Long Will

by Florence Converse

  CHAPTER X

  The Poets Sing to Richard

  When Stephen had brought Calote safe out of Kent to the door of thecot on Cornhill, they kissed the one the other and went their ways.

  "Another year, and I 'll be mine own man, lord of mine own manor,which the Earl of March shall render to me; then we 'll be wed," quothStephen.

  "And the villeins shall be freed?" said Calote.

  "Yea, of surety shall they," he answered. "Meanwhile, 't were wise Idwell at Westminster. I 'm the one only man is King's friend and poorman's friend, true alike to one and t' other. Richard hath need ofsuch an one."

  "Alack! tell me of the King," cried Calote. "Doth he forget?"

  "He 's young," Stephen made answer, unwilling; "he 's nor boy nor man.He doth not forget, but he doth not any more believe, neither. He willhave it as how 't was child's prattle yonder in Malvern Chase. An they'd give him work to do, he 'd grow to be a king; but the Council andthe great lords is afeared to let slip the reins. One day he 'll claimhis own, and God grant 't will not then be too late."

  "Child's prattle!" sighed Calote. "Harrow!"

  "Nay, be comforted!" pleaded Stephen. "This past month that I am comeback to court, he is uncertain. He plieth me with when and how. ButRobert de Vere is ever hanging on his neck; 't is not thrice in a weekI may come at him. Though he may not rule in verite, he maketh boldpretense; is naught but feasting and jollite from morn till night;largess and bounty, and wanton dispending of the gold wherefore thepeople is taxed. He hath in mind to bid thee and thy father to courtone day, to sing to him and run a tilt of song with Master Chaucer."

  After this Stephen betook him to Westminster, and November was pastand gone, and the blessed Nativite and mummers of Twelfth Night werepast; and all this great while Calote was in and out of London,bearing the message and binding the Brotherhood. Wat Tyler bode withher whithersoever she went, in Essex and Norfolk and Suffolk, andsouthward into Kent, and back again to London. She would not go alonewith Jack Straw, wherefore he was very wroth. And what though Calotekept tryst once, twice, thrice, with the peddler, she did not tell himas how she was afeared of Jack Straw; for that she knew Jack Straw hadit in his heart to slay the peddler, if so he might take him unaware.

  So all that winter the people was making them ready. There werecertain aldermen of London also that were of the Great Society. Attheir houses were met together the leaders, to discover how bestLondon should be taken; and they said it must be when such an one wasAlderman of Bridge, for by the Bridge was the surest way to come intothe city for to take it.

  Now it was marvel that the lords paid no heed, for, albeit thesethings were done privily, they might not be altogether hid. No manrode the highway half a mile but he happed upon strange adventure, asof a preacher preaching; or of villeins gathered together in acompany, clasping hands and swearing strange oaths; or of a bailiffgagged and helpless, his wallet empty. Moreover, it was rumoured atcourt as how the peasants would rise. But this was not to be believed.If the nobles thought on it, 't was to jest. What though dark looksfollowed after them when they rode abroad,--was not the peasant ever asulky churl? What though there was a whispering in tavern andtown,--the villein had grumbled these thirty years and more. As theythat have eyes and see not, were the lords, and having ears yet theydid not hear.

  Meanwhile, the tax was a-gathering. But whether 't was true, what thepeople said, that a-many had died since the last census,--or whetherthe census was ill-taken, or whether the blame was to thetax-gatherer;--and the people declared this also, that he stole fromthe King's coffers to fill his own pouch;--whether for one cause orother, 't is certain the money came not in, and there was fret andstir in the King's Council. And about this time, which was the monthof March, Will Langland and his daughter Calote had word that theyshould go to the palace at Westminster to stand before the King.

  In the great chamber where the King would come to hear his minstrels,there were two gentlemen, and at the threshold of the door twosquatting pages that played at hazard with dice. These, when they sawthat Calote and her father were common folk, did them no courtesy, butthey stared idly on Calote, and thrust forth a toe to trip the pagethat showed the way; which, when he had avoided, he said to LongWill:--

  "Ye are betimes. The King is shut in the Council Chamber, and theQueen-Mother is gone with her ladies to hear Vespers in the Chapel. 'Tis in this place ye shall attend."

  So he left them, and as he went out at the door he kicked the dice toright and left across the room; then took to his heels hastily.

  One of the gentlemen stood within the splay of a window looking forth;and if he were a merchant or a scholar 't were no easy matter to tell.He wore a long gown of fine cloth, furred, and a collar of gold abouthis throat, and a long gold chain, and his hair laid very soft andcurling on his shoulders; he had a countenance sober and comely; hiseye was not dull, nor mirthful neither. He looked aside indifferent atLong Will and the maid, and again out of window. Presently he tookfrom his girdle a parchment and began to con it. Then Calote turnedher to the other gentleman and met his eyes fixed upon her, andimmediately he gave her a look that glanced forth friendly-wise, merryand shy, as 't were a finger that beckoned. Anon he had bent his headand was scribbling very fast in a tablet against his knee. Thisgentleman was not so tall as that other; neither was he slender andslim, but wide in his waist, full-girded. His short gown was gray, andthe penner stuck awry upon his breast, black were his hosen, and hisshoes gray, but scarlet on their edges. His forked beard was alreadygrizzled, howbeit he was not an old man;--not so old as Will Langland,haply, nor so care worn; but beneath the cap that he wore in thefashion of Italy with the tail of it wound about his neck, the hairabove his ears was likewise grizzled.

  Long Will had drawn a stool within a niche and was set down to hiscopying; and Calote stood near him for a little, but the pictured taleon the tapestries drew her away that she must needs leave her place tosee, and she walked down the room and up again, marvelling. And whenshe was come nigh to where the little round gray man sat a-scribbling;nevertheless he was not so busy but he was 'ware of her and looked upsidewise with a smile. Then, on a sudden, he had taken the long ropeof her hair, and he shook it gently and laughed.

  "Her yellow hair was braided in a tresse, Behind her back, a yarde long I guesse,"

  quoth he; and anon, "Saint Mary,--'t is a good line! I 'll write itdown." Whereupon he did, and Calote ran back to her father,rosy-flushed, yet nowise frighted--for this was a friendly wight.

  "Who 's yon, father?" she asked. "The gray one; hath so merry andall-seeing eyen?"

  Long Will looked up, a-gathering slow his wits:

  "Yon 's Master Chaucer," he said at last.

  "Mary Mother!" gasped the maid: and the gray one, looking up across,caught her with mouth and eyes wide, whereat he threw back his headand, though he made no sound, she knew he laughed.

  Now came in Master Walworth, Mayor of London, and Nicholas Brembre,sometime Mayor,--merchants these and very loyal true to King Richard.Sir John Holland came in also, and the Earl of Kent, half-brothers tothe King, and of other gentlemen nigh a score, dressed very gay insilk and broidery. They loitered up and down by twos and threes,giving good day and tossing jests as light as tennis balls. There wasnot one but flung a word of welcome right joyously to Master Chaucerwhere he sat withdrawn. 'T would seem he was friend to all. Calote,behind her father's stool, a-peering over his bent head, marvelled tosee all sneers and gleams of malice, all sullen pride, evanished fromevery face that looked Dan Chaucer's way. As one will smooth hiswrinkled heart and countenance if a child draw near, so smoothed thesecourtiers their visage, inward and outward, to an honest smile, togreet this modest, merry little man in gray.

  "He 's a very wizard," whispered Calote.

  "Who?" said Long Will, and following her gaze, "Ah, he!"--

  "Thou dost love him, father?"

  "Dost not thou?"

  "Yea," she f
altered; "but wherefore?"

  "'T is God's gift," he sighed. "This is to be a poet."

  "But thou art a poet, father," she whispered.

  "And men do not love me."

  "They do,--ah,--all poor folk!"

  He turned his head to look in her eyes: "What matter?" he said gently."I 'd liefer be Will Langland. He--yonder--'s missed somewhat."

  But now there was a rustle without the door and a parting to right andleft adown the hall. An usher cried: "The Queen!" And Joanna the Fairand her ladies came in with flutter of veils and flirting of skirts.And lo! one of the ladies was Godiyeva from the lonely manor-house inYorkshire.

  Then there began a buzzing of tongues and bowing of knights andsquires. The sober gentleman in the furred gown ceased to con hisparchment and went and kissed the Queen's hand; so likewise did DanChaucer, but thereafter withdrew again to his quiet corner.

  "The King not come?" said his mother.

  "He 's in Council, madame," made answer Sir John Holland; "there hathbeen discovered a flaw in the poll-tax, and they seek a remedy."

  She shrugged her shoulders, and looked about her on the company. Saidshe: "Is 't a jongleuse,--yonder,--beside the tall clerk?" For, bythis, Will Langland was on his feet, as were all they in the Queen'spresence.

  "Madame!" cried Godiyeva, "'t is a glee-maid dwelt with us inYorkshire last year at Ascension-tide; told us a tale of PiersPloughman, and how the peasant should make laws in England."

  "Pah!--I am sick of these peasant tales!" said the Queen. "Gentlewomenmay not ride abroad, but they must set a flappet on their ears tosmother the foul songs and catchwords of villeins. England pamperethher common folk to her cost. In Gascony, when the Black Prince wasalive, 't was not thus we ruled. Saint Denys! 't is said these churlsdo beat and maul the King's officers that come to do the King'sbusiness and gather his moneys."

  "Wilt thou that I put forth the wench, madame?" questioned Sir John.

  His brother of Kent laughed and clapped him on the back.

  "Nay, pray you pardon, madame," said a chamberlain; "the damsel, andthe clerk her father, is sent for of the King. 'T is whispered thetall fellow will tilt with Dan Chaucer."

  The Queen and all her ladies laughed, and Calote, marking their eyescast scornful upon her, drew back to hide behind her father.

  "This is Etienne Fitzwarine's doing," said the Queen. "I cannot abyehim since he 's returned from pilgrimage."

  "Natheless, 't is a maid hath a kindly heart," said Godiyeva. "Did meand my sisters a good turn I 'll not forget."

  "Wilt speak with her, mistress? I 'll bring her," quoth Sir John.

  But the Queen stayed him with a frown and "Let be!" and when she hadlooked beyond Calote she saw the sober gentleman that stood not faroff, and to him she beckoned, smiling:--

  "A ballad, Master Gower,--nay, leave excuse; thy French is not ofParis,--'t is a fault forgiven long since and thrice o'er;--abate!"

  So this sober gentleman that was Master Gower sat him down lowly atthe feet of Joanna the Fair, and having thrust his finger in his goldcollar, as it choked him, anon he began:--

  "Au mois de Mars, u tant y ad nuance Puiss resembler les douls mais que j'endure:"

  "Saint Denys!" cried the Queen, "if we must endure the winds and woesof March in verite, yet may we escape them in song. Shall not the poetdefy the calendar?"

  "Yea, madame, shall he," assented Master Gower, very humble, "an hislady will. He 'll sing of May."

  "Ay, do!" said the Queen.

  Calote looked on Master Chaucer and caught his eyes a-twinkle; butimmediately he had bent his head to stare on the ground; and JohnGower was begun anew:--

  "Pour comparer ce jolif temps de Maii, Jeo le dirrai semblable a Paradis; Cars lors chantont et Merle et Papegai, Les champs sont vert, les herbes sont floris, Lors est nature dame du paiis; Dont Venus poignt l'amant au tiel assai, Q'encontre amour n'est qui poet dire Nai."

  The King stood by the door, with finger on lip to still thechamberlain, but now he came into the hall betwixt Robert de Vere andEtienne Fitzwarine, and he hung upon Etienne's arm:--

  "Mes amis, I crave pardon of my discourtesy," he said, laughing; "butwhat would you? Robert Hales did threat me he 'd have this my new cotehardie in pawn to the Lombards for to pay England's debt, but if Iwould not give ear to this folly of the poll-tax. And if treasury 'sempty, 't is Robert Hales must know, he keeps the key. Natheless,Simon Sudbury hath took pity on me, and I 'm scaped with the coat onmy back."

  This cote hardie was of velvet, white, thick encrusted withjewels,--pearls and blue stones. Richard's hosen were azure, and hisshoes cloth-of-silver with Paul's windows carven on them, the toes ofthem turned upward and clasped to golden chains that hung from hisknees, for the more ease in walking. He greeted his mother and bentabove her hand, then sat him down in his chair beside hers on thedais, and Robert de Vere unchained his shoes.

  "Etienne," said the King. Stretching forth one leg and the other to deVere, he spoke behind his hand to Stephen, who presently, but with asour visage, strode down the hall to the place where Long Will stood,and Calote sheltered behind his skirts.

  "Thou must to the dais; 't is the King's pleasure," said Stephen.

  "Nay, not I," she pleaded, "not in this company. 'T is my father shalltell a tale to the King."

  "Sweet, we may not gainsay the King in this matter," Stephen madeanswer, sad. "Have no fear; shall none harm come to thee."

  So she went with him and kneeled down before the King, and Richard,when he had lifted her up, said:--

  "Look ye, mes doux amis, this damsel, when that my grandfather Edwardlay dead, was first in England to do me homage." He bent his head ashe were musing, and then: "She told me I should be a great King." Hismouth and eyes smiled whimsical; anon, looking to the door of theCouncil Chamber whence he was come, he flung forth his arm: "Yonder's the King!" he said. "Hath as many heads as old dragon, and everyhead gnaweth other.--Natheless,"--and now he set his chindefiant,--"natheless, I have not signed Richard's name to this remedyof the poll-tax." Then, swift, defiance melted, and his lips curled toa rueful smile,--"Not yet."

  "Alack, for the cote hardie!" murmured de Vere; but Richard turned onhim:--

  "Have it, thou!" he cried. "I am anoint; what though I rule Englandbody-naked,--I 'm a king." He made as to do off the coat, but when theQueen said: "Sire, my Lord of Oxford can wait; 's not a-cold," helaughed and buttoned it again.

  "Tell them who 's a-cold," he said to Calote. "Tell them, as thou hasttold me that day long since,--as Etienne hath told me this seven monthhe 's come home. Last night in my dream I heard a bell tolling, out ofthe midst of jollite; and one said that King Richard had betrayed hispeople and was dead."

  "Richard, sire, sweet son!" the Queen protested. "How dost thou abashthis fair company with thy mournful speech. Is 't for this cause weare met together, to prate of pauvrete? We be bounteous almsgivers,all. Here am I foiled of the ending of good Master Gower'sballad,--and Dan Chaucer bretful of new tales."

  "I pray you pardon, madame, I had forgot," Richard said soberly, andsat him down again at her side. "This business of the tax hath frettedme. 'T is weary waiting, to sit by the while counsellors wrangle. Butif they knew that that I know!"--He clenched his right hand, thenshook himself with an impatient sigh: "Where is thy father,maiden,--he that writ the Vision concerning Piers Ploughman,--is hehere? Let him come hither, Etienne."

  "Nay, Richard, 't is a mournful Vision," the Queen began; "MasterChaucer will tell us a merrier tale. Let us have done with sadthoughts."

  "Madame, though I may not rule England but by the will of my Council,I pray you give me leave to be so far a king that I may choose mineown minstrels and mine own thoughts. Give you good day, friend; so,thou art Long Will,--well named."

  Langland was come by now to the dais and kneeled down; but presentlyhe arose and stood a little way off in the midst of the hall, wherewas a space cleared. And all the court eyed him curiously; for manyknew
him, having seen him in London streets. So he began to tell thefable of the rats that would have belled the cat.

  Calote went pale, then red. Stephen bit his lip. Up and down the hallmen stirred with covert smiles and drooping eyes that glanced secretlyat the King. There were not a-many folk in England, noble or peasant,but they had heard this fable. Nevertheless, now was the first timeever a minstrel had made bold to tell it at court. Richard's eyeslaughed; he sat with his elbow on the arm of the chair, his chin inhis hand, looking out upon his courtiers. Of these, Dan Chaucer onlystared open on the singer, and he with a frown betwixt his brows, ashe were knocking at memory's door.

  "For a cat of a court came when him liked,"

  said Will Langland,--

  "And overleapt them lightly and caught them at his will, And played with them perilously and pushed them about."

  As it had been the Gospel at Mass, very solemn he said it and all thatcame after: as how these rats took counsel together to rid them of thecat, and in the end was found none so bold to hang the bell about thecat's neck.--And of all that company none laughed, excepting it wereDan Chaucer, and he silently, that his belly shook, and not at thetale neither, but to see this threadbare clerk making a mock ofEngland afore the King's face. For all they knew well the cat was tomean old Edward; and for the kitten, he also was known.

  Said Will:--

  "'Where the cat is but a kitten the court is very miserable;' Witness of holy writ who so can read _Ue terre ubi puer est rex: Salamon_."

  "Natheless, Sir Poet," Richard said soft, "when the kitten is grown tobe a cat, haply he 'll mend his ways."

  "Sire, a cat is a cat," quoth Will.

  The King flushed and tapped his foot on the floor, but when his motherwould have risen up in anger, he stayed her with:--

  "Patience, Madame; Dan Chaucer shall have his turn." And to Will hesaid: "So, friend, what though thou tweak my tail, I 'll not use myclaws," and held out his hand, the which Will Langland kissed andreturned to his place by the wall, with a smile, very sad, a-shiningout of his eyes.

  "Sire," said Chaucer, "I 've a fable; 't is not yet told in thiscompany, nor writ neither."

  Thereupon he began to speak concerning a poor widow that had abarnyard and a cock,--

  "His comb was redder than the fine coral, And battled as it were a castle wall."

  Anon, Master Chaucer was this very Chaunteclere, a-strut in barnyard.And immediately that uneasy silence that held the court was lifted,and all men tiptoed to see,--and had well-nigh drowned the voice ofChaunteclere in their laughter. Then was the poet suddenly transformedunto Dame Pertelote, the hen,--

  "... discreet, and debonnaire, And companable,"--

  that hearkened the dream of her lord and counselled him to eatelderberry and ivy and other such herbs for to cure hisdigestion.--And the Queen and her ladies might not stint the tearsthat rolled adown their faces for joy of this tale.

  But when Sir Chaunteclere was cozened to sing for Dan Russel thefox,--

  "And on a Friday fell all this mischance,"--

  then leaned those courtiers one upon another with groaning and gaspingof mirth to see how Master Chaucer--

  "... stood high upon his toes, Stretching his neck, and held his eyen close, And gan to crowe loude for the nonce."

  And in the chase, not Chaucer only but all they must needs roar,--

  "Out! harrow and wayleway!"

  And Richard a-slapping his leg and crying,--

  "Ha, ha, the fox!"

  Now, in the end the fox was undone,--for he opened his mouth tospeak,--and

  "This cock brake from his mouth delyverly"--

  Then saith Reynard:--

  "God give him mischaunce, That is so undiscreet of governaunce, That jangleth, when he shoulde hold his peace."

  And all men turned to look on Will Langland. But when Master Chaucersaw this, he put up his hand in a protest, and laughing he said:--

  "Nay, lordings, lay not this at my door that I should trespass o' JohnGower's launde, which is to meddle with my brother's mote." And hewent up to Long Will, and saith he:--

  "Thou and I are old friends. Thou 'rt that singer of Malvern. Dostremember me, who I am?"

  "The lark,--art thou," said Will gently.

  "Cuckoo, cuckoo!" quoth Master Chaucer, and stretching a-tiptoe hekissed Will Langland o' both cheeks.

  But now were they 'ware of Richard's voice; and he sat scowling in hischair, with Simon Sudbury--that was Archbishop of Canterbury--bendingabove, a parchment in his hand.

  "Let the Council wait," said Richard.

  "Sire, I have here the paper and a pen; do but sign thy name and I 'llno longer trouble thy merry-making;" urged the Archbishop.

  The King took the pen very peevish, and, "Bring hither a stool,Etienne, or tablets," he fretted; "how may I sign on my knee?"

  Then he began to read the paper, and anon he cried, "Etienne, Etienne,shall we sign?--I like it not."

  "Nay, Richard," the Queen admonished him, "hast thou not ablecounsellors, that thou must make a jest of so weighty matters withpopinjays? My Lord Archbishop waits. Make an end, sweet son, and letus sup."

  But the boy was in no mood to be ruled by his mother.

  "Master Chaucer 's a gray-beard,--hath done me good service," hesaid.--"What sayst thou, Poet?"

  "Sire,--these five year I 've been about thy business in France andFlanders and Italy; I may not speak with surete concerning what hathhapped,--or shall be to hap,--in England. Natheless, of all peasantfolk in all lands ever I saw, our folk of England is most sturdy,honest, true. Take them to thy friend, King Richard."

  "Which is to say," quoth Richard,--and made as he would rend theparchment.

  "My Lord!" cried Simon the Archbishop, and took it hastily out of hishand.

  Richard laughed and kicked over the stool; then turned he sudden onWill Langland with:

  "Prythee, Master Clerk, what will the people do if we send again toEssex and Kent to protest that the poll-tax be paid?"

  "Sire," said Long Will, "they will do that God or the Devil putteth intheir hearts to do."

  "But what is 't? Art not thou a prophet?"

  "Of God, sire,--not of the Devil."

  "Thy silence commendeth thee, Master Clerk," said the Archbishop."This stubborn people is surely ridden of the Devil."

  "Nay, my lord," Will answered, "I did not say so."

  "A plague take thy riddles," exclaimed the King. "Speak plain!"

  Thereupon came Long Will forth to the dais, and out of the midst of asilence he said:--

  "O Richard the Redeless, who am I to give thee counsel? Pity thyself,that thou knowest not thyself. How may a man rule a kingdom, thatknoweth not to govern his own soul?"

  No man dared breathe. Richard sat gripping the arms of his chair; hiseyes were fixed wide open upon Langland, and tears came up in them, sothat they shone very large.

  "How!"--he assented huskily.

  Then at sight of those tears and that white young face of his King,Will Langland groaned, and a rage seized upon him so that he turnedabout, and lifting up his arm in menace of all that company, he criedout:--

  "Cursed be ye, defilers! Cursed, cursed,--betrayers of children!--Yethat corrupt kings! I hear ye weep and pray for mercy,--and the peopleshall pour out your wealth like water, the river shall swallow it up.The sky is red!--Lo, fire,--fire!--And the riches of the nobles, andthe thievings of the merchants, are smoke and ashes! Woe unto you,lawyers,--your wise-heads shall hop, but your feet shall lie stillupon the stones. Woe unto you, priests, bishops,--the people havefound you out!--Cursed"--

  "Blasphemer!" cried the Archbishop; and at this word therebroke out a torrent of sounds; men crying, "Madman!"--"Seizehim!"--"Traitor!"--and women screaming.

  Calote came up close to her father and clasped her hands about hisarm; and he, shaking as with a palsy, drew one hand across his eyes ashe would dispart a mist.
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  "I have spoken," he said, and swayed uncertain.

  Then Calote was 'ware of Master Chaucer on his other hand, whosteadied him that he should not fall.

  "Sire," said the Archbishop, "this man hath cursed Holy Church andimpeached the counsellors of the King. He is a traitor to God and toEngland. He is mine to"--

  But now Mayor Walworth was come in great haste to the dais, andkneeled down, and "Pray you, mercy, sire," he cried. "This man iswell-beloved in the city; and is this a time to stir up London? He isa little mad, but I know him for an honest fellow,--the prentices willnot brook"--

  "Peace!" said Richard. "Wherefore shall I bear him malice that isbecome my champion? Peace, gentles! My Lord Archbishop, let 'schaffer:--do thou give me thy blasphemer, and I 'll sign theparchment."

  For answer Simon, still red and breathing noisily, knelt and gave upthe roll, whereupon the King set it open on the stool again and dippedpen in penner. Afore him kneeled Etienne Fitzwarine, and steadied thestool, for that one leg was shorter than other two. Then said Etienne,very low:--

  "My lord, d-do not sign this paper."

  "And the man is father to thy lady?" quoth Richard.

  "Though he were mine own f-father and his life hung on 't, natheless,sire, for England's sake must I beseech you, d-do not sign. 'T is tobe f-feared the people will be wroth if men be sent into Essex andKent to require this tax anew. They declare they have paid once, andthey will not pay ag-g-gain. They will rise. O sire,--have a care!"

  "Coeur de joie!--Rise, sayst 'ou?" Richard cried. "Rise!--Do I notawait this Rising these three year? Ha, ha!--'T is full time to signmy name! So be it.--My lords, do ye believe this people is sobold?--Nor I!--Ha, ha!--They 'll never do 't, Etienne.--But if my penshall prick them on, why, there 's the King's name!--Rise!"

  He flung the parchment to the Archbishop, and gave his hand to hismother to lead her forth to sup.

  In the doorway Master John Gower awaited that Long Will came forth.

  "Tell me, friend, dost know aught of this rising whereof men prate?"said he. "If 't is true,--but how were that to be believed,--I havemanors in Kent, 't behoveth me"--

  "What I know 't were long to tell," Will answered, and left himstanding.