Long Will Part 37

She put the King's horn to her lips and blew a blast.

"My message is from the King," she said. "He is on your side."

There was a silence, and after, a shout.

"The King! G.o.d save the King!" they cried. "Speak!--speak!"

"The King is young, my brothers. He is a lad only; but he loveth his people. He knoweth what is to be bound; doth not he live in bondage likewise, and to these same n.o.bles?"

"Death!--death!" they shouted, but she lifted up her hands to still them.

"The King is of the n.o.blesse; speak not of death, my brothers. I know there shall be blood shed in this battle, for that the n.o.bles hate us; and when they see us uprisen, there shall be fear added unto hate, and blows shall follow. But when we, being stricken, strike again, for freedom and our brother, we shall remember that there is nor hate nor fear in us. We are for love, my brothers; we are for fellows.h.i.+p; and so it cometh to pa.s.s we cannot hate any man."

They gaped upon her and said nothing. John Ball drew his hand across his lips as to do away a smile; but his eyes were wet.

"Thou, and thou, and thou, and I, my brothers, when we rise up, 't shall be to mean that we have cast off hate; arisen out of that evil, as the soul out of sinful body. Hate 's a clog; shall be no uprising in England till we be set free from hate. We be villeins now, in bondage to n.o.bles and lords of manors; we do affirm we rise up for freedom; but I ask ye, shall that be freedom which is but to turn table and set the n.o.bles in bondage under us?"

"Ay, turn and turn about," cried a man in the crowd. "Let them taste how 't is bitter!"

Calote's eyes flashed. "Turn and turn about, sayst thou?" she retorted; "and wilt thou be ready to go again into bondage when thy turn cometh?"

He growled and hung his head, and his neighbours laughed.

"Hark ye, brothers; we do not rise up for to bind any man, n.o.ble or villein, but for to set all England free. Let the King rule,--let the knight keep the borders of the land rid of Frenchman and Scot,--let the villein till his field for rent,"--

"Ay, ay, fourpence the acre!" said a villein.

"Ay, ay!" the others cried, vehement. "'T is fair in reason, fourpence, ay!"--

And then there came up the village street a clatter of hoofs, a man on a white horse, and the espier running at his side.

"Wat Tyler!--Wat Tyler!" cried the horseman. "Send one to Canterbury and northward shall stop the Rising, or 't is too late. Poll-tax is pa.s.sed in Parliament at Northampton."

'T was the peddler.

Calote stared on him bewildered; he looked so strange. She had not seen him since the day after she was come into London. Was this he?

Was it not rather,--but no! Her heart began to beat very fast, her eyes were wide. The peddler drew his hood down over his face. Then Calote was 'ware of a tumult among the people, and Wat Tyler's voice upraised to still them, and John Ball standing again at her side on the top step of the cross.

"To London!--To London!" the people clamoured. "'T is time!--London!--The King!"

"Fools! I say 't is not yet!" shouted Wat. "I came to tell ye. We will not rise this time. Word hath gone forth into the north and west to still the people."

"Traitor!--London! London!" they cried, closing about him.

"Patience, brothers," he said. "We be no traitors, but wise. Hearken to the maid! She hath been in east and west and north and south. Hear her, wherefore she counselleth patience."

The roar fell to a growl and anon to a muttering, and they turned their angry faces to Calote.

"Brothers," she said, "ye of Kent are ready. Yea, 't is very true.

Were all men so strong in fellows.h.i.+p as Kentish men, would be little to fear. But in Ess.e.x men be not so well-fed, nor so wise. Kind-Wit dwelleth not in their cots."

The flushed faces that looked up to her grinned broadly.

"'T is true," said one man, with a chuckle,--this was the espier, and he had forgot to return to his post.--"A-most fools is outside o'

Kent."

"These men of the eastern s.h.i.+res," the maid continued, "will have it that fellows.h.i.+p is but leave to slay and burn, for sake of prive wrong. They 'll use this word for a cloak to do murder and all those other seven sins. Moreover, in the north there be few that will rise,--and in the west they 're afeared.--Ye Kentish men are fearless, but may Kent alone withstand the power of the n.o.blesse? Willingly ye 'll be slain for your brothers' sake,--oh, ye are brave men!--but what avail to England if ye be slain? Who then shall deliver your brothers?

Be patient yet a little while."

Some of them were sullen, others whispered together with rueful countenance. She watched them for a little, then:--

"'T is for Kentish men to say if the Rising shall avail or come to naught. Wise men are never rash. Moreover,--t' other side o' London, word is already gone forth to stay the Rising. Will ye rise alone,--one s.h.i.+re?"

They hung their heads, foolish, sulky.

Then said John Ball, "Who is this friendly messenger on a gentleman's horse?"

The peddler, as he were abashed, slipped from his steed to the ground.

But the crowd, diverted from their own discontent, pushed and pulled him to the foot of the cross where stood John Ball.

"Nay, then, uncover thy face, brother," said the priest, "'t is well we know our friends." And with a large hand, courteous but not to be gainsayed, he pushed back the peddler's hood, and there was revealed a mop of light brown hair curled in the fas.h.i.+on of the court, and a fair and gentlemanly countenance that flushed crimson beneath the astonished gaze of John Ball. 'T would seem the peddler had departed on his errand in haste, without one precaution.

The crowd stared, open-mouthed.

"Art thou a man of Kent?" Ball asked.

"N-nay, father," stammered the peddler, and grew yet more red.

"I 'll be sworn thou 'rt no villein," said the priest, very grim.

The peddler glanced at Calote and dropped his eyes.

"N-nay!" he murmured.

"Wat!" called the priest; but one said, "Hath but now gone to spread the alarm."

"Art thou of the Fellows.h.i.+p, stranger?" John Ball questioned, sharp.

Then did the peddler lift up his head, and looked the priest in the eye: "In my heart am I of the Fellows.h.i.+p, but I have not given my hand on 't," he said.

John Ball laid hand on the peddler's shoulder and turned him about to face the folk.

"Knoweth any here this gentle, that would be of our Fellows.h.i.+p?" he asked.

The rustics pressed close, peered over other's shoulder, but at last shook their heads.

Then was there heard a faint voice, very shy, at the side of the priest:--

"I know this gentle," said Calote. "If he giveth his hand in fellows.h.i.+p--he will keep faith."