Long Will

by Florence Converse

  CHAPTER IX

  The Adventure in Kent

  Calote was in Kent what time word came that the Parliament ofNorthampton had passed a new poll-tax. It happened on this wise: WatTyler went down into Kent to have speech of John Ball, who was not inprison at that time, albeit hunted by the Archbishop's men,--and hebrought Calote with him. And in a little village midway twixtCanterbury and Maidstone the priest met them. They went into thetavern and the alewife set her best brew before them, and presentlyslipped out to seek her gossips.

  "This is the maid," said Wat.

  John Ball's eyes, kindly, keen, smiling, drew her to him, also he heldout his hand. She came and stood beside his knee as he sat withdrawnfrom the table a little way. So they looked each on other, she mostsolemn, he tenderly amused.

  "Long Will's daughter," he said; and after a little, "So thou hastjourneyed in England, south and north, to bring the message offellowship to the poor?"

  "Yea, brother," she answered him.

  "And thou sayest this people is not ready to rise up?"

  "Yea, brother, I say so."

  "Wherefore?"

  "Two year is not long enough, John Ball."

  "Two year!" quoth he, and smiled. "'T is twenty year I have not ceasedto preach this message. Thou wert not born, yet the people had heardthese things."

  She flushed very hot and her lip quivered: "Though 't were fortyyear,--the people is not ready," she made answer steadfast.

  "They say there 's a woman of Siena learns Pope Urban his lesson,"mused the priest, always his eyes fixed smiling on the maid; "Godforbid I should be behind Pope Urban in humilite."

  "I am a peasant maid only," cried Calote, "but I say poor folk is notyet a fellowship. They dream of vengeance. More than they love oneanother they hate the nobles and bailiffs and the men-of-law, and"--

  "And all them that have brought us to this pass," said Wat Tylerfiercely.

  John Ball turned to look at him, and there fell silence.

  When the priest spoke again he spoke to Wat, and said: "'T would seemthe maid saith soth." Then, turning back to Calote, the smile went outof his eyes: "I am not so patient as thy father," he exclaimed, "I amnot content to prophesy only; there 's some men must do deeds. Alittle while we 'll delay. Natheless, 't shall come in my time!--Thouhast warned them in Essex and Suffolk, 't is not yet, Wat?"

  "Yea, they know, and they grumble. Norfolk knoweth, andCambridgeshire; and when we came through Dartford I sent messengerswestward to stay the folk in those parts. Here they know it not yet.They will not tamely wait. I fear these Kentish men; and if they slipleash the rest will follow, whether we will or no."

  "Ah, well, if they will, they will! Give me now the names of theNorfolk gentry would cast in their lot o' our side." He spread aparchment on the table and drew pen and ink from his penner.

  "John de Montenay de Bokenham," said Wat.

  "Is 't so?" John Ball murmured, writing. "Methought he 'd come at t'last."

  "Thomas de Gyssing."

  "Anon."

  "Sir Roger Bacon."

  "Nay, I had his name long since."

  "Then thou hast all others," Wat ended.

  Calote, standing by the table, listened.

  "Of Bury, now, what new citizens since I was prisoned last?" thepriest questioned.

  "Thomas Halesworth, John Clakke, Robert Westbron."

  "And these be fit to lead?"

  "Yea."

  "And who is messenger to run westward?"

  "John Smyth, parson,--hath a horse."

  "Ah! And for the north?"

  "John Reynolds of Bawdsey, and Walter Coselere; good runners, both."

  "Where is Jack Straw?"

  "In Northampton, hanging at the heels o' Parliament."

  But now came Calote with a question: "Shall the King be warned anewafore the people rise?"

  "The King?" said John Ball, staring.

  "Yea; I give my message in the name of the King; I have his token."She drew forth the horn.

  Wat Tyler was admonishing the priest, with nod of head and uplift ofeyebrow.

  "Oh, ay," John Ball said hastily; "I had forgot. Nay, we 'll wait andlet the people rise and seek him out. 'T will be time enough."

  "What was 't thou hadst forgot?" Calote queried. But she got noanswer, for the door burst open, and men and women came in and crowdedabout John Ball and kissed his garment's hem. And in the same momentthe church-bell began to ring.

  "Ho, my brothers!" laughed the priest, "let be! I have not rung yourbell. The Archbishop hath long ears. 'T is not safe."

  "There be espiers set in every lane and the highway," said thealewife. "They 'll give warning."

  So they carried him, protesting, laughing, up the village street tothe cross.

  That was a November day, gray, misty, chill. The trees were bare. Theearth was wet with the rain of yesternight. Weatherwise folk saw snowin the clouds.

  "Come up hither!" said John Ball to Calote, and drew her after him tothe top step of the cross. "Have a care, the stone 's slippery."

  So, when she was steadied at his side, he turned to the waitingvillagers with:--

  "Hark ye, good folk; I have no new thing to say. Hear this maid! 'T isLong Will's daughter of London; hath journeyed far and wide throughoutEngland to learn men of fellowship. She shall speak."

  The people stared at him in wonder, and at her. Then he stepped downand left her alone.

  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! God save the King!" they cried. "Speak!--speak!"

  "The King is young, my brothers. He is a lad only; but he loveth hispeople. He knoweth what is to be bound; doth not he live in bondagelikewise, and to these same nobles?"

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

  "The King is of the noblesse; speak not of death, my brothers. I knowthere shall be blood shed in this battle, for that the nobles hate us;and when they see us uprisen, there shall be fear added unto hate, andblows shall follow. But when we, being stricken, strike again, forfreedom and our brother, we shall remember that there is nor hate norfear in us. We are for love, my brothers; we are for fellowship; andso it cometh to pass we cannot hate any man."

  They gaped upon her and said nothing. John Ball drew his hand acrosshis 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, 'tshall 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 uprisingin England till we be set free from hate. We be villeins now, inbondage to nobles and lords of manors; we do affirm we rise up forfreedom; but I ask ye, shall that be freedom which is but to turntable and set the nobles in bondage under us?"

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

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

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

  "Hark ye, brothers; we do not rise up for to bind any man, noble orvillein, but for to set all England free. Let the King rule,--let theknight keep the borders of the land rid of Frenchman and Scot,--letthe 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 ona white horse, and the espier running at his side.

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

  'T was the peddler.

  Calote stared on him bewildered; he
looked so strange. She had notseen 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, hereyes were wide. The peddler drew his hood down over his face. ThenCalote was 'ware of a tumult among the people, and Wat Tyler's voiceupraised to still them, and John Ball standing again at her side onthe top step of the cross.

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

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

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

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

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

  "Brothers," she said, "ye of Kent are ready. Yea, 't is very true.Were all men so strong in fellowship as Kentish men, would be littleto fear. But in Essex men be not so well-fed, nor so wise. Kind-Witdwelleth 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, andhe had forgot to return to his post.--"A-most fools is outside o'Kent."

  "These men of the eastern shires," the maid continued, "will have itthat fellowship is but leave to slay and burn, for sake of privewrong. They 'll use this word for a cloak to do murder and all thoseother seven sins. Moreover, in the north there be few that willrise,--and in the west they 're afeared.--Ye Kentish men are fearless,but may Kent alone withstand the power of the noblesse? Willingly ye'll be slain for your brothers' sake,--oh, ye are brave men!--but whatavail 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 ruefulcountenance. She watched them for a little, then:--

  "'T is for Kentish men to say if the Rising shall avail or come tonaught. Wise men are never rash. Moreover,--t' other side o' London,word is already gone forth to stay the Rising. Will ye risealone,--one shire?"

  They hung their heads, foolish, sulky.

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

  The peddler, as he were abashed, slipped from his steed to the ground.But the crowd, diverted from their own discontent, pushed and pulledhim to the foot of the cross where stood John Ball.

  "Nay, then, uncover thy face, brother," said the priest, "'t is wellwe know our friends." And with a large hand, courteous but not to begainsayed, he pushed back the peddler's hood, and there was revealed amop of light brown hair curled in the fashion of the court, and a fairand gentlemanly countenance that flushed crimson beneath theastonished gaze of John Ball. 'T would seem the peddler had departedon 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 spreadthe alarm."

  "Art thou of the Fellowship, stranger?" John Ball questioned, sharp.

  Then did the peddler lift up his head, and looked the priest in theeye: "In my heart am I of the Fellowship, but I have not given my handon 't," he said.

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

  "Knoweth any here this gentle, that would be of our Fellowship?" heasked.

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

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

  "I know this gentle," said Calote. "If he giveth his hand infellowship--he will keep faith."

  There went up a murmur of amaze in the crowd, and John Ball lookedfrom Calote to the peddler and back again.

  "Is a disciple of my father," whispered Calote; and now was her faceas red as the peddler's.

  "What art thou called, friend?" asked the priest.

  "I am called Stephen Fitzwarine. I dwell in the King's palace; but Iabode one while in poor folks' cots; I know that they suffer. When 'tis time, I do purpose to stand by the villein that would be free"--

  The Kentish men shouted, and pressed more close.

  "Meanwhile I may come at the King's ear. 'T were well there be one inthe palace at Westminster may be a m-mean twixt the King and thecommons, when peasants are risen up. I am for the Fellowship,--I willkeep faith. Here 's my hand."

  "Lay thy hand on this market cross, brother, and swear by therood," said John Ball.

  So Stephen went up the three stone steps and laid his hand upon thearm of the cross, and:--

  "By the Holy Rood, I swear," said he, "that I will keep faith with theFellowship and strive to set free villeins. Life and limb, body andsoul, give I in this cause."

  And all that throng of villagers burst out a-singing:--

  "'When Adam delved and Eve span, Who was then the gentleman?'"

  But now, by the way that the peddler had come,--the unwatchedway,--there came a band of horsemen suddenly, and rode into the midstof the crowd.

  "Archbishop's men!" shrieked a woman. "Save John Ball!"

  There was no room to shoot the long-bow.

  "Though we rise not yet, we 'll maul 'em now," roared a man.

  But John Ball stayed him, stayed all.--"Not yet,--no blood shall flow.We have need of strong men. Remember!"

  So, except a buffet here and there, pushing and hindrance, and loudwords, there was no battle. Women clung weeping to John Ball, but hewas bound and set on a horse. Then came the faithless espier and casthimself down in the way of that horse, and was trampled and his skullclove in.

  One of the soldiers ran to the cross and would have bound Calote, forhe said: "This wench also was speaking, exciting the people." ButStephen thrust him off, and said he:--

  "The damosel is in my care, Gybbe Pykerel; I 'll answer to the King asconcerning my loyaute and hers."

  "What!--Etienne Fitzwarine!" cried the man. "A frolic?--Eh, well!--I'm Archbishop's man, 't is none of my devoir to meddle with King'sminions."

  And the priest being now fast bound, and all others in their saddles,this soldier followed, and all rode forth of the village. But onevillein cried after them:--

  "We have chose to let ye have him now, but 'ware the day when we cometo take him out o' Maidstone gaol! 'Ware the day!"

  Then they went to the espier, where he lay dead, and they lifted himup and bore him within the church.

  "My horse!" cried the peddler. "Where is Blanchefleur, my d-destrier?"

  "Wat Tyler 's astride and halfway to Canterbury by this, brother,"said a woman.

  The peddler laughed,--was naught else to do.

  "Eh, well, mistress, thou and I must go afoot," quoth he to Calote;"'t will not be the first time."

  He took her hand and she went with him meekly, as she were in a dream.A little way beyond the village he led her off the road into a wood,and there made her to sit down under a tree. He thrust a stopple ofdry leaves into the small end of the King's horn, and filled it withwater from a spring near by, which, when she had drunk, she smiled.Whereupon the peddler cast him down on the grass at her feet and tookthe dusty hem of her kirtle to his lips and held it there,--a-kissingit; and once he sobbed.

  Presently she spoke, slow, softly, as one speaks looking backward intomemory:--

  "In Devon I said,--he hath a mind, inward, like to Stephen's mind. Butif this were Stephen he 'd never cease to speak to me of love; so he 'dbe discovered. But thou didst never speak to me of love. In Cheshire Isaid,--he hath given his all to buy the horn; pres
ently he will askfor my love to repay him. I was afeared. I said, I could lovehim--were there no--Ah, 't is no matter what I said! At Yorkshire, atthe manor-house, 't was lonely. I--I thought on thee, and yet 't wasstrange, I could not dispart thee from Stephen in my thought. Isaid,--I know he will presently woo me, and what shall I say? Then Ibegan to see Stephen in thy face--and I was 'wildered sore. When I waswearied with wanhope, 't was thou upheld the quarrel of the people.Ah,--how couldst thou know how to do this if thou art Stephen? Stephenis a squire in the King's palace! I said--what shall I do?--Did evermaid love"--She hushed hastily and the colour flamed to her cheeks;she made as to rise, but the peddler had her hands, he was on hisknees before her, looking in her eyes.

  "Nay,--m-make an end to 't!" he whispered. "Did ever a maid--what?"

  "I will not!"--she answered. "Let be!"

  "Wh-which is 't thou l-lovest? Speak!"

  "Wherefore wilt thou still mock me?" she cried in sudden anger,freeing her hands. "Have done with thy halting speech!"

  He hung his head and knelt mute a moment,--then in a low voice, verysorrowful, and painfully stammering, he said:--

  "A-a-alas, mistress!--I c-cannot be rid of 't n-now. T-taketh meunaware. If it of-fendeth thee, then indeed a-am I undone."

  She waited, aghast, watching him, but he knelt silent in hisdejection.

  "It doth not offend me," she said at last, wistfully; and he, lookingup, beheld her eyes full of tears.

  "Wilt thou h-have me?" he cried.

  And half laughing, half crying, she asked him:

  "Who art thou?"

  "Please God, I am him thou lovest," he answered; "Which is he?"

  She let him take her hands again.

  "I know not," she whispered. "But if 't is the peddler, I love him forStephen's sake,--and if 't is Stephen, for the peddler's sake I lovehim."