Long Will Part 20

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 Ma.s.ses.

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 pa.s.seth 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 G.o.d's thoughts into speech of every day. But Master Wyclif's own thoughts be not G.o.d'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 G.o.ddes 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 gla.s.s, 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 pa.s.sage," 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:--