Long Will

by Florence Converse

  CHAPTER VIII

  The Friday Night

  Night was fallen on that unlucky Friday, but the massacre of theFlemings not yet ended, when Stephen came to Langland's cot from theGarde Robe where Richard sheltered.

  "Will! Where 's Will?" cried Kitte, searching the squire's face.

  "Not here?"

  "Ah, woe!" said Kitte, and went and sat down heavily in a corner.

  Stephen had with him a torch, and he set it in a ring by the wall. Itwas all the light in that house. Then he sat on the old chest andCalote came to his side. He was very weary and leaned his head in hishand.

  "What is to be the end?" Calote questioned him.

  "Christ Jesus answer," said Stephen.

  "But the King hath pardoned and set free!" she persisted.

  "Alas, the King!" he cried.

  Calote stared on him, and then took him by the shoulder fearfully,saying:--

  "What will the King do?"

  "No man knoweth what the King will do. Neither doth the King know. Buthe will follow his mood.--Who can guess what the mood of a king shallbe? To-day a blessing, to-morrow a curse."

  "Thou 'rt sick with weariness," she whispered, and took his head inher arms against her breast.

  "Who shall say that this people deserveth to be free?" he mused.

  "This is matter of judgment for Christ Jesus," she answered soft."What hast thou to do with it,--what hath the King?"

  "Is not the King anointed of God?" said he.

  A moment she was silent, and when she spoke her voice was slow,uncertain: "I would not blaspheme," she said, "but whiles I wonder ifhe be not anointed of men. The King of Heaven hath a most marvellousconfidence to give this realm of England into the hands of a littlewilful lad."

  "Is 't wiser to set Wat Tyler in his room?--Natheless, on the morrowthis may hap."

  "God forbid!" murmured Calote.

  "I 'm bidden say the King will meet all peasants and other that haveborne a part in this rising, the morrow morn at Smithfield. This isall I know, or any man else in England. Behooves me go forth to findWat."

  "Nay,--rest here!--He will surely come to this house when hisbloodthirstiness is quenched."

  "Calote," said Kitte, "come to bed! From the upper window I 'll keepwatch for thy father."

  "Thou wilt stay?" Calote pleaded with Stephen.

  "Yea," he assented, kissing her good-night.

  So Calote and Kitte mounted to the chamber under the roof, but Stephenlay down on the floor of the lower room, and presently he was fastasleep.

  The torch went out, but the door into the lane was open and a littlemoonlight shone on Stephen's face. Without on Cornhill red-handedprentices were going home to their beds. There was fierce mirth inDame Emma's tavern. After a little the front door of the cot waspushed open and a man came in. When he had stood still a moment, heheard the sound of measured breathing in the room and he knew that aman was asleep there. Then he saw where the sleeper lay, on the edgeof the moonlight; and after this he came more close and saw thesleeper's face. But his own face was hid by the darkness. He drewsomething from his belt and it flashed against the shine of the moonand dripped. Then he came betwixt Stephen and the door, and the lightwas cut off from Stephen's face. There was no sound in the room butStephen's breathing,--'t would seem the other held his breath. Hekneeled down, and now 't was his own face the moon shone on. He wassmiling very evil. He lifted up his hand that held the flashingthing,--and Kitte in the doorway cried "Awake!" in a very loud voiceand threw herself upon the man, and he turned his hand and drove theknife into her breast. Then he fled by the door, and Kitte fell acrossStephen's knees where he had sat up on a sudden out of his sleep.

  When he would have lifted her, he found the hilt of the knife.

  "Do not draw it forth," said Kitte, "not yet. Will--may--come."

  Then Stephen called Calote, who came into this great grief rubbing thesleep from her eyes.

  "Nay, weep not, child," said Kitte when 't was told. "What shall thytrue love believe,--dost thou grudge him life?"

  But Calote sobbed more bitterly, lying on the floor beside her mother.

  "Will," Kitte whispered; and Stephen went to the door and looked outand saw him coming.

  "I have been going up and down," said Will, "praying mercy. But theyare mad with blood. One man I saved; but when I came that way againanother had slain him and he lay in the ditch. Yonder in the tavernWat and his demon Pride make merry and proclaim how they will ruleEngland. Poor Wat! Already there be certain of his fellows lookaskance. Poor Wat!"

  "Go in!" whispered Stephen, and told him.

  After, the squire pushed him in for that he stood as one in amaze,and shut the door on all that sorrow. But himself remained without,and presently crossed the street to the tavern to give Richard'smessage to the roisterers.

  "Will," said Kitte, "do not grieve. Thou 'rt--the more--free--to servethy--lady--Saint Truth."

  "Did that grieve thee?" he groaned. "In the Vision 't is a man,Truth."

  "Calote hath--her--love--and thou--freedom.--Better so!"

  "Hush, mother, oh, hush!" sobbed Calote. "Dost thou not love us thatthou canst leave us lone so willing? Say thou 'rt sorrowing to leaveus! Ah, mother, say 't!"

  Kitte looked in Long Will's eyes.

  "Love us!" he cried. And then, "Kitte,--Kitte, is this likewisefailure? What have I done?--Stay,--and learn me to love! Oh, thou trueloving wife!--What have I done,--what have I done?--Forgive me!"

  "Draw forth--knife,--the more ease," she said.

  The blood came in a great gush very swift.

  "Kiss me," she whispered.

  And when he had done this, she was dead.