Long Will Part 41

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 c.o.c.k brake from his mouth delyverly"--

Then saith Reynard:--

"G.o.d 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 trespa.s.s 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 st.u.r.dy, 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 Ess.e.x and Kent to protest that the poll-tax be paid?"

"Sire," said Long Will, "they will do that G.o.d or the Devil putteth in their hearts to do."

"But what is 't? Art not thou a prophet?"

"Of G.o.d, 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 a.s.sented 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 n.o.bles, 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 G.o.d 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 Ess.e.x 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!"