Long Will Part 38

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 hors.e.m.e.n 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 gra.s.s 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 G.o.d, 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