, that John Wyclif was a +sorcerer and in the Devil's pay? And had the peddler been in +Oxford?--this with a lingering sigh. But ever the questioning came +round at the last to love, for concerning this matter the parson was +very curious; not that love Long Will sang in the Vision, but the more +common kind; and throughout whole days of June, as they walked +together over the wide rose-blossoming country on the top of the +cliffs, the parson to carry comfort to the sick or the aged, the +peddler to sell his wares, they discoursed of lovers and loving; and +it was the peddler who learned the parson the Romaunt of the Rose. + +"And didst thou ever suffer this malady of love, to know it?" the +parson queried one day. + +"Ay, a-and do suffer," the peddler answered. "B-b-but she 'll n-none +of me." + +"A foolish maid, to judge by the outside," said the parson; himself +was a big, broad, yellow-headed man, might have had any maid in Devon +to keep his house for him an he had chose; but of this he was not +aware. + +"Didst ever essay to curl thy hair?" he continued; "'t would soften +thy countenance." + +The peddler smiled as at a memory: "Yea," he said, "I 've d-done so +full oft." + +They were journeying along the edge of the cliff, and the sun was low; +on the sea there was one little ship. + +"Will Langland married a wife,--and he a kind of priest," the parson +said suddenly. + +"Ye-yet 't was not well do-done," the peddler retorted swift, "for all +J-John W-Wyclif coun-coun-counseleth." + +As he talked, his eyes were on the sea and the little ship; but the +parson was looking down to the foot of a jutting headland beyond, +where a playful wight--was 't a man or a maid?--skipped among the +rocks, and ran into the water and out again. + +"Nay, I 'm not so sure 't was ill done," he disputed absently; "we be +made like other men." + +The peddler stood still and shaded his eyes with his hand: "Wh-what +for a ship is yonder?" he asked. "Methinks 't is sailing in. Is there +ha-harbour?" + +The parson likewise shaded his eyes, then he said: "Below, there 's a +brook flows into the sea, and a kind of rough beach, where--where the +maid is playing." + +"What maid?" But now the peddler saw, and though she was no bigger +than a brown lark, seen so far, he knew what maid it was, and so did +the parson. + +"Is that a French ship?" asked the peddler, and never a stammer on his +tongue; but the parson was too troubled to be aware of this. + +"I fear me,--I fear me!" he answered. + +"And now I 'm very sure she 's coming in," the peddler cried, and +flung down his pack and stripped off his hood. "Do thou make the best +of thy way to the manor-house, Sir Priest,--yet I fear me the knight +'s away,--and I 'll down to the maid. What way 's the nearest way?" + +"Not so," the parson answered. "Thou canst not come to her afore they +land, by the way round; and thou canst not go over the cliff; but I +can, for I 've climbed these slippery walls up and down since I was +six year old." His blue eyes sparkled like that blue sea below; he was +tucking up his gown about his waist. + +"To warn the knight and bring aid to thy parish is thy devoir; 't is +mine to succour the maid," quoth the peddler very hot. His eyes were +blue likewise, and eerie in the midst of his brown visage. + +So they looked each into the heart of the other, angrily; and all the +while that French ship was coming in. Then the young parson drooped +his head, and "Not for mine own sake, but the maid's, let me go over +the cliff, brother," he said. "Think on the maid! If they find her +alone on the shore, or if they take her fleeing up to the village, of +what avail were my love then, or thine?" + +The peddler put his two hands to his mouth and called out, trying to +make the maid hear him. But the wind drove his voice backward over the +land; and the ship came on with the wind. Then the peddler groaned +and, with never a look nor a word for the priest, he set off to run to +where the manor-house was distant two good miles. When the priest +looked over the cliff, the maid was already running up the coombe to +the mill that stood in the brook's way. Nevertheless, he began to go +down the cliff. + +So soon as Calote saw that little ship, she knew what was to happen; +for the villagers on the coast had told her many tales of how the +French were like to come any day and burn and pillage; and how the men +of Cornwall had been so harassed that they had demanded fighting men +to be sent down to protect them and their coast; and the Commons +desired that those lords who had estates by the sea should dwell upon +them to succour their people. + +Calote stood a moment looking out. This was a little ship, and but +one; might not these villagers overcome a few French and take them +prisoners? Here would be a tale to tell! Immediately she sped up the +coombe to the mill, and:-- + +"The French are coming," quoth she breathless. "Bar thy door!" + +"And so be burnt like a swallow in a great-house chimney," said the +miller. "Not I," and calling to his wife and his man, and snatching up +his youngest, he made ready to go with Calote. + +"But I 'll bring succour," she protested. "Wilt thou leave all the +good corn to pillage?" + +"Yea, I will," answered the miller. "The murderers shall sooner have +my corn than my company." + +"'T is not thy corn, 't is thy neighbours'," Calote admonished, but he +had no ears for her; and she, to save her breath for running, stilled +her speech, and left him. + +The sunlight struck level athwart the tree-trunks and along the +wood-road that led twixt the mill and the village. + +"'T is now about the going down of the sun," she thought, as she +hurried on. "They will be gathered at the cross, Peter, and the +parson, and the peddler, and all those others, awaiting till I come to +tell a tale and learn them of the Brotherhood." + +She stood still for breath, and heard a cry. + +"They have caught the miller afore he 's gone. Now they 'll be busy +with the pillage of the mill, for a little." + +She started on, and stopped irresolute. + +"When they come to the cross at sunset, they have their hoes, their +axes, and hammers with them; some of them will be shooting at the +butts with arrows for pastime at the end of the day." + +She put the horn to her lips and blew a long blast. + +"There will not be so many men in that ship. Better that ours should +come forth to meet them, driving them backward into the sea." + +She blew another blast, and another. + +"Better the affray should be here than in the village among the women +and children." + +She ran on again, but not so fast. Again she blew the horn. And now in +the distance she heard the village folk coming down the coombe. + +"They 'll think I 'm calling them to hear tales by the sea,--or that +some mishap is befallen me." + +She heard them laughing as they came, and presently three or four +appeared among the trees, and more, and more, some forty of old men +and young, and little lads. Behind were women. + +"The French!" she cried; and at that word the foremost men stood +still. + +"We 'll fling them back into the sea, that dare to set foot in +England! We 'll"-- + +Something in their faces made her falter. + +"'T is but only one little ship," she added hastily. "We are so many +we can--Brothers--brothers!" + +For they were moving backward; already those behind had turned tail +and run. + +"I say we 're two to one," she shouted desperately. "Come down and +drive them back! Peter, Peter, speak to them!" + +"Best come away while there 's time, mistress," answered +Peter. "I must to the good wife and the children, and take them to the +manor for safety." + +"I 'm a ditcher, and no soldier," said another. "Let them as know how +fight!" + +"The French is no plain flesh and blood, but wizards," grumbled a +third. + +And always they went backward. + +"Cowards!" said the maid. "Is this the way ye 'll take the kingdom out +o' the grasp o' the nobles, and are too fearsome to run upon a handful +of French?" + +"Smoke! Look ye!" cried a man. "They 've set the mill afire. They 'll +be on us! They 'll be on us!" + +Whereupon panic seized them, and they all turned about and fled; and +Calote ran after, calling "Cowards!" and "Shame!" and "Is 't so ye 'd +serve the King?" and "Slaves! Oh, coward slaves!" till she had no +breath to speak nor run, and so dropped down sobbing by the road and +let them go. + +After a breathing space, she began to hear voices behind; and she got +to her feet and hurried on to the village. + +'T was now the French that came up the coombe, and as they came they +sang. They had the parson with them. The miller and his children they +had slain and cast into the fire; but 't was against conscience to +kill parsons. The miller's wife went blubbering betwixt two knights, +that quarrelled together very playful concerning her. + +In the village every house was empty--every cottage door was wide. + +"They 'll rouse their lord, I heard a horn," said the leader of the +band. "Burn, pillage,--in haste,--then back to the ship! We are too +few to stay in safety, but we 'll fill our bellies and the ship's." + +Then at the other end of the street he saw a maid running through the +dusk; her hair was all unbound, and flew behind her like a golden +banner. + +They came up with her at the cross, and closed about her in a ring, +forgetful of haste in their wonder at her loveliness. The leader was a +gallant gentleman, he doffed his bonnet and unlaced his helm, and +dropped upon one knee, saying sweet words; and although Calote and the +parson were but little versed in the French tongue, they knew right +well what this was to mean. + +Then the knight rose up off his knee and went and set his finger +beneath Calote's chin, and lifted up her face, and stooped his own. +And presently the knight and the parson lay both at their lengths on +the grass. The knight was stunned only, already he opened his eyes, +but the parson had three thrusts of a sword through his body, and he +would die. + +Out of the stillness that followed this deed there grew a faint sound +of horses' hoofs; but the men who stood around heard nothing of this. +'T is not well done to slay a priest, even a priest of the English, +whose pope is not the pope of the French. + +The knight lifted himself upon his elbow and stared as he were mazed. +Calote was kneeling by the side of the parson. And on a sudden there +rode up horsemen, and the French turned about in confusion to fight +and to flee. In the midst of this battle Calote knelt at the parson's +head, as she had been in a hushed chamber, and presently she was 'ware +that the peddler came to kneel at the other side. + +"How did this hap?" said the peddler, and he had to call out loud, +because of the noise of clashing steel, and the groans, and the cries +of battle,--"A Courtney, a Courtney!" for these were retainers of the +Earl of Devon. + +"The French knight"--sobbed Calote. + +And now the parson opened his eyes:-- + +"'Conformen Kings to peace,'" said he, very faint. He was babbling out +of the Vision. Calote bent her ear to his lips. + +"'And to be conqueror called, that cometh of special grace,'" he said +and smiled. After a bit there came blood to his lips, but he sat up +joyously:-- + + "'And now I see where a soul cometh hitherward sailing, + With glory and with great light, God it is, I wot.'" + +And so he fell backward dead. + +There were other dead men lying all about. The few French that were +not slain were fleeing to their ship, and the English after them +pell-mell, hacking and hewing. The peddler lifted Calote off her knees +and led her away. They walked wearily many miles, stumbling through +the summer darkness. When the dawn came, the peddler made a bed of +moss and leaves for Calote, but she would not lie in it. She sat +a-sighing, with her head in her hand. + +"S-s-sleep, mistress!" said the peddler, "a-and forget!" + +"I 'll never forget that they are cowards!--cowards!" she cried +passionately. "Is 't these shall save the kingdom to the King?" + +"''W-'ware thee from w-wanhope, w-would thee betray,'" said the +peddler, speaking out of the Vision. "Th-these men be not w-warriors, +but tillers of the soil; peaceable folk. They have been ca-cared +for and fought for all their l-life long. Not cowards, but +un-un-accustomed. We met them as we rode; they came to c-call the lord +of the manor to s-succour them. Peter was sore distressed f-for thee." + +"Natheless, they ran away," she said. "They were afeared." + +"N-not the parson," declared the peddler. "He was n-no coward. I did +never know a b-better man; and he was one of them. The ki-kingdom 's +not to be taken this year. P-patience!" + +"Thou art no coward neither," she assented, a little comforted. "And +thou also art one of them." + +But to this the peddler made no reply. + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + The Adventure in Cheshire + + +In late September Calote and the peddler, having got as far north as +the ancient city of Chester, fell in with a company of bold outlaws +that dwelt in a wood some way without the city walls. Six of these men +were villeins that had run from their land; three more had been +soldiers beyond the sea and were now loth to lend their great limbs to +any peaceful labours; the tenth man was a beggar by trade, yet for +some cause best known to himself he would not beg in Chester; and +there was yet another, a young lad who had slain his lord's bailiff. +He had taken sanctuary and after abjured the realm, so that he was +under oath to get him out of England by the nearest way; yet he +lingered. Two women were also with this company: the one was +light-o'-love to the youngest soldier of the three; the other was +sister to the lad that had murdered the bailiff,--they two were +orphaned. + +After the peddler had come out of Devon, leaving his hood and pack on +the cliff, he bought him a new pack in Bristol; but by now well-nigh +all his gewgaws were sold, and he purposed to buy other at the October +Fair in Chester. Meanwhile, he waited without the town, saving the +cost of bed and board, and keeping his eyes and ears open to serve +Calote. + +These outlaws were no cowards, except it might be the young murderer, +who screeched in his sleep of nights and woke up staring, in a cold +sweat. They were a merry band; their food was berries and herbs and +the small game that ran in the woods. Now and again they ventured on +the high road and plundered solitary market-women or a farmer's boy. +In winter and spring they dared even set upon a merchant or franklin; +but at fair-time the merchants, coming to display their wares at +Chester, travelled in so great companies for safety, that 't was but +foolhardiness to attack them. So it fell that about the time Calote +and the peddler came among them these robbers, were in a mood of +discontent more than ordinary, having not so much as a groat wherewith +to bless themselves. An Calote's tales had not charmed them when first +they caught the couple a-wandering in the wood, no doubt it had gone +hard with the peddler. But when they heard how he sang to his lute, +and he said he had not peddled for many a day and 't was a poor trade, +they looked no further than his pack; the bits of ribbon that were +left in it the soldier gave to his wench. + +"One eats all that one sells," quoth the peddler; but when they saw +how he did eat that night, they roared and said 't was plain he had +sold little of late. + +They were wondrous kind to Calote; they crowned her with a garland of +green, and gave her of their best. Her tales of the Brotherhood, the +Great Society, they heard with passion and impatience. They were for +setting out to London without pause. The Vision went to their heads +like strong drink, so that they cursed and beat upon the earth, and +anon fell on each other's necks with kisses, in a kind of frenzy. + +"Ye 'll be no more outlaws," quoth Calote, "but makers of laws. Ye 'll +be your own bailiffs on your own lands." + +The poor lad that had killed the bailiff cast himself on his face, at +this, and wept, and his little sister also. And all those others did +what they might to comfort him, with:-- + +"Ho, man! leave off tears; 't was bravely done!" and "Never grieve for +a black heart!" and "A pox o' bailiffs!" + +The horn they handled greedily, counting the linked jewels in the +chain and the pearls that were set about the image of the white hart. +Calote kept it in a little bag that she had made of a bit of blanket +the peddler gave her. This she wore by a string about her middle, and +drew forth the horn willingly when they called for it. She was not +aware how they coveted it, nor wherefore; but the peddler knew. He +heard them when they sat about the fire of nights, after the women +were gone to sleep. He listened the while they wrangled of the pearls. +One said there were thirty, another swore by Saint Christopher there +were but five and twenty. + +"S-seven and twenty," quoth the peddler; "I-I-I counted." + +They turned and looked on him. There were three awake, the beggar, a +villein, and the youngest soldier. They called the villein Symme +Tipuppe, and the soldier Nicholas Bendebowe; the beggar was only +Haukyn. + +Quoth Haukyn to the peddler: "Art thou kin to the maid?" + +"N-nay," said the peddler, "we met by the r-road." + +"Tell me," said Symme, leaning forward. "Thou 'rt a kind of merchant, +is the horn silver, or some baser metal?" + +"T-t-true silver," answered the peddler, and Nicholas Bendebowe, +looking on Symme, set his thumb to his nose and wagged his fingers, +with "Said I not so? I saw jewels in France, yea, and handled them." + +"'T would bring a pretty penny if 't were sold?" Symme questioned. + +"N-no doubt," the peddler made reply. + +For a little while they sat silent, and the soldier laid a fresh bough +on the blaze, for that the night was crisp and all these fellows were +ragged and brier-torn. + +Then said Haukyn the beggar, gloomily: "After to-morrow is the +beginning of the Fair." + +"Small joy to such as we be," snapped Nicholas Bendebowe. + +"M-methought 't was the charité of Chester Fair th-that all men might +gather there whether outlaw or-or-or runaway villein, and no one +should l-l-lay hands on them while the Fair endured," the peddler +queried. + +"Yea, 't is so," assented Symme. "But what boots it me that I may go +within Chester wall, if I must go empty-handed? The Rows are lined +with spies that hale a man to the court of pie powder if he but stroke +with his finger the furred edge of a hood that 's to sell. 'T were +against reason to think a man will keep his hands off in midst of +plenty." + +"B-but Haukyn 's a b-beggar only, he may ply his trade," said the +peddler. + +"Haukyn does not ply his trade in Chester," the beggar answered for +himself. "If he cannot go in to buy like 's betters, he 's safest +without." + +"Twenty-seven pearls," mused Nicholas; and Symme and Haukyn sighed. + +The peddler looked across the blaze of the fire to where Calote lay, a +little way off at the foot of a tree, asleep. On the ground beside her +was the bag with the horn in it, and the string went round her slim +body. + +After a bit the soldier snored; the beggar twitched awake and in a +trice was off again, this time sound; the villein turned his back to +the fire and drew up his legs, and presently the peddler heard him +grinding his teeth, and knew that he too was asleep. + +Throughout the next day the peddler was never far from Calote; thrice +the villein had the horn out of her bag and fondled it, and the beggar +came and looked over his shoulder. The soldier's wench hung the chain +about her own neck one while, and saith she to her love:-- + +"Deck me in this wise!" + +"By Our Lady o' Walsingham, that will I," he swore, "when Calote and +us common folk have put down the noblesse, and all men share alike." + +Again that night those three talked of the Fair after others slept, +and the peddler sat beside them listening. On a sudden Symme Tipuppe +turned to him and said:-- + +"If the horn were to sell, what would it fetch?" + +"A g-goodly sum," the peddler answered cautiously. + +"Yea, but what 's that, a pound?" + +"A pound, sayst thou?" the soldier scoffed. "If 't bring not five +times a pound, rend out my guts." + +"H-haply 't might," said the peddler. + +"With the chain?" queried Haukyn. + +"With the chain?" Symme echoed, his eyes on the peddler. + +"N-nay, but alone." + +"Twenty for the chain, eh, peddler?" said Nicholas. + +"N-nearer ten." + +Then there was a very long stillness, till at last Symme said:-- + +"Fifteen pound!" + +"If the King loveth us," grumbled the beggar, "he 'll never grudge +fifteen pound. Hath not the maid said the King 's our friend?" + +"Ho, fellows! 'T is our horn as well as the King's," Nicholas +blustered in a whisper. "Doth not the maid say we 'll share with him?" + +"'T is the maid's," said Symme, glancing aside uneasily at the +peddler. "The King gave it to the maid." + +"Not so, 't is the King's!" persisted Nicholas. "'T is hers for a +token only. Heh, peddler?" + +"'T-'t is t-true, 't is the K-King's," the peddler agreed. + +Symme sighed as he were freed of a burden; the beggar moved more close +to the peddler; Nicholas shook the peddler by the hand,--"A sober, +sensible fellow, thou," he said. + +"The King would give her another token an she lost this one," the +beggar whined in his peevish way. "And though he 's King, he 's Earl +o' Chester likewise; he 'd be kind to his own men, if they sold the +horn for hunger." + +The soldier loosened his knife in his girdle with one hand, the other +he laid on the peddler's shoulder. + +"Wilt thou be one with us in this adventure, brother?" he asked. + +Symme also drew his knife, and Haukyn laid his fingers up about the +back of the peddler's throat. + +"G-gladly, brothers," said the peddler. + +"Fifteen pound!" murmured Symme. "Fifteen pound!" + +Then the young murderer began to moan and cry in his sleep, and, for a +little, all were astir to soothe him; but when the place was quiet +Symme said:-- + +"Who 'll sell it? Haukyn can go to the Fair." + +"'T is no safe token for a beggar to bear," quoth Haukyn; "hold me +excused. Men know me in Chester." + +"Peddler can go to the Fair," said Nicholas; "he 's no outlawed man." + +"True!" agreed Symme. "And peddler knows to chaffer. Fifteen pound, +peddler." + +"Or more," said Haukyn. + +"Who will take the horn from the maid?" asked Nicholas. + +"I," Haukyn answered him. "I found an old cow's horn yester morn; +methought 't might prove a treasure. I 'll slip out one and slip in t' +other." + +They chuckled. + +"When she knoweth her loss, what then?" asked Symme. + +"I 'll woo her prettily," said Nicholas, "till she forget." + +"We 'll all go to Fair with the peddler," Haukyn declared. + +But now the peddler answered: "Nay, n-not so! If I go, I go alone. +W-were I seen in your c-company, I 'd never sell it. M-my tabard is +whole, m-my hosen are clean, m-my pack beareth me witness I 'm a +peddler. Ye are ragged. I-I 'll swear on the horn afore I go that I +'ll bring b-back the gold." + +So they gave consent unwillingly, and composed them to a nap. + +When the peddler set out to Chester next morning, he had the horn in +his pack. Symme, Nicholas, and Haukyn came to the edge of the wood +with him and watched him out of sight. Before he went into the city, +he stopped in the jousting-field outside the eastern wall; here were +the showmen and minstrels, the dancers and jongleurs, and cheap-jacks +of all kind. Among these the peddler wandered musing, till he came to +pause before a man that sold black stuff in a bottle, "to make gray +hair black." The peddler had a coin or two in his hand, and he bought +a bottle of this stuff and stowed it in his pack; but he took out the +horn and hid it under his tabard. At the gate he showed his pack +empty, with only the bottle in it, and was let pass without toll,--for +all who brought in wares to sell must pay toll to the Fair. Within the +city he bought a new hood, for he had had none since he came out of +Devon, and Calote told him once the sun burned his hair, it grew +rusty. He lingered above an hour among the Rows; but he bought no +trinkets to fill his pack, neither did he enter any goldsmith's shop +to chaffer for the horn. About noon he came out and walked by the Dee +till he happed on a quiet, lonely place, screened by the bushes. Here, +sitting down, he first rubbed his head well with the black dye, and +let it dry in the sun the while he took out from some safe place +within his tabard a pouch or bag, very full and heavy. When he undid +the mouth of the bag and tipped it up, there plumped out gold and +silver coin in a heap,--and he put his hand over it and looked about +warily before he set to counting. But there was no one nigh, so +presently he had made of one pile florins, and of another muttons, and +three rose nobles of another; and the silver he separated likewise, +into groats and pence. In the end he found that he had what he knew +was there when he set a price upon the chain and the horn,--fifteen +pound, odd pence. That the chain was of more value he guessed, but +this was all he had,--a goodly sum for a peddler; 't were marvel if he +had come by so much in trade. He was loth to part with all, yet he had +not dared to offer less, for that the soldier was a shrewd rogue. + +He swept all into the pouch and tucked the pouch within his breast; he +dropped the horn into the point of his hood and slipped the hood over +his head, the point wagging behind; he set his empty pack afloat on +the river Dee, for now he had no money to buy trinkets. Except three +groat, he was penniless. He laughed, as his thoughts had been new +thoughts and amazing. + +Meanwhile, in the brown dry woodland there was strife and a discovery. + +Quoth the sister of the young lad that had slain the bailiff:-- + +"Let 's see the horn, Calote; I 've not laid eyes on 't this day." + +"Let be!" said Symme rudely. "How do ye pester the maid! ye 'll wear +away the silver with fingering." + +"Nay, but I 'll show it gladly," Calote protested. "'T is small +courtesy I may show for kindness," and she drew forth the old cow's +horn. + +"Saint Jame!" cried a villein, not Symme, but another. + +"Saint Mary!" gasped Calote, pale as a pellet. + +"'T is stolen, mistress!" said Nicholas Bendebowe. + +"Stolen!" cried out those others all at once, with loud bluster; "Who +stole 't?"--"Not I!"--"Nor I!"--"Nor I!"--"Will any dare say I stole +it?" + +"Where 's peddler?" asked the beggar. + +They looked on one another. The soldier winked. + +"Nay"--Calote cried; "he 's kind!" + +"Poor wench!" said Haukyn. "Hearken! I saw him go to thee where thou +wert asleep, at dawn; he knelt beside thee. When I came nigh he +turned, and thrust a bright something in 's tabard." + +"Ah, woe, harrow!" said she. + +"Now 't is plain why he 's gone so early to the Fair," quoth Nicholas, +a-shaking his head. + +"He 's never gone to the Fair," said the beggar craftily. "Trust him, +he 'll show his face here no more. He 'll take horn to Lancashire or +York. He 'll be afeared to sell it in Chester with the maid so nigh." + +Calote was looking from one to another, distressful. When she spoke, +her voice was very low. + +"I 'll go after him," she said. "I 'll follow, and find him, or the +horn. Oh, cruel, cruel! Good-day, sweet friends; my heart is heavy +within me." + +Some of them, the women and the other villeins, and the murderer, went +with her to put her on the high road, making loud lament; but Symme +and Haukyn and the soldier looked on one another with a wink and a +nod, and turned their faces to Chester. + +"Best let her go," said Nicholas. "'T will save the peddler a lie and +me the wooing o' two maids side by side." + +"A pretty maid," murmured Symme. "'T made mine eyes water to see her +sorrow." + +The beggar said nothing till he saw the peddler coming up the road; +then he laughed and grumbled out:-- + +"So, he 's honest,--more fool!" + +The peddler came on smiling, and they caught him about the neck and +looked covetous in his eyes, and thrust their fingers in his breast +and his girdle, with:-- + +"Hast sold it?" + +"Ha, ha, good cheap?" + +"Fifteen pound?" + +He pushed them away, and "Let 's sit," he said, "wh-where 's shade. +Th-the sun 's hot as s-summer to-day." + +So they sat down under a half-naked tree, and when he had taken the +pouch out of his tabard, he undid the mouth and let flow out the gold +and silver stream. + +They sat and stared. + +After a little the beggar thrust a dirty hand into the pile and let +the moneys slip between his fingers. Symme began to cry for joy, and +the soldier to laugh. + +"Fifteen pound!" blubbered Symme. + +"We 'll give each his share, and then to Chester," cried Nicholas, +shoving the beggar's greedy hand aside. "Come, count!" + +"W-what for a t-tale have ye to t-tell the maid of her horn?" asked +the peddler, scanning them each in turn. + +"Ho, ho!" laughed Nicholas, "'t is already told. Hearken, brother! 'T +is a merry gest; thou art saved a sad hour;--and I 'll keep mine old +love. I 'm a constant man." + +Symme dried his eyes and snickered. + +"The white-faced sister o' the lad must needs see the horn," Nicholas +continued. "Symme here would have hindered; but no, Calote put her +hand in the bag and plucked out--ha, ha!" + +They laughed, all three, and the peddler knit his brows. + +"What next?" quoth he. + +"'T was plain the horn was stolen, but who cared lay claim to be a +thief?" went on Nicholas. "Thou wert away,--we fixed the theft o' +thee." + +"I thank ye of your courtesy," said the peddler. + +"Nay, naught 's to fear," Symme assured him; "she 's gone." + +"Gone!" cried the peddler, leaping to his feet. + +"Yea, to find thee and punish." + +"Which way,--not by Chester?" + +"Nay, trust to us; we set her o' the wrong track. She went eastward +and north on the highway." + +But ere Symme had said the last word, the peddler was off; and those +others sat agape. Then Symme's eye caught the glitter of the gold. + +"Come back,--come back!" he bawled. "Wilt have thy share?" + +But the beggar choked him and the soldier dealt him a knock in the +paunch. And whether the peddler heard or no, he did not turn back. + +He took a short way through the wood and came out on the road not so +far behind Calote, and she, looking backward, saw him. In the first +moment she began to run away, but presently she bethought her how 't +was silly to flee from a thief she had set out to take; and because he +still came on at a good pace, she sat down on a stone to wait for him. +So, at last, he came up panting and wiping the sweat from his face. + +"Oh, thou wicked, cruel wight!" she cried. "Thou false friend!--I +trusted thee. Alack!--I trusted thee!" + +"L-l-lll-l- ww-w-," said the peddler, striving for his breath. + +"Hast sold the horn?--hast sold it, thou roberd?" quoth she very +violently, wringing her hands. + +"N-nay, nor stole it, neither," he answered at last; and he took off +his hood and shook the horn out of the point into her hand. + +She stood in amaze. + +"But 't was stole out o' my bag," she said. + +"N-not by me," he made reply. "An I had chose, I might have s-stole it +many a time in a s-solitary place where were no eye to see me take it. +I m-might have s-sold it t-ten time over." + +"Then who stole it?" she cried. "Was 't a jest? A sorry jest, God wot! +Nor no jest, neither, for they let me go on my way. Did they know?" + +"L-let well alone, mistress!" said the peddler. "He-he-here 's the +horn." + +"Nay, but I will be told," she persisted. "What 's this thou 'rt +keeping from me? I 'll go back to the wood and bid Symme Tipuppe rede +the riddle. He was a kindly man." + +She turned away, but the peddler stayed her with his hand. + +"He-hear then, an thou wilt," said he. "But I warn thee, go not +b-back." + +So he told her the tale of how they coveted the horn, and how he made +shift to save it for her; and she listened with a still face. At the +end she dropped her head upon her arms and wept silently a long while. + +"L-look up,--take heart!" said the peddler. "The ho-horn 's safe." + +"But they are thieves and liars," she answered wearily. "What hope?" + +"Thou hast eat st-stolen meat this fortnight," the peddler declared; +"yet didst thou m-make no ou-ou-outcry." + +She lifted up her head and stared on him: "But this is not the same," +she said. "That meat we did eat ought, by right, to be the meat of +every man, not lords' only." + +"So said Haukyn o' the horn. ''T is King's, quotha; 'King will sell 't +for his people if they will ha-have it.'" + +She was silent a little space; then she said: "But they took it away +by stealth. Ah, woe,--they did not ask me!--They stole it!--And I +brought them a message of love." + +"Th-they had no money in their purse. They saw other men go by to the +Fair." + +"'T was not as if 't were mine own," she protested; "but a token, that +I might be known to speak for the King. Ah, bitter--cruel!" + +"Th-they said, 'The King can give her another,--he ha-hath a plenty.'" + +"Natheless, they are thieves,--roberds,--liars! What hope? What hope?" + +"Who made them so?" quoth the peddler.--"The same that m-made them +outlaws, and m-murderers;--I begin to s-see 't is the lords of +England! Th-these do I blame! Wi-wilt thou forsake thy brothers for +th-that they 're sinful? We be all sinful m-men. Come!--th-the +message!" + +She got up from the roadside stone and dried her eyes, and walked with +him, but in a dreary silence. For many a mile they went on in this +fashion. At even they came to a farm-house, and Calote went in and +sang for her supper. The farmer's wife was alone, and she gave Calote +a bed gladly, but she drove out the peddler,--who was peddler no +longer,--for that she was afeared of his strange looks. + +"But he 'll pay for 's bed," said Calote. + +"N-nay, mistress," the peddler answered. "I 've n-no money but three +groat. Th-those must wait for a r-rainy day. 'T is fresh i' the +fields." So he went out of the house; and she, remembering why he had +no money, wept sorrowfully. Nevertheless, she did not know how great a +sum he had paid for the horn. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + The Adventure in Yorkshire + + +The second winter of this pilgrimage was a snowy one, and the North +Country was a lonely place. Among those thinly scattered villages +Calote and the peddler had fared very ill, but for the old-time virtue +of hospitality, and the joy of minstrelsy, wherein the northern folk +vaunted themselves. The winds that blew across the moors were cold and +keen; the sea, whensoever the pilgrims came to the sea, was gray. The +peddler's lute cracked; it gave them warmth for half an hour one +night, and then the wind scattered its ashes. Once, a shepherd saved +them from white death. + +Yet, 't was not all silence and snow. There were friendly days and +nights by the tavern fire, when Calote sang of William and the +Werwolf, of Sir Gawaine and the Green Knight, of Launcelot, of +Aucassin and Nicolette. Or, haply, some shepherd, thawing before the +blaze, would let loose a roaring voice in one of Lawrence Minot's +songs; those songs of the battles of King Edward III., Halidon Hill, +and Berwick, and Neville's Cross. Anon, there would be told tales of +Earl Percy. And Calote, who had listened while Londoners scorned this +great man, for that he was second only to John of Gaunt in craft and +hateful wickedness, sat now with open mouth to hear him praised of his +own folk, who loved him; neither had they any wish to cast him down +from his place and rule by their own wits. For, except it were in +Newcastle, Calote found few who hearkened patiently to her tale of the +ploughman. So she turned southward, sick at heart; and spring awaking +found her on the Yorkshire wolds, very thin and weary and ragged; and +the peddler likewise. Here, where John of Gaunt was lord, they found +many to listen willingly to their message. Yet was Calote unsatisfied. + +"'T is ever their own small grievance that maketh them rage," she +sighed. "The bailiff hath fined this one, or set that one in the +stocks, and so they 'll willingly join the Brotherhood to spite the +bailiff. No doubt there be certain bailiffs that do their devoir +faithful, and there be certain villeins that under these laws do +deserve the fine or the stocks. But if a man is friend to the bailiff, +and hath enough to eat, how slow is he to see that he 's a slave; how +slow is he to take keep if other men starve or no! Alas! Alack!" + +"W-Wat Tyler 's one that hath enough to-to-to eat," said the peddler. + +"Yea," she answered slowly; "but I fear me Wat doth not all for the +people's sake. He 's a proud man, Wat." + +"J-J-Jack Straw?" quoth the peddler. + +"Talk not to me of Jack Straw," she cried. "Would that I could trust +Jack Straw! He must not come at the King. Where 's a true man to lead +the people? Thou might'st, well, peddler,--but for thy stammering +tongue." + +He sunk his chin on his breast and strode beside her, dogged, silent. + +One day they came to a manor-house, very grim, and moated round about; +and as they stood on the edge of the moat, looking in, there rode by +three damsels with falcons on their wrists, and a page boy with them +who hollaed to let down the drawbridge. Now while as they waited, and +the bridge creaked, one of those damsels espied Calote, and marvelled +at the colour of her hair which blew about her face. + +"Come hither, wench!" said this maiden, whose name was Eleyne. "Art +thou a jongleuse?" + +"I can sing a many tales, madame," Calote answered. + +"Ah, Saint Mary! bring her in!" cried another of the damsels; the +fairest this one, hight Godiyeva. + +"Yonder fellow, hath he his wits?" asked the youngest of the three, +and she pointed at the peddler. + +"His wits, yea, madame; but not his tongue," said Calote. + +"Haply he 'll dance, or leap, or twirl swords on his finger tip?" +Godiyeva averred. "We 're so dull; hath been no minstrel nor jongleur, +nor bearward even, at our gate for nigh on three moons." + +"Canst thou do any of these things?" Calote asked the peddler; but he +shook his head. + +"Natheless, mesdames, he 's as hungry as I be. Prythee let him dine," +she pleaded. + +"Let him labour, forsooth," answered Eleyne. "A carl so sturdy, so +young, and a beggar? For shame!" + +"I 'll gladly sing for two," Calote protested. + +"N-nay, mistress, g-go in," said the peddler; "I-I-I 'll linger +hereabout." + +So the three damsels and the page clattered over the drawbridge, which +was now let down, and Calote followed on her feet. + +These three maids were daughters of a certain Sir Austin, the lord of +the manor, a fat, red old man, a glutton and a widower. Even now, he +stood in the hall a-fuming for his dinner, which the steward brought +in hot from the kitchen so soon as the ladies came through the door. +He rated them harshly for their tardiness, and they passed him by with +sullen, haughty faces, stepping to the dais; only the youngest clipped +him round the neck and set her lips to his with a loud smack and a +merry laugh, so that he was fain to smile at her, and stint his +grumbling. + +Calote sat below the dais at the long board, betwixt a waiting-woman +and a friar; over against her sat the bailiff, and leered at her, and +would have fed her sweet morsels on the end of his dagger but she drew +backward; whereat they all laughed loud, and the bailiff turned purple +and ugly, and the friar twisted on the bench to have a long look at +her. This was the first time ever Calote had dined in a great house. +She could not but marvel at the strange dishes all spiced and covered +over with sauces. When she had drunk to the bottom of her cup of ale, +the friar filled it up again to the brim. When she would have eaten +her trencher bread, the waiting-woman, with a snort, jerked it from +her and tossed it into a basket where were other scraps of broken +food. After, when Sir Austin and his daughters had dipped their +fingers in water, and wiped them on a white linen towel, a page boy +came to Calote and bade her go sing her song. So she went and sat on +the dais step, and the youngest daughter, Custance, who sat now on her +father's knee a-munching sweets, leaned down smiling, and said she:-- + +"Whence art thou, not out o' the north, I trow, by thy tongue?" + +"I live in London, fair lady," Calote made answer; and with that all +three cried out:-- + +"London! then haply thou hast a tale o' that poet, Dan Chaucer; he 's +in favour with the great Duke." + +"Ay, mesdames; there 's one tale of his I know," said Calote, and +thereupon she told them of the Life of Saint Cecyle, and how she was +wedded to a young man, and an angel came down from heaven to twine +them with garlands of roses. + +"Oh!" and "Ah!" said the damsels, smiling one on another; "a sweet +tale!" + +And how the governor of the city cut off Cecyle's head, for that she +was a Christian. But she had a stubborn neck, would not break in three +blows o' the sword. + +And "Oh!" and "Ah!" shrieked the damsels, clasping their white throats +with their soft fingers. "Tell on, tell on! A grisly tale!" + +This was one of those jewels that Dan Chaucer after set in the chain +that he called the Canterbury Tales; nevertheless, at that time 't was +already cut in the rough, albeit not yet polished for the setting, and +Calote had heard it. + +"Anon, anon!" cried Custance, when the tale was ended; and her father +being asleep, she slipped off his knee and sat down on the dais step +by the side of Calote, her chin in her hand. + +"Nay, let them clear the hall," said Eleyne. "'T is late; I 've a gown +to mend. What say ye, if we keep the maid and hearken to but one tale +each day? So we 'll wile our tediousness." + +So Calote stayed in the manor-house and slept of nights on a sheepskin +at the foot of Custance's bed. + +The third day after her coming, Sir Austin held his court in the hall. +The bailiff was there and the reeve, and certain villeins that would +make complaint, or be complained against. And the peddler also was +there, set twixt the reeve and the bailiff. Sir Austin sat in his +great chair on the dais, and in the other end of the hall, against the +lancet windows, Eleyne, and Godiyeva, and Custance sat, sewing a seam. +Calote knelt at Custance's elbow, and they all four babbled soft of +Sir Gawaine, and drew their needles in and out, and lifted an eye now +and again to mark what was toward in the other end of the hall. + +When first the peddler came in, he looked about him hastily, as one +seeking, but when he saw Calote, 't would seem as he sighed and stood +at his ease. + +"Yon 's thy beggar, is 't not?" asked Custance of Calote. + +And Calote answered her: "Yea, lady!" and henceforth was mindful of +him, and of the business. + +There was one villein who craved leave to give his daughter in +marriage,--and he had brought the money to pay. There was another who +would be quit of his service of ploughing the lord's land, and he also +brought his pence and counted them out in his hand, and the lord took +them and gave him quittance for that time. In Yorkshire there were +many villeins might commute service thus, and welcome. There was +another had fought with his fellow in a tavern brawl, and both these +the lord sent to the stocks. There was a young shepherd come to ask +that he might have a lad with him to help him keep his flock; 't was a +great flock and strayed over the wolds. + +"Hast thou such a lad, bailiff?" growled Sir Austin. There was gold in +wool,--'t were best keep it safe. + +"Haply, Sir Austin," said the bailiff, and thrust forward the peddler. +"Here 's an idle fellow hath dawdled twixt the manor and the village +these three days. He will not go, he will not stay; knoweth not his +own mind. There 's enough idlers among them that make pretence to +labour, and shall I countenance sloth that 's avowed open?" + +"I-I-I 'm a free man," said the peddler. + +"A pox o' free men!" shouted Sir Austin. "No man is free to eat his +head off in idleness o' my land. Wilt begone?" + +"I-I-I," stammered the peddler, looking on Calote, who had drawn nigh +the better to learn what was going forward. + +"Wilt stay?" roared Sir Austin. + +Again the peddler looked on Calote. + +"'T is a kind man," said she, going up to the dais. "Hath done me much +service in my wanderings. 'S tongue 's slow." + +Sir Austin smiled on her. + +"A man plougheth not with his tongue, wench," said he. "Neither hath +he need of 's tongue to mind sheep, but if he whistle. Hark ye, rogue, +I 'll give thee another day to gather together thy slow wits; +thereafter thou 'lt labour, or get thee gone,--else I 'll make thee +free o' the stocks." + +The villeins and other servitors were now lagging forth of the hall, +and mid the noise and stir the peddler said to Calote, hastily:-- + +"D-dost thou bide long i-in this place?" + +"How can I tell?" she answered. + +"Wh-when thou art ready to begone, thou 'lt find me sh-shepherding on +the wolds. Meanwhile, k-keep thy dagger loose in its sheath." + +Then he left her and went to the edge of the dais. + +"S-sir Knight, I-I 'll make shift to aid thy sh-shepherd," he said. +And presently he was gone out with the villeins. + +Calote walked down the hall to the windows, pondering. She had kept +her dagger secret even from this peddler. How should he know? Yet, 't +were a simple thing, no doubt; her gown was ragged. But at night, when +she lay on the sheepskin a-turning over the day in her mind, she asked +herself why the peddler should stay for her. + +"Alas,--wehl awey!" she sighed, and her face burned in the dark. + +After a little she said again: "Wehl awey!" + +The heather was not in blossom, but the breath of spring sweetened the +wolds. Diggon the shepherd gave his new man a sheepskin to warm him +in, and together they two kept the flock. Out in the lonely open the +peddler forsook his stammer as much as he might, for the nonce; yet +now and again 't would master him against his will, and so did all his +life after. If a man hold his unruly member halting two year, 't will +take revenge. + +This Diggon, shepherd, was a gentle being, with a mind like to the +Yorkshire wolds, filled full of space, and sky and silence. Whiles, +likewise, was his mind purple-clad; then he 'd speak slow words +concerning God, and the creatures, and life. Last Christmas Eve he +heard the angels singing in heaven, he said. The night of Good Friday, +three weeks past, he had a vision of the Rood.--The peddler crossed +himself.--One day he lost a lamb, and when he had searched from noon +till sunset, and the sea mist was coming in, he met a man larger than +life, carried the young lamb in his arm. + +When the peddler told him the tale of Piers Ploughman, he listened +with a great joy in his eyes. + +"In that day," quoth he, "they 'll cease to ride the hunt across the +wolds and scatter the sheep." + +When the peddler instructed him of the Fellowship that was joining +hand over all England, he rubbed his head, perplexed. + +"We been brothers and Christen men ever," he said. "Here 's no new +thing." + +Of new laws and new masters and freedom he took no keep. + +"Am I not free?" he asked, and spread his arms out east and west, as +to gather in the moors. + +"But all men are not so content as thou," said the peddler. "They are +ill-fed, they must work without stint. Wilt not thou join hand to help +them that suffer?" + +"Yea, brother," Diggon answered him; "yea!" But then he knit his +brows, and, "If all we go up to London to reason with nobilité, who +'ll take care o' the sheep?" + +The peddler sat silent, abashed; till on a sudden Diggon threw his +head back and laughed, with "Who but the Good Shepherd!--Diggon 's a +fool!" + +So the days passed, and the peddler waited for Calote. She, meanwhile, +was taken into favour at the manor-house. Old Sir Austin would chuck +her under chin and follow her with his watery eyes in a way that she +mistrusted. She wondered that the daughters observed naught; but they +paid little heed to their father. The youngest loved him as a spoiled +child will, for sake of gain; but the other two were peevish if he +spoke to them. + +Godiyeva he had thwarted in a marriage with a lord's son, with whom he +was at feud, and she could not forget. In truth, he was so quarrelsome +that his neighbours shunned his company; and he, on his part, cast +gibes upon his daughters, for that they could not get them husbands. + +"Is one comfort," said Eleyne on a day when he had baited them till +they wept for rage and shame. "Is one comfort; if no gentlemen will +come anigh this house, will no gentlewoman neither. They be all +afeared o' thee. If we must dwell here forlorn, we are spared a +step-dame. Is none would live thy cat and dog life." + +"Sayst thou so? Sayst thou so, hussy?" roared the knight, and would +have struck her; but his eye lighted on Calote,--he let drop his hand. +"Sayst thou so?" he repeated more softly, and went out chuckling. + +"Thou fool!" said Godiyeva to her sister. "What maggot hast thou put +in 's head?" + +'T was the day next after this one that Calote chose to tell them the +tale of the Ploughman. She had been of three minds not to tell it at +all; but then she called herself a coward. Of Richard she had never +spoke, nor showed the horn, and she did not now. After supper she told +her tale, and she said by way of a beginning:-- + +"This is the last tale I have to tell, mesdames. To-morrow,--or 't +maybe the next day, for 't is a long tale,--I must give you thanks of +your courtesy, and begone." + +"Ah, stay, and tell them all again!" cried Custance. "We 've not been +so merry since Godiyeva's lover flouted her." + +"Peace!" said Eleyne, and Godiyeva's lovely face flamed red. + +The old knight chuckled in the chimney corner. He did not snooze +to-night, as was his wont; he sat a-blinking on Calote, and sipping +his piment, slow. Calote crouched on a low stool, with her face to the +fire. + +"In a summer season when soft was the sun"--she began, and at the +first she spoke hastily, and with a little quaver in her voice. She +knew not how they might take this tale. + +They took it for a jape, a jest; they laughed. Lady Mede and her +sisours and summoners made them very merry. When Repentance called the +Seven Sins to confession, and the tale was told of Glutton in the +tavern, Sir Austin doubled him up with a loud guffaw and nigh fell +into the fire. When Piers Ploughman put up his head, the damsels +squealed for joy. When he, this same Piers, set the ladies of the +Vision to sew sacking, and the Knight to keep the land freed of foes, +Sir Austin's daughters held their sides, and rocked back and forth, +the while mirthful tears fell down their faces. + +Then Calote lost her patience and forgot to be afraid. She stood up on +her feet and faced them with her head high:-- + +"Natheless, all this shall come to pass!" she cried. "This is a true +word. No Goliardeys, I, but a sober singer. 'T is the ploughman, the +poor man, shall lead all ye to truth. The rich shall give of their +wealth to the poor, in that day; no man shall go naked and hungry. +Fine ladies and maids like to me shall love one another." + +Her voice broke, and she put out her hands to the three fair damsels +that sat on a bench and stared:-- + +"I pray you pardon, sweet my ladies, but this matter lieth close to my +heart." + +They laughed kindly, and Eleyne said:-- + +"We 'll love thee for the sake of thy tales, wench, and forgive thee +this once that thou art froward." + +"List, child," said Godiyeva; "the poor is not so greatly to be +pitied. I 'd liefer be a glee maiden, free to wander in all England, +welcome in every hall and cot,--I 'd liefer be a houseless wench, say +I, than--than this that I am." And Godiyeva arose, lifted her arms +wearily above her head, and paced down the hall into the shadows. + +"If thou wert gowned in soft stuffs, and thy hair in a net and a +horned cap atop,"--Custance mused idly, looking Calote up and +down,--"methinks,--methinks,"--hereupon she clapped her hands and +leaped to her feet. "Whyfore no? Come, wench, I 've a gown in my chest +is too short for me. Here 's a merry sport. We 'll make thee a lady +for the nonce." + +"Ay, do!" cried the knight; and presently slapped his leg, and laughed +as at a secret thought. + +"Nay, lady," Calote protested; but Custance had her by the hand +dragging her from the room. + +"Thou 'lt spoil the wench," said Eleyne; "is over bold now." And +Godiyeva curled her lip scornfully. + +Sir Austin laughed yet more loud, and bade his youngest daughter make +haste. So Custance caught a lighted cresset from the wall, and hurried +Calote up the stair. And Calote, when she saw the azure gown broidered +with gold about the hem, and the pointed crimson shoes, and the high +cap of green and rose colour with its floating silken veil, made no +more protest; for she was young, and a woman. + +When all was done, her tiring maid drew back in dumb amaze; then took +her hand and led her down to the hall. + +At Calote's heart there was a fierce pain. + +"Oh, Stephen!" she cried within herself; "oh, Stephen!" Yet what this +was that so hurt her she did not ask. + +In the hall there was dead silence for the space of a minute. Then the +knight came out of his chimney corner a step:-- + +"God's bones!" quoth he in a half whisper; and Calote, looking in his +face, knew that she must go away from this house as soon as might be. +She set her hand to her breast and fingered the hilt of the dagger, +where she had thrust it unseen of Custance. + +"A common peasant! 'T is amazing!" exclaimed Eleyne. + +"I knew she was very fair," said Godiyeva quietly. + +"Doth not my pearl net gleam against her gold hair?" cried Custance, +and swept a low curtsey before this new-made lady. + +"To-night ye may thank Saint Mary your many wooers be not by, my +daughters," mocked them Sir Austin; and Godiyeva tossed her head. + +"Tell me, wench," he continued, "'t would like thee well to be a +lady?" + +Calote, her heart aching with the thought of Stephen, answered him +proudly:-- + +"I might be one, an I would." + +But immediately she could have bit out her tongue, for the knight had +set his own meaning upon her words. + +"So ho!" quoth he. "What a witch art thou! Ha, ha, ha!" + +"Sir, you mistake," she said coldly. "I have been sought in honourable +marriage by a gentleman, but I would not." + +"And if once sought, wherefore not again?--Wherefore not again?" he +asked with a cunning grin, wagging his head. + +His three daughters had drawn close together at one side of the +hearth; there was anger, astonishment, and fear in their faces. +Suddenly the old man turned on them roughly:-- + +"Get ye gone!" he said. "Off!--To bed!--I 've a delicate business with +this--ha, ha--this lady." + +"'T is shameful!" cried Godiyeva. "I 'll not budge,--a common wench, a +stroller." + +"Oh, father, wilt thou so shame us?" moaned Eleyne. + +"'T is but another jest, dear father; say 't is thy sport," Custance +pleaded. + +But for answer he took up his riding-whip and laid it about their +shoulders so smartly that they fled from the hall shrieking and +cursing him. + +A page thrust his head in at the door, but quickly drew it forth +again. An old woman that had been asleep in a corner got up and +hobbled out in haste. The dogs put tail between their legs and slunk +under the settle. Calote, in the firelight, waited. Her knees shook, +yet she was not afraid. + +When he had cleared the hall the knight threw away his whip, came back +to the fire, took the remainder of his piment at one gulp, and hurled +the goblet to the far end of the hall. + +"So, my lady; wilt have me on my knees, for the more honour?" said he; +and she let him grunt, and crack his old joints, for that she knew he +could not readily get up if he were once kneeling. + +"Now, hearken!" he bade her. "Wilt dwell here and tame yon proud +damsels, and shame 'em? I 'm sick o' daughters; I 'd have a son to +lean on in mine age. Come,--I 'll marry thee honest. Thou shalt be the +envy of all York. Thou shalt wear silken gowns. Here 's a happy +life,--no sleeping under hedge nor in the open. So thou do my pleasure +I 'll never harm thee. The one that 's gone had never a harsh word +from me till the third daughter came, and that was past any man's +patience t' endure. By Holy Cuthbert, I swear thou art lovelier than +any court lady ever I saw,--and I 've been in Edward's court,--yea, +and in France likewise. Kiss me, wench!--By Saint Thomas, but I will +kiss thee whether or no!" + +He stumbled and staggered to his feet and came at her with a lurch, +for his head was dizzy with wine and pleasure. + +"Sir, I will not marry no knight,--nor lord of a manor,--unless he set +free all his villeins," she said, and slipped aside. "Neither will I +kiss any man for love, till we be promised together." + +"Free my villeins, pardé," he cried. "Do I not take quit-rent of the +half of them even now? They be as good as freed." + +"But I will have them altogether freed." + +He sat down in the chimney corner and wiped his brow:-- + +"Pish! Here 's not a matter to be decided without law and lawyers. I +must think on 't. Come hither, my lady; give me good-night." + +But when he saw that she moved away to the door, he sprang up heavily +and caught her about the middle. + +"Sir," she panted, "methought 't was thy mood to shame thy daughters; +yet this shameth only me." + +"True!" he said; "my daughters!"--and let her go. "But I 'll not be so +patient another night. We 'll have a priest on the morrow." + +"First, free thy villeins!" she made answer, and slipped through the +door. + +Above stairs she found the three damsels crouched on one bed, their +heads together. Godiyeva hurled a foul name upon her as she entered. + +"Peace!" said she. "Your father hath consented to wait till the morrow +morn. Now, if ye are not minded to have a step-dame ruling here, make +haste to strip me of these fine clothes, and show me a way to depart +softly while 't is yet dark." + +"Thou wilt go!" queried Godiyeva. + +For answer, Calote took off the bright cap from her head and kicked +away the crimson shoes. Then distance set to work hastily to undo the +gown, and the dagger fell out and rattled to the floor. Godiyeva +carried it to the light, looked at it, and brought it back, but asked +no question. + +"Why dost thou wear this bag under thy gown?" said Custance. + +"For safety, madame," Calote replied, and thrust her arms into the +sleeves of her old russet. + +Custance still held the bag, but no one dared ask further. + +"I will take her down the other stair to the water-gate and put her in +the boat," said Godiyeva. + +"God and Saint Mary bless thee!" whispered Eleyne, and would have +pressed silver into her hand, but Calote shook her head and smiled. + +Custance kissed her. + +At the water-gate there floated a little boat, and Godiyeva got into +this with her and sent it across the moat in three strong shoves of a +pole. + +"Which way is the shepherd's way, where the flock is?" asked Calote. + +"To southward of here," Godiyeva answered; and then, "I repent me of +that name I called thee." + +"Dear lady," said Calote, "I 'll pray Christ Jesus and Mary his +mother, that they send thee happiness." + +So she went away into the night, beneath the pale shine of a waning +moon, and Godiyeva crossed the moat, and climbed the stair. + +"'T was a hunting horn she had in her bag," whispered Custance. "I +felt the form of it under the flannel. Dost believe she 's that chaste +fairy lady, Dian, the poets sing?" + +"Nay, she 's a woman, like to us," said Godiyeva, and lay down on her +bed. + +Out on the wolds Diggon and the peddler had built a fire to warm a +new-born lamb. The while they sat with their arms about their knees, +looking into the fire, they spoke of Christ's Passion, and death. Said +the peddler, out of the Vision:-- + + "'One like to the Samaritan and a little like to Piers the Plowman, + Barefoot on an asse's back, bootless, came riding, + Without spurs or spear, sprightly he looked, + As is the manner of a knight that cometh to be dubbed. + "This Jesus, of his noble birth, will joust in Piers' arms, + In his helm and his habergeon--_humana natura_; + In Piers Plowman's jacket this pricker shall ride."'" + +"Poor men been greatly honoured, 't is true," said Diggon. "Behoves us +do best, that Christ be not shamed to ride in our armour. Natheless, I +find it hard to believe as how Sir Austin will clip me and kiss me and +call me brother. Sir Austin 's a proud man,--lord o' the manor,--and I +a silly shepherd. Christ knoweth us poor,--for that he came to earth a +poor man. He put our garb upon him. Till Sir Austin and his ilk do put +them in poor men's weeds and ploughman's weeds and shepherd's weeds, +how shall they know what 't is I suffer, or that rejoiceth me? Men +know that they live. Small blame to Sir Austin, or to the King." + +"O Diggon,--my brother! This is a true word," cried the peddler. "Let +them don thy russet, and labour with thee, and starve with thee, and +they 'll love thee and give thee the kiss of a friend,--even as I +do,--O Diggon,--even as I do!" And the peddler cast his arms about the +shepherd, and kissed him on each cheek, and they two smiled happily +the one upon the other in the firelight. + +Then the peddler took up the tale of how Christ Jesus was crucified, +and two thieves with him, and after, he began to speak of the +harrowing of hell, and of Mercy and Peace that kissed each other. + + "'And there I saw surely + Out of the west coast a wench as me thought, + Came walking in the way--to--'" + +said he, and when he had said it he felt Diggon's hand on his arm. + +"She cometh," whispered Diggon. + +And there, on the other side of the fire, stood a maiden. + +"I go to Londonward," she said. "I came hither, for that I knew 't +would grieve thee if I set forth secretly. Natheless, is no need that +thou follow. I am not afeared of the night, nor no other thing." + +"Wilt thou not w-wait for the day?" asked the peddler, rising up. + +"If I wait, there shall be done me a great honour. The lord of the +manor purposeth to make me his wife." + +"Saint Christopher!" cried the peddler, and turned in haste to the +shepherd: "Diggon, dear brother; fare thee well! This is m-my lady; I +must follow her." + +"Hail, maiden!" said Diggon. "Art thou Mercy, or Truth, or Peace, or +Rightwisnesse?" + +"None of these,--but handmaid to Truth," the peddler answered for her; +and when he had kissed Diggon he took Calote by the hand and led her +away. And Diggon was left by the fire with the new-born lamb. + +"T-tell me!" the peddler questioned after a little. + +So she told him all, and at the end of the tale she said:-- + +"Natheless, 't is not for his wooing that I 'm ashamed and weary; but +they laughed at the Vision. They laughed!--They thought 't was all a +jape. Wherefore should they fear the peasants,--the poor rude +men,--wherefore should any fear such simple folk? Who is 't knoweth +better than I how weak Piers Ploughman is? Were I a lady, with the +poor fawning about my heel,--and one sang that these should deliver +the land, I 'd laugh too. They 'll fail--Dost thou not know they 'll +fail? Ah, woe,--alas!" + +"R-Roland of Roncesvalles, though he lost, yet did he win," said the +peddler. "Jesus Christ d-died on cross. Hearken to the Vision:-- + + 'After sharp showers, quoth Peace, most glorious is the sun; + Is no weather warmer than after watery clouds. + Ne no love dearer, nor dearer friends, + Than after war and woe when Love and Peace be masters + Was never war in this world, nor wickedness so keen, + That Love, an him list, might not bring it to laughter, + And Peace through patience all perils stopped.'" + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + The Believers + + +Out of a lonely land of moor and fen and scattered shepherds, Calote +came down into the stir and bustle of the eastern counties. Almost, +she had come to believe there were no men in England, but two or +three; so, for a little, her heart was lifted up when she saw the +villages set so close as to join hands and kiss; when she saw the +high road and the lanes alive with wayfarers; when she saw men in every +field,--idle men for the most part. Yet was her joy soon turned to +terror. + +If the folk of the north were slow to kindle and loth to learn, 't was +not so with them of Norfolk and Suffolk and Cambridgeshire. These men +were John Ball's men, and Wat Tyler's, and Jack Straw's. Already they +had their lesson by heart. Nevertheless, to Calote's thinking, they +had not learned it aright. + +"Ah, woe! better the sloth and dulness of west and north than this +quick hate," she sighed to the peddler. "There 's murder in these +hearts." + +And this was true. + +One day, when she was preaching Piers Ploughman to a great crowd, and +how he set straight the kingdom and gave each man work to do and bade +the wasters go hungry,--and all that company of an hundred and more +men and women stood about, chaunting the words of the Vision till the +roar of it might be heard half a mile,--there came by a man-of-law on +a hackney, was seen of those that stood at the edge of the throng. He +set spurs to his horse, but to no purpose; all that rout was upon him. +They beat him, and tore his clothes into ribands. His ink-horn they +emptied on his head, and made of his saddle-bags and parchments a very +stinking bonfire. And all the while they shrieked: "Thou wilt write us +in bondage, wilt thou?"--"We be slaves, be we, bound to the +soil?"--"Slit 's lying tongue!"--"Pluck out 's eyes!" + +After a little while they left him half dead, and Calote wiped his +bloody face, and the peddler caught his horse and set him on it. Then +came the sheriff and his men that way and set Calote and the peddler +in the stocks, for that they had gathered the people together and made +a tumult. But the people hewed the stocks to splinters so soon as the +sheriff's back was turned. + +Another day, by the side of a pond, they came upon a rabble that +ducked a monk of Bury, and but that Calote sounded her horn and so +drew the mischievous folk to listen to her message, the unhappy monk +had surely come to his death. + +Once, when a certain lord was away from his manor, Calote was by when +the lord's people burned his ricks. This was in the night, and all the +villeins made a ring about the fire and danced, and sang:-- + + "'When Adam delved and Eve span, + Who was then the gentleman?'" + +Neither did the bailiff dare come forth of the house to check them, +for that they said they would cast him into the fire. And so they +would. + +The leader of all these Norfolk and Suffolk men was one John Wrawe, +and when he heard Calote was come into the country he went to meet her +and made much of her, and took her to this town and that, to blow her +horn and speak her message. Old women that had seen the plague of '49 +came out of their cots to kiss her hand and call her to deliver them. +Young mothers held their babes before her face and bade her free them. +Here and there, a knight that was for the people, but not yet openly, +took her into his house, as Sir Thomas Cornerd, and Richard Talmache +de Bently, and Sir Roger Bacon, and she heard how well ordered was +this plot. + +"'T will be the signal when Parliament votes the new poll-tax," they +said. + +For that there must soon be another poll-tax all England was very +sure. + +"Let us home," said Calote. "Let us home and find Wat. They must not +rise so soon. They are not ready; and 't is Wat can stop it; none +other. To rise for vengeance' sake, and hate, and to pay a +grudge,--ah, what a foul wrong is this!" + +'T was an autumn evening when Calote and the peddler, footsore, +sun-browned, in tatters, came through the Ald Gate into London. A-many +men stood about in groups up and down the street, as men will stand in +a marketplace to chaffer and wrangle and gossip; yet these stood +silent. The street was a-flutter with much speaking, but no one spoke; +the air pricked. Now and again a man looked out of himself with a +waiting gaze and the face of a sleep-walker. There was slow shifting +of feet, sluggish moving to one side to let folk pass. + +"How changed is London in two year!" Calote half whispered to her +companion. + +"He-here they are ready," said the peddler. "Th-they do but wait." + +Presently they met Hobbe Smith, and he, when he saw Calote, grinned +and capered, and cried out, "Ho, mistress!" very joyously. And then, +"News?" Whereupon other heads were turned to look. + +"I am come from Yorkshire, down the east coast," said Calote. "At +Norwich we have many friends. At Bury Saint Edmunds let the monks look +to 't. At Cambridge and Saint Albans they wait the word." + +"All this is known," answered Hobbe, and turned to walk with them. + +"Tell me of my father," said Calote. "Is he well?" + +"Yea, well. I cannot make out thy father; he 's a riddle. No man ought +to be more rejoiced than he, of"--Hobbe left his sentence hanging and +began a new one: "Yet he pulleth a long face." + +"And my mother 's well?" + +"Ay, Kitte 's well." + +"And thou, Hobbe?" + +He laughed and grew red. "I 'm married, mistress. Thou wert so long +away. There 's a little Hobbe." + +Then Calote laughed likewise, and seeing her mother down the street at +their door, she began to run. + +Kitte kissed her, and crushed her close, and at the last said:-- + +"How will thy father be rejoiced to know thee safe!" Then, "Who 's +this?" quoth she; and there stood the peddler, waiting. + +"'T is an honest man hath holpen me in many a sore strait, mother; +cannot speak plain." + +"So!" said Kitte, and continued to look at him over her daughter's +head thoughtfully. + +"G-give you good-even, m-mistress!" said the peddler. + +"Good-even, friend!" said Kitte, and added in a voice assured and +quiet: "I know thy face." + +"H-haply," he answered, and albeit he knew that he was found out he +did not turn away his eyes from hers. + +"Come in, and sup," said she; "Will 's late;" and she laid her arm +about the peddler's shoulder, and kissed his cheek. + +They sat late that night. Wat and Jack Straw came in with Langland, +and there was clipping and kissing and rattle of tongues. + +"Ah, but how 't is sweet to hear again London speech!" sighed Calote, +"and thy voice, my father!" + +'T was told in the tavern as how Calote was come back, and Dame Emma +must needs run across to welcome the maid. After, she sent in of her +pudding-ale, the best, that sold for fourpence the gallon, for that +Calote's health might be drunk. She was a kindly soul, Dame Emma, a +friend to villeins and poor labourers. + +Calote sat on her father's knee, and ate and drank, and laughed for +joy of home-coming. But presently, when Wat Tyler besought her for +news, and Jack Straw smiled and said: "Didst mark our Essex men, how +ready they be, like an arrow that 's nocked to the string and waits +but the touch to let fly?" with other like boasting,--she grew grave, +she fell silent; and Jack and Wat, become aware of their own voices, +fell silent likewise; the one, a frown betwixt his heavy brows, the +other, his eyes half shut, the white lashes drooping,--his lips drawn +tight. Will Langland, with his faint prophetic smile, but eyes all +pity, waited, watching his daughter. + +"'T will fail," she said at last, very quiet; but her father felt her +heart knock against his arm. "'T will fail, because the spring and +soul of it is hate, not love. Go yonder into Essex and Suffolk, where +I have been but now, and hear what fate men have in store for the Lord +Chief Justice! Go into Bury Saint Edmunds and mark the eyes of the +townsfolk when they take the prior's name upon their lips! Give God +thanks, Wat Tyler, that thou art not mayor o' Northampton!" + +"These men are tyrants," cried Wat; "they have oppressed the people." + +"What is to be a tyrant, Wat? To hold the people in the hollow of his +hand?--What dost thou hope to be one day? I mind me in Salisbury thou +didst assure me, 'Time shall be when these rustics shall follow me +with a single will,--as one man; and then shall we arise.'" + +Jack Straw turned on his comrade a chilly smile, but said no word. Wat +swore and shuffled his feet. + +"'T will fail," Calote began anew. "The poor is afeared to fight; do +but flash a sword in 's eye, he 'll shake. All they that make up our +Great Society be not honest folk, a-many is outlawed men, cut-purses, +murderers, wasters; all such is coward in their heart." + +"Here 's what comes o' setting women to men's business, thou fool!" +Wat snarled upon Jack Straw, but Jack paid him no heed; instead he +crossed one leg over other, leaned his clasped hands on his knee, and +set his narrowed eyes upon the maid. + +"And this is all to mean, no doubt," said he coldly, "that thou art +sick o' poor folk and their ways, and hankering after palace fare. Ah, +well, who shall blame a pretty wench!" He shrugged his shoulders and +uncrossed his legs, leaning forward on his elbows to speak the more +soft. "I heard tell, a year past, that a certain young squire, Stephen +Fitzwarine by name, was no longer about the King's person; 't was said +he had gone to Italy on a mission with Master Chaucer. But Master +Chaucer 's returned; I saw him yestere'en a-looking out of window in +his house above the Ald Gate. Haply, t' other 's to be found in +Westminster. Natheless, they do say these Italian wenches be like +hotsauce, do turn a man's stomach from sober victual." + +To prove Calote and vent his own spleen Jack Straw said this; but he +reckoned without the peddler, who immediately rose up and cracked him +with his fist betwixt his insolent white-lashed eyes so that he fell +over backward on the floor and lay a-blinking. + +"I thank thee, friend," said Langland. + +"Thou 'rt well served, Jack," said Wat Tyler. "Get up and mind thy +manners!" + +"I 'll kill him,--I 'll beat out 's brains," muttered Jack Straw, and +scrambled shakily to his knees. + +"Thou 'lt touch no hair on 's head," Wat answered roughly. "Go kill +Calote her cowards! this one 's an honest man, shall be kept." + +"Sh-shall I hi-hit him again, mistress?" asked the peddler. + +"Nay, prythee, nay!" cried Calote. And to Jack Straw she said: "Thou +knowest well that I am not aweary of mine own folk, nor never shall +be. Yet, 't were pity if I might wander in England, up and down, two +year, and come home no wiser than afore. The people is not ready to +rise up. Each man striveth after his own gain, his own vengeance,--'t +is mockery to call it fellowship." + +"Thou hast not journeyed in Kent; thou hast not heard John Ball," said +Wat, "else wouldst thou never say 't is hate is the soul and spring of +this uprising. What have the Kentish men to gain, of freedom, but here +and there the name of 't? They 're freest men in England, no fools +neither. 'T is for their brothers' sake they 'll rise; for Essex' +sake, where Christen men are sold to be slaves. Small wonder men are +slow to learn love in Essex. Come down to Canterbury, come down into +the Weald,--I 'll show thee fellowship that is no mockery." + +"Then let 's be patient, Wat! Let 's wait till other shires be so wise +and loving as Kent!" + +"Wait, quotha!" sneered Jack Straw. "And what hast thou been about, +this two year, that thou wert sent to learn them fellowship? I trow +there hath been little wisdom, but loving a-plenty,--in corners with +stray peddlers and packmen. 'Wait,' sayst 'ou? But I say 't is time! +Wherefore is not the people ready?" + +Will Langland caught the peddler by the arm, and, "Jack," said he, +"whiles I do more than mouth words. What though I repent after, 't is +too late then, if thou art throttled." + +"Nay, let me speak!" Calote importuned, thrusting aside her father. +"Wherefore is the people not ready, Jack Straw? Wherefore? For that in +so many shires where I came to preach love thou wert afore me and +preached hate. Two year is but short space to learn all England to +forget to hate, to bind all England in fellowship of love, so that if +a man fight 't is for his brother's sake. When this uprising faileth, +as 't will surely fail, do thou ask thine own soul where 's blame." + +"Pah!--Have I a finger in this pie or no?" growled Wat. "I say 't will +not fail. Do not I know my London? Is not Kent sure, and Essex, and +the eastern counties? These men are mine! Whatsoever else they hate, +yet do they love me! They 'll do my bidding, I promise thee." + +"I 'd liefer they did Christ's bidding," said Calote. "Hark ye, Wat, +give me another two year, and do thou and Jack meanwhile preach +freedom only and forget private wrong. So we 'll be less like to +fail." + +"There 's talk of another poll-tax," Wat answered gloomily. "No +Parliament will dare pass 't in London; but I make no doubt they 'll +sit elsewhere.--The people will not endure another poll-tax." + +"Yet thou hast said the people love thee,--thou 'lt dare swear they +'ll do thy bidding. An idle boast?" + +The blood came slow into his swarthy face. "'T will not fail," he said +doggedly, and sat in brooding fashion grinding his heel upon the +earthen floor. + +"When doth Parliament sit?" Calote asked him. + +He got up, overthrowing the heavy oaken bench he had sat upon, and, +"So be it!" he cried hoarsely. "They shall not rise yet," and strode +to the door. + +Jack Straw laughed. + +"Thou white rat!" said Wat, with his hand on the latch; "dost think +they 'll follow thee? Do but essay them!" + +"Nay," leered Jack, "I 'm for fellowship, brother! I 'll wait my turn +till thou hast stretched thy tether;" and went with him out on +Cornhill. + +Langland thrust the bolt of the door presently, and bade the peddler +lie by the fire, if he would. So they all went to bed. But after a +little while, Kitte came down the stair again. She had a rough blanket +on her arm. + +"'T is not so soft as thou hast slept on i' the King's Palace of +Westminster," said she, "but 't will keep thee from the chill o' the +floor." + +"Ah, good mother," smiled the peddler, "'t is two year I have not +slept on a blanket." + +"So long?" she queried--"And the maid so blind!" + +"In the beginning I was a sorry wight," he answered. "Small wonder she +knew me not. But of late I have had no money to mend my thatch." He +tapped his rusty pate and laughed. "Moreover, the brown stain hath +worn off my face and hands; what 's left is sun only and wind. Neither +have I been at such pains to pluck out mine eyebrows this past +month,"--he laughed again and his stammer caught him,--"f-f-for +Richard's sake, and the court's. Three days since we slept in the fens +about Lincoln. When I awoke she sat staring on me:--" + +"'Thou art so like--thou art so like,' she murmured, 'but no.'--Thou +'lt keep my secret, mother?" + +"Oh, ay! I 'm a silent woman," she answered. "Thou hast not won her?" + +"I have not wooed," he said. + +She lifted her hand and made the sign of the cross betwixt his brow +and his breast. "Good-night, my son," said she. + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + The Adventure in Kent + + +Calote was in Kent what time word came that the Parliament of +Northampton had passed a new poll-tax. It happened on this wise: Wat +Tyler went down into Kent to have speech of John Ball, who was not in +prison at that time, albeit hunted by the Archbishop's men,--and he +brought Calote with him. And in a little village midway twixt +Canterbury and Maidstone the priest met them. They went into the +tavern and the alewife set her best brew before them, and presently +slipped out to seek her gossips. + +"This is the maid," said Wat. + +John Ball's eyes, kindly, keen, smiling, drew her to him, also he held +out his hand. She came and stood beside his knee as he sat withdrawn +from the table a little way. So they looked each on other, she most +solemn, he tenderly amused. + +"Long Will's daughter," he said; and after a little, "So thou hast +journeyed in England, south and north, to bring the message of +fellowship to the poor?" + +"Yea, brother," she answered him. + +"And thou sayest this people is not ready to rise up?" + +"Yea, brother, I say so." + +"Wherefore?" + +"Two year is not long enough, John Ball." + +"Two year!" quoth he, and smiled. "'T is twenty year I have not ceased +to preach this message. Thou wert not born, yet the people had heard +these things." + +She flushed very hot and her lip quivered: "Though 't were forty +year,--the people is not ready," she made answer steadfast. + +"They say there 's a woman of Siena learns Pope Urban his lesson," +mused the priest, always his eyes fixed smiling on the maid; "God +forbid I should be behind Pope Urban in humilité." + +"I am a peasant maid only," cried Calote, "but I say poor folk is not +yet a fellowship. They dream of vengeance. More than they love one +another they hate the nobles and bailiffs and the men-of-law, and"-- + +"And all them that have brought us to this pass," said Wat Tyler +fiercely. + +John Ball turned to look at him, and there fell silence. + +When the priest spoke again he spoke to Wat, and said: "'T would seem +the maid saith soth." Then, turning back to Calote, the smile went out +of his eyes: "I am not so patient as thy father," he exclaimed, "I am +not content to prophesy only; there 's some men must do deeds. A +little while we 'll delay. Natheless, 't shall come in my time!--Thou +hast warned them in Essex and Suffolk, 't is not yet, Wat?" + +"Yea, they know, and they grumble. Norfolk knoweth, and +Cambridgeshire; and when we came through Dartford I sent messengers +westward to stay the folk in those parts. Here they know it not yet. +They will not tamely wait. I fear these Kentish men; and if they slip +leash the rest will follow, whether we will or no." + +"Ah, well, if they will, they will! Give me now the names of the +Norfolk gentry would cast in their lot o' our side." He spread a +parchment on the table and drew pen and ink from his penner. + +"John de Montenay de Bokenham," said Wat. + +"Is 't so?" John Ball murmured, writing. "Methought he 'd come at t' +last." + +"Thomas de Gyssing." + +"Anon." + +"Sir Roger Bacon." + +"Nay, I had his name long since." + +"Then thou hast all others," Wat ended. + +Calote, standing by the table, listened. + +"Of Bury, now, what new citizens since I was prisoned last?" the +priest questioned. + +"Thomas Halesworth, John Clakke, Robert Westbron." + +"And these be fit to lead?" + +"Yea." + +"And who is messenger to run westward?" + +"John Smyth, parson,--hath a horse." + +"Ah! And for the north?" + +"John Reynolds of Bawdsey, and Walter Coselere; good runners, both." + +"Where is Jack Straw?" + +"In Northampton, hanging at the heels o' Parliament." + +But now came Calote with a question: "Shall the King be warned anew +afore the people rise?" + +"The King?" said John Ball, staring. + +"Yea; I give my message in the name of the King; I have his token." +She drew forth the horn. + +Wat Tyler was admonishing the priest, with nod of head and uplift of +eyebrow. + +"Oh, ay," John Ball said hastily; "I had forgot. Nay, we 'll wait and +let the people rise and seek him out. 'T will be time enough." + +"What was 't thou hadst forgot?" Calote queried. But she got no +answer, for the door burst open, and men and women came in and crowded +about John Ball and kissed his garment's hem. And in the same moment +the church-bell began to ring. + +"Ho, my brothers!" laughed the priest, "let be! I have not rung your +bell. The Archbishop hath long ears. 'T is not safe." + +"There be espiers set in every lane and the highway," said the +alewife. "They 'll give warning." + +So they carried him, protesting, laughing, up the village street to +the cross. + +That was a November day, gray, misty, chill. The trees were bare. The +earth was wet with the rain of yesternight. Weatherwise folk saw snow +in the clouds. + +"Come up hither!" said John Ball to Calote, and drew her after him to +the top step of the cross. "Have a care, the stone 's slippery." + +So, when she was steadied at his side, he turned to the waiting +villagers with:-- + +"Hark ye, good folk; I have no new thing to say. Hear this maid! 'T is +Long Will's daughter of London; hath journeyed far and wide throughout +England to learn men of fellowship. She shall speak." + +The people stared at him in wonder, and at her. Then he stepped down +and left her alone. + +She put the King's horn to her lips and blew a blast. + +"My message is from the King," she said. "He is on your side." + +There was a silence, and after, a shout. + +"The King! God save the King!" they cried. "Speak!--speak!" + +"The King is young, my brothers. He is a lad only; but he loveth his +people. He knoweth what is to be bound; doth not he live in bondage +likewise, and to these same nobles?" + +"Death!--death!" they shouted, but she lifted up her hands to still +them. + +"The King is of the noblesse; speak not of death, my brothers. I know +there shall be blood shed in this battle, for that the nobles hate us; +and when they see us uprisen, there shall be fear added unto hate, and +blows shall follow. But when we, being stricken, strike again, for +freedom and our brother, we shall remember that there is nor hate nor +fear in us. We are for love, my brothers; we are for fellowship; and +so it cometh to pass we cannot hate any man." + +They gaped upon her and said nothing. John Ball drew his hand across +his lips as to do away a smile; but his eyes were wet. + +"Thou, and thou, and thou, and I, my brothers, when we rise up, 't +shall be to mean that we have cast off hate; arisen out of that evil, +as the soul out of sinful body. Hate 's a clog; shall be no uprising +in England till we be set free from hate. We be villeins now, in +bondage to nobles and lords of manors; we do affirm we rise up for +freedom; but I ask ye, shall that be freedom which is but to turn +table and set the nobles in bondage under us?" + +"Ay, turn and turn about," cried a man in the crowd. "Let them taste +how 't is bitter!" + +Calote's eyes flashed. "Turn and turn about, sayst thou?" she +retorted; "and wilt thou be ready to go again into bondage when thy +turn cometh?" + +He growled and hung his head, and his neighbours laughed. + +"Hark ye, brothers; we do not rise up for to bind any man, noble or +villein, but for to set all England free. Let the King rule,--let the +knight keep the borders of the land rid of Frenchman and Scot,--let +the villein till his field for rent,"-- + +"Ay, ay, fourpence the acre!" said a villein. + +"Ay, ay!" the others cried, vehement. "'T is fair in reason, +fourpence, ay!"-- + +And then there came up the village street a clatter of hoofs, a man on +a white horse, and the espier running at his side. + +"Wat Tyler!--Wat Tyler!" cried the horseman. "Send one to Canterbury +and northward shall stop the Rising, or 't is too late. Poll-tax is +passed in Parliament at Northampton." + +'T was the peddler. + +Calote stared on him bewildered; he looked so strange. She had not +seen him since the day after she was come into London. Was this he? +Was it not rather,--but no! Her heart began to beat very fast, her +eyes were wide. The peddler drew his hood down over his face. Then +Calote was 'ware of a tumult among the people, and Wat Tyler's voice +upraised to still them, and John Ball standing again at her side on +the top step of the cross. + +"To London!--To London!" the people clamoured. "'T is +time!--London!--The King!" + +"Fools! I say 't is not yet!" shouted Wat. "I came to tell ye. We will +not rise this time. Word hath gone forth into the north and west to +still the people." + +"Traitor!--London! London!" they cried, closing about him. + +"Patience, brothers," he said. "We be no traitors, but wise. Hearken +to the maid! She hath been in east and west and north and south. Hear +her, wherefore she counselleth patience." + +The roar fell to a growl and anon to a muttering, and they turned +their angry faces to Calote. + +"Brothers," she said, "ye of Kent are ready. Yea, 't is very true. +Were all men so strong in fellowship as Kentish men, would be little +to fear. But in Essex men be not so well-fed, nor so wise. Kind-Wit +dwelleth not in their cots." + +The flushed faces that looked up to her grinned broadly. + +"'T is true," said one man, with a chuckle,--this was the espier, and +he had forgot to return to his post.--"A-most fools is outside o' +Kent." + +"These men of the eastern shires," the maid continued, "will have it +that fellowship is but leave to slay and burn, for sake of privé +wrong. They 'll use this word for a cloak to do murder and all those +other seven sins. Moreover, in the north there be few that will +rise,--and in the west they 're afeared.--Ye Kentish men are fearless, +but may Kent alone withstand the power of the noblesse? Willingly ye +'ll be slain for your brothers' sake,--oh, ye are brave men!--but what +avail to England if ye be slain? Who then shall deliver your brothers? +Be patient yet a little while." + +Some of them were sullen, others whispered together with rueful +countenance. She watched them for a little, then:-- + +"'T is for Kentish men to say if the Rising shall avail or come to +naught. Wise men are never rash. Moreover,--t' other side o' London, +word is already gone forth to stay the Rising. Will ye rise +alone,--one shire?" + +They hung their heads, foolish, sulky. + +Then said John Ball, "Who is this friendly messenger on a gentleman's +horse?" + +The peddler, as he were abashed, slipped from his steed to the ground. +But the crowd, diverted from their own discontent, pushed and pulled +him to the foot of the cross where stood John Ball. + +"Nay, then, uncover thy face, brother," said the priest, "'t is well +we know our friends." And with a large hand, courteous but not to be +gainsayed, he pushed back the peddler's hood, and there was revealed a +mop of light brown hair curled in the fashion of the court, and a fair +and gentlemanly countenance that flushed crimson beneath the +astonished gaze of John Ball. 'T would seem the peddler had departed +on his errand in haste, without one precaution. + +The crowd stared, open-mouthed. + +"Art thou a man of Kent?" Ball asked. + +"N-nay, father," stammered the peddler, and grew yet more red. + +"I 'll be sworn thou 'rt no villein," said the priest, very grim. + +The peddler glanced at Calote and dropped his eyes. + +"N-nay!" he murmured. + +"Wat!" called the priest; but one said, "Hath but now gone to spread +the alarm." + +"Art thou of the Fellowship, stranger?" John Ball questioned, sharp. + +Then did the peddler lift up his head, and looked the priest in the +eye: "In my heart am I of the Fellowship, but I have not given my hand +on 't," he said. + +John Ball laid hand on the peddler's shoulder and turned him about to +face the folk. + +"Knoweth any here this gentle, that would be of our Fellowship?" he +asked. + +The rustics pressed close, peered over other's shoulder, but at last +shook their heads. + +Then was there heard a faint voice, very shy, at the side of the +priest:-- + +"I know this gentle," said Calote. "If he giveth his hand in +fellowship--he will keep faith." + +There went up a murmur of amaze in the crowd, and John Ball looked +from Calote to the peddler and back again. + +"Is a disciple of my father," whispered Calote; and now was her face +as red as the peddler's. + +"What art thou called, friend?" asked the priest. + +"I am called Stephen Fitzwarine. I dwell in the King's palace; but I +abode one while in poor folks' cots; I know that they suffer. When 't +is time, I do purpose to stand by the villein that would be free"-- + +The Kentish men shouted, and pressed more close. + +"Meanwhile I may come at the King's ear. 'T were well there be one in +the palace at Westminster may be a m-mean twixt the King and the +commons, when peasants are risen up. I am for the Fellowship,--I will +keep faith. Here 's my hand." + +"Lay thy hand on this market cross, brother, and swear by the +rood," said John Ball. + +So Stephen went up the three stone steps and laid his hand upon the +arm of the cross, and:-- + +"By the Holy Rood, I swear," said he, "that I will keep faith with the +Fellowship and strive to set free villeins. Life and limb, body and +soul, give I in this cause." + +And all that throng of villagers burst out a-singing:-- + + "'When Adam delved and Eve span, + Who was then the gentleman?'" + +But now, by the way that the peddler had come,--the unwatched +way,--there came a band of horsemen suddenly, and rode into the midst +of the crowd. + +"Archbishop's men!" shrieked a woman. "Save John Ball!" + +There was no room to shoot the long-bow. + +"Though we rise not yet, we 'll maul 'em now," roared a man. + +But John Ball stayed him, stayed all.--"Not yet,--no blood shall flow. +We have need of strong men. Remember!" + +So, except a buffet here and there, pushing and hindrance, and loud +words, there was no battle. Women clung weeping to John Ball, but he +was bound and set on a horse. Then came the faithless espier and cast +himself down in the way of that horse, and was trampled and his skull +clove in. + +One of the soldiers ran to the cross and would have bound Calote, for +he said: "This wench also was speaking, exciting the people." But +Stephen thrust him off, and said he:-- + +"The damosel is in my care, Gybbe Pykerel; I 'll answer to the King as +concerning my loyauté and hers." + +"What!--Etienne Fitzwarine!" cried the man. "A frolic?--Eh, well!--I +'m Archbishop's man, 't is none of my devoir to meddle with King's +minions." + +And the priest being now fast bound, and all others in their saddles, +this soldier followed, and all rode forth of the village. But one +villein cried after them:-- + +"We have chose to let ye have him now, but 'ware the day when we come +to take him out o' Maidstone gaol! 'Ware the day!" + +Then they went to the espier, where he lay dead, and they lifted him +up and bore him within the church. + +"My horse!" cried the peddler. "Where is Blanchefleur, my d-destrier?" + +"Wat Tyler 's astride and halfway to Canterbury by this, brother," +said a woman. + +The peddler laughed,--was naught else to do. + +"Eh, well, mistress, thou and I must go afoot," quoth he to Calote; +"'t will not be the first time." + +He took her hand and she went with him meekly, as she were in a dream. +A little way beyond the village he led her off the road into a wood, +and there made her to sit down under a tree. He thrust a stopple of +dry leaves into the small end of the King's horn, and filled it with +water from a spring near by, which, when she had drunk, she smiled. +Whereupon the peddler cast him down on the grass at her feet and took +the dusty hem of her kirtle to his lips and held it there,--a-kissing +it; and once he sobbed. + +Presently she spoke, slow, softly, as one speaks looking backward into +memory:-- + +"In Devon I said,--he hath a mind, inward, like to Stephen's mind. But +if this were Stephen he 'd never cease to speak to me of love; so he 'd +be discovered. But thou didst never speak to me of love. In Cheshire I +said,--he hath given his all to buy the horn; presently he will ask +for my love to repay him. I was afeared. I said, I could love +him--were there no--Ah, 't is no matter what I said! At Yorkshire, at +the manor-house, 't was lonely. I--I thought on thee, and yet 't was +strange, I could not dispart thee from Stephen in my thought. I +said,--I know he will presently woo me, and what shall I say? Then I +began to see Stephen in thy face--and I was 'wildered sore. When I was +wearied with wanhope, 't was thou upheld the quarrel of the people. +Ah,--how couldst thou know how to do this if thou art Stephen? Stephen +is a squire in the King's palace! I said--what shall I do?--Did ever +maid love"--She hushed hastily and the colour flamed to her cheeks; +she made as to rise, but the peddler had her hands, he was on his +knees before her, looking in her eyes. + +"Nay,--m-make an end to 't!" he whispered. "Did ever a maid--what?" + +"I will not!"--she answered. "Let be!" + +"Wh-which is 't thou l-lovest? Speak!" + +"Wherefore wilt thou still mock me?" she cried in sudden anger, +freeing her hands. "Have done with thy halting speech!" + +He hung his head and knelt mute a moment,--then in a low voice, very +sorrowful, and painfully stammering, he said:-- + +"A-a-alas, mistress!--I c-cannot be rid of 't n-now. T-taketh me +unaware. If it of-fendeth thee, then indeed a-am I undone." + +She waited, aghast, watching him, but he knelt silent in his +dejection. + +"It doth not offend me," she said at last, wistfully; and he, looking +up, beheld her eyes full of tears. + +"Wilt thou h-have me?" he cried. + +And half laughing, half crying, she asked him: + +"Who art thou?" + +"Please God, I am him thou lovest," he answered; "Which is he?" + +She let him take her hands again. + +"I know not," she whispered. "But if 't is the peddler, I love him for +Stephen's sake,--and if 't is Stephen, for the peddler's sake I love +him." + + + + + CHAPTER X + + The Poets Sing to Richard + + +When Stephen had brought Calote safe out of Kent to the door of the +cot on Cornhill, they kissed the one the other and went their ways. + +"Another year, and I 'll be mine own man, lord of mine own manor, +which the Earl of March shall render to me; then we 'll be wed," quoth +Stephen. + +"And the villeins shall be freed?" said Calote. + +"Yea, of surety shall they," he answered. "Meanwhile, 't were wise I +dwell at Westminster. I 'm the one only man is King's friend and poor +man's friend, true alike to one and t' other. Richard hath need of +such an one." + +"Alack! tell me of the King," cried Calote. "Doth he forget?" + +"He 's young," Stephen made answer, unwilling; "he 's nor boy nor man. +He doth not forget, but he doth not any more believe, neither. He will +have it as how 't was child's prattle yonder in Malvern Chase. An they +'d give him work to do, he 'd grow to be a king; but the Council and +the great lords is afeared to let slip the reins. One day he 'll claim +his own, and God grant 't will not then be too late." + +"Child's prattle!" sighed Calote. "Harrow!" + +"Nay, be comforted!" pleaded Stephen. "This past month that I am come +back to court, he is uncertain. He plieth me with when and how. But +Robert de Vere is ever hanging on his neck; 't is not thrice in a week +I may come at him. Though he may not rule in vérité, he maketh bold +pretense; is naught but feasting and jollité from morn till night; +largess and bounty, and wanton dispending of the gold wherefore the +people is taxed. He hath in mind to bid thee and thy father to court +one day, to sing to him and run a tilt of song with Master Chaucer." + +After this Stephen betook him to Westminster, and November was past +and gone, and the blessed Nativité and mummers of Twelfth Night were +past; and all this great while Calote was in and out of London, +bearing the message and binding the Brotherhood. Wat Tyler bode with +her whithersoever she went, in Essex and Norfolk and Suffolk, and +southward into Kent, and back again to London. She would not go alone +with Jack Straw, wherefore he was very wroth. And what though Calote +kept tryst once, twice, thrice, with the peddler, she did not tell him +as how she was afeared of Jack Straw; for that she knew Jack Straw had +it in his heart to slay the peddler, if so he might take him unaware. + +So all that winter the people was making them ready. There were +certain aldermen of London also that were of the Great Society. At +their houses were met together the leaders, to discover how best +London should be taken; and they said it must be when such an one was +Alderman of Bridge, for by the Bridge was the surest way to come into +the city for to take it. + +Now it was marvel that the lords paid no heed, for, albeit these +things were done privily, they might not be altogether hid. No man +rode the highway half a mile but he happed upon strange adventure, as +of a preacher preaching; or of villeins gathered together in a +company, clasping hands and swearing strange oaths; or of a bailiff +gagged and helpless, his wallet empty. Moreover, it was rumoured at +court as how the peasants would rise. But this was not to be believed. +If the nobles thought on it, 't was to jest. What though dark looks +followed after them when they rode abroad,--was not the peasant ever a +sulky churl? What though there was a whispering in tavern and +town,--the villein had grumbled these thirty years and more. As they +that have eyes and see not, were the lords, and having ears yet they +did not hear. + +Meanwhile, the tax was a-gathering. But whether 't was true, what the +people said, that a-many had died since the last census,--or whether +the census was ill-taken, or whether the blame was to the +tax-gatherer;--and the people declared this also, that he stole from +the King's coffers to fill his own pouch;--whether for one cause or +other, 't is certain the money came not in, and there was fret and +stir in the King's Council. And about this time, which was the month +of March, Will Langland and his daughter Calote had word that they +should go to the palace at Westminster to stand before the King. + +In the great chamber where the King would come to hear his minstrels, +there were two gentlemen, and at the threshold of the door two +squatting pages that played at hazard with dice. These, when they saw +that Calote and her father were common folk, did them no courtesy, but +they stared idly on Calote, and thrust forth a toe to trip the page +that showed the way; which, when he had avoided, he said to Long +Will:-- + +"Ye are betimes. The King is shut in the Council Chamber, and the +Queen-Mother is gone with her ladies to hear Vespers in the Chapel. 'T +is in this place ye shall attend." + +So he left them, and as he went out at the door he kicked the dice to +right and left across the room; then took to his heels hastily. + +One of the gentlemen stood within the splay of a window looking forth; +and if he were a merchant or a scholar 't were no easy matter to tell. +He wore a long gown of fine cloth, furred, and a collar of gold about +his throat, and a long gold chain, and his hair laid very soft and +curling on his shoulders; he had a countenance sober and comely; his +eye was not dull, nor mirthful neither. He looked aside indifferent at +Long Will and the maid, and again out of window. Presently he took +from his girdle a parchment and began to con it. Then Calote turned +her to the other gentleman and met his eyes fixed upon her, and +immediately he gave her a look that glanced forth friendly-wise, merry +and shy, as 't were a finger that beckoned. Anon he had bent his head +and was scribbling very fast in a tablet against his knee. This +gentleman was not so tall as that other; neither was he slender and +slim, but wide in his waist, full-girded. His short gown was gray, and +the penner stuck awry upon his breast, black were his hosen, and his +shoes gray, but scarlet on their edges. His forked beard was already +grizzled, howbeit he was not an old man;--not so old as Will Langland, +haply, nor so care worn; but beneath the cap that he wore in the +fashion of Italy with the tail of it wound about his neck, the hair +above his ears was likewise grizzled. + +Long Will had drawn a stool within a niche and was set down to his +copying; and Calote stood near him for a little, but the pictured tale +on the tapestries drew her away that she must needs leave her place to +see, and she walked down the room and up again, marvelling. And when +she was come nigh to where the little round gray man sat a-scribbling; +nevertheless he was not so busy but he was 'ware of her and looked up +sidewise with a smile. Then, on a sudden, he had taken the long rope +of her hair, and he shook it gently and laughed. + + "Her yellow hair was braided in a tresse, + Behind her back, a yarde long I guesse," + +quoth he; and anon, "Saint Mary,--'t is a good line! I 'll write it +down." Whereupon he did, and Calote ran back to her father, +rosy-flushed, yet nowise frighted--for this was a friendly wight. + +"Who 's yon, father?" she asked. "The gray one; hath so merry and +all-seeing eyen?" + +Long Will looked up, a-gathering slow his wits: + +"Yon 's Master Chaucer," he said at last. + +"Mary Mother!" gasped the maid: and the gray one, looking up across, +caught her with mouth and eyes wide, whereat he threw back his head +and, though he made no sound, she knew he laughed. + +Now came in Master Walworth, Mayor of London, and Nicholas Brembre, +sometime Mayor,--merchants these and very loyal true to King Richard. +Sir John Holland came in also, and the Earl of Kent, half-brothers to +the King, and of other gentlemen nigh a score, dressed very gay in +silk and broidery. They loitered up and down by twos and threes, +giving good day and tossing jests as light as tennis balls. There was +not one but flung a word of welcome right joyously to Master Chaucer +where he sat withdrawn. 'T would seem he was friend to all. Calote, +behind her father's stool, a-peering over his bent head, marvelled to +see all sneers and gleams of malice, all sullen pride, evanished from +every face that looked Dan Chaucer's way. As one will smooth his +wrinkled heart and countenance if a child draw near, so smoothed these +courtiers their visage, inward and outward, to an honest smile, to +greet this modest, merry little man in gray. + +"He 's a very wizard," whispered Calote. + +"Who?" said Long Will, and following her gaze, "Ah, he!"-- + +"Thou dost love him, father?" + +"Dost not thou?" + +"Yea," she faltered; "but wherefore?" + +"'T is God's gift," he sighed. "This is to be a poet." + +"But thou art a poet, father," she whispered. + +"And men do not love me." + +"They do,--ah,--all poor folk!" + +He turned his head to look in her eyes: "What matter?" he said gently. +"I 'd liefer be Will Langland. He--yonder--'s missed somewhat." + +But now there was a rustle without the door and a parting to right and +left adown the hall. An usher cried: "The Queen!" And Joanna the Fair +and her ladies came in with flutter of veils and flirting of skirts. +And lo! one of the ladies was Godiyeva from the lonely manor-house in +Yorkshire. + +Then there began a buzzing of tongues and bowing of knights and +squires. The sober gentleman in the furred gown ceased to con his +parchment and went and kissed the Queen's hand; so likewise did Dan +Chaucer, but thereafter withdrew again to his quiet corner. + +"The King not come?" said his mother. + +"He 's in Council, madame," made answer Sir John Holland; "there hath +been discovered a flaw in the poll-tax, and they seek a remedy." + +She shrugged her shoulders, and looked about her on the company. Said +she: "Is 't a jongleuse,--yonder,--beside the tall clerk?" For, by +this, Will Langland was on his feet, as were all they in the Queen's +presence. + +"Madame!" cried Godiyeva, "'t is a glee-maid dwelt with us in +Yorkshire last year at Ascension-tide; told us a tale of Piers +Ploughman, and how the peasant should make laws in England." + +"Pah!--I am sick of these peasant tales!" said the Queen. "Gentlewomen +may not ride abroad, but they must set a flappet on their ears to +smother the foul songs and catchwords of villeins. England pampereth +her common folk to her cost. In Gascony, when the Black Prince was +alive, 't was not thus we ruled. Saint Denys! 't is said these churls +do beat and maul the King's officers that come to do the King's +business and gather his moneys." + +"Wilt thou that I put forth the wench, madame?" questioned Sir John. + +His brother of Kent laughed and clapped him on the back. + +"Nay, pray you pardon, madame," said a chamberlain; "the damsel, and +the clerk her father, is sent for of the King. 'T is whispered the +tall fellow will tilt with Dan Chaucer." + +The Queen and all her ladies laughed, and Calote, marking their eyes +cast scornful upon her, drew back to hide behind her father. + +"This is Etienne Fitzwarine's doing," said the Queen. "I cannot abye +him since he 's returned from pilgrimage." + +"Natheless, 't is a maid hath a kindly heart," said Godiyeva. "Did me +and my sisters a good turn I 'll not forget." + +"Wilt speak with her, mistress? I 'll bring her," quoth Sir John. + +But the Queen stayed him with a frown and "Let be!" and when she had +looked beyond Calote she saw the sober gentleman that stood not far +off, and to him she beckoned, smiling:-- + +"A ballad, Master Gower,--nay, leave excuse; thy French is not of +Paris,--'t is a fault forgiven long since and thrice o'er;--abate!" + +So this sober gentleman that was Master Gower sat him down lowly at +the feet of Joanna the Fair, and having thrust his finger in his gold +collar, as it choked him, anon he began:-- + + "Au mois de Mars, u tant y ad nuance + Puiss resembler les douls mais que j'endure:" + +"Saint Denys!" cried the Queen, "if we must endure the winds and woes +of March in vérité, yet may we escape them in song. Shall not the poet +defy the calendar?" + +"Yea, madame, shall he," assented Master Gower, very humble, "an his +lady will. He 'll sing of May." + +"Ay, do!" said the Queen. + +Calote looked on Master Chaucer and caught his eyes a-twinkle; but +immediately he had bent his head to stare on the ground; and John +Gower was begun anew:-- + + "Pour comparer ce jolif temps de Maii, + Jeo le dirrai semblable a Paradis; + Cars lors chantont et Merle et Papegai, + Les champs sont vert, les herbes sont floris, + Lors est nature dame du paiis; + Dont Venus poignt l'amant au tiel assai, + Q'encontre amour n'est qui poet dire Nai." + +The King stood by the door, with finger on lip to still the +chamberlain, but now he came into the hall betwixt Robert de Vere and +Etienne Fitzwarine, and he hung upon Etienne's arm:-- + +"Mes amis, I crave pardon of my discourtesy," he said, laughing; "but +what would you? Robert Hales did threat me he 'd have this my new cote +hardie in pawn to the Lombards for to pay England's debt, but if I +would not give ear to this folly of the poll-tax. And if treasury 's +empty, 't is Robert Hales must know, he keeps the key. Natheless, +Simon Sudbury hath took pity on me, and I 'm scaped with the coat on +my back." + +This cote hardie was of velvet, white, thick encrusted with +jewels,--pearls and blue stones. Richard's hosen were azure, and his +shoes cloth-of-silver with Paul's windows carven on them, the toes of +them turned upward and clasped to golden chains that hung from his +knees, for the more ease in walking. He greeted his mother and bent +above her hand, then sat him down in his chair beside hers on the +dais, and Robert de Vere unchained his shoes. + +"Etienne," said the King. Stretching forth one leg and the other to de +Vere, he spoke behind his hand to Stephen, who presently, but with a +sour visage, strode down the hall to the place where Long Will stood, +and Calote sheltered behind his skirts. + +"Thou must to the dais; 't is the King's pleasure," said Stephen. + +"Nay, not I," she pleaded, "not in this company. 'T is my father shall +tell a tale to the King." + +"Sweet, we may not gainsay the King in this matter," Stephen made +answer, sad. "Have no fear; shall none harm come to thee." + +So she went with him and kneeled down before the King, and Richard, +when he had lifted her up, said:-- + +"Look ye, mes doux amis, this damsel, when that my grandfather Edward +lay dead, was first in England to do me homage." He bent his head as +he were musing, and then: "She told me I should be a great King." His +mouth and eyes smiled whimsical; anon, looking to the door of the +Council Chamber whence he was come, he flung forth his arm: "Yonder +'s the King!" he said. "Hath as many heads as old dragon, and every +head gnaweth other.--Natheless,"--and now he set his chin +defiant,--"natheless, I have not signed Richard's name to this remedy +of the poll-tax." Then, swift, defiance melted, and his lips curled to +a rueful smile,--"Not yet." + +"Alack, for the cote hardie!" murmured de Vere; but Richard turned on +him:-- + +"Have it, thou!" he cried. "I am anoint; what though I rule England +body-naked,--I 'm a king." He made as to do off the coat, but when the +Queen said: "Sire, my Lord of Oxford can wait; 's not a-cold," he +laughed and buttoned it again. + +"Tell them who 's a-cold," he said to Calote. "Tell them, as thou hast +told me that day long since,--as Etienne hath told me this seven month +he 's come home. Last night in my dream I heard a bell tolling, out of +the midst of jollité; and one said that King Richard had betrayed his +people and was dead." + +"Richard, sire, sweet son!" the Queen protested. "How dost thou abash +this fair company with thy mournful speech. Is 't for this cause we +are met together, to prate of pauvreté? We be bounteous almsgivers, +all. Here am I foiled of the ending of good Master Gower's +ballad,--and Dan Chaucer bretful of new tales." + +"I pray you pardon, madame, I had forgot," Richard said soberly, and +sat him down again at her side. "This business of the tax hath fretted +me. 'T is weary waiting, to sit by the while counsellors wrangle. But +if they knew that that I know!"--He clenched his right hand, then +shook himself with an impatient sigh: "Where is thy father, +maiden,--he that writ the Vision concerning Piers Ploughman,--is he +here? Let him come hither, Etienne." + +"Nay, Richard, 't is a mournful Vision," the Queen began; "Master +Chaucer will tell us a merrier tale. Let us have done with sad +thoughts." + +"Madame, though I may not rule England but by the will of my Council, +I pray you give me leave to be so far a king that I may choose mine +own minstrels and mine own thoughts. Give you good day, friend; so, +thou art Long Will,--well named." + +Langland was come by now to the dais and kneeled down; but presently +he arose and stood a little way off in the midst of the hall, where +was a space cleared. And all the court eyed him curiously; for many +knew him, having seen him in London streets. So he began to tell the +fable of the rats that would have belled the cat. + +Calote went pale, then red. Stephen bit his lip. Up and down the hall +men stirred with covert smiles and drooping eyes that glanced secretly +at the King. There were not a-many folk in England, noble or peasant, +but they had heard this fable. Nevertheless, now was the first time +ever a minstrel had made bold to tell it at court. Richard's eyes +laughed; he sat with his elbow on the arm of the chair, his chin in +his hand, looking out upon his courtiers. Of these, Dan Chaucer only +stared open on the singer, and he with a frown betwixt his brows, as +he were knocking at memory's door. + + "For a cat of a court came when him liked," + +said Will Langland,-- + + "And overleapt them lightly and caught them at his will, + And played with them perilously and pushed them about." + +As it had been the Gospel at Mass, very solemn he said it and all that +came after: as how these rats took counsel together to rid them of the +cat, and in the end was found none so bold to hang the bell about the +cat's neck.--And of all that company none laughed, excepting it were +Dan Chaucer, and he silently, that his belly shook, and not at the +tale neither, but to see this threadbare clerk making a mock of +England afore the King's face. For all they knew well the cat was to +mean old Edward; and for the kitten, he also was known. + +Said Will:-- + + "'Where the cat is but a kitten the court is very miserable;' + Witness of holy writ who so can read + _Ue terre ubi puer est rex: Salamon_." + +"Natheless, Sir Poet," Richard said soft, "when the kitten is grown to +be a cat, haply he 'll mend his ways." + +"Sire, a cat is a cat," quoth Will. + +The King flushed and tapped his foot on the floor, but when his mother +would have risen up in anger, he stayed her with:-- + +"Patience, Madame; Dan Chaucer shall have his turn." And to Will he +said: "So, friend, what though thou tweak my tail, I 'll not use my +claws," and held out his hand, the which Will Langland kissed and +returned to his place by the wall, with a smile, very sad, a-shining +out of his eyes. + +"Sire," said Chaucer, "I 've a fable; 't is not yet told in this +company, nor writ neither." + +Thereupon he began to speak concerning a poor widow that had a +barnyard and a cock,-- + + "His comb was redder than the fine coral, + And battled as it were a castle wall." + +Anon, Master Chaucer was this very Chaunteclere, a-strut in barnyard. +And immediately that uneasy silence that held the court was lifted, +and all men tiptoed to see,--and had well-nigh drowned the voice of +Chaunteclere in their laughter. Then was the poet suddenly transformed +unto Dame Pertelote, the hen,-- + + "... discreet, and debonnaire, + And companable,"-- + +that hearkened the dream of her lord and counselled him to eat +elderberry and ivy and other such herbs for to cure his +digestion.--And the Queen and her ladies might not stint the tears +that rolled adown their faces for joy of this tale. + +But when Sir Chaunteclere was cozened to sing for Dan Russel the +fox,-- + + "And on a Friday fell all this mischance,"-- + +then leaned those courtiers one upon another with groaning and gasping +of mirth to see how Master Chaucer-- + + "... stood high upon his toes, + Stretching his neck, and held his eyen close, + And gan to crowe loude for the nonce." + +And in the chase, not Chaucer only but all they must needs roar,-- + + "Out! harrow and wayleway!" + +And Richard a-slapping his leg and crying,-- + + "Ha, ha, the fox!" + +Now, in the end the fox was undone,--for he opened his mouth to +speak,--and + + "This cock brake from his mouth delyverly"-- + +Then saith Reynard:-- + + "God give him mischaunce, + That is so undiscreet of governaunce, + That jangleth, when he shoulde hold his peace." + +And all men turned to look on Will Langland. But when Master Chaucer +saw this, he put up his hand in a protest, and laughing he said:-- + +"Nay, lordings, lay not this at my door that I should trespass o' John +Gower's launde, which is to meddle with my brother's mote." And he +went up to Long Will, and saith he:-- + +"Thou and I are old friends. Thou 'rt that singer of Malvern. Dost +remember me, who I am?" + +"The lark,--art thou," said Will gently. + +"Cuckoo, cuckoo!" quoth Master Chaucer, and stretching a-tiptoe he +kissed Will Langland o' both cheeks. + +But now were they 'ware of Richard's voice; and he sat scowling in his +chair, with Simon Sudbury--that was Archbishop of Canterbury--bending +above, a parchment in his hand. + +"Let the Council wait," said Richard. + +"Sire, I have here the paper and a pen; do but sign thy name and I 'll +no longer trouble thy merry-making;" urged the Archbishop. + +The King took the pen very peevish, and, "Bring hither a stool, +Etienne, or tablets," he fretted; "how may I sign on my knee?" + +Then he began to read the paper, and anon he cried, "Etienne, Etienne, +shall we sign?--I like it not." + +"Nay, Richard," the Queen admonished him, "hast thou not able +counsellors, that thou must make a jest of so weighty matters with +popinjays? My Lord Archbishop waits. Make an end, sweet son, and let +us sup." + +But the boy was in no mood to be ruled by his mother. + +"Master Chaucer 's a gray-beard,--hath done me good service," he +said.--"What sayst thou, Poet?" + +"Sire,--these five year I 've been about thy business in France and +Flanders and Italy; I may not speak with sureté concerning what hath +happed,--or shall be to hap,--in England. Natheless, of all peasant +folk in all lands ever I saw, our folk of England is most sturdy, +honest, true. Take them to thy friend, King Richard." + +"Which is to say," quoth Richard,--and made as he would rend the +parchment. + +"My Lord!" cried Simon the Archbishop, and took it hastily out of his +hand. + +Richard laughed and kicked over the stool; then turned he sudden on +Will Langland with: + +"Prythee, Master Clerk, what will the people do if we send again to +Essex and Kent to protest that the poll-tax be paid?" + +"Sire," said Long Will, "they will do that God or the Devil putteth in +their hearts to do." + +"But what is 't? Art not thou a prophet?" + +"Of God, sire,--not of the Devil." + +"Thy silence commendeth thee, Master Clerk," said the Archbishop. +"This stubborn people is surely ridden of the Devil." + +"Nay, my lord," Will answered, "I did not say so." + +"A plague take thy riddles," exclaimed the King. "Speak plain!" + +Thereupon came Long Will forth to the dais, and out of the midst of a +silence he said:-- + +"O Richard the Redeless, who am I to give thee counsel? Pity thyself, +that thou knowest not thyself. How may a man rule a kingdom, that +knoweth not to govern his own soul?" + +No man dared breathe. Richard sat gripping the arms of his chair; his +eyes were fixed wide open upon Langland, and tears came up in them, so +that they shone very large. + +"How!"--he assented huskily. + +Then at sight of those tears and that white young face of his King, +Will Langland groaned, and a rage seized upon him so that he turned +about, and lifting up his arm in menace of all that company, he cried +out:-- + +"Cursed be ye, defilers! Cursed, cursed,--betrayers of children!--Ye +that corrupt kings! I hear ye weep and pray for mercy,--and the people +shall pour out your wealth like water, the river shall swallow it up. +The sky is red!--Lo, fire,--fire!--And the riches of the nobles, and +the thievings of the merchants, are smoke and ashes! Woe unto you, +lawyers,--your wise-heads shall hop, but your feet shall lie still +upon the stones. Woe unto you, priests, bishops,--the people have +found you out!--Cursed"-- + +"Blasphemer!" cried the Archbishop; and at this word there +broke out a torrent of sounds; men crying, "Madman!"--"Seize +him!"--"Traitor!"--and women screaming. + +Calote came up close to her father and clasped her hands about his +arm; and he, shaking as with a palsy, drew one hand across his eyes as +he would dispart a mist. + +"I have spoken," he said, and swayed uncertain. + +Then Calote was 'ware of Master Chaucer on his other hand, who +steadied him that he should not fall. + +"Sire," said the Archbishop, "this man hath cursed Holy Church and +impeached the counsellors of the King. He is a traitor to God and to +England. He is mine to"-- + +But now Mayor Walworth was come in great haste to the dais, and +kneeled down, and "Pray you, mercy, sire," he cried. "This man is +well-beloved in the city; and is this a time to stir up London? He is +a little mad, but I know him for an honest fellow,--the prentices will +not brook"-- + +"Peace!" said Richard. "Wherefore shall I bear him malice that is +become my champion? Peace, gentles! My Lord Archbishop, let 's +chaffer:--do thou give me thy blasphemer, and I 'll sign the +parchment." + +For answer Simon, still red and breathing noisily, knelt and gave up +the roll, whereupon the King set it open on the stool again and dipped +pen in penner. Afore him kneeled Etienne Fitzwarine, and steadied the +stool, for that one leg was shorter than other two. Then said Etienne, +very low:-- + +"My lord, d-do not sign this paper." + +"And the man is father to thy lady?" quoth Richard. + +"Though he were mine own f-father and his life hung on 't, natheless, +sire, for England's sake must I beseech you, d-do not sign. 'T is to +be f-feared the people will be wroth if men be sent into Essex and +Kent to require this tax anew. They declare they have paid once, and +they will not pay ag-g-gain. They will rise. O sire,--have a care!" + +"Coeur de joie!--Rise, sayst 'ou?" Richard cried. "Rise!--Do I not +await this Rising these three year? Ha, ha!--'T is full time to sign +my name! So be it.--My lords, do ye believe this people is so +bold?--Nor I!--Ha, ha!--They 'll never do 't, Etienne.--But if my pen +shall prick them on, why, there 's the King's name!--Rise!" + +He flung the parchment to the Archbishop, and gave his hand to his +mother to lead her forth to sup. + +In the doorway Master John Gower awaited that Long Will came forth. + +"Tell me, friend, dost know aught of this rising whereof men prate?" +said he. "If 't is true,--but how were that to be believed,--I have +manors in Kent, 't behoveth me"-- + +"What I know 't were long to tell," Will answered, and left him +standing. + + + + + PART III + + The Rising + + "Now, Richard the redeles reweth on you-self, + That lawelesse leddyn your lyf and your peple bothe." + + _Richard the Redeless._ + PASSUS I. + + "Who so wil be pure parfyt mote possessioun forsake." + + _The Vision Concerning Piers Plowman._ + B. PASSUS XI. + + + + + CHAPTER I + + The Beginning + + +So it came about that the Council bade search if any had not paid the +tax, and to compel him. And around and about London there arose a +muttering, waxed louder and yet more loud. Nevertheless, April was +past, and May was well-nigh past; but then the men of Fobbing in Essex +drove the collector of the tax out of Bampton town. And, after this, +the people began to rise by little and little, as it were a fire +creeping in the grass. And what man soever laboured to appease the +people, 't was not Jack Straw. When June was begun, he came to +Cornhill bringing news. Quoth he:-- + +"The people is gone forth to take Rochester Castle." + +Calote stayed the twirl of her distaff; Kitte leaned on her besom; +Long Will pushed away parchment and fixed his eyes on Jack Straw. "'T +was Sir Simon de Burley came down to Gravesend," said Jack; "had a man +in the town,--a runaway. The folk of Gravesend are friendly,--they +would have bought him free. 'Three hundred pound,' saith Sir +Simon.--Three hundred pound!" + +"And this man was not worth three hundred pound?" Will questioned. + +"Pah!" said Jack Straw, and spat on the floor. "Misread me an thou +wilt.--Sir Simon 's off to Rochester with his man. Hark ye,--the +people is up! The people is up, I say!" + +"Wat Tyler hath not given the sign," said Calote. + +Jack laughed softly. "And if Wat lag, shall there not be found others, +leaders?" he asked. + +"I hate thee, Jack Straw!" Calote cried out. "I hate thee!" + +He went up to her where she stood, and thrust his face down close to +her face:-- + +"Methought 't was loving was thy business. 'Wait till all England hath +learned to love,' quotha.--Jack's patient, mistress; hath awaited +these three year and more. Now 't is thou must learn. Jack shall teach +thee." + +Will Langland had arisen and strode swift to Jack, and he laid hand on +his neck and shook him to and fro that his teeth chattered; and in the +midst of this shaking the door burst open, and there came in Hobbe and +a young rustic that panted to take breath. + +"Here 's one seeketh Calote," said Hobbe. + +Then the runner cried between gasp and gasp: + +"Thus saith Wat Tyler to the maid Calote, 'It is an end. Now let the +people arise. I have given the sign!'" + +"Ah, Christ!" said Calote. + +"Thus saith Wat Tyler to him men call Long Will, 'Thou hast a +daughter. What wilt thou do if she be mishandled?'" + +Will thrust Jack Straw from him that he fell on his knees by the wall. + +"'What wilt thou do?'" cried the runner. "'Wilt not thou--even +thou--slay the man? And what shall Wat Tyler do that is no clerk, but +one itching for war? And I have a daughter,' saith Wat Tyler, 'but she +is avenged. The man is slain. This man came in to gather the tax,--and +I heard my daughter cry out.--Prate no more of love. I have slain the +man. I have given the sign.' This is the word of Wat Tyler." + +Calote flung up her two arms with a cry, and there was joy and the +sound of a sob in that cry:-- + +"Father, father!" she said; "'t has come,--'t has come! O Jesu, Mary, +forgive,--but I am glad;--I 'm glad!--I 'm glad!" + +And with her face in her father's breast she began to shake and to cry +and to laugh, all in one breath. + +But now there came in another man, running, and-- + +"Will Langland," said he, "here 's letters from John Ball. Of these +shalt thou make a fair copy, and they shall be sent forth into the +villages to north of here and west, to be read in taverns and +churchyards." + +"Where is John Ball?" asked Will, and took the letters. + +"Yestermorn he was in Maidstone jail, but by now,--eh, well,--Wat +Tyler 's gone thither hastily. I had these of the priest out of +window, when I told him Rochester Castle is ta'en." + +"Is ta'en!" cried all they together. + +"Yea.--'Bid Wat come quickly to set me free,' saith John Ball,--'and +for the letters, Long Will shall copy.'" + +"Read!" said Hobbe. + +So Will read:-- + +"'John Schep, sometime Saint Mary's priest of York, and now of +Colchester, greeteth well John Nameless and John the Miller and John +Carter, and biddeth them that they beware of guile in borough, and +stand together in God's name, and biddeth Piers Ploughman go to his +work, and chastise well Hob the Robber, and take with you John Trueman +and all his fellows and no mo; and look sharp you to one-head and no +mo.'" + +Then in that company all, as with one voice, chaunted the end of this +letter, which was:-- + + "'John the Miller hath y ground small, small, small, + The King's son of heaven shall pay for all. + Be ware or ye be wo, + Know your friend from your foe. + Have enough and say 'ho!' + And do well and better and flee sin, + And seek peace and hold therein. + And so bid John Trueman and all his fellows.'" + +They looked one on another with faces a little pale:-- + +"'T has come," they said. "Read on, Will!" And anon he read the second +letter:-- + +"'Jack Milner asketh help to turn his milne aright. He hath grounden +small, small. The King's son of heaven he shall pay for all. Look thy +milne go aright, with the four sails, and the post stand in +steadfastness. With right and with might, with skill and with will, +let might help right and skill go before will and right before might, +then goeth our milne aright. And if might go before right, then is our +milne misadight.'" + +"John Ball hath rungen our bell," said Hobbe. "I 'll go beat a +ploughshare," and went out. + +Also the two messengers kissed either other and clipt close, and +after, departed. + +Will Langland took from his pouch a fresh parchment and made ready to +copy the letters, his daughter leaning against his knee. By the wall +sat Jack Straw a-sulking, his legs sprawled wide, his chin in his +chest, his eyes watchful. Kitte took her besom and swept the floor. + +And now there came in another from Cornhill; he wore the badge of the +white hart on his sleeve. + +"Rochester Castle is ta'en!" he said. + +And Calote ran to him, and "O Stephen!" she cried, "the message is +gone forth! The people is rising!" + +They stood agaze, each on other, joy of the coming battle in their +young eyes. Then they kissed. + +Jack Straw got to his feet with a bound:-- + +"Thou,--thou,--thou!" he gasped.--"Spy!--Cokenay!--Thou?" + +So he began to laugh his soft laughter, and turned him to Calote +with:-- + +"Two year!--And this was his pilgrimage,--to lie under hedge with"-- + +But Stephen had sprung upon him and they clinched, rocking this way +and that, the while Calote wrung her hands. + +Long Will would have meddled in that mêlée to thrust apart those two, +but Kitte caught his arm:-- + +"Let be!" she said. "The squire 's better man! he 'll win." + +And so it was, for Jack Straw knew not to wrestle; he was a lean, pale +wight. He had a bodkin in his belt, but was not time to draw, and +presently he lay on the floor, face down, and Stephen on his back, +kneeling. + +"Now say thy prayer!" said Stephen. + +"Nay,--for Jesus' sake!" cried Calote. "Bethink what shall befal if +this man is slain. He hath a ményé to follow him in the Rising. Let +not confusion come upon them. Remember the Rising! Stephen, +Stephen,--now is no time to 'venge privé wrong! We have need of men +shall lead.--What though this man hath evil in him,--yet do the people +follow him in a good cause." + +"'T is very true," Stephen answered, thoughtful. "If he be slain, how +shall the people understand? Eh, well,--sweetheart,--for Piers +Ploughman and all our brothers' sake,--I 'll be patient." + +And when he had arisen he kicked Jack Straw: "Get up, carroigne!" he +said. + +Jack Straw crawled to the door. + +"Never fear, wench," said he, "I 've no mind to marry and be cuckold." + + + + + CHAPTER II + + Blackheath + + +On a Wednesday, being the twelfth day of June in that year, which was +the fourth year of King Richard II., Wat Tyler and John Ball set up +two great banners of Saint George on Blackheath, which was a moor that +lay to southward of London, distant from the Bridge by the highway +five mile. And thither came folk from north and south all that day, +and encamped round about those two banners. Calote was there, and +Stephen, and Long Will, to see them come in. Now 't was a band out of +Surrey, singing as they marched:-- + + "When Adam delved and Eve span, + Who was then the gentleman?" + +Now 't was foresters from the Weald, threescore and more. Anon, the +men that had seen the siege and the taking of Rochester Castle came +in; and these went about from one to other of the bands, telling their +tale, leaping in air and shouting as they were mad. Villeins and free +labourers of Sussex by score and by hundred came. + +"John Ball hath rungen our bell!" they said; "John Ball hath rungen +our bell!" + +"H-how shall these men be fed?" Stephen asked John Ball. + +"London shall"--John Ball began, but he looked on Stephen and stayed +his speech; and quoth he presently: "So 't is thou?" + +For, albeit Stephen had donned his tabard and coarse hosen, his hair, +which was of a pale brown colour like to the King's, was curled very +daintily; and he had a girdle, the which peasants might not wear, and +a short sword therein and a dagger. + +"Yea, 't is I, Stephen Fitzwarine," he said. "W-Will Langland shall +speak for me that I be ever true man." + +"He saith soth," Will answered; "'t is a very gentleman and our +brother." + +"Yea," affirmed Wat, who was come up. "Were all the King's servants +like to this one, our daughters"--But then he broke forth into cursing +and crying out upon God and Christ Jesus very blasphemously, that +Calote wept to hear. Long Will went aside with him to speak comfort, +and John Ball turned again to Stephen. + +"Art thou even now of the household of the King? 'T is very well. We +have sent a message to the King to pray him that he come hither to +speak with us concerning this Rising and a remedy. Do thou go up and +be seen o' the river shore when he cometh; haply he 'll come the more +willingly an he see a friend." + +"Let the maid go with me," said Stephen. "She hath a token from +Richard; her word also will he trust." + +So Calote and Stephen went up to Thames by the Rotherhithe shore, and +as they went they met a great rout of Essex men come across the river. +They had three bloody heads on poles, the which they bore for banners, +and these were three clerks that served the tax-collector was driven +out of Brentwood the last week in May. Crows flew squawking round +about these heads. Meanwhile, the men strode on, chaunting:-- + +"'Jack Trueman doth you to understand that falseness and guile have +reigned too long.'" + +And they told Stephen and Calote as how other Essex men were encamped +t' other side the river before Aldgate, to keep the city from that +side. And these other were Jack Straw's men. + +And Calote and Stephen went down to the water's edge and stood with +the throng that waited for the King. + +An hour they waited, singing, jostling, and in the end the royal barge +came down the river with Richard standing in the prow, and that old +warrior and very perfect gentleman, the Earl of Salisbury, at his +right hand. In the midst of the boat Sudbury stood, and Hales, and +when the folk on shore saw these two they set up a shout of-- + +"Traitors!--Give up the traitors!--The Chancellor!--The +Chancellor!--Poll-tax is his!--'T is Simon Sudbury taxed us!--They +shall be slain!" + +Whereupon my Lord of Salisbury made a sign to the rowers that they +should cease rowing, which they did, and the barge stood still in the +stream. + +"How shall these jack-fools be hushed?" said Stephen. "They spoil +all!" + +Then Calote wound the King's horn, once, twice, thrice, and in the +silence that followed after, Stephen put his hand to his mouth and +shouted: "A parley! A parley!" and after: "My Lord King, beseech thee +come hither, and alone, to speak with thy people. Shall none harm come +to thee." + +"A demand most uncourtly strange, Etienne Fitzwarine," cried the Earl +of Salisbury, "that the King's person be sent unguarded among a pack +of rebels. It may not be." + +"My lord, now is no time to be nice in small matters. Moreover, these +be not rebels, but loyal, true lovers of the King." + +"Yea,--yea!--God save the King!" shouted the mob. "Let our King come +to us that we may advise him of our wrongs." + +From where they stood on shore they could see Richard in the barge, +how he laid his hand on my Lord Salisbury's arm and spoke earnestly +with him. But my Lord of Salisbury shook his head, and the Archbishop +and John Hales came up a little way into the prow, as they were +pleading and craving a boon. + +"This thing is not possible, that the body of our King should be +delivered to ruffians and staff-strikers," called out the Earl of +Salisbury yet again. "We, being his true servants and guardians, dare +not do this thing; for if so be any harm come to him, all England will +lay it at our door, and rightly. Neither may we come to land with him, +seeing ye are so hot to slay certain among us, and one of those the +Archbishop of Canterbury. This is scandal and deadly sin. I call upon +ye to disperse, in the King's name!" + +"We are risen in the King's name," cried out an Essex man; "how, then, +shall we disperse?" + +They could see Richard urgent, though they might not hear his words; +and the Earl always shaking his head for answer; and Robert Hales with +his two hands clinging to the King's cloak as a suppliant. Then the +Earl of Salisbury made sign to the rowers, who began to turn the barge +backward and rowed up the river again to the Tower, the while the +people on Rotherhithe shore cursed and roared for rage. + +Now when they were come again to Blackheath they found more men from +Kent; and the taking of Canterbury was in every man's mouth; how the +mayor had sworn oath of fealty to King Richard and the Commons, and +the monks were afeared for their lives. + +"Rochester and Canterbury is ours!" they cried.--"London next!" + +Those that had a crust shared it, but they were few; a-most men on +Blackheath went hungry that night. + +"Yea, London next, and that quickly," said John Ball. "A man may not +fill his belly with furze and heather." + +Meanwhile he preached to them that they might forget their hunger. +There were so many that all could not come anigh, but those others +sang the catchwords and built fires on the heath; and some set off to +Southwark to see if they might find food in that suburb. + +And presently came riding three aldermen from London to bring a +message from Mayor Walworth that the people should come no nigher +London, in the name of the King and the city. But when they saw how +many were gathered together, so that they might not be counted, and +more coming in as it were up from the edges of the world, they were +amazed and afraid. Nevertheless, two of them gave their message +faithful and rode again to the city; but John Horn spake with Wat and +the priest, and revealed to them that London for the most part was +friendly, and the prentices all of their party,--and he bade them to +come and take the city. Also he told them the name of the man should +keep the Bridge next day, and he was friend to them and would let down +the drawbridge whether or no Master Walworth gave leave. + +"Nay, more," quoth he: "I will even bring certain of you, three or +four, into the city this very night, to tell the good citizens of +London of all this cometh to pass." + +"Brother," said Stephen to John Ball, "prythee let him take the maid +into the city, and her father with her. This is no place for a maid at +night on the heath. And l-let me also g-go in, that I may get speech +of Richard and ad-advise him how to be friend to his people." + +But now was heard a great clatter and trample of hoofs,--and women +shrieking, and the laughter of rude men,--and there came a coach close +to the banner where John Ball stood,--the horses plunging in a fright, +and a score of villeins clinging to their bridles; the coachman fast +bound on his seat, a stalward Kentish man sitting in his lap. + +"What 's here? Women?" cried Wat, and leapt to the coach door. "Have +them out!--Let us see how these nobles will relish to have their +daughters rough entreated." He thrust his hand in, with, "Come out, +mistress,--my daughter's debt is but half paid!" + +"Goddes dignité!" said Stephen. "'T is the Queen-Mother!" + +Wat dropped the lady's hand and stared in amaze, and Stephen thrust +him aside. + +"Madame, 't is Etienne Fitzwarine," cried out one of the ladies, which +was Godiyeva. "Now are we safe." + +And Etienne opened the coach door and got in to comfort them,--and all +they were weeping. + +"All England is risen up!" said the Queen. "The hedges are alive with +runaway villeins. And this great company,--what 's it to mean?" + +"'T is the poll-tax, madame," Etienne answered her, "and the people is +past patience." + +"Where is my son?" she shrieked. "Is he slain? Wherefore art thou +here?" + +"The King 's in the Tower, madame, whither I 'll presently be your +escort. The people is faithful to the King,--they will not harm him a +hair,--nor the King's mother neither. I pray you patience, the while I +arrange this matter speedily as may be, and we 'll go on our way into +the city." + +So he went out and spoke with John Ball and the alderman, and +meanwhile, the peasant folk, when they heard who it was in the coach, +stood a little way off, silent. + +When Stephen came again to the door he had Calote by the hand, and he +said:-- + +"May it please your Majesté that this damosel ride within." + +"An ill-smelling peasant!" cried the Queen. + +"Madame," said Godiyeva, "'t is the little jongleuse; so you give +consent, she may sit beside me." + +"Let me sit o' the coachman's seat," entreated Calote. + +"Madame," Stephen made reply, "this damosel is promised to be my +wedded wife,--the night is chill." + +"Thy wedded wife!" screamed all those ladies, and the Queen said, "Is +the world up-so-down?" + +But whether from fear of all that rout of peasants, or whether from +desire to know what manner of maid this might be that should wed +Etienne Fitzwarine, they drew aside to make a place for her, and +Godiyeva put out a hand to help her in. + +"And for the wretch that dared thrust in his hand to take us," quoth +the Queen, "let him be tied at tail of coach and so dragged to London. +See to 't, Etienne!" + +"Madame, pray you pardon, but this may not be," said Etienne. "The man +is a leader among the people, and beloved." + +He stood aside and looked out on the vast throng, and she, following +his eye, grew a little pale. + +"The man hath provocation," Etienne continued; "his daughter was laid +hands on roughly by the King's tax-gatherer, not many days past." + +"Let 's begone!" said the Queen hastily. "Christ, Mary, keep us safe! +Give me my beads, Godiyeva, and do ye all say a rosary, and be +silent!" + +So they rode away to London, with Stephen standing on the step on one +side, and Long Will and John Horn riding on the other on the +alderman's horse. And Wat Tyler sat on the box seat beside the +coachman; but Stephen did not apprise the Queen of this. + +In Southwark, as they rode, was mischief let loose, for the Marshalsea +Prison and King's Bench were set wide open and in a blaze, and all the +released prisoners making merry in the streets. Hot cinders fell on +the coach, and Wat had much ado that it should not catch fire. To +westward was another glow, where the people destroyed Lambeth Palace. + +The Queen shut her eyes and said her prayers, but her ladies popped +head out of window, this side and that, and whispered, "What 's this +to mean?"--and "Who 's yon?"--to Stephen and Calote. + +So they came to the Bridge and the drawbridge, and were let pass. And +now Calote and Long Will turned them to Cornhill; but Stephen went to +the Tower with the Queen. + + + + + CHAPTER III + + In the City + + +On the Thursday the peasants came into London. Mayor Walworth might +not choose but yield when he saw how many were against him: aldermen, +citizens, and prentices. Wherefore he sent word to Wat Tyler to come +in with his men, if so be they would pay for bed and board, and do +none harm to that great city of London which was pride and glory of +all the English. And they came in by the Bridge and by Aldgate, a +gaping rabble,--for the most of them knew not London nor any city, and +these houses in rows, and Paul's Church, set them to stare. To these +the prentices were joined, and every street and every lane in London +ran a river of men. They filled the taverns. Dame Emma had no need to +cry "Good wine!--Come dine!"--and she did not take keep if they paid +or no. She clapped each on back, with "Welcome, brother!" And to them +that were young she gave her lips with a smack. + +There was set up in Cheapside a block to behead lawyers and all such +as were enemy to the people, and there were a-many slain in this +fashion, hastily, without shrift. Calote saw this block, and the +bodies of men lying on heap; and the prentices played at foot-ball +with the bloody heads. And Calote ran down Cornhill as she were mad, +and burst into the cot to her father, where he sat a-copying Piers +Ploughman. To him she told these horrors, and when she had made an +end, he said:-- + +"Nay,--these be not brute beasts, but men, our brothers. This is the +meaning of battle. Haply angels wage war and is no letting of blood; +but not so men. Not yet." + +"'T is Hobbe is headsman," sobbed Calote. "Oh, father,--Hobbe! And +shouting a jest with every blow." + +"And thou and I, we know what a kindly man is this Hobbe; and if we +know, doth not Christ Jesus know, who shall absolve him? Be sure, if +the King's Son of Heaven hath given His work in hands of sinful men, +He knoweth to make excuse." + +She lifted her head, bewildered:-- + +"Methought,--methought thou wert against wars, and this Rising?" + +He smiled, amused, wistful, patient. + +"I am one of the peacemakers," he said. "Natheless, in this battle, +the word of my Vision is on the lips of them that slay. I am not for +battle, 't is true; but these fight on God's side. If He give leave, +who am I to say nay?" + +"And thou believest we shall win?" she cried. "Thou believest we shall +win?" + +"What is 't--to win?" he asked. "Christ Jesus died on cross atwixt two +thieves; but He is victor." + +This was the day the Savoy was burned, John of Gaunt's palace without +the gates twixt Temple Bar and Charing Cross, and all the furniture +and rich stuffs therein that were not burned were hewed and all +to-tore and cast in the river. Howsoever, John of Gaunt was in the +north at that time, and well for him. In the garden, Stephen, who was +in the forefront of the mob all that day, came upon a lad hid behind a +bush and busied in rending the badge of Lancaster from his sleeve. + +"Dieu merci!--then thou art not slain, my lord!" cried Stephen. + +But the boy, drawing a sword, ran upon him with, "Oh, thou false +traitor!" + +"No traitor, my Lord Henry," Stephen answered, his hand twisting the +child's wrist that the sword dropped harmless. "No traitor, but +brother to the people and loyal true subject of King Richard. Have I +not sought thee this hour and more throughout the palace? Come, thou +art not safe till the Tower hold thee." + +"If I were King," said the lad fiercely, "I 'd burn them all in hot +fire, as they have burned my father's house." + +"Come," said Stephen, and led him hastily by the hand. But to depart +from the gardens they must needs pass nigh the blazing palace, and +presently they came upon rioters breaking up chairs and tables and +carved beds, and among these Jack Straw. + +"What boy is this?" Jack cried, barring the way. + +"A friend of mine," said Stephen. + +"Then art thou traitor. The people has no silken friends." + +"How often have I heard thee say," retorted Stephen, "that one day +thou and all men shall be clad in silk?" + +There was a crowd gathering, men stood about with broken legs of +chairs, good bludgeons, in their hands. + +"Natheless, to-day our friends go in russet and rags," said Jack +Straw. + +"So be it," Stephen assented, and stripped the child of his silk coat +so that he stood in his shirt. "Art a-cold, friend?--Wilt have my +courtepy?" + +"Nay," the boy answered, looking about on all those rough faces of +men, but with a strange gleam in his eye,--"nay,--the fire warms me." + +They all laughed loud, except Jack Straw, that stooped and set his +face close to the boy's face, but the boy did not blink. "Here 's no +place for children," Jack cried, drawing back baffled. + +"For that reason do I take him hence," Stephen explained. + +Jack narrowed his eyes: "The boy hath a tongue in 's head, and stout +legs; is 't for this cause that thou art received into the Fellowship, +to play the nursemaid to lost brats? Thou bawdy waster, false faitour! +What knowest thou of brotherhood, that hast not soiled thy fingers +this day to serve thy fellows?" + +"Nor I will not neither," cried Stephen. And at this word the men drew +yet more close and their faces were awry twixt anger and amaze. + +"I say I will not," he repeated, "if to serve my fellows is to burn +and pillage other men's goods." + +"Pillage!" roared all they as with one throat. "We be not thieves!" + +"Ye say so," he answered, and then: "This cause is a righteous cause, +and I will not hinder; but 't is not I have suffered at the hands of +the noblesse; wherefore I will not wantonly overturn and lay waste. 'T +is my part to play messenger." + +"'T is thy part to do whatsoever we bid thee," snarled Jack Straw. + +"I am not of thy ményé, Jack," said Stephen. + +"Nay, for only honest fellows are of my ményé,--thou art a traitor, a +liar, a spy"-- + +"After a little while I w-will kill thee, Jack Straw,--I will +s-sl-slit thy throat and c-cut out thy lying tongue,--but not to-day." + +Jack wetted his lips and looked around upon his men; they were drawn +close, their faces were full of bewilderment, they watched their +leader and waited for a sign. + +"And is this treason, brothers?" said Jack.--"He will slay me, in a +little while?--Will ye wait,--till he slay me?"-- + +There was a rustle,--a growl,--every moment the mob grew,-- + +"Will ye wait?" said Jack Straw again. + +Some fellow in the crowd threw a carved bit of a bed cornice at +Stephen, but it fell short of him,--a chair leg struck his shoulder. +He unbuckled his sword and laid it on the ground at his feet; he +unbuckled the boy's sword also. A man with a table-top heaved up on +high set it down. + +"Brothers," said Stephen, "kill me an you will; but I am no traitor. +Jack Straw and I have a quarrel concerneth us two and no other man. +One day we 'll settle it in fair fight,--one day when all men are +free. I am loyal true to the Fellowship,--and to the King. Are ye all +loyal to the King?" + +"Yea,--God bless the King!" they cried. + +"Ye come at the King by me, no man else may go in at the Tower. And +will ye kill me and leave the King prisoned with the noblesse?" + +"Fitzwarine!--Fitzwarine!" cried a voice at the far edge of the +throng. "Is 't Stephen Fitzwarine yonder? Wat Tyler hath need of him +for a message. Fitzwarine!" + +And the mob parted to right and left to let Stephen pass through. As +he went, one ran after and gave him his sword. + +"And my sword?" said the boy, who clung to Stephen's hand and followed +close behind. + +"Nay, let it lie," Stephen answered him. + +By Charing Cross they found Wat Tyler, and, by good hap, Calote. + +"Thou must seek out John Ball and bid him make a camp to-night on +Saint Catherine's Hill, where I will meet him," said Wat. "When thou +hast so said, come to me at the Fleet Prison, where we go to set +prisoners free," and he strode off in a great haste. + +"Sweetheart," said Stephen then, and kissed his love; "here 's work to +do, and none may do it so safe and sure as thou. Take this lording by +the hand and lead him through the city to the Tower;--do not leave him +till he is entered there. Art afeared?" + +"Afeared!" she cried, "and all the Fellowship my brothers?--Who is +this young lord?" + +And Stephen made answer, "'T is John of Gaunt's son, Henry, shall be +Lancaster." + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + In the Tower + + +Now all these things are writ in the Chronicles,--as how the Inns of +Court of the Temple was destroyed and records burned, and the Hospital +of Saint John of Jerusalem at Clerkenwell burned, and prisons opened; +wherefore this book needs not to tell. + +So, when night was come and the people a little wearied of their wild +work, Wat Tyler sent the squire to Richard to know what the King would +do. For this thing was plain, that the most part of the people was +loyal to the King, and minded to follow him and obey Calote's hest. +And Wat Tyler, being wise, knew that if he would come at his goal, to +rule England, he must stand for a little behind Richard's chair. + +"Bid the King come to his own," said Wat. "Thou and I and John Ball, +we be as honest men as Salisbury and John of Gaunt and Simon the +Archbishop." + +In the beginning the guard at the Tower gate was loth to hold speech +with Stephen, but when he had given the word, and moreover thrown off +his hood that his face was plain, he was let come in; howbeit there +went a soldier at his side all the way. + +When he came into the chapel, John Leg was there a-mumbling his +prayers, and at sound of footsteps he screeched and ran up the +altar-steps, For this John Leg was he that was leader of the poll-tax +commission, and he dwelt hourly in great fear of his life. + +Beyond, in a large chamber, were gathered together all those that had +sought refuge in the Tower. The Queen was there, and her ladies, +withdrawn to the dais and whispering. In the midst of the room, at a +table, Salisbury sat, and Thomas of Woodstock, Earl of Buckingham, the +King's uncle, and the Earls of Warwick and Suffolk, and Simon Sudbury +the Archbishop; also Mayor Walworth was there, set twixt Salisbury and +the Archbishop. Pages held torches nigh that they might the better +mark one another's faces, for the chamber was of a great size and full +of shadows. Within a window Robert Hales stood, looking out to north +where was a red glare far off without the city; and he knew that this +was his manor burning at Highbury. Sir John Holland and the Earl of +Kent sat on the dais step with the ladies, but the King was not +anywhere in the chamber. There was a young boy of haughty mien and +frowning brow that paced to and fro, and anon he halted to listen by +the table. This was Henry, John of Gaunt's son; and 't was he saw +Stephen and cried out:-- + +"My lords, here 's Etienne Fitzwarine! Now shall we know somewhat." + +All those about the table turned and looked at Stephen, and the pages +held their torches higher. + +"Art thou for us, Fitzwarine?" quoth Salisbury. "Art thou come as a +friend?" + +"I am for the people, my lord,--with the King." + +"The people first!" sneered Thomas of Woodstock, the Earl of +Buckingham. "A loyal servant, thou!" + +"Doth not the King's self set the people first, afore the King?--May I +do less, my Lord of Buckingham?" + +"How are we tainted!" groaned Sudbury the Archbishop. + +"Tainted, ay!" Stephen cried. "The laws are so rotten that they +s-stink. The Statute of Labourers is a plague-spot, festering out of +the Black Death. Oh, my lords, cut it out!" + +"This is Wyclif! This is John Ball!" Sudbury mourned, his head in his +hands. + +"For the people?" questioned Salisbury anew; "that 's to mean the +rebels,--and against nobilité?" + +"Hear the word, my lord," Stephen said, and never a stammer caught his +tongue. + + "'When Adam delved and Eve span, + Who was then the gentleman?' + +"Against all men am I, merchants, noblesse, lords of manors, that do +oppress their brothers, and hold to villeinage. This law of villeins +is a dead law shall no longer be hanged about the necks of English +peasants. We be free men. Lawbreakers, say ye?--Of a sureté we 'll +break that law of villeins, smash and stamp it under foot, till 't is +past mending. I am for the villeins,--and the King. I am sent a +message to the King from his loyal people." + +"By the rood of Chester!" shouted Thomas of Woodstock, "and thou art +come hither red-handed from slaughter and pillage of the noblesse to +cast insult in the teeth of the King?--A message from yonder +rabble?--A plot, a murder, belike!" + +"Dost thou think so?" quoth Stephen very quiet, and drew sword and +dagger and laid them on the table. + +"My Lord of Buckingham, we are sore tried," said Salisbury, "and 't +would seem we had just cause for anger these three days; natheless, +let peasants rage; 't behoves us keep our tongues and tempers. Prythee +give again his sword and dagger to Etienne Fitzwarine." + +"Nay, my lord," Stephen interposed; "'t was I was over-hasty to lay +them down. I 'll take them up and bear no malice.--Beseech you, where +is the King?" + +"Gone above to look forth from a turret," Henry answered. "I would +have borne him company, but he 's in the sulks." + +"My lords, pray you, let me go bring hither the King," said Stephen, +and he went into that corner of the room where a door opened upon the +stair. Young Henry followed, plucking at his sleeve, with:-- + +"An thou canst, make my cousin to see here 's his time to play the +man. But he 's a poor thing." + +"My lord, 't is not so simple to be a king," Stephen answered coldly. + +"To know what one will have, and to take it,--is not this enough?" the +boy said with scorn. But Stephen left him and climbed the stair. + +The dusk of summer came in at the windows of the dark turret, and in +one of the windows Richard sat, hugging his knees. + +"Go down, cousin!" he said sharply, without turning his head. + +"'T is Etienne Fitzwarine, sire," Stephen ventured. + +"Ah, thou!" exclaimed the boy. "Come hither, mignon!" and held out his +arms. + +"On every hand they thwart me," he complained. "Mine Uncle Buckingham +counselleth one way and Salisbury another. If I speak, they do not +listen; and if I rest silent, my cousin Henry hath fixed me with +scornful eyes, as who should say, 'Were in thy shoes,'--Christ, but I +do hate my cousin Henry!--Etienne, methinks my star hath slipped,--I +was not meant to be a king. One day 't will be discovered; then they +'ll cry out for Lancaster." + +"My lord," Stephen soothed him, "hast thou heard how they have cried +out all this day in London streets, and at the burning of the Savoy, +'We will have no King called John?'" + +"His name is Henry," the boy answered, "'t is a froward child;" and +then passionately: "Natheless, tell me 't is not true! Tell me,--tell +me!" + +"Look out of window, sire, on Saint Catherine's Hill, where thy people +wait thee! So shall these fears and follies be dispelled." + +"Let us to the battlement to breathe," said Richard. "Is more to see; +and I 'm smothered here, walled in with my cousin." + +So they went up; and all around the sky was red, but not with the sun, +for that was set three hours past. There was a smell of ashes on the +air. Near by, to eastward, on Saint Catherine's Hill, the peasants +were encamped. Which is to say, as many as were not lodged in the +city; Will Langland had a score and six lying close in his cot, and +Dame Emma harboured threescore and ten; there were some slept in +Paul's Churchyard, and others in aldermen's soft beds,--that had never +known but straw. Nevertheless, the most part of them was on the hill, +and this was so close beneath the Tower that Richard, leaning on the +battlement, might descry their faces very plain by the light of the +camp-fires. + +"And dost thou bid me look on these and so be assured I am a king?" he +said, and laughed, the better to swallow a sob. + +"My lord, these are the honesty of England," said Stephen. "Truest men +on live. Trust them!" + +"Yonder 's one with a brand on 's brow,--I see it, T!" cried the boy. +Then he covered his face and shuddered. + +"They have opened the prisons," said Stephen. "Oh, sire, judges err, +and wherefore not these poor? Do but come out to them and hear what +they would ask of thee, and thou shalt see how they 'll be led like +little children." + +"And would I not so, an I had my way?" Richard cried. "But old +Salisbury saith they 're rebels and 't is not meet the King should +bend to their will. And Simon Sudbury lives in fear of his life, and +so he saith they seek mine also." + +"They will not have it they 're rebels, sire, being risen in the name +of the King." + +"What for a riddle is here?" sighed Richard, but also he smiled. +"Shall we say to these, my kinsmen and guardians, that the King hath +bidden his people to rise against the kingdom?--Dost think I 'll be +called a fool?--Nay!--Neither am I a babe to believe that thou and I +and yon ragged rout may rule England in despite of mine Uncle Gaunt, +and Earl Percy, and other the flow'r of England's chivalry,--for all +Will Langland's Vision of Ploughmen." + +"But these folk do not demand to rule, my lord," protested Stephen. +"'T is to be made free men, no longer villeins and serfs." + +"The Archbishop saith 't is more than this,--for that John Ball and +Wat Tyler be desperate men and they have made a plot to slay all +nobilité. If they do so shall not I be as truly in bondage as now I +am? And how vile bondage! Faugh!--filthy hinds!--Canst smell their +stench even now?" + +Stephen leaned on the battlement pondering what he would say. At last +he spoke, his eyes fixed always on the hill and the restless throng +thereon: + +"'T is very true," he said, "that there be certain among them are +consumed with the s-sin of envy and lust of power, but the most part +of the people m-meddleth not with these subtleties. Freedom is their +desire, and not to be called villeins; and when they have obtained +these, they will return to their homes. For W-Wat Tyler and Jack Straw +and John Ball, they weigh not a fly as against King Richard in the +hearts of the people." + +"Sayst thou so?" the boy murmured, and clutched Etienne's +shoulder,--"sayst thou so?" Then he flung out his arms on the +battlement, and his head on his arms. "Ah, wherefore do I take keep if +this people love me or no? Wherefore do I take keep of the love of +dirty ploughmen, vermin-ridden,--of branded knaves and silly ragged +folk? But I do,--Dieu, ma vie, I do!" + +"Then come to them, sire!--Hear them!--Another day and 't will be too +late. They will believe thou hast forsaken them,--and what they 'll +then do, I dare not think on. They are not so strong as to overturn a +kingdom, but"--He swept his arm about, where the sky glowed to the +north, and westward the Savoy lay, red embers. "Oh, sire, they have +made Cheapside a shambles!" + +"Wilt thou have me go out, now, thither?" said Richard, pointing to +the camp. Here and there men slept. Others roasted bullocks by the +fire that hissed with the dropping of blood. The sound of a catch came +up:-- + + "Help truth, and truth shall help you! + Now reigneth pride in price, + And covetise is counted wise, + And lechery withouten shame, + And gluttony withouten blame. + Envy reigneth with reason, + And sloth is take in great season. + God do bote, for now is time." + +"If we do," the King continued, "we must steal forth secretly, mon +ami; for Sudbury and the rest would never let us from the gate of +their own will." + +"Nay, we 'll not go to-night, sire; but do thou come down with me to +the chamber below and persuade the Archbishop and Salisbury that thou +wilt meet the people on the morrow to have speech of them,--else all +London is like to be made a desert afore aid come." + +So they went down and, at the foot of the stair, young Henry sat, +half-asleep, but he shook himself and followed after them to the table +whereon the nobles now leaned elbow in gloomy silence. + +"My lords," said Richard, "here 's Etienne Fitzwarine hath been in the +city all day, saith somewhat must be done if we will not have the +morrow's sun set redder than to-day's." + +"Must be done!" shouted Thomas of Woodstock, shaking the table with a +blow of his fist.--"Have I not said so?--Up!--Assemble the guard and +make an onslaught! A sudden sally forth with the guard, at midnight +when these rebels be sleeping, and we may rout them and put them to +flight. These be village churls, untrained to matters of war,--they +'ll fly before a sword. So saith Master Walworth likewise. Peasants +and prentices be no warriors. Moreover, Sir Robert Knolles holdeth his +own house against them in the city,--he will help us." + +The Earl of Salisbury lifted his head as he would speak, but Richard +was before him. + +"My lords," he said, and all they marvelled to hear his voice how it +was assured,--"my lords, I am going forth on the morrow to have speech +of my people;--to hear what it is they will have. Etienne saith they +desire freedom and no more to be called villeins. My lords, I know +what this is, to desire to be free. I and my people, we shall be free +men on the morrow." + +There was silence throughout the chamber, and every eye was fixed on +the King where he stood. Then Salisbury bent his gray head above the +boy's white hand that lay clenched on the table. + +"Sire," he said, "if you can appease them by fair words and grant them +what they wish, it will be so much the better; for should we begin +what we cannot go through, we shall never be able to recover it. It +will be all over with us and our heirs, and England will be a desert." + +"Give you good-night, my lords," said Richard then. "I will go to the +chapel to my prayers." + + + + + CHAPTER V + + Mile End + + "Falseness and Guile have reigned too long, + And Truth hath been set under a lock, + And Falseness and Guile reigneth in every stock. + No man may Truth come to, + But if he sing 'si dedero.' + True Love is away that was so good, + And clerks for wealth work them woe. + God do bote, for now is time." + + +These were the peasants from Saint Catherine's Hill that clamored +beneath the walls of the Tower in the dawn of the Friday morning. +Stephen looked out on them from a window above the gate and was +'minded of the waters of the sea, how they lapped about the cliffs of +Devon. + + "John Ball greeteth you all," + +sang the men,-- + + "And doth for to understand he hath rung your bell. + Now Might and Right, Will and Skill, + God speede every dele!" + +Some of them were drunken, others white and wild for lack of sleep. +Ragged they were, armed with mallets, cudgels, cruel knives. A-many +had the long bow which all the English must practise to twang; but +there was dearth of arrows, and not all the bows were strung. Of all +these the men of Kent were best armed and most seemly clad, and they +had arisen to right their brothers' wrong, and to make known that all +men should be free. + + "When Adam delved and Eve span, + Who was then the gentleman?" + +they sang; and then because they saw Stephen at the window, they began +to cry out to bid the King come to his people. Now the King stood +behind Stephen in the shadow. + +"If old Archbishop Simon is to scape," quoth he, musing, "now 's time, +the while the people is drawn away hither. Go, one, to the Archbishop, +and bid him try the stairs and the water-gate, if so be he may flee in +a little boat." + +"The King!--The King!" cried the mob. "Let us in! John Ball hath +rungen your bell!" + +Stephen leaned out of window and made a sign with his hand that they +should cease, and after a little their clamour had sunk to murmurings +and he could be heard. + +"Ye shall withdraw to Mile End," Stephen shouted. "Thither will the +King come to parley with you. And I make no doubt he shall grant +whatsoever ye shall ask in reason." + +Then began the tumult anew:-- + +"Mile End!--Mile End, to meet the King!" they cried, and there was a +surging this way and that; for some would go at once to the +meeting-place, others strove to come nigher the walls of the Tower. + +"Let us in!--Let us in!" roared these last. "'T is a trap to cheat us +o' Sudbury. Mile End, forsooth!--Nay, we 'll parley within the Tower." + +"Tell them there is no room in the Tower for so great a multitude," +said Richard, "wherefore I choose Mile End.--Tell them"--He paused +and turned to a page who came in, "Well, didst give the message?" + +"Yea, sire; the Archbishop is even now gone down to the water-gate." + +"Tell them," Richard took up the word anew, "the Tower is theirs to +search and to hold after I shall go forth of it to-day. They may enter +if they will. But I will not parley with them only at Mile End." + +All this Stephen cried out of window, and presently there began to be +a fraying away on the edges of the mob, as a cloud frays. + +"Let us go and make ready," said Richard; his eyes were very bright, +he held his head high. + +But when he had kissed his mother, and dried her tears, and had bade +saddle the horses,--and his half-brothers, Kent and Sir John Holland, +were fidgeting, pale, for that he would have them ride with +him,--suddenly came into the hall Simon Sudbury, with yellow sweat +beading on his brow. + +"How now!" cried the King; "methought thou wert scaped by the river?" + +"The watch on the hill hath keen eyes, sire. We put forth, but they +raised a cry. Was naught for 't but to turn back." + +"But thou must begone!--I say thou must!" Richard exclaimed, stamping +his foot. "Christ!--I 've said they may come in and search!" Then he +went and caught Simon by the shoulders, and his lip quivered:-- + +"As regarding that poll-tax, thou wert a fool, my lord,--a fool!--a +fool! But thou art a faithful servant, and a true man,--and I love +thee!" + +His voice broke, and he hid his face in the Archbishop's breast. + +"Sire," said Simon gently, and put both arms about his king as 't were +his own son; "do not grieve! I know a way to baffle them. Go thou to +Mile End, and leave me here to play my part." + +"Thou wilt surely scape?" Richard questioned. + +"Yea,--I shall surely scape." + +Then they went together into the chapel and prayed awhile; and when +the King was going out at the door, he looked back to see where the +Archbishop stood at the altar making ready the sacrifice of the Mass. +John Leg knelt on the steps and Robert Hales,--and there was a certain +friar, a friend of John of Gaunt, who served at the Mass. + +So Richard rode forth of the Tower, and 't was a Friday in the +morning,--and with him Etienne Fitzwarine, and Thomas of Woodstock +that was Earl of Buckingham, and old Salisbury, and others,--earls and +gentlemen,--and also Sir John Holland and the Earl of Kent, the King's +half-brothers; but these, for fear, set spur to horse and departed +from the company into the fields. + +Meanwhile, in the fields about Mile End the folk came together, a many +thousand, with their leaders. Long Will also was there, and Calote. +London prentices played at ball the while they waited; country louts +sang and cuffed one another; cooks went about crying "Hot pies, hot!" +There was a bearward with his beast, making merry. And in the midst +of this babel, John Ball and Wat Tyler and Jack Straw were silent. The +priest had set his back against a tree, and so stood with folded arms +and sunken chin, his eyes gazing out to a vision. Wat paced up and +down, restless; anon he lifted his head uncertain, and stood looking +down by the way the King must come; anon he gnawed his lip and strode +on. Jack Straw, squatting among the roots of a yew, watched those +others and bit his finger-nails. + +"And what will ye do when the King cometh?" asked Long Will of the +three. + +John Ball did not hear him, or if he did, he made no sign. Jack leered +up at Wat, and Wat stood still. + +"How may a man know what he will do till the time come?" he said +uneasily. + +Will lifted his eyebrows. Jack Straw hacked at the yew tree root with +his great knife. Wat walked slow past John Ball and back again to +Will, and here he came to pause. + +"We shall make certain demands," he explained in a voice as he were +assuring himself,--"we shall make certain demands. 'T is wherefore we +are here." + +He shifted from right foot to left. + +"And if the King grant all?" quoth Will. + +"Richard 's tongue-tied," sneered Jack Straw.--"No fear!" + +"And do not ye desire that he shall grant these requests?" asked +Calote. + +"Whether the King grant them or no, we shall take them," snarled Jack +Straw. "Are we not here to take them? What is the will of a weakling +boy in face of thousands?" + +"Wat," Calote said, tugging at his sleeve, "what is 't thou 'rt minded +to do to the King? He is anointed of High God. Oh, Wat, what is 't +thou hast in thy heart to do this day?" + +"Pshaw!" he groaned, jerking his arm away and clapping both hands to +his ears,--"I know not!--I know not! How shall I know till the time +come? Leave me in peace!" + +And then there came a cloud of dust along the highway, and in the +midst of it King Richard, Etienne his squire, and Salisbury, and those +others. + +When the people saw it they went mad with joy. + +"Hath come!--Hath come!" they cried, capering and clipping and +kissing. "He is our King, come out to his own people!" And then there +went up such shouts as rent the air and could be heard far as London +wall. Jack Straw got to his feet and stuck his knife in his belt. 'T +would seem the shouting of the people made him dizzy, he staggered. It +was a wondrous compelling sound, this cry of joy of ten thousand +hearts set at rest. The King had come to them. He belonged to his +people. + +John Ball and Wat Tyler came and stood with Jack beneath the yew tree, +the people surging all about. + +"Fools!" muttered Wat. + +"Thou fool!" Jack whispered twixt chattering teeth. + +"I told thee, truth is better than strategy," said John Ball. "I would +have apprised the Fellowship our purpose to take him." + +Hardly was he heard for the clamour. In the beginning there were only +shouts, but after a little there began to be disparted from the waves +of sound, words: "Long live the King!--Long live the King!--Long live +the King!"--The blessing roared like as 't were a torrent. Calote +could see how Jack Straw and Wat spoke one to other, for that their +lips moved,--but what they said was lost. They were very white and +their hands hanging down helpless. This joy that beat about them, they +might not escape from it, and it smothered them. + +"How might I tell them?" gasped Wat,--"the maid hath preached love and +loyauté.--Is 't loyauté to take him against his will?" + +"Wherefore, against his will?" said Jack. + +Richard, in the midst of this rapture, laughed wistfully, with arms +outspread as to embrace his people, and when they saw this they cried +out anew: "God save the King!--Long live the King!--Long live the +King!"--And those that were nigh kissed his stirrups and his +saddlecloth. + +"Mes amis!" he said, and they that saw his lips move began to beat +upon that tumult with: "Peace!--Peace!--The King speaks!--Peace!" till +the shouting died as the wind drops, and but for a solitary voice cast +up fitful now and again, there was stillness. + +"What will ye?" Richard cried. "I am here. I have taken Reason and +Conscience to be my counsellors:-- + + 'And Reason shall reckon with you if I reign anywhile, + And judge you by this day as ye have deserved.'" + +And when they had heard the words of Long Will's Vision, they laughed, +and not a few wept for joy. + +"Persuade him that he come to us," whispered John Ball. + +"Do thou," Wat retorted, uneasy. "Thou hast a softer tongue and more +learning. Cursed be these fools!" + +"Let one speak!" said the King, "and say what the people will have." + +There was pause, rustle, a craning of necks to see. + +Jack Straw shook as with an ague fit. Wat Tyler started uncertain, +looked at John Ball, and drew back. + +"Speak thou!" said the priest, low. "I am under ban of Holy +Church,--his guardians will not hear me patiently." + +There began to be a murmur: "Speak!--Speak!" and it waxed louder. + +"I 'm a rough man; Jack, thou 'rt the crafty one,--oil thy tongue to +persuasion." + +"If I speak now, wilt thou be silent hereafter?" asked Jack. "Art thou +leader--or"-- + +"Thou false hound!" said Wat. + +"Where is Wat Tyler?--Where is John Ball?" cried the people; and the +muttering began to be a roar. "Speak!--Speak!--To be free!--Speak!" + +"Rather fall on those others and carry him off to our midst!" Wat +exclaimed, fingering his knife and breathing quick. + +John Ball caught his arm. + +The throng swayed, and Richard's horse reared. + +Then out of the press strode Will Langland, the maker of the Vision +Concerning Piers Ploughman. + +"Sire!" he said, and his voice was heard so far that the muttering and +the swaying ceased,--"sire, we ask three gifts of thy grace; and the +first gift is to be free men. No longer villeins and serfs, but free; +no longer bound to the soil, but free to go and come, to marry our +daughters to whom we will, to grind our corn at our own mill,--to be +free! The High God, Emperor of heaven, when he set our father Adam +upon this earth, who was this man's master?" + +Richard turned his head to look on the Earl of Salisbury:-- + +"Thy will is our will, sire," said the old man. + +And immediately the King stood up in his stirrups, and:-- + +"Yea,--we will set each other free," he cried. "Lo, I strike off your +fetters, and I too am free!" + +For a space of a minute there was silence, awe; and then the cry, +hoarse, shaken twixt wonder and terror. Then silence came again, +white-lipped, and there were a-many fainted in their brothers' arms. +And that was a long silence. + +"Speak!" said Richard huskily to Long Will. "Here 's one grace +granted,--name other two." + +"That we may pay a rent henceforth for the land whereto we were bound +aforetime. We are not thieves, neither would we be lollers,--we be +honest men desirous to till the land. Four pence the acre is the rate +we would pay." + +"Ay, ay, four pence!" cried a score of men. + +"'T is folly!" whispered Thomas of Woodstock and the Earl of Warwick +angrily. "'T cannot be done! Fools!--So paltry price is ruinous!" + +"Natheless, let it stand, my lords, and patience," said Salisbury. "A +price may well be changed.--Now, 't is wise to grant all. If the +people sees that we dissuade the King, hardly shall we escape alive. +God knows I be not afeared o' death, but I would serve the King the +best way,--and 't is not by dying." + +"Four pence the acre," said Richard; "this also do I grant." + +"And the third grace, O King," said Long Will;--"the third is pardon!" +And he went down on his knees, and immediately all that multitude fell +down, and some on their faces, crying, "Pardon!"--"Pardon for John +Ball!--Pardon!--Pardon!--For Wat Tyler!--For all!--For all!" + +"It shall be written that ye are pardoned," said Richard. "It shall be +written that ye are free!" + +And then they came leaping about him, weeping, singing, blessing; and +he sat in their midst with tears rolling down his face. + +"It shall be written!" they cried; "it shall be written!--Bring +clerks!" And presently there were set down some thirty clerks, and +Will Langland among them, a-scribbling. And so they were busied two +hours and more in that place. + +Stephen came and leaned on Will's shoulder, and, "Eh, well, my father, +what th-think'st thou?" he asked, exultant. + +Will stayed not his hand, but with head bent above the parchment he +said: "Methinks Parliament will have somewhat to say of this matter. +Kings of England may not bind and loose at their own pleasure; though +'t is the people that ask. Here 's a riddle." + +"But thou?"--Stephen faltered. + +"I spake for the people."--Then he turned to a ploughman, with, "Here, +brother, is thy parchment. Keep it dry, and pray God it may serve thee +in time of need. Where is Wat Tyler?" + +"He went to the Tower an hour past; said he had business therein." + +Now the King gave also of his own banners, to each county a banner, +that the men when they returned to their villages might be known to be +King's men on the highway, and no rioters. And a-many, so soon as they +had their pardon and parchment of freedom, went back to their own +home;--and this was what Salisbury desired. Nevertheless, the most +part of the people abode where they were, and when the King set out to +return to the city, they were with him, singing and shouting, and he +in their midst. But when they were come to Aldgate and turned into the +way that led to the Tower, there rode to meet them a soldier of the +Tower, that said:-- + +"Sire, we have taken madame your mother to Barnard Castle Ward, and +the Garde Robe, hard by Paul's Church. Will it please you go thither. +The Tower is taken and no longer safe." + +"No longer safe?" laughed Richard. "How now!" + +"Sire," said the soldier, "the people have slain the Archbishop of +Canterbury, and set up his head on London Bridge." + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + Free Men + + +"Symkin Royse," said Long Will; and Symkin came and took his papers +and thrust them in his breast. + +Long Will sat by the window of the cot on Cornhill, filling in the +King's pardons and manumissions. Within the house there was a score +and more of labourers and villeins awaiting their turn and making +merry meanwhile. Without in the street men kissed and sang, and wept +for joy, and danced. Beneath Dame Emma's ale-stake they sat drinking, +with women on their knees. In the tavern also there were clerks +writing. + +"Adam Kempe," said Will; and, when Adam had folded his papers very +small in the point of his hood, "Give thee God-speed o' thy homeward +way, brother." + +"Nay, not yet!" quoth the rustic. "All 's not ended. I bide the +bidding o' Wat Tyler and Jack Straw. Is more work to do." + +"What more?" asked Will, drawing forth a fresh pardon. + +The man chuckled. + +Presently came Kitte with black bread and beans and a mug of ale, +which she set down in the window beside her husband. + +"Eat," she said. "These have waited a lifetime to be free; let them +wait now three minutes. Thou 'rt famished." + +He smiled sadly. "Were they in vérité free, I 'd gladly starve," he +said; and Calote heard this, who ever stood near her father. + +"The King's seal is affixed to every of these papers," said she. "What +more?" + +But Will had filled his mouth with beans, and chewed, the while he +wrote. + +"Ah," sighed Calote; "wherefore may I not rejoice?" And on a sudden +she had caught her mother by the two hands and danced with her down +the long room and into the lane. But there she paused twixt laughter +and tears, and:-- + +"Oh, mother, is 't naught to thee that England is free?" she cried. +"Sing!--Laugh!--Kiss me, mother!--Be glad!" + +"I 'll kiss thee," Kitte said, and so did, thrice, smiling tenderly. +"When thou and thy father are at peace, I am at peace likewise." + +There came a cloud in Calote's eyes. "But dost thou love none but my +father and me?" she asked. + +"I love mine own," said Kitte. "Thy husband I shall love, and thy +children. I am glad thy children will be free men." + +Calote clung to her mother. "And I had forgotten them!" she said. +"Yet, meseems as every peasant in England were child of mine this day, +so doth my heart beat for them. I 'm mother to all free English!--Ah!" +She cast her arms above her head, and her face was shining. + +"Thou art thy father's daughter," Kitte said; but then she caught the +maid to her breast: "Thy father's daughter," quoth she, "but I 'm the +woman that bore thee. Thou wilt not be always content to mother the +world only." + +"There be a-many kinds of love," Calote mused. "One while methought +certain of those were forbidden to me,--but mayhap"-- + +And now there was a clatter of tongues in the house and they went in +again out of the lane. Wat and Jack were come, and many with them. +Some of these were roaring drunk, but Wat was sober enough, and Jack. + +Will Langland wrote certain words on a parchment and handed to Wat. + +"What 's this?" Wat asked; "Piers' bull?" + +"'T is thy pardon," Will answered him. + +And Wat took the parchment and tore it across:-- + +"I ask pardon of no man!" he cried. "That I do is well done. Neither +is this the end." + +Will arose from his seat in the window and went and put his hand on +Wat's shoulder:-- + +"'T is time thou wert o' the road to Dartford," said he, "and all +these scattered. Is naught more to do. Let Piers get back to his +plough and keep his hand from mischief. He 's free; his house is swept +and garnished; 'ware lest other devils enter in. Go home, Wat! Thou +hast done well." + +"Then I 'll do bet," said Wat. "Is thy knife keen, Jack? Who comes +with us, my brothers?" + +"I,--I,--I!" cried all; and Will thrust pen in penner and went out +with them. + +"Whither do ye go?" Calote asked Jack Straw. "And wherefore is thy +knife keen? Now is peace." + +"We go to kill pigs by the waterside. Hark, and presently thou 'lt +hear them squeal," he answered. + +And as they went down the street, she heard them crying out against +the Flemings that took bread out of poor men's mouths with weaving of +English wool. + +"Thy children are unruly," said Kitte. "But 't is the way of all such. +Nay, weep not, my daughter,--weep not!" + +"Oh, mother, dost not thou weep that blood is shed?" + +"Yea," Kitte answered indifferent; "but if thy father come to no harm, +I shall dry my tears." + +These Flemings were certain weavers from over sea that came to +England, the greater number of them in the lifetime of King Edward III. +and the good Queen Philippa. And whereas before that time much wool +was sent out of England across the Channel to be wove into cloth, now +it was more and more woven in this country. But forasmuch as by +courtesy of King Edward, Flemings needed not to pay the gild tax, +therefore were they hated of the gild of weavers of London; and these +persuaded Jack Straw and other peasant folk that if there were weavers +in England, they ought to be English weavers; and wherefore should the +English go hungry and in bonds when Flemings fed and were free? A-many +of these weavers dwelt in the streets by the waterside, and thither +went Wat and Jack and Will,--the mob swelling at their heels. This was +a London mob, prentices and artisans for the most part. + +"What 's to gain?" asked Will. + +"Blood!" Wat answered him. + +Then, they being come to an open place and beyond was a long street +silent, deserted, Will turned him to the mob. + +"Go back, brothers!" he cried. "Do not wilfully shed blood." + +"On,--on!" screamed Jack Straw. "Do they not eat your bread and pay +naught?" + +The rabble shouted and pressed forward. Long Will spread his arms out +wide, as he would keep the street. + +"Ye are mad!" he said. "Will ye slay innocent folk?" + +"Innocent!" yelled a weaver's prentice, and the mob growled, but none +put aside Long Will out of the way. + +"These are your brothers," he persisted,--"honest workingmen like to +yourselves." + +"Brothers!" sneered Jack Straw. "Hear him, ye men of London! Are we +brothers to Flemish hogs?" + +"Out of the way, Will," said Wat. "They 'll trample thee." + +"O men of London, prentices, citizens," the poet cried anew, "will ye +sin against hospitality?" + +A snarl answered him. + +"Will ye betray the guest that shelters in your house?" + +The snarl had sunk to a murmur. + +"Will ye betray the bidden guest?" + +"'T is a lie!" said Jack. + +"A lie! A lie!" yelled a score of throats. "'T was not we bid them." + +"Doth not the King speak the will of the people?" Langland asked. "And +King Edward bade them come." + +"Nay!" said Wat, "the King hath not spoke the will of the people in my +day ever." + +"Nay,--nay,--nay!" the mob answered him. + +"Stand o' one side, brother," Wat said again. "We would not harm +thee." + +"I 'll bide here!" Will answered, and lifting up his voice, "Is enough +blood shed in this rising. I say ye shall not murder these harmless +strangers." + +"Ho, ho!" roared Jack, "poet looketh to the noblesse for a son-in-law, +and we do know English cloth is not fine enough for the court." + +There went up a howl of rage from weavers in the throng. They would +have rushed into the street and over Will, but Wat set his back +against the press, and also there was another man, pot-bellied, +grizzled, withstood them. + +"Serfs,--villeins!" cried Will, "ye are not fit to be free! The King +hath rent your bonds in sunder, and how do ye repay him?" + +"We be men of London, never villeins!" roared the half of that mob. + +"Natheless, ye are in bonds to Satan your master, and ye do his work!" +Langland answered them, his face flushed. + +"Who hath stirred us up this twenty year?" shouted a voice in the +crowd. "Thou, Will Langland! Thou, false traitor! Wilt desert thy +fellows?--Coward!--Limb o' Satan, thou, if we be Devil's men." + +Then there were many voices:-- + +"His daughter hath married a lord!" + +"Curse him for a renegade!" + +"Out o' the way!" + +"On, on!--the Flemings!" + +Will budged no inch,--his arms were spread wide. + +"I say ye do defeat your own end by this slaughter. To-day ye have the +victory, freedom, and pardon. Disperse! What will ye more? Hath not +the King given all was asked?" + +"All thou didst ask!" said a voice. + +His face flamed red. "Ingrate cowards!" he cried,--and then on a +sudden his wrath was spent. He dropped his arms, his voice was level: +"The cause is lost!" he said. "Love is a long way off, and truth." + +Not many heard him, for that the clamour was risen anew; the foremost +men lurched forward, thrust upon by those behind. Wat, crying "On, +brothers!" flung Will aside, and the pot-bellied man also laid hold on +the poet and drew him close within a doorway,--none too soon, for the +mob was let loose, and rushing down the street as 't were a torrent. +Presently houses began to be burst open, and men flung out of window. + +Will sat bowed together on the doorstone. + +"A sight not to be soon forgot," said the grizzled one, breathing +quick. + +Will lifted his head. "Thou, Master Chaucer!" he said. + +"Ay, brother,--well met!" + +"No friend of Gaunt is safe in London streets." + +"Who is safe?" asked Chaucer. "No friend of the people, neither." + +Langland groaned and clasped his head in his hands. + +"'T was said thou hadst made peace," said Chaucer. "Methought 't was +ended, this rioting." + +"Peace!" cried Long Will. "There shall be no peace so long as men +strive to be king. When they have forgot to add glory unto themselves, +when they are content to serve their brothers,--then cometh peace." + +"Take heart, brother," said Dan Chaucer. "Here be two men that do not +desire a kingdom,--thou, and I. To be singers is enough,--and this is +to serve men." + +"Singers!" Will groaned. "Singers!--Oh!--See what a song hath +wrought!" + +Then said Master Chaucer, cheerily, "'T is somewhat to die for a +song's sake. I have not yet stirred men so deep." + +"I am I, and thou art thou," Will answered him. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + Reaction + + +Simon Sudbury's head hung grinning above London Bridge, and young +Richard lay at his length, face downward, on the stone floor of his +chamber in the Garde Robe, sobbing sick. None dared enter, not his +mother, nor Stephen, nor Mayor Walworth, nor Salisbury. Hushed and +fearful they waited behind the arras at the door, hearkening to the +boy how he wept and cursed and rent his garments. Now 't was the +people he railed upon, for that they had so burdened him with +bloodguiltiness in recompense of all his benefits:-- + +"I 'll torture them!" he cried, gnashing his teeth. +"Ingrates--Hounds!--Christ hear me!--I will avenge thy servant,--I +will avenge old Simon!" + +Now 't was Sudbury he cursed for a fool:-- + +"Is this to serve a king?--To set his soul in peril of hell?--Not on +my head the Archbishop's blood, O God, not on my head! I 'm innocent! +How should I know he 'd be tamely taken? Fool that he was!--Weak +fool!" + +And so he wept, blaspheming Christ, and beating with his hands upon +the stones. + +"I loved them,--I loved them, good Jesu!--I gave them liberty,--and +they have betrayed me. Curse them! They shall be bound with new +bonds. I 'll have a bath of their blood,--I 'll drink it!--My +people,--mine!--and I loved them! Christ, I was betrayed; 't was not +of mine own will Sudbury was slain. I swear it,--O God, hear mine +oath!--Poor fool Simon! Pity!--pity!--How might I guess? Ah, Emperor +of Heaven, all-wise, I am so little while a king! Pity!" + +At the last he lay so still they thought he swooned, and the squire +came in a-tiptoe. + +"Etienne," said Richard then, lying all on heap, "bring hither a +scourge,--a knotted scourge. And bar the door." + +And when the scourge was brought, and the door barred, and the +Queen-Mother weeping without, Richard got to his knees, shaking, +sodden, and tore his shirt off his back. + +"Lay on!" he said. "The people have set their sins on my shoulders; +the Archbishop hath laden me with his trespass. Lay on the scourge!" + +Etienne lifted his arm as he would strike, then lowered it. + +"Sire," said he, "leave scourging till this business is ended. Is not +yet time. Thou must be leader of this people. Already thou hast set +them free from their lords and them that held them in bonds; now must +they be set free from their own fellows that would make them +slaves,--from Wat Tyler and Jack Straw. If thou overturn these, the +people is in the hollow of thy hand." + +"Then will I chastise!" snarled the boy. "They shall feel the rod. +They have slain a good man and a priest,--the man that stood next the +King in this realm of England. These dogs have slain an +archbishop,--and shall I alone suffer for it? Ah!"--He cast up his +right hand in menace and sobs shook him. "I loved them,--I loved my +people, and thus do they requite me! Will scourgings in my body or in +their own wipe off this blot of holy blood wherewith they 've stained +my soul?" + +"Oh, my lord," said Stephen, "if we bear our brothers' sins, what do +we more than Christ Jesus that bore our sins in His Body on rood? Yet +was He sinless; and so art thou sinless as concerning the death of the +Archbishop." + +Richard put out his hand and plucked Stephen's sleeve: "Dost believe +it?" he cried, and there went a shudder through him. "Ah, +but--but--when Simon said, 'I know a way,'--I knew what 't was to +mean,--and yet--I went forth and left him. Etienne, Etienne,--I am +afeared I knew what 't was to mean! I am afeared I knew!--I am so +afeared!" + +Etienne kneeled down and set his hands on the boy's shivering +shoulders, and looked in the frighted eyes:-- + +"This were impossibilité to know, sire," he said. "Say it not +again,--nor think it. Already I have forgotten thy words. Thou couldst +not divine the will of most high God. Thou art not afeared. Stand up +and be the King!" + +Slowly, his eyes staring in Stephen's eyes, Richard got to his feet. +"I--I--could not--know!" he gasped. "I could not know!--I must forget; +yes. Even a king could not know. But I shall alway fear I"--He broke +off and stood silent. + +When he spoke again he said, "What noise is that?" + +"The prentices and men of London are killing Flemish weavers, sire, +not far away. 'T is a hellish mob." + +"Presently they shall have a glut of blood," said the boy very quiet. +"I 'll see to 't. Go now, and bid them meet their King on the morrow +at Smithfield.--Nay,--have no fear, I 'll be gentle with these beasts. +I 'm not all fool." + +"Oh, sire, for love's sake be gentle, not for hate! They are thy +people." + +"Etienne, Etienne,--did I not love them? I set them free. Ah,--do not, +do not,--I shall weep again,--and I 've left weeping." + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + The Friday Night + + +Night was fallen on that unlucky Friday, but the massacre of the +Flemings not yet ended, when Stephen came to Langland's cot from the +Garde Robe where Richard sheltered. + +"Will! Where 's Will?" cried Kitte, searching the squire's face. + +"Not here?" + +"Ah, woe!" said Kitte, and went and sat down heavily in a corner. + +Stephen had with him a torch, and he set it in a ring by the wall. It +was all the light in that house. Then he sat on the old chest and +Calote came to his side. He was very weary and leaned his head in his +hand. + +"What is to be the end?" Calote questioned him. + +"Christ Jesus answer," said Stephen. + +"But the King hath pardoned and set free!" she persisted. + +"Alas, the King!" he cried. + +Calote stared on him, and then took him by the shoulder fearfully, +saying:-- + +"What will the King do?" + +"No man knoweth what the King will do. Neither doth the King know. But +he will follow his mood.--Who can guess what the mood of a king shall +be? To-day a blessing, to-morrow a curse." + +"Thou 'rt sick with weariness," she whispered, and took his head in +her arms against her breast. + +"Who shall say that this people deserveth to be free?" he mused. + +"This is matter of judgment for Christ Jesus," she answered soft. +"What hast thou to do with it,--what hath the King?" + +"Is not the King anointed of God?" said he. + +A moment she was silent, and when she spoke her voice was slow, +uncertain: "I would not blaspheme," she said, "but whiles I wonder if +he be not anointed of men. The King of Heaven hath a most marvellous +confidence to give this realm of England into the hands of a little +wilful lad." + +"Is 't wiser to set Wat Tyler in his room?--Natheless, on the morrow +this may hap." + +"God forbid!" murmured Calote. + +"I 'm bidden say the King will meet all peasants and other that have +borne a part in this rising, the morrow morn at Smithfield. This is +all I know, or any man else in England. Behooves me go forth to find +Wat." + +"Nay,--rest here!--He will surely come to this house when his +bloodthirstiness is quenched." + +"Calote," said Kitte, "come to bed! From the upper window I 'll keep +watch for thy father." + +"Thou wilt stay?" Calote pleaded with Stephen. + +"Yea," he assented, kissing her good-night. + +So Calote and Kitte mounted to the chamber under the roof, but Stephen +lay down on the floor of the lower room, and presently he was fast +asleep. + +The torch went out, but the door into the lane was open and a little +moonlight shone on Stephen's face. Without on Cornhill red-handed +prentices were going home to their beds. There was fierce mirth in +Dame Emma's tavern. After a little the front door of the cot was +pushed open and a man came in. When he had stood still a moment, he +heard the sound of measured breathing in the room and he knew that a +man was asleep there. Then he saw where the sleeper lay, on the edge +of the moonlight; and after this he came more close and saw the +sleeper's face. But his own face was hid by the darkness. He drew +something from his belt and it flashed against the shine of the moon +and dripped. Then he came betwixt Stephen and the door, and the light +was cut off from Stephen's face. There was no sound in the room but +Stephen's breathing,--'t would seem the other held his breath. He +kneeled down, and now 't was his own face the moon shone on. He was +smiling very evil. He lifted up his hand that held the flashing +thing,--and Kitte in the doorway cried "Awake!" in a very loud voice +and threw herself upon the man, and he turned his hand and drove the +knife into her breast. Then he fled by the door, and Kitte fell across +Stephen's knees where he had sat up on a sudden out of his sleep. + +When he would have lifted her, he found the hilt of the knife. + +"Do not draw it forth," said Kitte, "not yet. Will--may--come." + +Then Stephen called Calote, who came into this great grief rubbing the +sleep from her eyes. + +"Nay, weep not, child," said Kitte when 't was told. "What shall thy +true love believe,--dost thou grudge him life?" + +But Calote sobbed more bitterly, lying on the floor beside her mother. + +"Will," Kitte whispered; and Stephen went to the door and looked out +and saw him coming. + +"I have been going up and down," said Will, "praying mercy. But they +are mad with blood. One man I saved; but when I came that way again +another had slain him and he lay in the ditch. Yonder in the tavern +Wat and his demon Pride make merry and proclaim how they will rule +England. Poor Wat! Already there be certain of his fellows look +askance. Poor Wat!" + +"Go in!" whispered Stephen, and told him. + +After, the squire pushed him in for that he stood as one in amaze, +and shut the door on all that sorrow. But himself remained without, +and presently crossed the street to the tavern to give Richard's +message to the roisterers. + +"Will," said Kitte, "do not grieve. Thou 'rt--the more--free--to serve +thy--lady--Saint Truth." + +"Did that grieve thee?" he groaned. "In the Vision 't is a man, +Truth." + +"Calote hath--her--love--and thou--freedom.--Better so!" + +"Hush, mother, oh, hush!" sobbed Calote. "Dost thou not love us that +thou canst leave us lone so willing? Say thou 'rt sorrowing to leave +us! Ah, mother, say 't!" + +Kitte looked in Long Will's eyes. + +"Love us!" he cried. And then, "Kitte,--Kitte, is this likewise +failure? What have I done?--Stay,--and learn me to love! Oh, thou true +loving wife!--What have I done,--what have I done?--Forgive me!" + +"Draw forth--knife,--the more ease," she said. + +The blood came in a great gush very swift. + +"Kiss me," she whispered. + +And when he had done this, she was dead. + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + Smithfield + + +In the dawn of Saturday London streets were all astir. On all the +streets and amid the lanes close by Thames the Flemish widows bewailed +their dead. On Cheapside and along Cornhill men were met together; +some there were in bands with banners, and some singly. Also there ran +up and down certain fellows that cried:-- + +"Go ye to Smithfield, good folk, 't is the King's will to meet with +you in that place." + +Others shouted: "Wat Tyler biddeth you to Smithfield, all the +Fellowship." + +Whereat there were a-many laughed; and they said: "Do we the bidding +of Wat Tyler, or is the King our liege and lord?" + +But there were others frowned. + +"Heard ye Wat in Dame Emma's tavern last night?" they said, and their +brows bent dark. + +"In Norfolk do we dub so proud speech treason." + +Then looked every man over his shoulder hastily. + +"Wat was drunk," quoth one after a little. + +"When a man 's drunk he spills more than his victual," other answered +him. + +"Wat Tyler biddeth you to Smithfield, all the Fellowship!" bawled the +crier. + +"Wat Tyler's leader of the Fellowship, what harm?" + +"Or John Ball?" + +"I 'm of Jack Straw's ményé." + +"Good folk, good folk, to Smithfield,--do the King's bidding!" shouted +another crier. + +"Afore all I 'm King's man," said a Kentish villein. + +"And I!" + +"And I!" + +"God keep the King!" + +These things, and more after this same manner, the people said one to +another in the way to Smithfield. By New Gate they went, and Moor Gate +and Alders Gate, for this Smithfield was without the wall beyond Saint +Bartholomew's; a market square, wherein butchers slaughtered their +beef, a foul, ill-smelling place; and every man that went thither on +that June day was in some kind a butcher, with hosen bespattered with +blood, and brown patches dried on tabard and courtepy. Neither had +they cleaned their knives and knotted bludgeons, but came as they were +to Smithfield, dull-eyed with wine and sleep. + +"What is to be the end?" they said; and there were some whispered: "'T +were well if we had let be the Flemings"-- + +"Lay not that on us! 'T is the London men shall answer for 't." + +"I saw a-many men from Kent did"-- + +"Mark ye, brothers, 't is not the Flemings will undo us, but old +Simon, the Archbishop. There was a foul deed." So spake Hobbe the +smith, and all they that heard him crossed themselves. + +"Who saith we 're undone?" blustered a fellow out of Sussex. "Have we +not the King's pardon, and villeinage is dead?" + +Nevertheless, 't was a sober company choked the narrow streets and +swayed about the gates pressing to Smithfield. + +And now the King came forth from the Garde Robe, his white-lipped +nobles with him, and rode through Temple Bar and along the Strand past +Charing Cross and John of Gaunt's blackened palace to the Abbey at +Westminster. Mayor Walworth was with the King, and Salisbury and +Buckingham and the other nobles that had sheltered in the Tower, but +they were not many, and they were very pale. Stephen walked with his +hand on the King's bridle, and this was the last time he should do the +King this service, but he was not aware, nor the King neither. +Nevertheless, Stephen knew that he must one day reckon with the +nobles; and if not with the nobles then with the peasants. Howbeit, in +this hour he took no keep of his own soul and body, but pondered how +the quarrel should end. + +There was little speech among the nobles. These were brave men, but +faint with much watching and bewildered. That all England should be +turned up-so-down by peasants and common folk was a thing not to be +believed; nevertheless, the nobles knew that the Prior of Bury Saint +Edmunds was slain by a mob near Newmarket, and also Sir John +Cavendish, Chief Justice of England, who was on circuit in Suffolk, +but the rioters overtook him hard by Lakenheath. They knew that Saint +Albans was up, and already rumours were come up out of Northampton and +Cambridge and Oxford. There was fear of Leicestershire and Somerset; +what Yorkshire would do might not be determined. 'T was whispered that +many lords of manors and noble ladies wandered homeless amid the +forests of Kent, bewailing their manor-houses sacked and burned. These +things the nobles pondered as they rode from the city to Westminster +on Saturday, being the fifteenth day of June in that year, the fourth +of King Richard II. + +Howbeit, neither at Westminster was found peace, for there came forth +of the Abbey a procession of monks, penitents, bearing the cross. Then +with groans and tears did these monks tell their tale:-- + +"O Lord King, the Abbey is defiled!" + +"At the shrine of that most holy one, Edward the Confessor, blood is +spilled." + +"Sire, avenge us!" + +"Richard Imworth is slain, King Richard." + +"Richard Imworth, warden of the Marshalsea, is murdered, sire!" + +"His hand was even on the tomb of the Confessor." + +"The people have shed blood in the church!" + +"Sire, punish!" + +"Who will save us?--The Archbishop is slain!" + +Then did Richard light down off his horse and kissed the cross; and my +Lord Buckingham, the King's uncle,--that strong man,--burst into tears +and ran into the church. And presently, all those great nobles and +puissant gentlemen were within, running up and down with tears and +sighs to kiss and clasp the shrines and the most holy relics, sobbing +and shuddering liker to weak women than warriors; striving as who +should kneel more close to holiness,--and all the tombs and sacred +places wet with their weeping. King Richard knelt to pray at the +Confessor's shrine and bade call a father to confess him his sins, +which when he had done, the King went out soberly to his horse. And +all this while Stephen stood without the church holding the King's +horse by the bridle. So when the King was in his saddle they two +waited silent, and one after one the knights and nobles came forth; +and 't would seem they were greatly strengthened by those prayers and +confessions, for now they spoke together somewhat concerning ways and +means. + +"If the peasants can be drawn forth of the city and the gates closed, +sire," said Walworth, "methinks we may hold against them. There be +many loyal citizens of London, and many more since yesterday, for +there begin to be murmurings against Wat Tyler." + +"My Lord Mayor," said Buckingham harshly, "you will do well to +remember that one walketh at the King's bridle who maketh boast to +serve these rebels." + +"I am the King's servant likewise," said Stephen. + +"Were the good Archbishop on live," quoth Salisbury very grave, "I +make no doubt he would say a man may not serve two masters." + +"The King and the people are one, my lord." + +There was a murmur, yet none dared speak openly his discontent. + +Then said Richard, nor turned his face to right nor left but rode +straight forward: "The King is the people." + +Nevertheless, neither Stephen nor the nobles might read his meaning, +and 't were marvel if himself knew what he would do. + +So they rode again through Temple Bar, but at Lud Gate they turned +northward without the city wall and on past New Gate, where peasants +followed them. And when they had passed by Saint Bartholomew's they +came into Smithfield, and the people were pressed together, a mighty +throng, at one side of the open square and beyond. But Will Langland +was not with the peasants at this time; he knelt in his cot on +Cornhill by the side of his wife, chaunting a prayer for the dead, and +his daughter was on her knees at the other side, and there burned tall +tapers at head and foot of the bier. It may well be that those deeds +which befel at Smithfield had not befallen thus and so if Will +Langland and his daughter Calote had been in that company; but as +concerning these things, who shall prophesy? + +Now what followeth is known right well of all the world, to wit, that +part that is writ in the chronicles, as how Wat Tyler came across the +square sole alone to have speech of the nobles; and this he did +without fear, being upholden by that law of chivalry whereby a herald +and a messenger may not be evil entreated of an enemy; and these were +knights and gentles, flow'r of chivalry, wherefore though Wat Tyler +loved them not at all, yet did he trust them. Nevertheless, he spake +too bold, with a brawling tongue and small courtesy. He made plain +that he would be master, and the people was minded to rule England. + +"Give me the King's dagger!" quoth he curt; and Richard gave his +dagger into his squire's hand and bade him give to Wat Tyler; and +Stephen did the King's bidding. Good Mayor Walworth, at the King's +right hand, swelled purple, and those others, nobles, cursed betwixt +their teeth. + +Then said Wat Tyler: "I will have the King's sword." + +"Nay, Wat, art mad?" protested Stephen. "This is majesté, have a +care!" + +"Let him take the sword an he will," said the King, and Wat Tyler put +forth his hand to take it, but the Lord Mayor might not any longer +withhold his wrath, and on a sudden he had struck Wat, who fell down +off his horse; and, hatred being let loose, those knights and noble +gentlemen immediately stabbed him so that he died. Then looked they +one on another, and on this man that had trusted them. And into their +shamed silence came voices of the peasants across the square. + +"What 's to hap?" + +"They are making him a knight!" + +"Yea, yea!" + +"I saw the blow!" + +"Nay, hath fallen." + +"Treason!" + +"Wat!--Treason!" + +"Slain!" + +As they were carven in stone those nobles stood, white horror +stiffened on their faces, to see a thousand bowstrings drawn as one, +and deadly long-bows bent;--'t would seem all England held her breath +awaiting chaos. Then King Richard, that fair child, true son of +Plantagenet, rode out into that moment's tottering stillness, alone, +with his face set towards those thousand straining arrows. + +"I am your leader!" he cried, "I am your King!" and came into their +midst smiling. + +They leaped about him crying and singing, as 't were his valour had +made them drunk. A-many broke their bows in twain across their knees. +As on the Friday at Mile End, so now they kissed his feet; blessings +went up as incense. And he laughed with them and wept and called them +brothers. + +"This is to be a king!" he cried with arms uplift to heaven. For he +knew that he was ruler of England in that hour. + +A little while he stayed with them, their eyes worshipful upturned +ever to his as he rode hither and yon in the press, their voices, +gladsome wild, ever in his ear, till the spell of their love so +wrought with him that he was made a lover. In his heart Mercy and +Truth were met together, Rightwisness and Peace had kissed. If his +people had wronged him, he knew it not; Love sat in the seat of +Memory, Suspicion had drunk a sleeping potion. + +"This is to be a king!" cried Richard. + + "'Then came there a king, knighthood him led, + Might of the commons made him to reign.'" + +And John Ball at his stirrup said, also out of the Vision:-- + + "'Love is leech of life and next our Lord's self, + And also the straight way that goeth into heaven.'" + +"Heaven?" murmured Richard, and after very soft, twixt prayer and +amaze, "Thy kingdom come." + +So he turned about and rode at a slow pace, as one in a dream, across +the square to his nobles, and there was on his face a shining look as +of one who seeth a vision. + +"This is the bravest man in all England to-day, and he is our King," +said old Salisbury, and Richard smiled, eyes and mouth radiant, +flashing as the sun. + +Then said Mayor Walworth, who was ever a blunt man, "Now will I ride +swift into the city, sire, and man the wards and bring hither Sir +Robert Knollys, and his retainers shall surround these fellows and +break their pride." + +Richard turned to look on the Mayor, the smile fading. As one that +waketh out of a sweet dream and encountereth the old perplexity he had +thought was laid, so Richard stared; and there grew in his eyes a look +of fear. + +"What need?" he said, and drew rein as he would scape anew to his +people. + +Then came the Earl of Salisbury close, and who had looked in the old +man's face the while he spoke to Richard might not fail to see a great +pity therein. + +"Sire," he said, and the pity was in his voice likewise,--"sire, 't +were not wise these peasants come again into the city. They have +wrought too great havoc; we may not trust them." + +As one who strives to gather his wits Richard sat, with dumb eyes +fixed on the old Earl. His lip quivered. + +Salisbury began anew, very patient and soft, as one speaketh to a +creature that is frighted, or to a child: "My lord, the people have +obtained that they asked, now they ought to disperse and wend them +homeward. To this end 't were well thou lead them out into the fields +to speed them on their way." + +"Yea," Richard answered slow. "Then what need of Sir Richard Knollys +and his retainers?" + +"The men of Kent must go again through London to cross the river by +the Bridge,--bethink thee of yesterday, sire"-- + +"Yesterday is dead!" the boy cried. "I and my people are at peace!" + +"Natheless, sire, hearts are as tinder." + +"Then wherefore set them afire by the steel of armed knights?" + +"Nay, my liege, but if these peasants be penitent, wherefore shall +they refuse to be escorted thorough that fair city wherein they +behaved so ill?" + +"I will not betray my people," cried Richard, a sob in his voice. + +"Disperse them only, my lord. Though there be many loyal, natheless we +do know of sureté that there be certain among them like to this Tyler, +would make themselves King. Thyself hast seen how they are easily led +this way and that, for good or ill. Remember the Archbishop, sire." + +There shot a spasm of anguish athwart the King's face. "I will lead +them into the fields. They shall be dispersed," he said with a loud, +unsteady voice. "But I have set them free. I will not betray them! I +will not betray them!" + +And riding away he was presently in the midst of the peasant rout, +laughing, leading them to Clerkenwell. But his cheeks were +fever-bright, and the look of fear faded not out of his eyes. With +quips and merry gests he lured them on, and he bethought him how that +Stephen had said that night in the Tower, "They 'll be led like little +children," and so they were. + +"Hearken, my people," said Richard, wistful, "none standeth between us +any more. Would ye that Wat Tyler had made himself your King?" + +"King Richard!--King Richard!" they shouted. + +"None standeth between us any more, mes amis,--neither noble, nor +common man"-- + +"Nor archbishop," cried one, but a tumult of voices smothered him, +with:-- + +"Nay--'t was Wat slew the Archbishop!" + +And when they saw the cloud on Richard's brow, they cried yet more +loud, as in a frenzy:-- + +"'T was Wat!--'t was Wat! Long live King Richard!" + +But John Ball was not now in that throng, nor Jack Straw; they had +fled away. + +And now came Sir Robert Knollys with his knights and men-at-arms, +retainers, surrounding the peasants that were as patient as silly +sheep, for they looked upon their young shepherd and trusted him. So +when certain of those soldiers would have fallen upon the people to +slay them, King Richard arose in his saddle and forbade them, saying +in anger:-- + +"These are my children,--mine! mine!--Let not a hair of their heads be +harmed. If they had hearts of men, might they not slay me even now, +beholding this foul ambush by which they are taken? But they are as +babes doing my bidding. They have faith, even though I lead them into +bondage." + +Then he burst into tears, very passionate, and screamed loud and +hoarse:-- + +"I have set them free! Do ye hearken?--I have set them free,--free! O +Christ, I am not traitor to my people!" + +My Lord Salisbury likewise forbade violence, and Richard, when he had +dried his tears and got his voice, spoke again to the people and made +them to know as how the men of Kent must homeward, and others in peace +to north and west. And when they had set forth obedient, Richard rode +into the city, the light as of a conqueror in his eyes. Nevertheless, +behind this there lurked the look of fear. + +Meanwhile in Smithfield Wat Tyler lay dead of his wounds. And when +Richard led the peasants out to Clerkenwell, and the nobles rode into +the city to bring succour, Stephen only remained. But presently John +Ball came forth of a house, and when they two saw that no man +hindered, they took up the body of poor Wat and bore it within the +Church of St. Bartholomew and laid it decently at the east end of the +nave. + +"Wat hath lost us London," said John Ball. "But who might believe that +true knights and noble gentlemen would so sin against courtesy! Our +hope now is to keep the shires stirring. I 'll not stay in this +death-trap, but carry the spark to northward. Yorkshire ought to be up +by now, if the message carried, and Cheshire, and Somerset. God keep +thee, brother! While the breath 's in our bodies we may fan the +flame." The priest was gone, and Stephen sat him down by the body to +watch. + +So after the day was won and the peasants scattered, Mayor Walworth +bethought him of Wat Tyler and came again to Smithfield to seek him. +But finding naught except blood where the dead man had fallen, he +searched diligently, as did two aldermen that were with him, and in +the end they found that they sought. + +"Have him forth!" said the Mayor. "'T is no place for traitors in a +church." + +"Good Master Walworth," pleaded Stephen, "this man was more honest +than many. He followed truth,--and we be all stumblers. If he sought +to take the King, what did he more than John of Gaunt would do, or +others of the noblesse? I have lived with Wat Tyler as he were my +brother;--I know him that he sinned being ambitious, but this sin he +shareth with John of Gaunt and better men; and not for himself alone +did he desire to rule England, but for the sake of the poor that is so +down-trodden. But John of Gaunt for power and his own sake only. I +know him that he was a wrathful man,--but who so wrathful wild as Earl +Percy of Northumberland, natheless men do him courtesy." + +"Master Fitzwarine," made answer the Mayor, "give up thy sword and +yield thee prisoner, for that thou defendest traitors and murderers, +disturbers of the King's peace. This man hath slain the Archbishop of +Canterbury." + +"'T is very true, if Wat Tyler is traitor then am I likewise," said +Stephen, and gave up his sword. And one of the aldermen bound him with +a rope to lead him away. Then did Mayor Walworth take Wat Tyler's body +by the heels, and dragged it forth into Smithfield and hewed the head +from the trunk. This he did with Stephen's sword. After, he gave the +head to that other alderman, not him that bound Stephen, and bade him +take down the Archbishop's head from London Bridge and set Wat Tyler's +where that one had hung; and these things were done. But Stephen was +cast into a dungeon in the Tower. + + + + + CHAPTER X + + The Old Fetters + + +On the Sunday when Long Will and Calote were come from the burial of +Kitte, they were met at their door by Walworth and certain of the +King's officers, who said:-- + +"Knowest aught concerning that arch-traitor, Jack Straw? 'T is +believed he lieth hid in the city.--In the King's name, open thy +door!" + +"Name him not!" cried Will, and crossed himself. "I am a clerk; I may +not venge mine own wrong!--Natheless his name breeds murder in my +heart." He groaned and covered his face. Those others stared in amaze. + +"Heard ye not?" said Calote then. "'T was Friday he came into our cot +by night, and he would have slain one slept there, but my mother ran +in between.--My mother was slain." + +"Alack, sweet maid, here 's news!" exclaimed the Mayor. "I 've been +busied propping the kingdom." And to the men he said: "On! he is not +here." + +But one of the men answered him: "The fellow was seen o' Cornhill +within the hour. Is a most arrant knave. This house were safest in all +London, seeing he hath shed blood in it. Let us enter!" + +So they went in and threw wide the window and the doors, for that the +room was dark. And some mounted to the chamber under the roof. Then +the man that craved leave to enter went and stood by the great chest +in the lower room; and presently he had lifted the lid and thrust in +his hand, and all they heard a terrible squawk. The man had Jack Straw +by the leg, and flung him out on the floor. + +"O thou vile murderer!" cried Calote. "Coward, without shame! Dost +shelter thee on this hearth thou hast defiled? O craven dog!" + +There were deep shadows in the eyes of Calote. This horror of her +mother's death was yet upon her. Moreover, she knew what it was to +fail. + +"Do not let the clerk come at me!" Jack Straw prayed the Mayor. He +shivered; he was all of a sweat. "Wherefore do ye take me? Thrust thy +fingers in my breast, the King's pardon is there. Hark ye,--I 'll say +it. I have it by heart. 'Know that of our special grace we have +manumitted'--hearken, 'freed him of all bondage, and made him quit by +these presents.' I be free man, pardoned of all felonies, treasons, +transgressions, and extortions. Look ye, masters,--'t is writ +here.--Bind not my hands! Read!--'And assure him of our summa pax.' I +'m free man. Read!--'Dated June the fourteenth, anno regni quarto.' I +had it of yonder clerk, learned me the Latin the while he writ. I 'm +free man. Will,--speak for me! Will!--Will!--I meant no harm,--she +came between and I knew 't not. Will, thou knowest I meant no harm to +Kitte. Speak! Is 't for this I 'm ta'en? The Lord is leech of love, +Will, forgiveth his enemies. I 'm thy friend, Will;--was ever." + +"Have him forth!" shouted Langland above this din. "Have him forth +swift,--else must ye bind me likewise. O Christ--give me +leave!--Avenge her, Christ Jesus!" + +Then Jack Straw, being 'ware that here was no hope, turned him at the +threshold and said:-- + +"There be others, prisoners, mistress, and thy peddler is one. I saw +him borne to Tower yester e'en. Thy fine esquire 's like to lose his +head as soon as I." + +"Set a gag twixt his teeth," said Walworth. So they did, and bore him +through London streets. And if any man was his friend, he went and hid +himself. + +Meanwhile, the King took counsel with his lords in the great chamber +in the Tower. His cheeks were pale, his eyes heavy. He pressed his +hand oft to his brow, where sat a frown. + +"Sire," said Buckingham, "'t is very certain these knaves ought to be +punished, else shall we never have done with uprisings and rebellions +that do endanger the kingdom." + +"Where is Etienne Fitzwarine?" asked Richard, fretful. "Let him mix my +cup! There 's a fever inward, parcheth my throat." + +My Lord of Buckingham looked uneasy on my Lord of Salisbury. Then Sir +John Holland behind the King's back said: "No doubt he consorteth with +those low fellows, his friends, and maketh merry that the King is +cozened." + +"Ribaude!" cried the boy starting from his seat. "I cozened?--I?--I?" +He choked and turned half round, his hand on his sword. + +Sir John went backward a pace, nevertheless he would not eat his +words:-- + +"Wherefore should they not make merry, sire? They were fools an they +wept. Nay, they have gone home to their wives to tell a marvellous +tale. Here 's a king! do they cry. Let us but rise up and burn a +manor-house or two, and take London Bridge,--and we may have what we +will, even if 't be the King's crown." + +"Who bade me grant all?" cried Richard. "Who fled a-horseback into the +fields for fear of that rabble at Mile End? What I did, was 't not +done to save your coward skins, as much as to pleasure peasants?" + +"O my liege! Who may know this, if not thy loyal servants?" said +Salisbury, and bent his old knees. Whereupon those others knelt +likewise, and Salisbury continued:-- + +"Thou hast wrought with a king-craft beyond thy years, sire. Thou hast +saved England. But now must stern measures be taken, else are we like +to be in worse case. When the people discover that they are--that +they--are"-- + +"Tricked!" shouted Buckingham, laughing loud. "Tricked, my wise +nephew! 'T were well to crush them neath the iron hand of fear, ere +they find out this. So, I say, fall to!--Beat them down! Let blood +flow! 'T is the one way!" + +"Tricked?" the King repeated, frowning. "But I was honest." + +"Ay, my lord," assured him Salisbury. "And so wert thou honest if a +madman came to thee and gripped thy throat and said, 'Give me thy +kingdom, King Richard,' and thou didst answer, 'Yea, freely I give it +thee.' Natheless, the madman might not rule England. Neither may King +Richard keep faith with him, for that were grievous wrong to +Englishmen." + +The King laughed, as he were uncertain and ashamed; the colour came +into his face. "'T is very raisonable," he said slowly,--"but--I did +not give them the kingdom,--I gave them--liberty." + +"My lord hath not forgot that concerning this matter Parliament +hath a voice. It may well be Parliament shall give +consent,--natheless"--Salisbury faltered, and Buckingham laughed very +scornful. + +"I am King!" cried Richard haughtily, but there was a question in his +cry. + +"My lord doth not forget," said Salisbury, "as how in England the King +taketh counsel with his people as concerning the welfare of the +kingdom. Since the day of the first Edward, grandfather to my lord's +grandfather, this is more and more a custom in England. Through +Parliament doth the King receive his grants, taxes, moneys for the +King's expending. 'T were not well to make an enemy of Parliament. The +court is straitened for moneys." + +Richard bit his lip and paced up and down, clinching his hands. + +"Who said the King was free?" he cried. And on a sudden, very fierce: +"If I am cozened, 't is not the peasants have cozened me." + +"O sire!" pleaded the old Earl, "think not of noblesse, nor of +peasants, nor yet of thine own self,--but of all England, that thy +grandfather Edward made a great nation. Wilt have it go to wrack in +the hands of crazed villeins? Put down the revolt with a strong hand; +then will they wake from their madness." + +"Cure them with blood, sire," said Buckingham. "'T is the one way. +Else were no man's head safe." + +"Beau sire!" cried Robert de Vere, entering, "the Mayor is here with +that rebel, Jack Straw, was so fierce against the Flemings on Friday." + +Then came in Walworth, and Jack bound. + +"What vermin is this?" asked Richard. "Have him forth,--displeaseth +me. Faugh! How the fellow crawls!" + +"Sire, I will confess," Jack whined. "I will reveal all. Let me go +free, sire! I went astray. Do but let me go free, and I 'll confess. +'T was not I was leader, sire, but Wat Tyler--and Stephen +Fitzwarine"-- + +The King had sat listless, paying no heed, but at the name of +Fitzwarine he lifted his head:-- + +"Take this liar to the courtyard and beat out 's brains!" he said. +"Where is Etienne?" + +"Sire, pardon!" now began Walworth, "but 't is very true I took Master +Fitzwarine yester e'en by the side of the body of the traitor, Wat +Tyler; and he made as to defend the body, and spake against certain +great nobles of the realm." + +"Thou hast slain him?" screamed Richard,--"Etienne!--Etienne!" + +"Nay, sire; for that I knew the King loved him. Natheless, for safety +he is housed close. And here is his sword. With this same sword I +strake off the head of Wat Tyler. My lord, I am thy faithful servant." + +"Ay," Richard assented. "Prythee pardon, friend; I have not forgot +that good turn thou did me and all England yesterday. But give me the +sword. I will wear the sword that hewed off that traitor's head." + +"Sweet nephew," said Buckingham, "'t is very certain Fitzwarine was +likewise traitor." + +"Wilt thou forget those bold words he spake in this chamber, sire, +three days agone?" cried Sir John Holland. + +"Wilt thou forget that insult to madame the Queen, who must needs ride +with his wanton that night on Blackheath?" sneered Robert de Vere, +Earl of Oxford. + +"O sire," said Jack Straw soft,--"is 't known of these gentles as how +Fitzwarine traversed England a year and more, in company of this same +leman, stirring up revolt?" + +There went up a shout of wrath and amaze from all those lordings:-- + +"Sire!" they cried, and every eye bent on the King craved vengeance. + +"Pah!" said he. "'T is not question of Etienne, but of this worm that +speweth venom. Let him be despatched forthwith!" + +Then Jack Straw cast himself down on the floor and writhed on his +belly as far as the King's feet, crying:-- + +"Mercy!--Grace!--Mercy!--Mercy!--I will reveal the plot. O sire, I +will unfold the secrets of this Rising! Give me only my life, my life, +sire, my life!" + +"Well, take thy life! Thou shalt go free,--if thou tell all," said +Richard, with averted face. "Lift the fellow to his knees, +thou,--yeoman guard,--and wipe his slobber off my shoes!" + +So when Jack Straw was got to his knees and a stout yeoman on either +side holding him up underneath his arm-pits, for that he was weak with +fright and lack of food, he began to tell his tale. + +"'T was in Long Will's cot o' Cornhill,--the Chantry Priest, him that +writ the Vision concerning Piers Ploughman,--'t was in his house this +plot was hatched.--Water, my lords!--Pity, my tongue is twice its true +size!" + +"Verily, I believe it is so," said Richard; he would not look at Jack +Straw, but sat with face turned to one side and eyes cast down. "Give +him to drink," he said. + +The Mayor caught a silver flagon from the table and held it to Jack's +lips, and when he had drunk, my Lord of Oxford ground the flagon +beneath his heel and kicked it shapeless into a corner. + +"'T was o' Cornhill, lordings, and Will was there, and the light o' +love, his daughter, and Wat Tyler,--and--and--Fitzwarine"-- + +"And thou," said Richard. + +"But I was no leader in this Rising, sire. Wat would be leader,--a +proud, wrathful man. And the traitor Fitzwarine hath evil entreated me +oft, for that he would hold second place to Wat." + +"Where was John Ball?" asked Salisbury. + +"John Ball also was there," cried Jack very eager. "'T was he set us +all agog in the beginning with his preaching and prating." + +"Get on! The plot!" Richard interrupted impatiently. + +"Mercy, sire,--grace!--'T was agreed as how all knights, squires, and +gentlemen should be slain, and the King made to lead this revolution. +For this cause came Wat to Smithfield yester morn, to take the King. +Mercy!--And until all England was risen up, the King should be called +leader of the people. Then should we slay all the lords.--Ah, pity, +gentles!--And when was none left to succour the King,--Wat Tyler would +have had the King slain.--Sire, not I, but Wat!--Grace!--Pardon!" + +Richard's face was still as stone. Jack Straw hung limp betwixt the +yeomen, and well-nigh swooned, moaning the while. + +Thrice Richard moved his lips and no sound came; at last he said, +"Anon?" + +"The--the--bishops after, sire, and all monks, canons,--rectors, to be +slain. When no one survived, greater, stronger, or more knowing than +ourselves, we should have made at our pleasure laws by which the +subjects would be ruled." + +The room was all a-murmur with rage. Richard arose and signed to the +guard to take up Jack Straw:-- + +"Take him to the place in the courtyard where Archbishop Simon was +murdered," he said in a cold voice. "Rip out his guts, lop off his +legs and arms. Let his head be borne throughout the city on a pole, +and what remaineth cut in four pieces and send by fleet-foot +messengers to north and south and east and west of this foul, +traitorous England." + +Jack Straw heard with starting eyes. Then strength came to him and he +shrieked and struggled:-- + +"Thy promise, sire, thy promise!--Thou didst give me life! Mercy!--Thy +promise!" + +"One thing 't would seem a king is free to do," Richard answered him. +"'T is to break promises." + +And old Salisbury sighed, and hung his head as he were suddenly grown +feeble. + +So Jack Straw was borne away to his death, and the nobles crowded +around Richard, buzzing approval. + +"And Fitzwarine, sire?" said Robert de Vere. + +The boy pressed his hands against his eyes:-- + +"Have ye no pity, wolves?" he groaned. + +"Natheless, sire, he is a traitor," persisted Buckingham. "Is no time +to set free traitors." + +"I have not set him free," said Richard. "Let that suffice. If ye are +thirsty for blood, go down into Cheapside; Mayor Walworth shall set up +anew the block that was there, and strike off the heads of all such as +were known to be murderers of Flemings. The widows of the dead weavers +may wield the axe an they will. Here 's sport, my lords! Now, pray you +leave me! I must make ready for this pilgrimage of vengeance mine +uncle Buckingham counselleth." + +"The jongleuse and her father, sire?" ventured Sir John Holland. + +"I may not take keep of women and poets," Richard answered. "'T is my +friends only that I betray." + + + + + CHAPTER XI + + The Prisoner + + +Stephen's cell was a narrow place, and there was no window but a slit +wherefrom arrows only might take flight. Looking forth with face +pressed close to the stone, Stephen saw the gray wall of the inner +ward, and no other thing. Nevertheless, by means of this crack he knew +light from darkness, and when three days were past he said to the +gaoler:-- + +"How long do I bide in this place?" + +"The last man bode here till he died, master,--two-score and five +year. My father was turnkey." + +Stephen turned his face to the arrow-slit, and the man went out and +barred the door. + +"Now will I set my life in order against the day I come forth," said +Stephen; "and whether Death unlock the door, or Life, I shall be +ready." + +So he sat close by the crack, with his fingers thrust through, +beckoning freedom. And here the gaoler found him night and morn, +silent, as he were wrapt in a deep contemplation, a little sad, but +hopeful withal, and uncomplaining. The gaoler eyed him in amaze, and +searched the cell for rope or knife or crowbar, for written word or +phial of poison, whereby this strange calm might be accounted for. But +he found none of these things. And in this way there dragged on a +fortnight. Then might the gaoler hold his peace no longer. + +"Hard fare," quoth he, setting the black bread and the water jug ready +to Stephen's hand. + +"Ay," the prisoner made answer, "but a-many people in England have no +better, and a-many go hungry. Wherefore shall I feed fat the while my +brothers fast?" + +"Thou art the most strange wight ever I saw," said the gaoler. "For +the most part do they ramp and rage, beat head against wall, and curse +blasphemously. Others there be lie in swoon, eat not, cry and make +moan. But thou!"-- + +"I look into my past," said Stephen. "I live over my life. By now I 'm +a seven years child, and my mother died yesterday." + +"Lord!--'s lost his wits!" exclaimed the gaoler and fled incontinent. + +The next day he pushed the door open very cautious, peered round the +edge, and set the bread and water on the ground. + +"Come in, br-br-brother," Stephen called. "I be not mad. I do but muse +on life, to discover wherein it may be bettered, and where 's the +fault. When I 'm done with time past I 'll think on time to come, and +what 's to do if ever I go free. By this device keep I my wits. I do +love life, brother, I would live as long as I may." + +"Art thou a poet?" queried the gaoler. + +"Nay, but I make rhymes as well as any other gentleman." + +This was before the hour of prime. At sunset, when the gaoler came +again he questioned:-- + +"Dost thou find the fault in life, and wherein 't may be bettered?" + +"There be a-many faults, brother, but one is this, that some men do +make of themselves masters, and hold their fellows in bonds, and those +may not choose,--but they must be bound whether they will or no. + + 'When Adam delved and Eve span, + Who was then'"-- + +but the gaoler went out, and slammed the door to with a loud noise. + +'T was nigh a week after, and now mid July, when he spoke again to +Stephen:-- + +"The King doth not yet stint to kill the men who sing that ribald +rhyme concerning our forefather Adam." + +"But the King set villeins free!" cried Stephen, aroused. + +"Free as a hawk is free when fowler tieth a thread to 's claw." + +"So?" said Stephen, "then all 's lost!" and very hastily: "Prythee, +brother, tell me, was Will Langland, him they call Long Will,--was he +taken,--a-a-and a-a-any ki-kinsfolk of his?" + +"Nay, he 's loose in London streets, as crazed as ever he was. His +wife 's slain in the riot, and now he 's free to mount in Holy Church +an he will; but he 's a fool. Knows not to hold 's tongue. By the +King's grace only, and Master Walworth, was he spared, and the +yellow-haired maid, his daughter." + +"Ah!" sighed Stephen. + +The gaoler grinned and grunted. + +On the morrow Stephen greeted him with a face so radiant tender that +the man said:-- + +"Eh, well, where art thou now,--in Paradise?" + +"At the Miracle in Paul's Churchyard," answered him Stephen. + +"I 'll be sworn there 's a maid in that memory?" + +"Yea, a maid," Stephen assented. + +"Yellow-haired?" + +But Stephen said no word. + +"Yesterday, in Cheapside, one named Calote questioned me, if I were +turnkey in the Tower"-- + +Stephen leaped to his feet, but the man was on the other side of the +door and let fall the heavy bar. By the threshold there lay a bit of +parchment whereon was writ:-- + + "Though it be very sour to suffer, there cometh sweet after; + As on a walnut without is bitter bark, + And after"-- + +but here was that parchment torn off short, and on the other side was +writ:-- + + "Why I suffer or suffer not, thyself hath naught to do; + Amend thou it if thou might for my time is to abide. + Sufferance is a sovereign virtue and"-- + +And when he had read these words from the Vision concerning Piers +Ploughman, Stephen spent that day a-kissing the bit of parchment. + +Anon, a rainy eve, the gaoler set down a covered dish, with:-- + +"My goodwife hath a liking to thee, Master Fitzwarine. Sendeth thee a +mess of beans, hot. 'T is flat against rule, but she gave me no peace. +Women be pitiful creatures. She weepeth ever to hear the tale of thy +durance." + +"'T is joy to serve thy wife, to eat her hot beans. Merci, brother." + +"Nay, thank not me," said the man gruffly. "When thou hast eaten all, +hide the dish in the straw lest the Tower warden enter. 'T is not like +he will, but I 've no mind to lose my place for a woman's tears." + +So the days drifted, and the weeks. July was at an end, and August in +the third week. Stephen's cheeks were white and sunken, his blue eyes +looked forth from shadows, his lips were pale. The fingers that +fluttered in the arrow-slit were wasted thin. One morn the gaoler came +and found him singing in a faint voice this song:-- + + "O Master, Master, list my word! + Now rede my riddle an ye may: + My ladye she is a poor man's daughter, + And russet is my best array." + +And when Stephen was come to the end of his singing he heard a sound, +and there sat gaoler on the floor blubbering. + +"Where art thou now?" said that good man a-blowing his nose. + +"One while I wandered over all England with one that was messenger to +carry news of the Fellowship and the Rising. We bought bed and board +with a song. So do I wander now, and I sing." + +"Then 't was a true word, that Jack Straw affirmed concerning thee?" +cried the man. + +"What said he?" + +"Thus and so concerning thy pilgrimage and thy part in the Rising." + +"Is he dead?" + +"Ay; and no easy task to gather him together in the Last Day." + +But when Stephen would have asked yet more concerning Jack Straw, and +the King, and what was toward, the gaoler shut his lips and hasted +forth. + +After this, Stephen sang night and morn and midday the songs he had +sung--and Calote with him--in the year of pilgrimage. All those old +tales of Arthur he sang, and certain other that he had of Dan Chaucer; +and a-many he made new, rondels to praise his lady. Also he chaunted +the Vision concerning Piers Ploughman, from beginning to end,--which +was no end. But more often he sang that story called of a Pearl, that +Will Langland would have it was writ by his old master in Malvern. For +about this time, what with long waiting, and the heat of summer, +little food, and the foul smell of the dungeon, Stephen began to +consider what it might signify to die in that place; and the Vision of +the Holy City in the poem called of a Pearl comforted him much. + +So, as he chaunted one while of the maiden in the glistering garment, +that came down to the river's brink,--and in his heart he saw her face +how it was the face of Calote,--he heard the bar drawn, and the keys +to rattle, and presently the gaoler came in. + +"For thy soul's sake I bring thee a priest, Master Fitzwarine," he +said; "'t is long since thou madest confession." + +And behind him in the doorway stood a tall man, tonsured, garbed in +russet. + +"O my son!" cried Will, "how hast thou suffered!" And he picked up +Stephen off the floor and carried him to the window-crack. And the +gaoler emptied the water-jug in Stephen's face, and presently went out +and left those two alone. + +Stephen opened his eyes slow, wearily. + +"Steadfast!" he whispered, and smiled. + +And then he said:-- + +"Calote?" + +"She waiteth, praying. In the beginning we dared not plead for thee; +for that we knew the King was in no mood to hearken, so was he played +upon by the nobles, and his pride harrowed. By now there is rumour +that he beginneth to sicken of bloodshed. Haply he 'll be in mood to +pardon when he is come back to London." + +"Come back?--Where is the King?" + +"Sweet son, he goeth up and down the countryside, letting blood. +Robert Tressilian, the new Chief Justice, is with him, and his uncle +Buckingham. They show no mercy." + +"John Ball?" said Stephen. + +"Alack, he was ta'en at Coventry and, the King holding assize at Saint +Albans with the Lord Chief Justice, he was sent thither and +adjudged.--He 's dead. 'T was in July." + +"And the flame 's snuffed out?" + +"It flickers here and there. The King hath made peace with his uncle +Gaunt, who is set to keep the peace and stamp out the fire in the +north. In August the King came from Reading." + +"What is now? I 've lost count." + +"Now is September, son, and yesterday came word of riot in Salisbury +marketplace." + +"I mind me o' Salisbury marketplace," smiled Stephen, sad. "Calote and +I, we were there afore we went down into Devon. Tell me now of +Calote." + +"She bade me say to thee, Fitzwarine, think no more o' Calote. 'T is +no avail. Thou art gentleman, beloved of the King. Yea, we do believe +he doth love thee, else had he slain thee long since. 'T was youth's +folly, thy part in the Rising,--Calote saith,--these prisoned months +have shown thee what 's to do. Thy place is with gentlefolk. The King +shall pardon thee. Forget Calote, she saith." + +"Let Calote forget Stephen Fitzwarine an she will," he answered, "but +I am of the Fellowship." + +"Alas, there is no Fellowship more," sighed Langland. + +"The word hath been spoken, my father, the thought is born. Though the +King know it not, yet are we free. By fellowship shall we win in the +years to come. A long battle,--but it ends in victory." + +"Not in my day," said Will, "nor thine." + +"What are days?" cried Stephen. "I 've lost count." + +Then Will Langland kissed Stephen Fitzwarine, and "Even so is it in +mine own heart, O son," he said. "But for the most part folk is +sorrowful and faithless." + +"I have set my life in order," said Stephen. "If ever I come forth of +this prison-house, I 'll give to each and every villein o' my manor +that piece of land he tilleth, to have and to hold. Likewise I 'll +free them severally. This I may do within the law, for that the manor +is mine." + +"Calote saith she will never be thy wife," Will repeated,--nevertheless +he smiled. + +"Do thou say this to Calote, O my father,--my device is 'Steadfast.'" + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + Y-Robed in Russet + + +"Is naught to do," said Calote. "My life is like an empty house." + +And if her father admonished her that she fill it, she answered him: +"I am too poor. My richesse is spent." + +So the summer waned, and Richard's red vengeance began to pale. The +people and the King alike sickened of blood. Here and there a man was +pardoned. Those two aldermen that bade the peasants come into London +by the Bridge and Ald Gate in June were let go free. + +"If thou canst come at the King, he will surely set free Stephen +Fitzwarine," urged Will. "'Steadfast' is never Richard's watchword, +natheless he doth not willingly harm his friends. He 'll do them +kindness in secret, if he may not openly." + +"How may I endure to live out the length of my days to my life's end?" +sighed Calote. "Is naught to do." + +Nevertheless, about this time she began to be seen about the gates of +the Palace at Westminster, and craved leave to enter; but the guards +made mock of her and drove her away. As oft as thrice in the week they +did this, but she came again. + +One day, 't was October's end and presently Parliament would be met +together at Westminster, Calote stood on London Bridge, on the +drawbridge, and saw a barge come down Thames. And when the barge was +rowed beneath the drawbridge, Calote looked down, and the King sat +therein with madame his mother, and certain lords and ladies of the +court. One of these was Godiyeva. + +The folk on the bridge peered over, and there was muttering, for the +people no longer loved the King. + +"Goeth to Tower for a night and a day to discover what prisoners be +harboured therein and to consider their case," said one, and spat in +the water. + +Calote turned about and ran back to London, and so on to the Tower +gate. An hour she waited, and then came forth Stephen's gaoler. + +"Nay, I will bear no more messages to prisoners," said that man very +rough, when she had caught his arm. "The King 's within. There 'll be +a lopping of heads, and mine own wags very loose o' my neck." + +"To no prisoner, good brother," pleaded Calote, "but to a fair lady; +Godiyeva 's her name, madame's waiting-woman." + +The gaoler grunted, and stood uncertain. + +"Do but say this,--there 's a jongleuse craveth speech of her, a +jongleuse that served her once." + +He grunted yet more loud and went within. + +After a little while he came again and a page with him, who led Calote +across the outer and inner ward to the keep, and so by narrow ways and +steep stairs to a turret chamber where sat the Lady Godiyeva. + +"Lady," said Calote, "hast thou forgot one night in Yorkshire, at thy +manor-house?" + +"Mine old father is dead," Godiyeva answered, "and Eleyne, my sister, +is lady o' the manor,--but I have not forgot." + +"Lady,--Madame Godiyeva, I would come at King Richard. Have a boon to +crave, a token to deliver." + +Godiyeva bent her eyes, thoughtful, stern, upon the maid: "A token to +deliver?" quoth she. "In Yorkshire thou didst wear a dagger, I saw 't, +that night." + +"Dost fear I 'll kill the King?" Calote smiled, very sad. "Nay,--here +'s the dagger; keep it!" + +"'T is Master Fitzwarine's crest," said Godiyeva. + +"Ay, lady, he 's my love!--Lies low in dungeon. Here 's my boon." + +"This is a strange matter," mused Godiyeva, "for that Etienne +Fitzwarine is esquire and very parfait gentleman, in all the court was +none so true of his word, and so courteous to ladies. But this is a +common wench, a jongleuse.--Natheless, I heard him how he said, 'This +damosel is promised to be my wedded wife.'--Come, I 'll pay my debt!" + +Behind the arras of a little door they stood and listened. There was +no sound. Then Godiyeva put her eye to the edge of the arras. + +"He is alone," she said. "Go in!" + +Richard stood in a window. He held a little picture in his hand, and +looked on it smiling. Calote, barefoot, stepped noiseless over the +floor. Godiyeva, behind the arras, coughed. + +"Coeur de joie!" cried Richard, staring. But when he saw who it was +that knelt, gold-haired, before him, he went white and covered his +eyes. + +"I would forget!" he said, "I would forget! 'T is overpast!--Shall a +king never think on joyful things? Ah, give me leave to tune my +thoughts to love! These six months past I 've hearkened to hatred. Was +never king so meek. But now there 's a marriage toward. Wilt thou have +me think on murders,--and I take a wife in January?" + +"Nay,--not on murders, sire,--on pardon and peace." + +His moody face cleared slow,--"Is 't an omen?" he questioned, and, +stretching forth his hand with the picture, "See! here 's the lady +shall be Queen of England one day,--and queens are merciful. There 's +a tale of my grandmother, Philippa, how she saved the burgesses of +Calais,--and they were six. Here 's but only one, and he was my +childhood's friend.--She hath a wondrous pleading eye,--my lady.--'T +is an omen." He went to a table and wrote somewhat on a parchment; +then clapped his hands, and to the page that entered, said:-- + +"Bear this hastily to the warden of the Tower." + +"Gramerci! Sire!" whispered Calote, and bowed her head on her knees so +that her long hair lay on the ground at the King's feet as 't were a +pool of sunshine. + +"I ever meant to set him free--when the noblesse had forgot," said +Richard huskily. "He must depart in secret, for a little while. And +now may I forget murder and turn me to merriment. The Rising 's +pricked flat. I will never remember it more." + +"And dost thou willingly forget that day the people blessed thee for +thy gifts of freedom and grace, sire? Dost thou willingly forget that +day thou wast bravest man in England,--and king?" + +"Hush!--Hush!" he cried. "Kings may not hearken to truth,--'t is sure +confusion." + +"Here 's the horn, sire, wherewith I gathered the folk into +fellowship." Calote untied the bag that hung from her neck. + +"O thou mischief-maker!" said Richard to his hunting-horn. "Thou +betrayer unto foolishness! Thou shalt be sold to buy my wedding +garment." + +But now was the arras pushed aside, and Stephen came in, and his +gaoler that grinned very joyous. + +Calote heard. And then she had arisen to her feet, and turned her back +upon the King. And Stephen kissed her hair, and her two hands that +rested on his shoulders; but her face was hid. + +"O my love, my lady!" said Stephen. And presently, "'T is a wondrous +fair world!" + +She lifted her face to speak, but he was waiting for her lips. + +The gaoler made a happy clucking noise. + +Richard laughed merrily. "Coeur de joie!" quoth he, "but I 'll kiss +also!" and he kissed the little picture. + +"'T behooves us give thanks to the King," whispered Calote. Her face +was hid anew, and she spake to her love's heart that leaped against +his courtepy. + +Then they two turned them, hand in hand, and the King cried out, +"A-a-ah!--How art thou pale!--Etienne!" + +Stephen bent his knee: "Sire," he said, "wa-was nothing hid from +thee;--thou knewest all th-things ever I did in that Rising. I was +true to King Richard." + +"This is thy sword, Etienne," quoth the King. "These many months it +hath hung at my side. Take it again!" + +Stephen looked on the sword, sombre, slow. "My forefathers, they were +men of might," he said. "There were three died in the Holy Land doing +battle with the Paynim. The Scots slew my grandfather in fair fight. +My father fell in France, in the last Edward's quarrel. Next after +England, the King, and my lady, I have loved my sword." + +He stretched forth his hands and took it. "Oh, thou bright blade, what +hosts of infidels and dastard French, what enemies to Truth and +Richard, methought I 'd slay! And thou hast drunk the blood of one man +only, a dead man, that gave his life for England's sake and the +people. Thou wert maiden, and they dishonoured thee." + +And Stephen had snapped his sword in twain across his knee. + +"This is the sword that hewed Wat Tyler's head off his body," he said. +"I have done with swords. Thy Majesté hath noblesse a plenty to serve +thee; 't was proven in June, when Wat Tyler fell. I might not count +the sword-thrusts at that time. But of common folk, peasants and +labourers, there is a dearth in England. And wherefore this is so, +none knoweth better than thou, sire." + +Richard stirred, restless: "'T is the old Etienne, was never afeared +to find fault with his king," said he, and would have made a jest of +this matter, but laughter came not at his bidding. + +"Thou hast need of loyal labourers, sire. So will I serve thee. If +Saint Francis set his hands to labour, so may Stephen Fitzwarine, and +withouten shame." + +"By the Rood!" cried Richard. "Thou art lord of a manor;--born into +this condition. These things be beyond man to change. They are +appointed of High God." + +"Natheless, God helping me, these things shall be changed, sire. +Presently, o' my manor, mayst thou see a-many free labourers tilling +each man his own field. And Stephen Fitzwarine shall be one." + +"Thou 'rt mad!" screamed the King. "Dungeon hath darkened thy wits." + +"So methought, sire," said the gaoler, "but hath more wits than +most,--hath not turned a hair." + +"Now, by Saint Thomas of Canterbury!" Richard shouted, "I--I--nay,--I +'ve signed thy pardon,--I 'll keep faith,--this once." + +Then his humour changed and he began to laugh very loud:-- + +"Go free! Turn peasant an thou wilt! But as concerning thy land, King +Richard is God's anointed, shall look to his stewardship. I will keep +custom for Christ's sake. Wherefore is thy manor confiscate, and the +villeins that dwell thereon, to the King."--He set his lips in a grim +smile: "Who saith Richard is not a good provisor, against his wedding +day?" + +The gaoler pushed Stephen and Calote out of the room and down the +stair:-- + +"Best begone," quoth he, "hath been known to change his mind," and he +shut them out by a postern. + +They went and sat on the side of Saint Catherine's Hill that looked on +Thames. A long while they sat there, holding each other's hand, +smiling each into other's eyes, saying little. But Stephen said:-- + +"Thou 'rt mine!" + +And Calote said:-- + +"Methought this love was not for me!" + +Her feet were bare, her kirtle frayed, and all their worldly goods was +a penny the gaoler had thrust in Stephen's hand. Stephen laughed, and +tossed the penny and caught it on the back of his hand. Then Calote +laughed also, and said she, shaking her head and smiling:-- + +"'T is not true that failure lieth in wait all along life's way?" and +a question grew in her eyes, and the smile faded. + +He kissed her gray eyes where the shadows hovered:-- + +"What 's to fail?" quoth he. + +"So saith my father," she made answer. "Yet meseems I must ever see +the Archbishop's head above London Bridge,--and next day Wat's. Was +not this failure?" + +"Sweet heart," said Stephen, "I have been in prison a many months, and +concerning éternité I have learned a little. W-Wat Tyler failed to be +King of England. But thou and I, and those others, we did not arise up +to make W-Wat Tyler king. Dost believe there liveth to-day a villein +in England ho-ho-holdeth 't is righteous a man shall be bond-servant +to another against his own will? Thou mayst scourge a man to +silence,--but he 'll think his thought;--yea, and wh-whisper it to 's +children.--We did not fail." + +Then Stephen took his love's face betwixt his hands, and kissed her +brow and eyes and lips:-- + +"I had a dream that I should dress thee in silk, pearl-broidered, and +a veil of silver. But now am I a landless man; must labour with my two +hands for daily bread. Natheless, am I tied to no man's manor,--may +sell my labour where I will. D-dost sigh for the dream, sweet heart, +and to be called Madame? Be advised in time,--a man 's ofttimes +endurable if his infirmity 's shrouded in good Flemish broadcloth, but +if he be naked as a needle, then must he be a man indeed--to pass." + +"Now, prythee, how is 't honour to a maid if her lord lift her up to +his estate?" said Calote. "But if he condescend and clothe him in her +coat-armour, then is she honoured in vérité." + +"In Yorkshire, mayhap I 'll find shepherding with Diggon. Wilt go +thither?" Stephen asked her. + +And when she had answered him Yea, he laughed soft, and sang:-- + + "Then I 'll put off my silken coat, + And all my garments gay. + Lend me thy ragged russet gown, + For that 's my best array. + Ohé! + For that's my best array." + + + + + EPILOGUE + + "Love is leche of lyf." + + _The Vision Concerning Piers Plowman._ + B. PASSUS I. + + + + + EPILOGUE + + +In the cloister of Malvern Priory schoolboys hummed and buzzed. The +sick man heard them. + +"I have had a vision," he said, "I must sing it." And after: "Nay,--I +had forgot. 'T was long ago." + +He lay on a pallet in the midst of the cloister garth, close by the +sun-dial. At dusk of the day past he had knocked at the gate and +fallen in the arms of the porter. All night a brother watched beside +him, and after Lauds the prior came to the door of the cell. + +"'T is not the Black Death, or such-like malady?" he queried. + +"Nay, Father, but a bodily weakness only. Hath scaped the dawn, but I +doubt not his spirit will flit at sunset." + +"A friar?" 'T would seem as the word stank in the nostrils of the good +Father. + +"Nay,--a clerk,--belike a priest secular." + +"A Wyclifite preacher?" the prior questioned sharply. "We may not +harbour these Worcester Lollards." + +"Hath a breviary, with prayers for the dead well thumbed. Likewise a +parchment. 'T is here." + +The prior unrolled the parchment beneath the window. The sky was +a-flush with the coming up of the sun. + +"Nay," quoth he presently, "'t is naught harmful. A poem." + +The brother was peering over his prior's shoulder:-- + +"Here 's Holy Writ," said he. + +"In Latin, brother, as is meet." + +"'T is very bad Latin," the brother made answer. + +The sick man spoke: "I will go up on the Hills," said he, "the Malvern +Hills," and he made as to rise; but this he might not do. + +The brother gave him to drink, and wiped the sweat from his brow. + +"Here 's an exhortation to King Richard II.," said the prior at the +window. "But Richard 's dead." + +"Ay," spake the sick man. "Death and Dishonour ran a race for Richard. +Dishonour caught him first, but Death hath finished him. Mine +exhortation came too late, wherefore I broke off in the midst. I was +ever too late or too early, all my life long." + +The prior came to the bed. + +"I will go up on the Hills," said the man, and sat upright, but +immediately a faintness seized him and he swooned. + +"Two-score and ten year, sayst thou?" quoth the prior. "Haply Brother +Owyn will know him." + +When the sick man was come out of his swoon he said again, "I will go +a-wandering on the Malvern Hills. Let me forth,--the Hills. 'T is +dark,--let me forth to the sun.--Dost mind how I said, 'The prior of +Malvern shall not clap me in cloister'?--I am come home to the Hills." + +"Let him be borne into the cloister garth," said the prior. "There may +he fresh him in the sun." + +At noon, when there was no shadow on the face of the sun-dial, Brother +Owyn came hobbling slow over the grass betwixt two young monks that +guided his steps. For Brother Owyn was very old and bent and blind. He +had a beard like a snowdrift. + +"Two-score and ten year," he mumbled, "and a poet, sayst 'ou?" + +They sat him down beside the sick man's pallet, and one brought a +cushion for his feet, and the other drew his hood over his head, lest +the wind harm him,--howbeit 't was June. Then they went away and left +him with the stranger. + +"Two-score and ten year," said the old man, "and 't is as +yesterday.--I go forth a pilgrimage to Truth, said he,--I have had a +vision concerning Peter the Ploughman." + +The sick man opened his eyes. "The ploughman knoweth the way to +Truth," quoth he. + +Brother Owyn lifted up his face to the sunlight, as he were +listening:-- + +"Will Langland, art thou there?" he asked. + +At the sound of his own name the sick man's wandering wits came back. +He was 'ware of the old monk beside him. + +"Thou canst not see?" he questioned. + +"Nay, I do see very clear," said Brother Owyn, in that high, +protesting voice of age. "I see a river, shineth as the sun, and on +the farther side my daughter awaiteth me.--Her locks shine as bright +pure gold,--loose on her shoulders so softly they lie." + +"My daughter hath likewise golden hair," murmured Long Will, "and my +granddaughter." + +"The Lord, the King of Heaven, hath ta'en my daughter, my pearl, to be +his bride," said the old man. He held his head upright, very proud, +but then it began to shake and shake, till it dropped again, and his +chin was sunk in his breast. + +"My daughter is wife to truest man in England; might have been +courtier to the King; but he 's a shepherd in Yorkshire,--and his son +'s a shepherd. They be free labourers, no villeins," cried Will. + +One in the cloister heard him and came running. + +"Ay," assented Brother Owyn, his head ever a-nod, "the King's Son of +Heaven, he is the Good Shepherd." + +The other monk poured wine between the sick man's white lips and +smoothed his pillow. Then he drew aside Brother Owyn's cowl and +shouted in his ear, "Dost know him, brother, dost remember him?" + +"Hath a daughter," the old man answered, "but so have I. Her name 's +Margaret,--which is to mean a pearl." + +"Calote is my daughter called," the sick man made known very clear. + +The young monk shrugged his shoulders and went back to the cloister. + +After a little while Brother Owyn spoke:-- + +"Will Langland had a daughter called Calote. She stood t' other side +the brook, and the light o' the sun blinded mine eyen. Methought 't +was mine own daughter come to take me home. I mind it as 't were +yesterday. 'In the city where the wall is jasper and the gates are +twelve pearls,' quoth she, 'will there be any villeins to labour while +other men feast?' I mind it as 't were yesterday." + +"I am Will Langland," said the sick man. + +"Yea, thou art he," returned the old monk. "I had forgot." + +A little while they slept in the sun, but betwixt the hours of sext +and nones, Will moved his head on his pillow:-- + +"If any goeth into Yorkshire, I would have him seek out Stephen +Fitzwarine, and Calote his wife, and say to them that Will Langland +hath gone home to the Hills of Malvern for a little space. They would +have had me stay. My daughter wept when she bade good-by, and the babe +on her arm held me by my hair.--All 's not failure,--brother." + +The old man dozed and did not hear him. + +"She stood in her cottage doorway,--my daughter,--and the wolds +stretching far like the billows of the sea. But they 're not the Hills +of Malvern. + +"'We 'll watch for thee, father,' she said, 'bide not long away. Here +'s thy corner by the fireside. Here 's home.'--But I was born in the +Malvern Hills, my daughter. + +"Stephen saw me as I crossed the wold.--He stood in the midst of his +flock; and young Will ran and gave me his shepherd's crook,--'Thou +hast no staff, gran'ther,' he said, 'I 'll fashion me another.' 'T was +early morn,--springtime. But I 've come back to Malvern--for a +little"-- + +"Here is a safe refuge for them that wait," the old man answered. + +Long Will moved his head, restless. "But I may not wait long," he +said, "I go forth a pilgrimage to Truth, that dwelleth in the Kingdom +of Rightwisnesse." + +"My daughter dwelleth therein,--I prythee tell her I 'm an old man +now. I am fain to cross the river." + +"I will," said the sick man. + +So they were silent until the setting of the sun. Then said Long Will +out aloud:-- + + "By Christ--I will become a pilgrim, + And wander as wide as the world reaches, + To seek Piers the Ploughman that Pride might destroy-- + ... Now Kynde me avenge, + And send me success and salvation till I have Piers Ploughman." + +So, after the sun was set, that other brother came forth, and the +prior. + +"Said I not so, that he would be gone about now?" quoth the brother. + +"Yea," smiled Brother Owyn. "Hath gone on pilgrimage. This long-legged +lad 's more than he seems. Prythee let him go, prior. He 's a +poet,--will one day bring honour to Malvern Priory." + + + + + MADE AT THE + TEMPLE PRESS + LETCHWORTH + IN + GREAT BRITAIN + + [Illustration: a dandelion] + + + + + EVERYMAN'S LIBRARY + + A LIST OF THE 896 VOLUMES + ARRANGED UNDER AUTHORS + + _Anonymous works are given under titles. + Anthologies, Dictionaries, etc. are arranged at the end of the list._ + + + Abbott's Rollo at Work, etc., 275 + + Addison's Spectator, 164-7 + + Æschylus's Lyrical Dramas, 62 + + Æsop's and Other Fables, 657 + + Aimard's The Indian Scout, 428 + + Ainsworth's Tower of London, 400 + " Old St. Paul's, 522 + " Windsor Castle, 709 + " The Admirable Crichton, 894 + " Rookwood, 870 + + A Kempis's Imitation of Christ, 484 + + Alcott's Little Women, and Good Wives, 248 + " Little Men, 512 + + Alpine Club: Peaks, Passes and Glaciers, 778 + + Andersen's Fairy Tales, 4 + " More Fairy Tales, 822 + + Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, 624 + + Anson's Voyages, 510 + + Aristophanes' Acharnians, etc., 344 + " Frogs, etc., 516 + + Aristotle's Nicomachaen Ethics, 547 + " Politics, 605 + + Armour's Fall of the Nibelungs, 312 + " Gudrun, 880 + + Arnold's (Matthew) Essays, 115 + " Poems, 334 + " Study of Celtic Literature, etc., 458 + + Aucassin and Nicolette, 497 + + Augustine's (Saint) Confessions, 200 + + Aurelius's (Marcus) Meditations, 9 + + Austen's (Jane) Sense and Sensibility, 21 + " Pride and Prejudice, 22 + " Mansfield Park, 23 + " Emma, 24 + " Northanger Abbey, and Persuasion, 25 + + + Bacon's Essays, 10 + " Advancement of Learning, 719 + + Bagehot's Literary Studies, 520, 521 + + Baker's (Sir S. W.) Cast up by the Sea, 539 + + Ballantyne's Coral Island, 245 + " Martin Rattier, 246 + " Ungava, 276 + + Balzac's Wild Ass's Skin, 26 + " Eugénie Grandet, 169 + " Old Goriot, 170 + " Atheist's Mass, etc., 229 + " Christ in Flanders, etc., 284 + " The Chouans, 285 + " Quest of the Absolute, 286 + " Cat and Rachet, etc., 349 + " Catherine de Medici, 419 + " Cousin Pons, 463 + " The Country Doctor, 530 + " Rise and Fall of César Birotteau, 596 + " Lost Illusions, 656 + " The Country Parson, 686 + " Ursule Mirouet, 733 + + Barbusse's Under Fire, 798 + + Barca's (Mme C. de la) Life in Mexico, 664 + + Baxter's (Richard) Autobiography, 868 + + Bates's Naturalist on the Amazon, 446 + + Beaumont and Fletcher's Selected Plays, 506 + + Beaumont's (Mary) Joan Seaton, 597 + + Bede's Ecclesiastical History, 479 + + Belt's Naturalist in Nicaragua, 561 + + Berkeley's (Bishop) Principles of Human Knowledge, New Theory of + Vision, etc., 483 + + Berlioz (Hector), Life of, 602 + + Binns's Life of Abraham Lincoln, 783 + + Björnson's Plays, 625, 696 + + Blackmore's Lorna Doone, 304 + " Springhaven, 350 + + Blackwell's Pioneer Work for Women, 667 + + Blake's Poems and Prophecies, 792 + + Boccaccio's Decameron, 845, 846 + + Boehme's The Signature of All Things, etc., 569 + + Bonaventura's The Little Flowers, The Life of St. Francis, etc., 485 + + Borrow's Wild Wales, 49 + " Lavengro, 119 + " Romany Rye, 120 + " Bible in Spain, 151 + " Gypsies in Spain, 697 + + Boswell's Life of Johnson, 1, 2 + " Tour to the Hebrides, 387 + + Boult's Asgard and Norse Heroes, 689 + + Boyle's The Sceptical Chymist, 559 + + Bright's (John) Speeches, 252 + + Brontë's (A.) The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, and Agnes Grey, 685 + + Brontë's (C.) Jane Eyre, 287 + " Shirley, 288 + " Villette, 351 + " The Professor, 417 + + Brontë's (E.) Wuthering Heights, 243 + + Brown's (Dr. John) Rab and His Friends, etc., 116 + + Browne's (Frances) Grannie's Wonderful Chair, 112 + + Browne's (Sir Thos.) Religio Medici, etc., 92 + + Browning's Poems, 1833-44, 41 + " 1844-64, 42 + " The Ring and the Book, 502 + + Buchanan's Life and Adventures of Audubon, 601 + + Bulfinch's The Age of Fable, 472 + " Legends of Charlemagne, 556 + + Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, 204 + " Grace Abounding, and Mr. Badman, 815 + + Burke's American Speeches and Letters, 340 + " Reflections on the French Revolution, etc., 460 + + Burnet's History of His Own Times, 85 + + Burney's Evelina, 352 + + Burns's Poems and Songs, 94 + + Burton's East Africa, 500 + + Burton's (Robert) Anatomy of Melancholy, 886-888 + + Butler's Analogy of Religion, 90 + + Butler's (Samuel) Erewhon and Erewhon Revisited, 881 + + Butler's The Way of All Flesh, 895 + + Buxton's Memoirs, 773 + + Byron's Complete Poetical and Dramatic Works, 486-8 + + + Cæsar's Gallic War, etc., 702 + + Calderon's Plays, 819 + + Canton's Child's Book of Saints, 61 + + Canton's Invisible Playmate, etc., 566 + + Carlyle's French Revolution, 31, 32 + " Letters, etc., of Cromwell, 266-8 + " Sartor Resartus, 278 + " Past and Present, 608 + " Essays, 703, 704 + " Reminiscences, 875 + + Carroll's (Lewis) Alice in Wonderland, etc., 836 + + Castiglione's The Courtier, 807 + + Cellini's Autobiography, 51 + + Cervantes' Don Quixote, 385, 386 + + Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, 307 + + Chesterfield's Letters to his Son, 823 + + Chrétien de Troyes's Arthurian Romances, 698 + + Cibber's Apology for his Life, 668 + + Cicero's Select Letters and Orations, 345 + + Clarke's Tales from Chaucer, 537 + " Shakespeare's Heroines, 109-11 + + Cobbett's Rural Rides, 638, 639 + + Coleridge's Biographia, 11 + " Golden Book of Poetry, 43 + " Lectures on Shakspeare, 162 + + Collins's Woman in White, 464 + + Collodi's Pinocchio, 538 + + Converse's Long Will, 328 + + Cook's (Captain) Voyages, 99 + + Cooper's The Deerslayer, 77 + " The Pathfinder, 78 + " Last of the Mohicans, 79 + " The Pioneer, 171 + " The Prairie, 172 + + Cowper's Letters. 774 + " Poems, 872 + + Cox's Tales of Ancient Greece, 721 + + Craik's Manual of English Literature, 346 + + Craik (Mrs.). _See_ Mulock. + + Creasy's Fifteen Decisive Battles, 300 + + Crèvecoeur's Letters from an American Farmer, 640 + + Curtis's Prue and I, and Lotus, 418 + + + Dana's Two Years Before the Mast, 588 + + Dante's Divine Comedy, 308 + + Darwin's Origin of Species, 811 + " Voyage of the Beagle, 104 + + Dasent's Story of Burnt Njal, 558 + + Daudet's Tartarin of Tarascon, 423 + + Defoe's Robinson Crusoe, 59 + " Captain Singleton, 74 + " Memoirs of a Cavalier, 283 + " Journal of Plague, 289 + " Tour through England and Wales, 820, 821 + " Moll Flanders, 837 + + De Joinville's Memoirs of the Crusades, 333 + + Demosthenes' Select Orations, 546 + + Dennis's Cities and Cemeteries of Etruria, 183. 184 + + De Quincey's Lake Poets, 163 + " Opium-Eater, 223 + " English Mail Coach, etc., 609 + + De Retz (Cardinal), Memoirs of, 735, 736 + + Descartes' Discourse on Method, 570 + + Dickens's Barnaby Rudge, 76 + " Tale of Two Cities, 102 + " Old Curiosity Shop, 173 + " Oliver Twist, 233 + " Great Expectations, 234 + " Pickwick Papers, 235 + " Bleak House, 236 + " Sketches by Boz, 237 + " Nicholas Nickleby, 238 + " Christmas Books, 239 + " Dombey and Son, 240 + " Martin Chuzzlewit, 241 + " David Copperfield, 242 + " American Notes, 290 + " Child's History of England, 291 + " Hard Times, 292 + " Little Dorrit, 293 + " Our Mutual Friend, 294 + " Christmas Stories, 414 + " Uncommercial Traveller, 536 + " Edwin Drood, 725 + " Reprinted Pieces, 744 + + Disraeli's Coningsby, 535 + + Dodge's Hans Brinker, 620 + + Donne's Poems, 867 + + Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment, 501 + " The House of the Dead, 533 + " Letters from the Underworld, etc., 654 + " The Idiot, 682 + " Poor Folk, and the Gambler, 711 + " The Possessed, 861, 862 + " The Brothers Karamazov, 802, 803 + + Dowden's Life of R. Browning, 701 + + Dryden's Dramatic Essays. 568 + + Dufferin's Letters from High Latitudes, 499 + + Dumas' The Three Musketeers, 81 + " The Black Tulip, 174 + " Twenty Years After, 175 + " Marguerite de Valois, 326 + " The Count of Monte Cristo, 393 394 + " The Forty-Five, 420 + " Chicot the Jester, 421 + " Vicomte de Bragelonne, 593-5 + " Le Chevalier de Maison Rouge, 614 + + Du Maurier's Trilby, 863 + + Duruy's Heroes of England, 471 + " History of France, 737, 738 + + + Edgar's Cressy and Poictiers, 17 + " Runnymede and Lincoln Fair, 320 + + Edgeworth's Castle Rackrent, etc., 410 + + Eighteenth-Century Plays, 818 + + Eliot's Adam Bede, 27 + " Silas Marner, 121 + " Romola, 231 + " Mill on the Floss, 325 + " Felix Holt, 353 + " Scenes of Clerical Life, 468 + " Middlemarch, 2 vols., 854-5 + + Elyot's Gouernour, 227 + + Emerson's Essays, 12 + " Representative Men, 279 + " Nature, Conduct of Life, etc., 322 + " Society and Solitude, etc., 567 + " Poems, 715 + + Epictetus's Moral Discourses, 404 + + Erckmann-Chatrian's The Conscript and Waterloo, 354 + " Story of a Peasant, 706, 707 + + Euclid's Elements, 891 + + Euripides' Plays, 63, 271 + + Evans's Holy Graal, 445 + + Evelyn's Diary, 220, 221 + + Everyman and other Interludes, 381 + + Ewing's (Mrs.) Mrs. Overtheway's Remembrances, etc., 730 + " Jackanapes, Daddy Darwin's Dovecot, and + The Story of a Short Life, 731 + + + Faraday's Experimental Researches in Electricity, 576 + + Ferrier's (Susan) Marriage, 816 + + Fielding's Amelia, 2 vols., 852-3 + " Tom Jones, 355, 356 + " Joseph Andrews, 467 + " Jonathan Wild and the Journal of a Voyage to Lisbon, 877 + + Finlay's Byzantine Empire, 33 + " Greece under the Romans, 185 + + Flaubert's Madame Bovary, 808 + " Salammbo, 869 + + Fletcher's (Beaumont and) Selected Plays, 506 + + Ford's Gatherings from Spain, 152 + + Forster's Life of Dickens, 781, 782 + + Fox's (George) Journal, 754 + + Fox's (Charles James) Selected Speeches, 759 + + Francis's (Saint), The Little Flowers, etc., 485 + + Franklin's Journey to the Polar Sea, 447 + + Freeman's Old English History for Children, 540 + + French Mediaeval Romances, 557 + + Froissart's Chronicles, 57 + + Froude's Short Studies, 13, 705 + " Henry VIII., 372-4 + + Froude's Edward VI, 375 + " Mary Tudor, 477 + " History of Queen Elizabeth's Reign, 583-7 + " Life of Benjamin Disraeli, Lord Beaconsfield, 666 + + + Galt's Annals of the Parish, 427 + + Galton's Inquiries into Human Faculty, 263 + + Gaskell's Cranford, 83 + " Life of Charlotte Brontë, 318 + " Sylvia's Lovers, 524 + " Mary Barton, 598 + " Cousin Phillis, etc., 615 + " North and South, 680 + + Gatty's Parables from Nature, 158 + + Geoffrey of Monmouth's Histories of the Kings of Britain, 577 + + George's Progress and Poverty, 560 + + Gibbon's Roman Empire, 434-6, 474-6 + " Autobiography, 511 + + Gilfillan's Literary Portraits, 348 + + Giraldus Cambrensis, Wales, 272 + + Gleig's Life of Wellington, 341 + " The Subaltern, 708 + + Goethe's Conversations with Eckermann, 851 + " Faust, 335 + " Wilhelm Meister, 599, 600 + + Gogol's Dead Souls, 726 + " Taras Bulba, 740 + + Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield, 295 + " Poems and Plays, 415 + + Goncharov's Oblomov, 878 + + Gorki's Through Russia, 741 + + Gotthelf's Ulric the Farm Servant, 228 + + Gray's Poems and Letters, 628 + + Green's Short History of the English People, 727, 728. The cloth + edition is in 2 vols. All other editions are in 1 vol. + + Grettir Saga, 699 + + Grimm's Fairy Tales, 56 + + Grote's History of Greece, 186-197 + + Guest's (Lady) Mabinogion, 97 + + + Hahnemann's The Organon of the Rational Art of Healing, 663 + + Hakluyt's Voyages, 264, 265, 313, 314, 338, 339, 388, 389 + + Hallam's Constitutional History, 621-3 + + Hamilton's The Federalist, 519 + + Harte's Luck of Roaring Camp, 681 + + Harvey's Circulation of Blood, 262 + + Hawthorne's Wonder Book, 5 + " The Scarlet Letter, 122 + + Hawthorne's House of Seven Gables, 176 + " The Marble Faun, 424 + " Twice Told Tales, 531 + " Blithedale Romance, 592 + + Hazlitt's Characters of Shakespeare's Plays, 65 + " Table Talk, 321 + " Lectures, 411 + " Spirit of the Age and Lectures on English Poets, 459 + " Plain Speaker, 814 + + Hebbel's Plays, 694 + + Heimskringla: the Olaf Sagas, 717 + " Sagas of the Norse Kings, 847 + + Helps' (Sir Arthur) Life of Columbus, 332 + + Herbert's Temple, 309 + + Herodotus, 405, 406 + + Herrick's Hesperides, 310 + + Hobbes's Leviathan, 691 + + Holinshed's Chronicle, 800 + + Holmes's Life of Mozart, 564 + + Holmes's (O. W.) Autocrat, 66 + " Professor, 67 + " Poet, 68 + + Homer's Iliad, 453 + " Odyssey, 454 + + Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity, 201, 202 + + Horace's Complete Poetical Works, 515 + + Houghton's Life and Letters of Keats, 801 + + Howard's (E.), Rattlin the Reefer, 857 + + Howard's (John) State of the Prisons, 835 + + Hughes's Tom Brown's Schooldays, 58 + + Hugo's (Victor) Les Misérables, 363, 364 + " Notre Dame, 422 + " Toilers of the Sea, 509 + + Hume's Treatise of Human Nature, etc., 548, 549 + + Hunt's (Leigh) Selected Essays, 829 + + Hutchinson's (Col.) Memoirs, 317 + + Huxley's Man's Place in Nature, 47 + " Select Lectures and Lay Sermons, 498 + + + Ibsen's The Doll's House, etc., 494 + " Ghosts, etc., 552 + " Pretender, Pillars of Society Rosmersholm, 659 + " Brand, 716 + " Lady Inger, etc., 729 + " Peer Gynt, 747 + + Ingelow's Mopsa the Fairy, 619 + + Irving's Sketch Book, 117 + " Conquest of Granada, 478; + " Life of Mahomet, 513 + + Italian Short Stories, 876 + + + James's (G. P. R.) Richelieu, 357 + + James (Wm.), Selections from, 739 + + Jefferies' (Richard) Bevis, 850 + + Johnson's (Dr.) Lives of the Poets, 770-1 + + Jonson's (Ben) Plays. 489, 490 + + Josephus's Wars of the Jews, 712 + + + Kalidasa's Shakuntala, 629 + + Keats's Poems, 101 + + Keble's Christian Year, 690 + + King's Life of Mazzini, 562 + + Kinglake's Eothen, 337 + + Kingsley's (Chas.) Westward Ho!, 20 + " Heroes, 113 + " Hypatia, 230 + " Water Babies, and Glaueus, 277 + " Hereward the Wake, 206 + " Alton Locke, 462 + " Yeast, 611 + " Madam How and Lady Why, 777 + " Poems, 793 + + Kingsley's (Henry) Ravenshoe, 28 + " Geoffrey Hamlyn, 416 + + Kingston's Peter the Whaler, 6 + " Three Midshipmen, 7 + + Kirby's Kalevala, 259-60 + + Koran, 380 + + + Lamb's Tales from Shakespeare, 8 + " Essays of Elia, 14 + " Letters, 342, 343 + + Landor's Imaginary Conversations and Poems, 890 + + Lane's Modern Egyptians, 315 + + Langland's Piers Plowman, 571 + + Latimer's Sermons, 40 + + Law's Serious Call, 91 + + Layamon's (Wace and) Arthurian Chronicles, 578 + + Lear (Edward). _See under_ Anthologies + + Le Sage's Gil Blas, 437, 438 + + Leslie's Memoirs of John Constable, 563 + + Lessing's Laocoön, etc., 843 + + Lever's Harry Lorrequer, 177 + + Lewes' Life of Goethe, 269 + + Lincoln's Speeches, etc., 206 + + Livy's History of Rome, 603, 609 670, 749, 755, 756 + + Locke's Civil Government, 751 + + Lockhart's Life of Napoleon, 3 + " Life of Scott, 55 + " Life of Burns, 156 + + Longfellow's Poems, 382 + + Lönnrott's Kalevala, 259, 260 + + Lover's Handy Andy, 178 + + Lowell's Among My Books, 607 + + Lucretius's Of the Nature of Things, 750 + + Lützow's History of Bohemia, 432 + + Lyell's Antiquity of Man, 700 + + Lytton's Harold, 15 + " Last of the Barons, 18 + " Last Days of Pompeii, 80 + " Pilgrims of the Rhine, 390 + " Rienzi, 532 + + + Macaulay's England, 34-6 + " Essays, 225, 226 + " Speeches on Politics, etc., 399 + " Miscellaneous Essays, 439 + + MacDonald's Sir Gibbie, 678 + " Phantastes, 732 + + Machiavelli's Prince, 280 + " Florence, 376 + + Maine's Ancient Law, 734 + + Malory's Le Morte D'Arthur. 45, 46 + + Malthus on the Principles of Population, 692, 693 + + Mandeville's Travels, 812 + + Manning's Sir Thomas More, 19 + " Mary Powell, and Deborah's Diary, 324 + + Marlowe's Plays and Poems, 383 + + Marryat's Mr. Midshipman Easy, 82 + " Little Savage, 159 + " Masterman Ready, 160 + " Peter Simple, 232 + " Children of New Forest, 247 + " Percival Keene, 358 + " Settlers in Canada, 370 + " King's Own, 580 + " Jacob Faithful, 618 + + Martinean's Feats on the Fjords, 429 + + Martinengo-Cesaresco's Folk-Lore and other Essays, 673 + + Marx's Capital, 848, 849 + + Maurice's Kingdom of Christ, 146-7 + + Mazzinl's Duties of Man, etc., 224 + + Melville's Moby Dick, 179 + " Typee, 180 + " Omoo, 297 + + Mérimée's Carmen, etc., 834 + + Merivale's History of Rome, 433 + + Mickiewicz's Pan Tadeusz, 842 + + Mignet's French Revolution, 713 + + Mill's Utilitarianism, Liberty, Representative Government, 482 + " Rights of Woman, 825 + + Miller's Old Red Sandstone, 103 + + Milman's History of the Jews, 377, 378 + + Milton's Areopagitica and other Prose Works, 795 + " Poems, 384 + + Molière's Comedies, 830-1 + + Mommsen's History of Rome, 542-5 + + Montagu's (Lady) Letters, 69 + + Montaigne's Essays, 440-2 + + More's Utopia, and Dialogue of Comfort against Tribulation, 461 + + Morier's Hajji Baba, 679 + + Morris's (Wm.) Early Romances, 261 + " Life and Death of Jason, 575 + + Morte D'Arthur Romances, 634 + + Motley's Dutch Republic, 86-8 + + Mulock's John Halifax, 123 + + + Neale's Fall of Constantinople, 655 + + Newcastle's (Margaret, Duchess of) Life of the First Duke of + Newcastle, etc., 722 + + Newman's Apologia Pro Vita Sua, 636 + " On the Scope and Nature of University Education, and a Paper on + Christianity and Scientific Investigation, 723 + + Nietzsche's Thus Spake Zarathustra, 892 + + + Oliphant's Salem Chapel, 244 + + Omar Khayyam, 819 + + Osborne (Dorothy), Letters of, 674 + + Owen's (Robert) A New View of Society, etc., 799 + + + Paine's Rights of Man, 718 + + Palgrave's Golden Treasury, 96 + + Paltock's Peter Wilkins, 673 + + Park's (Mungo) Travels, 205 + + Parkman's Conspiracy of Pontiac, 302, 303 + + Pascall's Pensees, 874 + + Paston Letters, 752, 753 + + Peacock's Headlong Hall, 327 + + Penn's The Peace of Europe, Some Fruits of Solitude, etc., 724 + + Pepys's Diary, 53, 54 + + Percy's Reliques, 148, 149 + + Pitt's Orations, 145 + + Plato's Republic, 64 + " Dialogues, 456, 457 + + Plutarch's Lives, 407-409 + " Moralia, 565 + + Poe's Tales of Mystery and Imagination, 336 + " Poems and Essays. 791 + + Polo's (Marco) Travels, 306 + + Pope's Complete Poetical Works, 760 + + Prescott's Conquest of Peru, 301 + " Conquest of Mexico, 397, 398 + + Prévost's Manon Lescaut, etc., 834 + + Procter's Legends and Lyrics, 150 + + + Quiller-Couch's Hetty Wesley, 864 + + + Rabelais's Gargantua and Pantagruel, 26, 827 + + Radcliffe's (Mrs. Ann) The Mysteries of Udolpho, 865, 866 + + Ramayana and Mahabharata, 403 + + Reade's The Cloister and the Hearth, 29 + " Peg Woffington, 299 + + Reid's (Mayne) Boy Hunters of the Mississippi, 582 + " The Boy Slaves, 797 + + Renan's Life of Jesus, 805 + + Reynold's Discourses, 118 + + Ricardo's Principles of Political Economy and Taxation, 590 + + Richardson's Pamela, 683, 684 + " Clarissa, 882-5 + + Roberts' (Morley) Western Avernus, 762 + + Robertson's Religion and Life, 37 + " Christian Doctrine, 38 + " Bible Subjects, 39 + + Robinson's (Wade) Sermons, 637 + + Roget's Thesaurus, 630, 631 + + Rossetti's (D. G.) Poems, 627 + + Rousseau's Confessions, 859, 860 + " Emile, 518 + " Social Contract and other Essays, 660 + + Ruskin's Seven Lamps of Architecture, 207 + " Modern Painters, 208-212 + " Stones of Venice, 213-215 + " Unto this Last, etc., 216 + " Elements of Drawing, etc., 217 + " Pre-Raphaelitism, etc., 218 + " Sesame and Lilies, 219 + " Ethics of the Dust, 282 + " Crown of Wild Olive, and Cestus of Aglaia, 323 + " Time and Tide, etc., 450 + " The Two Boyhoods, 683 + + Russell's Life of Gladstone, 661 + + + Sand's (George) The Devil's Pool, and François the Waif, 534 + + Scheffel's Ekkehard, 529 + + Scott's (M.) Tom Cringle's Log, 710 + + Scott's (Sir W.) Ivanhoe, 16 + " Fortunes of Nigel, 71 + " Woodstock, 72 + " Waverley, 75 + " The Abbot, 124 + " Anne of Geierstein, 125 + " The Antiquary, 126 + " Highland Widow, and Betrothed, 127 + " Black Dwarf, Legend of Montrose, 128 + " Bride of Lammermoor, 129 + " Castle Dangerous, Surgeon's Daughter, 130 + " Robert of Paris, 131 + " Fair Maid of Perth, 132 + " Guy Mannering, 133 + " Heart of Midlothian, 134 + " Kenilworth, 135 + " The Monastery, 136 + " Old Mortality, 137 + " Peveril of the Peak, 138 + " The Pirate, 139 + " Quentin Durward, 140 + " Redgauntlet, 141 + " Rob Roy, 142 + " St. Ronan's Well, 143 + " The Talisman, 144 + " Lives of the Novelists, 331 + " Poems and Plays, 550, 551 + + Seebohm's Oxford Reformers, 665 + + Seeley's Ecce Homo, 305 + + Sienkiewiez's Tales, 871 + + Sewell's (Anna) Black Beauty, 748 + + Shakespeare's Comedies, 153 + " Histories, etc., 154 + " Tragedies, 155 + + Shelley's Poetical Works, 257, 258 + + Shelley's (Mrs.) Frankenstein, 616 + " Rights of Women, 825 + + Sheppard's Charles Auchester, 505 + + Sheridan's Plays, 95 + + Sismondi's Italian Republics, 250 + + Smeaton's Life of Shakespeare, 514 + + Smith's Wealth of Nations, 412, 413 + + Smith's (George) Life of Wm. Carey, 395 + + Smollett's Roderick Random, 790 + " Peregrine Pickle, 838, 839 + + Sophocles' Dramas, 114 + + Southey's Life of Nelson, 52 + + Spectator, 164-7 + + Speke's Source of the Nile, 50 + + Spencer's (Herbert) Essays on Education, 503 + + Spenser's Faerie Queene, 443, 444 + " The Shepherd's Calendar, 879 + + Spinoza's Ethics, etc., 481 + + Spyri's Heidi, 431 + + Stanley's Memorials of Canterbury, 89 + " Eastern Church, 251 + + Steele's The Spectator, 164-7 + + Sterne's Tristram Shandy, 617 + " Sentimental Journey and Journal to Eliza, 796 + + Stevenson's Treasure Island and Kidnapped, 763 + " Master of Ballantrae and the Black Arrow, 764 + " Virginibus Puerisque and Familiar Studies of Men and Books, 765 + " An Inland Voyage, Travels with a Donkey, and Silverado + Squatters, 766 + " Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, The Merry Men, etc., 767 + " Poems, 768 + " In the South Seas and Island Nights' Entertainments, 769 + + St. Francis, The Little Flowers of, etc., 485 + + Stow's Survey of London, 589 + + Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin, 371 + + Strickland's Queen Elizabeth, 100 + + Surtees' Jorrocks' Jaunts, 817 + + Swedenborg's Heaven and Hell, 379 + " Divine Love and Wisdom, 635 + " Divine Providence, 658 + " The True Christian Religion, 893 + + Swift's Gulliver's Travels, 60 + " Journal to Stella, 757 + " Tale of a Tub, etc., 347 + + Swiss Family Robinson, 430 + + + Tacitus's Annals, 273 + " Agricola and Germania, 274 + + Taylor's Words and Places, 517 + + Tennyson's Poems, 44, 626 + + Thackeray's Esmond, 73 + " Vanity Fair, 298 + " Christmas Books, 359 + " Pendennis, 425, 426 + " Newcomes, 465, 466 + " The Virginians, 507, 508 + " English Humorists, and The Four Georges, 610 + " Roundabout Papers, 687 + + Thierry's Norman Conquest, 198, 199 + + Thoreau's Walden, 281 + + Thucydides' Peloponnesian War, 455 + + Tolstoy's Master and Man, and Other Parables and Tales, 469 + " War and Peace, 525-7 + " Childhood, Boyhood and Youth, 591 + " Anna Karenina, 612, 613 + + Trench's On the Study of Words and English Past and Present, 788 + + Trollope's Barchester Towers, 30 + " Dr. Thorne, 360 + " Framley Parsonage, 181 + " Golden Lion of Granpere, 761 + " Last Chronicles of Barset, 391, 392 + " Phineas Finn, 832-3 + " Small House at Allington, 361 + " The Warden, 182 + + Trotter's The Bayard of India, 396 + " Hodson of Hodson's Horse, 401 + " Warren Hastings, 452 + + Turgenev's Virgin Soil, 528 + " Liza, 677 + " Fathers and Sons, 742 + + Tyndall's Glaciers of the Alps, 98 + + Tytler's Principles of Translation, 168 + + + Vasari's Lives of the Painters, 784-7 + + Verne's (Jules) Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea, 319 + " Dropped from the Clouds, 367 + " Abandoned, 368 + " The Secret of the Island, 369 + " Five Weeks in a Balloon, and Around the World in Eighty Days, 779 + + Virgil's Æneid, 161 + " Eclogues and Georgics, 222 + + Voltaire's Life of Charles XII, 270 + " Age of Louis XIV, 780 + + + Wace and Layamon's Arthurian Chronicles, 578 + + Wakefield's Letter from Sydney, etc., 828 + + Walpole's Letters, 775 + + Walton's Compleat Angler, 70 + + Waterton's Wanderings in South America, 772 + + Wesley's Journal, 105-108 + + White's Selborne, 48 + + Whitman's Leaves or Grass, and Democratic Vistas, etc., 573 + + Whyte-Melville's Gladiators, 523 + + Wilde's Plays, Prose Writings and Poems, 858 + + Wood's (Mrs. Henry) The Channings, 84 + + Woolman's Journal, etc., 402 + + Wordsworth's Shorter Poems, 203 + " Longer Poems, 311 + + + Xenophon's Cyropædia, 67 + + + Yellow Book, 503 + + Yonge's The Dove in the Eagle's Nest, 329 + " The Book of Golden Deeds, 330 + " The Heir of Redclyffe, 362 + + Yonge's The Little Duke, 470 + " The Lances of Lynwood, 570 + + Young's (Arthur) Travels in France and Italy, 720 + + + _Anthologies, Dictionaries, etc._: + + A Book of English Ballads, 572 + + A Book of Heroic Verse, 574 + + A Book of Nonsense, by Edward Lear, and Others, 806 + + A Century of Essays, An Anthology, 653 + + American Short Stories of the Nineteenth Century, 840 + + A New Book of Sense and Nonsense, 813 + + An Anthology of English Prose: From Bede to Stevenson, 675 + + An Encyclopædia of Gardening, by Walter P. Wright, 555 + + Ancient Hebrew Literature, 4 vols., 253-6 + + Anglo-Saxon Poetry, 794 + + Annals of Fairyland, 365, 366, 541 + + Anthology of British Historical Speeches and Orations, 714 + + Atlas of Classical Geography, 451 + + Atlases, Literary and Historical: Europe, 496; + America, 553; + Asia, 633; + Africa and Australasia, 662 + + + Dictionary, Biographical, of English Literature, 449 + " of Dates, 554 + " Everyman's English, 776 + " of Non-Classical Mythology, 632 + " Smaller Classical, 495 + " of Quotations and Proverbs, 809-10 + + English Short Stories. An Anthology, 743 + + + Fairy Gold, 157 + + Fairy Tales from the Arabian Nights, 249 + + French Short Stories, 896 + + + Golden Treasury of Longer Poems, 746 + + + Minor Elizabethan Drama, 491, 492 + + Minor Poets of the Eighteenth Century, 844 + + Minor Poets of the 17th Century, 873 + + Mother Goose, 473 + + Muses' Pageant, The, 581, 606, 671 + + + New Golden Treasury, 695 + + New Testament, The, 93 + + + A Poetry Book for Boys and Girls, 894 + + Political Liberty, a Symposium, 745 + + Prayer Books of King Edward VI. 1st and 2nd, 448 + + Prelude to Poetry, 789 + + + Reader's Guide to Everyman's Library, by R. Farquharson Sharp and E. + Rhys, 889 + + Restoration Plays, 604 + + Russian Short Stories, 758 + + + Shorter Novels: Elizabethan, 824 + " Jacobean and Restoration, 841 + " Eighteenth Century, 856 + + + Theology in the English Poets, 493 + + Thesaurus of English Words and Phrases, Roget's, 630, 631 + + + NOTE--The following numbers are at present out of print: + 89, 110, 111, 146, 227, 228, 244, 275, 390, 418, 565, 597, 664 + + + LONDON: J. M. DENT & SONS LTD. + NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & CO. INC. + + + + + Transcriber's Notes: + +Punctuation, use of hyphens, and accent marks were standardized. +Spaces were retained in contractions of verbs. Obsolete and +alternative spellings were not changed. + +The following were corrected: + + 'jolyf' to 'joly' ... I would I were that joly gentil one, ... + 'wherefor' to 'wherefore' ... the gold wherefore the people ... + 'Thorough' to Through' ... Through parliament doth the King ... + duplicate 'the' removed ... Ballantrae and the Black Arrow ... + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Long Will, by Florence Converse + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42176 *** |