Long Will

by Florence Converse

  CHAPTER XIII

  The Man O' Words

  One night, when Long Will was gone forth to copy a writ of law for acity merchant, Calote sat up to wait for him in the moonlight by theirdoor that opened on the lane. Calote and her father had not spoketogether of her pilgrimage since that night, now more than a yearpast, when Long Will was so wroth with Jack Straw. Nevertheless, eachone knew that the other had not forgotten. But now the time was short;there must be unlocking of tongues.

  Calote braided her hair in a tress, unbound it, braided it anew, thewhile she waited and pondered the words that she would speak. In thelane something grunted and thrust a wet snout against her bare foot;one of Dame Emma's pigs had strayed. It was a little pig; Calote tookit up in her arms and bore it through the dark room and out onCornhill. The tavern door was shut, but there was a noise of singingwithin, and Dame Emma came at the knock.

  Hobbe Smith sat in the chimney trolling a loud song, and two or threemore men sprawled on a bench by the wall, a-chaunting "Hey, lolly,lolly," out of time and out of tune. One of these, that was mostdrunk, came running foolishly so soon as he saw Calote, and made as tosnatch a kiss, but Dame Emma thrust piggie in his face; and whenCalote turned about at her own door, breathless, she saw where Hobbehad the silly fellow on the floor and knelt upon his belly, andcrammed the pig's snout into his mouth; and Dame Emma beat Hobbe overthe noddle with a pint-pot, for that he choked her squealing pig.Calote bethought her, sorrowful, that there would be no Dame Emma andkindly Hobbe to take up her quarrel in other taverns. So she went backto the braiding of her hair until her father came in.

  Then she said:--

  "Father,--they do affirm 't is full time for me to begone on theKing's errand. Thou wilt not say me nay? Thou wilt bless me?"

  He sat down on the doorstone and took her in his arm. He was smiling.

  "Sweet, my daughter; and dost thou truly think that this puissantrealm of England shall be turned up-so-down and made new by a plottingof young children and rustics?"

  "Wherefore no, if God will?"

  "Nay, I 'll not believe that God hath so great spite against usEnglish," he made answer, whimsical.

  "But the Vision, father? If thy ploughman be no rustic, what then ishe?"

  "I fell eft-soon asleep," quoth Long Will,--

  "'and suddenly me saw, That Piers the Ploughman was painted all bloody, And come in with a cross before the common people, And right like, in all limbs, to our Lord Jesus; And then called I Conscience to tell me the truth. "Is this Jesus the Jouster?" quoth I, "that Jews did to death, Or is it Piers the Ploughman?--Who painted him so red?" Quoth Conscience, and kneeled then, "These are Piers arms, His colours and his coat-armour, and he that cometh so bloody Is Christ with his Cross, conqueror of Christians."'"

  "Who is 't, then, we wait for?" Calote cried. "Is it Christ, or is itPiers? O me, but I 'm sore bewildered! An' if 't were Christ, yet maynot Piers do his devoir? Do all we sit idle with folded hands becauseChrist cometh not? Surely, 't were better He find us busy, a-strivingour weak way to come into His Kingdom! What though we may not 'dobest,' yet may we do well."

  "Yea, do well," her father answered. "But now tell me, dost believeJack Straw and Wat seek Truth,--or their own glory?"

  "How can I tell?" she asked. "But for myself, I do know that I seekTruth. To gain mine own glory, were 't not easy to go another wayabout? May not I wear jewelled raiment and be called Madame? But Iwill not. And Wat Tyler and Jack Straw, they believe that they areseekers of Truth."

  "Thou wilt not trust thy little body in the hand of Jack Straw, mydaughter; and yet wilt thou give up all this thine England into hisclutch?"

  "'T is the King shall rule England," she faltered.

  "And who shall rule the King?"

  "Is 't not true, that the ploughman shall counsel the King? There behonest ploughmen."

  "Peter of Devon is an honest man," assented Langland; "he cannot readnor write, almost he cannot speak. Wilt thou give over the kingdominto his keeping?"

  "Wilt not thou?" she said; and her father made no answer.

  Suddenly she arose and stood before him, and laid her two hands on hisshoulders as he sat on the doorstone.

  "'T is well enough to say, 'Wait!' 'T is well enough to say, 'Not thisploughman,--Not this King,--Not thou,--Nor I.' 'T is well enough tosay, 'Not to-day!' But a man might do so forever, and all the world goto wreck."

  "Not if I believe in God,--and Christ the King's Son of heaven."

  "And is this the end of all trusting in God, that a man shall fold hishands and do nothing?"

  He winced, and she had flung her arms about his neck, and pressed hercheek to his, and she was sobbing; he tasted the salt of her tearsagainst his lips.

  "Father, forgive me! Say thou dost forgive me!--But all my littlelifetime thou hast laboured on this poem--when I was a babe I learnedto speak by the sound of thy voice a-murmuring the Vision. All thelight o' learning I have to light me to Godward and to my fellows, Igot it from the Vision. All the fire o' love I have in my heart waskindled at its flame;--yea--for all other love I quench with my tears;I will not let no other love burn. And now, when the fire is kindledpast smothering, and the light burns ever so bright, thou dost turnthe Vision against itself, for to confound all them that have believedon thy word. Wilt thou light a light but to snuff it back to darkness?Wilt thou kindle a fire but to choke us with smoke? 'T is now toolate. Haply 't is thy part to sit still and sing; but I--I cannotsing, and I cannot sit still. I am not so wise as thou, nor sopatient. Is 't kind to 'wilder me with thy wisdom, my father? Is 'twise to cover me with a pall of patience, if I must needs die to liequiet?"

  "An I give thee leave, what is 't thou 'lt do?" he asked her, in alevel, weary voice.

  "I 'll follow the King to Gloucester, and there have speech of him anda token. After, I 'll bid the people to know the King loveththem,--and they are to come up to London to a great uprising, whattime John Ball, and Wat, and Jack Straw shall give sign. Then thereshall be no more poor and rich; but all men shall love one another,the knight and the cook's knave, the King and the ploughman. Much moreI 'll say, out of the Vision; and of fellowship, such as John Ballpreacheth."

  "The clergy clap John Ball into prison for such words, whensoever theymay."

  "And for this reason is it better that I should be about when he maynot; for what am I but a maiden? Clergy will not take keep of me. I 'mnot afeared of no harm that may befal me;--though haply--harm may."

  "Knoweth that young squire aught of this journey?"

  "Nay, father."

  "Hast thou bethought thee of what folk will say if thou go toGloucester in the tail of the court? There be many on Cornhill haveseen that youth; they know whence he is.--If thou go, and come notagain for many months?"

  He felt her cheek grow hot against his own, and then she drew awayfrom him and looked in his eyes piteously:--

  "Dost thou not believe I must do that Conscience telleth me is right,father?"

  "Yea."

  "Then wherefore wilt thou seek to turn me from well-doing?"

  "Thou art my daughter," he answered gravely; "small wonder if I wouldshield thee from dangers and evil-report. Shall I not be blamed of allmen, and rightly, if I let thee go o' this wild-goose chase?"

  "All thy life I have never known thee give a weigh of Essex cheese forany man's praise or blame."

  "'T is very true!" he assented in moody fashion; and sat still withhis head bent.

  After a little she touched him, and "Thou 'lt bless me, father?" shesaid.

  "To Gloucester, sayst thou?" he questioned absently; and then, "That's nigh to Malvern Priory, and the Hills,--the Malvern Hills."

  She had sat down below him on the ground and laid her chin upon hisknee, and so she waited with her eyes upon his face.

  "My old master that learned me to read and to write, and unloosed thesinging tongue of me, dwelleth in
Malvern Priory. He said, if ever Ihad a golden-haired daughter--Well, thou shalt take a copy of theVision to him, Calote. Give it to the porter at the gate,--and bide.Thy mother shall say round and about Cornhill that thou art gone tomine old home, to take the Vision to the old master. He is calledBrother Owyn."

  "Father, father!" she cried, "I am filled full of myself, and mine owndesire. Wherefore dost thou not beat me and lock me behind doors,--soother fathers would do?"

  He smiled wistfully, and kissed her: "So! now thou hast thy will, thou'lt play penitent. Nay,--hush thee, hush thee, my sweet! 'T is timefor laughter now, and joyousness. Thou 'rt going forth to learn allmen to love one another. Be comforted; dry thy tears!"

  "I am a very wicked wight!" she sobbed. "I will not leave thee."

  "Thou art aweary, my dear one, the dawn cometh. Go thou to rest, andthe morrow all will be bright. When dost thou set forth o' thispilgrimage?"

  "On the morrow!" she whispered; and then with more tears, "But I willnot go, father,--forgive me!"

  He gathered her into his arms and carried her through the weeds and upthe wooden stair to the door of the gabled room.

  "Go in," he said, "and sleep! There are yet a fifty lines lacking tothe copy of the Vision that thou wilt take with thee; I must writethem in."

  But when he was come back to the long dark room, he lit no rush for anhour or more; instead, he paced back and forth, talking withhimself:--

  "Pity me, God! I am a weak man!--I did never no deeds but them Ithought not to do;--never, all my life long! Count my deeds, OGod,--they are so few,--and all of them have I condemned afore inother men. Now, I let my daughter go forth on a fool's errand, and ina child's plot that must fail; mayhap she will meet worse than deathon the road; but I give her my blessing. Jesu,--Mary,--guard this mydaughter that I have so weakly put forth upon the world! How may a mandare say nay to his child, if she be a better man than he,--an actyfman, a doer o' deeds? How may a man dare forbid any soul to followConscience? Good Jesu, I am but a jongleur,--a teller o' tales,--I amafeared o' deeds. I see them on so many sides that I dare move norhand nor foot. And if I do, I trip. Best never be doing.--If a manmight be all words, and no deeds!"

  PART II

  The Pilgrimage

  "And I shall apparaille me in pilgrimes wise, And wende with yow I wil til we fynde Treuthe."

  _The Vision Concerning Piers Plowman._ B. PASSUS V.