Long Will Part 30

"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, G.o.d 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 s.p.a.ce; 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 Auca.s.sin 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 G.o.diyeva.

"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.