Long Will Part 9

"Thine is a poor trade. I am sorry for thee."

And the girl hung her head; and presently when they looked back they saw that she sat on a doorstone, sobbing.

"England is in a sad way," said Stephen, "with an old king far gone in his dotage, and a woman like Alice Perrers to 's mistress. When young blood cometh to the throne, I trow such-like disgrace as this will be swept away."

"Do you so?" said Langland grimly. "Sir, these stews are owned of the Bishop of Winchester; they are a valuable property."

"William Wykeham!" cried the squire; "that pious man, friend to my G.o.dfather! he that goeth about to found the new college in Oxford?"

"Even so," said Langland. "Yet I do him a small injustice; a part of these houses is owned of Walworth the fishmonger."

"Sir, you feed me with thoughts!" Stephen exclaimed sadly.

"I am right glad," said Langland; "I had been a churlish host to give thee but only beans."

And his guest knew not whether to laugh or no.

At the gate of the palace Langland gave the squire good-day, and turned him back to London without further pause, and Stephen would have run after him to thank him for his courtesy, but there came down from the gate-house a half score of young gentlemen that fell upon the squire with shout and laughter, and when he had set himself free, the priest was past the turn of the road.

"Ho, ho,--Etienne! So thou art not eaten up of John of Gaunt?"

"What adventure?"

"Here 's a half ell o' mud on thy hosen."

"What adventure?"

"The Prince kept the dinner cold an hour."

"The Prince would not eat a morsel."

"Threw the capon out o' the dish over the floor, and the gravy hath ruined Sir John Holland's best coat of Flemish broadcloth."

"Who was yon tall clerk, disappeared but now?"

"The Prince hath not ceased to weep these three hours."

"Sir Simon de Burley hath sworn he will have thee birched like any truant schoolboy."

"He hath ridden forth much perturbed."

"'T is thought the Prince is in a fever; the physician is sent for."

"Tell 's thy tale! Tell 's thy tale!"

"_Mes amis_" said Stephen, "I dined of beans,--plain beans,--sans sauce, sans garniture. My Lord of Oxford, thou art my friend, and the cook's, couldst discover if the capon was injured by 's fall?"

A shout of laughter greeted the question, and all cried, "Beans!--Tell us thy tale!"

But here a page, running down the courtyard, bade say that the Prince Richard called for Etienne Fitzwarine; and the importunate young gentlemen gave place.

By the Tabard in Southwark, Langland met two hors.e.m.e.n a-riding, and, as was his custom, he pa.s.sed them by without obeisance. They noted him, for they were scanning earnestly all persons who met them; and one that was seneschal to the Prince said:--

"A rude fellow!"

And the other:--

"Some malcontent. 'T is so with many of these poor parsons, I hear."

But a voice called to them from behind, and turning, they saw the clerk, who endeavoured to come up with them.

"Sirs," he called, "if ye seek one Stephen Fitzwarine, I have but now seen him safe at Kennington Palace."

"Here 's silver for thy courtesy, master clerk," said the seneschal, and tossed a white piece on the ground, then turned and galloped off with his comrade.

Long Will stood looking at the silver in the mud:--

"Eh, well!--'t will buy parchment," said he, and picked it up and wiped it on his sleeve.

CHAPTER VII

A Progress to Westminster

Throughout that uneasy winter following the death of Edward the Black Prince, Jack Straw and Wat Tyler were much in London. None knew their business, but they hung upon the skirts of all public disturbance and would seem to have been held in esteem by certain of the citizens.

They slept, of nights, on the floor of that lower room in Langland's cot, and here Peter, the Devonshire ploughman, kept them company. He had got him a job to blow the bellows for Hobbe Smith, and he stood in a dark corner all day, earning his meat and drink, and biding his time till the law might no more hale him back to Devon for a runaway. For this was the law, that if a 'scaped villein should dwell in any town a year and a day and his lord did not take him, he was free of his lord.

Once, at midnight, Peter awoke with a light in his eyes, and after a moment of blinking discovered Jack Straw and Wat a-sprawling on their bellies, head to head, and a rushlight betwixt them. They had a square of parchment spread out, and Wat drew upon it with a quill.

"Now here I make Mile End," said he, "and just here i' the wall 's Aldgate,--and they that come by this road"--But here he was 'ware of Peter's shock-head that shaded the light.

"Thou hast spoiled a page o' Long Will's Vision wi' hen-tracks," said Peter; "and he hath much ado to save 's parchment out of 's victual."

"'T is a plan of London, fool!" answered Wat, and would have displayed his handiwork, but Jack Straw blew out the light.

Calote did not like Jack Straw. Thrice, of late, he would have kissed her when her father was not by, but she slipped from his hand. At the feast of St. Nicholas he gave her a ribbon. Jack Straw was a widower with two little lads. "And their grandam is old, poor soul," he was wont to say with a sigh, looking on Calote from beneath his white eyelashes.

Calote took the ribbon with an ill grace:--

"I am daughter to a poor man; I do not wear fallals," she objected.

And at night, when she and her mother had come to bed, she spread the ribbon on her knee with discontent.

"He smelleth ever o' mouldy thatch," she murmured. "I 'll warrant he beat his wife."

And Kitte answered drily:--