Long Will Part 52

"Oh, my lord," said Stephen, "if we bear our brothers' sins, what do we more than Christ Jesus that bore our sins in His Body on rood? Yet was He sinless; and so art thou sinless as concerning the death of the Archbishop."

Richard put out his hand and plucked Stephen's sleeve: "Dost believe it?" he cried, and there went a shudder through him. "Ah, but--but--when Simon said, 'I know a way,'--I knew what 't was to mean,--and yet--I went forth and left him. Etienne, Etienne,--I am afeared I knew what 't was to mean! I am afeared I knew!--I am so afeared!"

Etienne kneeled down and set his hands on the boy's s.h.i.+vering shoulders, and looked in the frighted eyes:--

"This were impossibilite to know, sire," he said. "Say it not again,--nor think it. Already I have forgotten thy words. Thou couldst not divine the will of most high G.o.d. Thou art not afeared. Stand up and be the King!"

Slowly, his eyes staring in Stephen's eyes, Richard got to his feet.

"I--I--could not--know!" he gasped. "I could not know!--I must forget; yes. Even a king could not know. But I shall alway fear I"--He broke off and stood silent.

When he spoke again he said, "What noise is that?"

"The prentices and men of London are killing Flemish weavers, sire, not far away. 'T is a h.e.l.lish mob."

"Presently they shall have a glut of blood," said the boy very quiet.

"I 'll see to 't. Go now, and bid them meet their King on the morrow at Smithfield.--Nay,--have no fear, I 'll be gentle with these beasts.

I 'm not all fool."

"Oh, sire, for love's sake be gentle, not for hate! They are thy people."

"Etienne, Etienne,--did I not love them? I set them free. Ah,--do not, do not,--I shall weep again,--and I 've left weeping."

CHAPTER VIII

The Friday Night

Night was fallen on that unlucky Friday, but the ma.s.sacre of the Flemings not yet ended, when Stephen came to Langland's cot from the Garde Robe where Richard sheltered.

"Will! Where 's Will?" cried Kitte, searching the squire's face.

"Not here?"

"Ah, woe!" said Kitte, and went and sat down heavily in a corner.

Stephen had with him a torch, and he set it in a ring by the wall. It was all the light in that house. Then he sat on the old chest and Calote came to his side. He was very weary and leaned his head in his hand.

"What is to be the end?" Calote questioned him.

"Christ Jesus answer," said Stephen.

"But the King hath pardoned and set free!" she persisted.

"Alas, the King!" he cried.

Calote stared on him, and then took him by the shoulder fearfully, saying:--

"What will the King do?"

"No man knoweth what the King will do. Neither doth the King know. But he will follow his mood.--Who can guess what the mood of a king shall be? To-day a blessing, to-morrow a curse."

"Thou 'rt sick with weariness," she whispered, and took his head in her arms against her breast.

"Who shall say that this people deserveth to be free?" he mused.

"This is matter of judgment for Christ Jesus," she answered soft.

"What hast thou to do with it,--what hath the King?"

"Is not the King anointed of G.o.d?" said he.

A moment she was silent, and when she spoke her voice was slow, uncertain: "I would not blaspheme," she said, "but whiles I wonder if he be not anointed of men. The King of Heaven hath a most marvellous confidence to give this realm of England into the hands of a little wilful lad."

"Is 't wiser to set Wat Tyler in his room?--Natheless, on the morrow this may hap."

"G.o.d forbid!" murmured Calote.

"I 'm bidden say the King will meet all peasants and other that have borne a part in this rising, the morrow morn at Smithfield. This is all I know, or any man else in England. Behooves me go forth to find Wat."

"Nay,--rest here!--He will surely come to this house when his bloodthirstiness is quenched."

"Calote," said Kitte, "come to bed! From the upper window I 'll keep watch for thy father."

"Thou wilt stay?" Calote pleaded with Stephen.

"Yea," he a.s.sented, kissing her good-night.

So Calote and Kitte mounted to the chamber under the roof, but Stephen lay down on the floor of the lower room, and presently he was fast asleep.

The torch went out, but the door into the lane was open and a little moonlight shone on Stephen's face. Without on Cornhill red-handed prentices were going home to their beds. There was fierce mirth in Dame Emma's tavern. After a little the front door of the cot was pushed open and a man came in. When he had stood still a moment, he heard the sound of measured breathing in the room and he knew that a man was asleep there. Then he saw where the sleeper lay, on the edge of the moonlight; and after this he came more close and saw the sleeper's face. But his own face was hid by the darkness. He drew something from his belt and it flashed against the s.h.i.+ne of the moon and dripped. Then he came betwixt Stephen and the door, and the light was cut off from Stephen's face. There was no sound in the room but Stephen's breathing,--'t would seem the other held his breath. He kneeled down, and now 't was his own face the moon shone on. He was smiling very evil. He lifted up his hand that held the flas.h.i.+ng thing,--and Kitte in the doorway cried "Awake!" in a very loud voice and threw herself upon the man, and he turned his hand and drove the knife into her breast. Then he fled by the door, and Kitte fell across Stephen's knees where he had sat up on a sudden out of his sleep.

When he would have lifted her, he found the hilt of the knife.

"Do not draw it forth," said Kitte, "not yet. Will--may--come."

Then Stephen called Calote, who came into this great grief rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Nay, weep not, child," said Kitte when 't was told. "What shall thy true love believe,--dost thou grudge him life?"

But Calote sobbed more bitterly, lying on the floor beside her mother.

"Will," Kitte whispered; and Stephen went to the door and looked out and saw him coming.

"I have been going up and down," said Will, "praying mercy. But they are mad with blood. One man I saved; but when I came that way again another had slain him and he lay in the ditch. Yonder in the tavern Wat and his demon Pride make merry and proclaim how they will rule England. Poor Wat! Already there be certain of his fellows look askance. Poor Wat!"

"Go in!" whispered Stephen, and told him.