CHAPTER III
They That Mourn
Now as these two sat silent, the door at the far end of the room,looking on Cornhill, opened, and a man came in and shut it again, andstood in the shadow.
"Wat?" said Langland.
"Art thou he men call Long Will?" asked the man out of the dark.
"Yea, I am he. Who art thou that fearest light? I took thee for WatTyler that is my friend."
"I am another friend," said the man, and came down the room. "My nameis Peter. I have run from Devon."
"So,--Peter!" quoth Langland, and rose up to meet him. "And for thatis thy name, and haply thou art a ploughman, dost thou believe thatthe truth resteth with thee?"
Calote, who knew her father's voice, saw also the grim smile thatcurled his lip, but the man could not see because of the twilight.
"I believe thou art a true prophet," he made answer; "I have heard thyVisions; many read them and tell them again."
"Even so," retorted the lank priest; "I did not counsel thee to run."
"Nay, 't was mine own wit counselled me there," the man replied; "mineown wit, fed on the Statute o' Labourers."
"'T is famine fare," said Langland. "Calote, if there be aught in thecupboard, bring it hither.--And now, friend Peter, wherefore art thoucome?"
"Lead us poor!" cried the man. "Arise, and strike down the unjust!"
"I am a prophet," said Langland. "I abide by my calling. Thou must goelsewhere for one shall do deeds. I only prophesy. 'T is safe; and Ihad ever a gift for song."
The man lifted an uncertain hand and scratched his rough head. So, fora moment, he stood irresolute. At last he said:--
"I am a dull fellow; but dost thou mock me?"
Then Langland came to him swiftly, pressing his hands on the bowedshoulders and saying:--
"Thou art my brother."
"'T is a word one understands," replied the man; "God and Mary blessthee!" and turned at the sound of a footstep. 'T was a woman came inwith a bowl in her hands, and Calote followed her, bringing bread.
"This is thy wife Kitte," said the man, "and this is thy daughterCalote."
The poet smiled,--"Thou dost read, Peter?"
"Nay, I have a young son will be a parson one day. Thy Visionconcerning the ploughman is meat and drink to him."
"To us, likewise," said Kitte. "There be days we taste little else; 'tis a dish well spiced. Natheless, for this is Holy Trinite, we've fedon whey and bread; it maketh an excellent diversite. Wilt eat?"
As she passed her husband he turned her face to the light, whereat shesmiled on him,--and in her smile was yet another kind of love mademanifest.
The man ate his bread and whey noisily the while his host leanedagainst the door-frame. Kitte withdrew into the inner room, and Calotesat in the window looking on the street. The moon rose and cast thepoet's shadow thin along the floor. There was a murmur in the street.
"Father," called Calote, "there is some ill befallen. Men stand aboutby twos and threes, so late, and speak low. And now,--oh,father!--Dame Emma hath fell a-weeping and shut her tavern door. Here's Wat!--Here 's Wat and another!"
Two men ran in from Cornhill, hurriedly. They were as shadows in theroom until they came to the patch of moonlight, where shadow andsubstance fell apart.
"The Prince is dead in Kennington Palace," said the taller, darkerman; "the Black Prince is dead!" And he struck the door-jamb with hisclenched fist and burst forth into one loud, sharp cry. There was ragein the sound, disappointment, and grief.
"Art silent, thou chantry priest?" said the other man gloomily. "Here's occasion to ply thy trade; but where 's thy glib prayer for thedead?"
"Who am I that I should pray for this soul?" cried Langland bitterly."Here 's the one brave man in all England--dead. Now is it time topray for the living, Jack Straw; for my soul, and thine, and all theseother poor, that be orphaned and bereaved o' their slender hope bythis death. Oh, friend Peter, thou art run too late from Devon! Thedoer o' deeds, the friend o' ploughmen and labourers, he is dead."
"One told me he did not welcome death. He was fain to live," said WatTyler.
"Doth a good prince go willingly into heaven's bliss if he must leavea people perplexed,--a nest of enemies to trample his dreams?" askedthe poet.
"I have heard them that served yonder in the war with France, who saythe Prince hath a sin or two of 's own to answer for," said JackStraw. "Who shall rest secure o' heaven's bliss?"
"Were I so honest a sinner as he that is gone, e'en punishment andstripes were a taste o' blessing!" Langland exclaimed, and bent hishead in his hands.
The rustic had stared at one then another of these men, and now heopened his great mouth, and the words came forth clumsily:--
"I be grieved full sore for this death, and for the King's sake thatis an old man. Natheless, 't was no prince led the wildered folk inthe Vision."
"Oh, Piers!" said Langland; and suddenly he laughed, and still witheyes bent upon this rude, shock-headed, and slow creature, he laughed,and laughed again, merrily, without malice, like a child.
But Wat Tyler leapt to his feet and paced the room back and forth:--
"'T is a true word," he cried. "He that delivereth the poor out of hismisery shall taste that misery; he shall be one of those poor. Haththe Black Prince encountered cold and hunger as I have soencountered,--not for a siege's space, but to a life's end and withtied hands? Hath he oped his eyen into the world chained to ahand's-breadth o' soil? Nay, England was his heritage, and he hadleave to get France likewise, if he might. Can the overlord rede theheart of the villein that feedeth him? The Black Prince hath dieddisappointed of his kingdom"--
"And thou wilt die disappointed of thine," said Langland, gravelyintent upon him.
"Nay, but I live in disappointment daily,--and Jack Straw, and thishonest fellow, and"--
"Who may the honest fellow be?" queried Jack Straw.
This Jack Straw had lint locks that glistened under the moon; thelashes of his eyes were white. His was a dry utterance.
"'T is a villein hath run from his hand's-breadth o' soil," answeredLangland. "One of many."
"I plough, I reap, I ditch," said Peter; "somewhile I thatch. I am ofDevon."
"They have a quaint device of thatching in Devon," quoth Jack Straw.
"Ay, they set a peak like to a coxcomb above the gable. Art a Devonman?" asked Peter eagerly.
"Nay, but I be thatcher. I learned of a Devon man. 'T was the yearnext after the great pestilence. Like thee, he had run."
Wat Tyler had been pacing up and down, but now he stood before hishost and asked uneasily, albeit his voice was bold and harsh:--
"Will, what's thy meaning,--that I shall die disappointed of mykingdom?"
"Ah, Wat, Wat!" said Langland, "and wilt thou lead the people? Andwherefore?"
Jack Straw edged farther within the moonlight and peered into hiscomrade's dark and lowering countenance:--
"Now which o' they seven deadly sins doth he call to repent?" hedrawled, and with a sudden change to sharp speech, keeping his eyeever upon Wat's face: "A day cometh when there shall be no king, norno overlord, nor no rich merchant to buy food away from the people,and store it up, and sell it at a price. But every man shall be leaderof his own soul, and every man king. There shall not be poverty norrichesse, but one shall share as another, and nothing shall be minenor thine."
Peter rested his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands, suchfashion that his jaw hammered upward and downward; and the table, thathad one leg a bit short, hammered likewise. Said he:--
"Christ came a poor man, poor men to comfort. He suffereth my sorrow.I knew not there was question of any kingdom, but only Christ's. Andif Christ is King, how then do ye say there will be no leader?"
Will Langland looked at the other two with a strange smile; but Watturned to the ploughman and cried:--
"Yet if Christ delay His second coming, must another lead till hecome. How else
shall folk know His way?"
"Of a surety," answered Peter; "I am come to Long Will."
And Long Will covered his face and so remained. And they all satsilent and as it were ashamed, till Kitte put her head in and said:--
"Calote, get thee to bed, child!"
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