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diff --git a/42176.txt b/42176.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 11c5cc0..0000000 --- a/42176.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,13300 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Long Will, by Florence Converse - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Long Will - -Author: Florence Converse - -Editor: Ernest Rhys - -Release Date: February 25, 2013 [EBook #42176] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LONG WILL *** - - - - -Produced by Carl Hudkins, Carol Brown, jnik (media provider) -and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - 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 Trinite, we've fed -on whey and bread; it maketh an excellent diversite. 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 humilite 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 pauvrete. 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 cheri. 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-aimee," 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 Trinite 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. - -"Imbecile!" 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 a 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 Crecy,--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 -verite." - -"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 sleeves wide, - And fetysly forth I stole:-- - But first I looked in my steel glass, - And there I saw my soul. - - "I blinked once, I blinked 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, - Ohe! - 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 boldely 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-aimee 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, parde," 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." - -"Cheri," 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 verite, 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 nobilite?" - -"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, parde!" 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 menye 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, cheri, 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 solemnite. 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 loyaute, 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 clarre 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 clarre 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 charite 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 nobilite, 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, parde," 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 humilite." - -"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 prive -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 loyaute 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 verite, he maketh bold -pretense; is naught but feasting and jollite 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 Nativite 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 verite, 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 jollite; 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 pauvrete? 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 surete 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 melee 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 menye to follow him in the Rising. Let -not confusion come upon them. Remember the Rising! Stephen, -Stephen,--now is no time to 'venge prive 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 dignite!" 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 Majeste 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 menye, Jack," said Stephen. - -"Nay, for only honest fellows are of my menye,--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 nobilite?" - -"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 surete 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 -nobilite. 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 -loyaute.--Is 't loyaute 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 verite 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 impossibilite 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 menye." - -"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 majeste, 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 surete 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 Majeste 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 eternite 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 verite." - -"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. - Ohe! - 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 - - AEschylus's Lyrical Dramas, 62 - - AEsop'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 - " Eugenie 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 Cesar 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 - - Bjoernson'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 - - Bronte's (A.) The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, and Agnes Grey, 685 - - Bronte's (C.) Jane Eyre, 287 - " Shirley, 288 - " Villette, 351 - " The Professor, 417 - - Bronte'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 - - - Caesar'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 - - Chretien 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 - - Crevecoeur'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 Bronte, 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 Miserables, 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 Laocooen, 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 - - Loennrott's Kalevala, 259, 260 - - Lover's Handy Andy, 178 - - Lowell's Among My Books, 607 - - Lucretius's Of the Nature of Things, 750 - - Luetzow'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 - - Merimee'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 - - Moliere'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 - - Prevost'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 Francois 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 AEneid, 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 Cyropaedia, 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 Encyclopaedia 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 ... 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