Long Will

by Florence Converse

  CHAPTER I

  In the Cloisters

  King Richard stretched himself and yawned, took off his velvet bonnetand thrust his fingers through his long light-brown hair, rubbed hisleft leg, and looked on his favourite squire with a smilehalf-quizzical, half-ashamed.

  They two stood in the cloisters of the Abbey at Gloucester, in thatpart of the cloisters that was not yet finished. The workmen carvingthe fan-tracery--that Abbey's proud boast and new invention--lookedaside from their blocks of stone to the young King, then bent theirheads and went on chinking. From somewhere about came a kind ofclamorous noise that was the Commons still sitting in the ChapterHouse,--though 't was past dinner time. John of Gaunt strode laughingdown the cloisters by the side of a gray-beard Oxford priest whocarried a parchment in his hand, and they went together into thechurch. Lord Richard Scrope, the new-appointed chancellor, stood outin the middle of the cloister garth, under the noon sun, and MasterWalworth and Philpot and other merchants of London with him, theirheads together, their speech now buzzing low, now lifted in protest,now settling to a chuckle.

  Richard whacked his leg smartly and stiffened it.

  "My foot 's asleep," said he. "'T is a most deep-seated chair. An Imust listen many more days to mine uncle's long-winded friend fromOxenford, thou wert best get me a fatter cushion. My legs do dangleout of all dignity."

  "'T shall be found to-morrow, sire!" Etienne answered.

  "Nay, not to-morrow, mon ami; to-morrow I go a-hunting, and the nextday, and the next, if I will."

  "A-hunting!" exclaimed Etienne; "but Parliament sits."

  "Saint Mary!" cried Richard; "and who should know this better than I?Sits!--One while methought I 'd sent forth rootlets and must gothrough life a-sitting. Almost I 'll welcome old days, and Sir SimonBurley's stinging birch, to start me out of my numbness."

  A stone-cutter laughed, and checked him short in his laughter; whereatRichard smiled in the frank fashion that made the common folk hisfriends, and went and looked over the man's shoulder.

  "What a pretty tracery is this, parde," he said presently. "Why do wenot make a roof like to it at Westminster?"

  Etienne lifted his eyebrows; "Westminster?" he asked.

  And Richard coloured and bit his lip, saying, "True,--I had forgotWestminster is not good friends with us. 'T was all mine uncle'sdoing," he continued angrily. "Lord knows, I 've fallen asleep or everI 've done my prayers, each night since the poor wretch was slain. I've prayed him out of Purgatory ten times over, and paid for Masses.Dost thou not mind thee, Etienne, how I wept that day the murder wasdone, and would have stripped me body-naked to be whipped for 't inpenance; but my confessor said was no need? Natheless, John Wyclif isa wily cleric. Dost mark how he ever passeth over the murder, soft,yet standeth on our right to make arrest in the church? For mine ownpart I do believe he is in the right; for wherefore is a king a king,if he may not do as him list, but is bound by time and place?"

  "Yea, sire!" said Etienne absently; he was looking across, through theopen door into the church. In the dim distance there he saw a littlekneeling figure, and a gleam of golden braided hair. Almost he thoughtit was Calote, and his heart leaped; but he remembered that this couldnot be if Calote were in London. There were other golden-haired maidsin England.

  "Yet do I not like his doctrine," the King mused. "For why?--the halfon 't I cannot understand. Yesterday I fell asleep, upright,a-listening to the sound of his Latin. My confessor saith this Wyclifturneth the Bible into the English tongue for common folk toread,--and that 's scandal and heresy, to let down God's thoughts intospeech of every day. But Master Wyclif's own thoughts be not God's, ifall is true the Church teacheth, and I 'd liever listen to him inEnglish.--or better, in French. Etienne, I go a-hunting, I 'm awearyof Latin, and Sanctuary, and all this cry of the Commons concerningexpense. How is 't my fault if mine uncles and Sudbury and the councilbe spendthrifts? By Saint Thomas of Kent, I 'll stop this French warwhen I 'm a man. Yea, and I 'll stop the mouth of Parliament thattalks me asleep."

  The workmen glanced at one another and grinned. Etienne made a step tothe church door; the maid within had risen up off her knees and nowcrossed herself and went away down the nave.

  "Sire!" cried Etienne sharply; "methought I saw--Calote."

  One of the workmen looked up at the name, and let his work lie.

  "Calote?" said Richard. "Coeur de joie, but she 's in London."

  Etienne shook his head and peered into the dimness of the church, butthe maid was gone.

  "Ay, me," sighed Richard wistfully, "I would thou didst love thy Kingbut the half as well as thou lovest this peasant maid."

  "Beau sire," said Etienne, kneeling, "I am thy loyal servant. Trustme, my heart plays no tricks."

  "Cheri," then smiled the King, and laid his hand on Etienne'sshoulder, "my head aches. Let us to my chamber and thou shalt sing mea little song, and I 'll sleep. We have not spoke of Calote thesethree weeks. Come, tell me a tale and be merry. To-morrow we 'll rideup to the forest at Malvern, and hunt there the next day; the prioryonder is a courteous gentleman, writes in French, and prays mepartake of his hospitality. After All Hallows we 'll come back andhear the end of these great matters. I 'll pray mine uncle; I 'll fretand fume. I 'll go, will he nil be. Come let 's say a prayer in churchbeside my great-grandfather's tomb. Give you good-day, good fellows,"he said to the workmen, and went away hanging upon his squire's arm.

  "There 's a king!" said one of the stone-cutters. "His father's ownson!"

  "Sayst thou so?" grumbled another. "Didst mark how he would stop themouth o' Parliament when he 's a man?"

  "Pish!--'t was a jest turned in weariness," a third made excuse; "achild's jest. For mine own part, I 'm none so fond o' Parliament withits throngings, and setting a town topsy-turvy, and forever gettingunder a man's feet when he 's at his stone work peaceable."

  "They say his mother's done her best to spoil him. I 've heard tellshe was a light woman."

  "Natheless, I 'd liever have him than another. He has a merry smile. Icould have took him o' my knee and kissed him and rubbed his sleepyfoot,--but I minded me he was a king."

  "And well for thee."

  "Now I wonder," said the workman who had lifted his head at mention ofCalote,--"now I wonder what the young squire meant by those words hesaid? There 's a maid biding in my cot; her name 's Calote. She cansing the Vision concerning Piers Ploughman better than any teller o'tales ever I heard. 'T was her own father writ it. One Jack Straw senther my way. She goeth afoot to Malvern to-day, to give her father'sgreeting to a monk at the Priory."

  "Jack Straw? Him that spake of the people's wrongs and these eviltaxings, at Tavern in January past?"

  "Yea."

  "Will such-like a maid be known to so fine a gentleman as yon squire?"

  "Haply not. Yet I 'll swear by Saint Christopher 't was her I saw inthe church when he looked through the door."

  "Eh, well,--the little King 's a good fellow, say I," quoth the manthat had first spoken, and added, "So is Jack Straw."

  Whereupon there fell silence upon all of them, and only the clinkingof hammer against stone was heard till the Commons came out of theChapter House with a great clatter.