CHAPTER VI
Free Men
"Symkin Royse," said Long Will; and Symkin came and took his papersand thrust them in his breast.
Long Will sat by the window of the cot on Cornhill, filling in theKing's pardons and manumissions. Within the house there was a scoreand more of labourers and villeins awaiting their turn and makingmerry meanwhile. Without in the street men kissed and sang, and weptfor joy, and danced. Beneath Dame Emma's ale-stake they sat drinking,with women on their knees. In the tavern also there were clerkswriting.
"Adam Kempe," said Will; and, when Adam had folded his papers verysmall in the point of his hood, "Give thee God-speed o' thy homewardway, brother."
"Nay, not yet!" quoth the rustic. "All 's not ended. I bide thebidding o' Wat Tyler and Jack Straw. Is more work to do."
"What more?" asked Will, drawing forth a fresh pardon.
The man chuckled.
Presently came Kitte with black bread and beans and a mug of ale,which she set down in the window beside her husband.
"Eat," she said. "These have waited a lifetime to be free; let themwait now three minutes. Thou 'rt famished."
He smiled sadly. "Were they in verite free, I 'd gladly starve," hesaid; and Calote heard this, who ever stood near her father.
"The King's seal is affixed to every of these papers," said she. "Whatmore?"
But Will had filled his mouth with beans, and chewed, the while hewrote.
"Ah," sighed Calote; "wherefore may I not rejoice?" And on a suddenshe had caught her mother by the two hands and danced with her downthe long room and into the lane. But there she paused twixt laughterand tears, and:--
"Oh, mother, is 't naught to thee that England is free?" she cried."Sing!--Laugh!--Kiss me, mother!--Be glad!"
"I 'll kiss thee," Kitte said, and so did, thrice, smiling tenderly."When thou and thy father are at peace, I am at peace likewise."
There came a cloud in Calote's eyes. "But dost thou love none but myfather and me?" she asked.
"I love mine own," said Kitte. "Thy husband I shall love, and thychildren. I am glad thy children will be free men."
Calote clung to her mother. "And I had forgotten them!" she said."Yet, meseems as every peasant in England were child of mine this day,so doth my heart beat for them. I 'm mother to all free English!--Ah!"She cast her arms above her head, and her face was shining.
"Thou art thy father's daughter," Kitte said; but then she caught themaid to her breast: "Thy father's daughter," quoth she, "but I 'm thewoman that bore thee. Thou wilt not be always content to mother theworld only."
"There be a-many kinds of love," Calote mused. "One while methoughtcertain of those were forbidden to me,--but mayhap"--
And now there was a clatter of tongues in the house and they went inagain out of the lane. Wat and Jack were come, and many with them.Some of these were roaring drunk, but Wat was sober enough, and Jack.
Will Langland wrote certain words on a parchment and handed to Wat.
"What 's this?" Wat asked; "Piers' bull?"
"'T is thy pardon," Will answered him.
And Wat took the parchment and tore it across:--
"I ask pardon of no man!" he cried. "That I do is well done. Neitheris this the end."
Will arose from his seat in the window and went and put his hand onWat's shoulder:--
"'T is time thou wert o' the road to Dartford," said he, "and allthese scattered. Is naught more to do. Let Piers get back to hisplough and keep his hand from mischief. He 's free; his house is sweptand garnished; 'ware lest other devils enter in. Go home, Wat! Thouhast done well."
"Then I 'll do bet," said Wat. "Is thy knife keen, Jack? Who comeswith us, my brothers?"
"I,--I,--I!" cried all; and Will thrust pen in penner and went outwith them.
"Whither do ye go?" Calote asked Jack Straw. "And wherefore is thyknife keen? Now is peace."
"We go to kill pigs by the waterside. Hark, and presently thou 'lthear them squeal," he answered.
And as they went down the street, she heard them crying out againstthe Flemings that took bread out of poor men's mouths with weaving ofEnglish wool.
"Thy children are unruly," said Kitte. "But 't is the way of all such.Nay, weep not, my daughter,--weep not!"
"Oh, mother, dost not thou weep that blood is shed?"
"Yea," Kitte answered indifferent; "but if thy father come to no harm,I shall dry my tears."
These Flemings were certain weavers from over sea that came toEngland, the greater number of them in the lifetime of King Edward III.and the good Queen Philippa. And whereas before that time much woolwas sent out of England across the Channel to be wove into cloth, nowit was more and more woven in this country. But forasmuch as bycourtesy of King Edward, Flemings needed not to pay the gild tax,therefore were they hated of the gild of weavers of London; and thesepersuaded Jack Straw and other peasant folk that if there were weaversin England, they ought to be English weavers; and wherefore should theEnglish go hungry and in bonds when Flemings fed and were free? A-manyof these weavers dwelt in the streets by the waterside, and thitherwent Wat and Jack and Will,--the mob swelling at their heels. This wasa London mob, prentices and artisans for the most part.
"What 's to gain?" asked Will.
"Blood!" Wat answered him.
Then, they being come to an open place and beyond was a long streetsilent, deserted, Will turned him to the mob.
"Go back, brothers!" he cried. "Do not wilfully shed blood."
"On,--on!" screamed Jack Straw. "Do they not eat your bread and paynaught?"
The rabble shouted and pressed forward. Long Will spread his arms outwide, as he would keep the street.
"Ye are mad!" he said. "Will ye slay innocent folk?"
"Innocent!" yelled a weaver's prentice, and the mob growled, but noneput aside Long Will out of the way.
"These are your brothers," he persisted,--"honest workingmen like toyourselves."
"Brothers!" sneered Jack Straw. "Hear him, ye men of London! Are webrothers to Flemish hogs?"
"Out of the way, Will," said Wat. "They 'll trample thee."
"O men of London, prentices, citizens," the poet cried anew, "will yesin against hospitality?"
A snarl answered him.
"Will ye betray the guest that shelters in your house?"
The snarl had sunk to a murmur.
"Will ye betray the bidden guest?"
"'T is a lie!" said Jack.
"A lie! A lie!" yelled a score of throats. "'T was not we bid them."
"Doth not the King speak the will of the people?" Langland asked. "AndKing Edward bade them come."
"Nay!" said Wat, "the King hath not spoke the will of the people in myday ever."
"Nay,--nay,--nay!" the mob answered him.
"Stand o' one side, brother," Wat said again. "We would not harmthee."
"I 'll bide here!" Will answered, and lifting up his voice, "Is enoughblood shed in this rising. I say ye shall not murder these harmlessstrangers."
"Ho, ho!" roared Jack, "poet looketh to the noblesse for a son-in-law,and we do know English cloth is not fine enough for the court."
There went up a howl of rage from weavers in the throng. They wouldhave rushed into the street and over Will, but Wat set his backagainst the press, and also there was another man, pot-bellied,grizzled, withstood them.
"Serfs,--villeins!" cried Will, "ye are not fit to be free! The Kinghath rent your bonds in sunder, and how do ye repay him?"
"We be men of London, never villeins!" roared the half of that mob.
"Natheless, ye are in bonds to Satan your master, and ye do his work!"Langland answered them, his face flushed.
"Who hath stirred us up this twenty year?" shouted a voice in thecrowd. "Thou, Will Langland! Thou, false traitor! Wilt desert thyfellows?--Coward!--Limb o' Satan, thou, if we be Devil's men."
Then there were many voices:--
"His daughter hath marrie
d a lord!"
"Curse him for a renegade!"
"Out o' the way!"
"On, on!--the Flemings!"
Will budged no inch,--his arms were spread wide.
"I say ye do defeat your own end by this slaughter. To-day ye have thevictory, freedom, and pardon. Disperse! What will ye more? Hath notthe King given all was asked?"
"All thou didst ask!" said a voice.
His face flamed red. "Ingrate cowards!" he cried,--and then on asudden his wrath was spent. He dropped his arms, his voice was level:"The cause is lost!" he said. "Love is a long way off, and truth."
Not many heard him, for that the clamour was risen anew; the foremostmen lurched forward, thrust upon by those behind. Wat, crying "On,brothers!" flung Will aside, and the pot-bellied man also laid hold onthe poet and drew him close within a doorway,--none too soon, for themob was let loose, and rushing down the street as 't were a torrent.Presently houses began to be burst open, and men flung out of window.
Will sat bowed together on the doorstone.
"A sight not to be soon forgot," said the grizzled one, breathingquick.
Will lifted his head. "Thou, Master Chaucer!" he said.
"Ay, brother,--well met!"
"No friend of Gaunt is safe in London streets."
"Who is safe?" asked Chaucer. "No friend of the people, neither."
Langland groaned and clasped his head in his hands.
"'T was said thou hadst made peace," said Chaucer. "Methought 't wasended, this rioting."
"Peace!" cried Long Will. "There shall be no peace so long as menstrive to be king. When they have forgot to add glory unto themselves,when they are content to serve their brothers,--then cometh peace."
"Take heart, brother," said Dan Chaucer. "Here be two men that do notdesire a kingdom,--thou, and I. To be singers is enough,--and this isto serve men."
"Singers!" Will groaned. "Singers!--Oh!--See what a song hathwrought!"
Then said Master Chaucer, cheerily, "'T is somewhat to die for asong's sake. I have not yet stirred men so deep."
"I am I, and thou art thou," Will answered him.
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