Long Will Part 26

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 sh.o.r.e, 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 hara.s.sed 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 s.n.a.t.c.hing 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 b.u.t.ts 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 n.o.bles, 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 s.p.a.ce, she began to hear voices behind; and she got to her feet and hurried on to the village.