Long Will

by Florence Converse

  CHAPTER IX

  The King's Secret

  Yet the days passed, and 't was mid-June when there came to the doorof the house on Cornhill a slender young squire on a slow and soberhack, with a stout and likewise sober gentlewoman afore him on thesaddle. The youth had much ado to see his horse's head by peering thisway and that around the circuit of his lady, the while he kept onehand at her waist in semblance of protection. And the good folk onCornhill failed not to find, in all this, food for a jest.

  A shoemaker's prentice came running to lend an awl, with:--

  "An thou 'lt punch her with this and set thine eye to hole, thou 'ltnot need wag thy head so giddily."

  "Nay, master, my tools will serve thee better," cried a carpenter."What's an awl to pierce three feet o' flesh?"

  "Hold, hold! Thy lady's a-slipping!" laughed another. "Lean on him,mistress,--he hath a stout arm!"

  "Look how amorously he doth embrace the maid!"

  And Hobbe, coming to the front of his shop, cried out:--

  "A rape! a rape!--Rescue the damsel!"

  "Ma foy, Etienne!" the lady protested, indignant. "Here 's a sweetneighbourhood to bring an unprotected damosel."

  "Nay, madame, but thou dost me wrong," said the squire. "Am I not hereto defend thee?"

  He had pulled up his willing steed and lighted down, and now was cometo the lady's side to assist her to dismount. Hobbe also was drawnnigh, and heard these words.

  "Yea, mistress, thou dost most foully slander this knight," said he."I have seen him with his single arm put to rout a two thousand menand mo'. He 's well known i' these parts, and greatly feared."

  They that stood by roared with laughter; and Stephen, crimson, andbiting his nether lip,--yet not in anger,--made as to assist the ladyfrom her saddle. Seeing this, Hobbe thrust himself to the fore, andsaid he:--

  "Mistress, though you pity not this stripling, yet pity your ownneck," and caught her by the middle with his two hands and set her onthe ground, they both staggering. And the squire hurried her withindoors.

  When she had caught her breath, she saw a bare, damp room, and a manwriting.

  "Mother of God! What kennel is this, Etienne?" she gasped. "Didst notassure madame 't was a poet's daughter?"

  "Yea, and truly, Dame Marguerite! This is the poet's self."

  She looked on Langland, who was come up the room, and shook her head,saying:--

  "I fear me thou hast fallen in evil company, Etienne. 'T will go illwith thee if aught befal me."

  But Stephen had turned away and louted low before the clerk.

  "Sir, since that day you gave me entertainment in your house I havemany time related mine adventure to the Prince Richard, the puissantand noble. It is the tale he most delighteth in. I have likewise readto him from the Vision; there be parts he much affecteth. Theseseveral months he will give madame his mother no peace, but he willsee your daughter, and hear from her lips concerning the poor, and themanner of her life."

  "Wherefore my daughter?" asked Langland.

  "I--I--sir, I have spoke of your daughter, she is very fair. ThePrince, who is walled about with tapestry and richesse, he hathdesired to see one, like himself young, who knoweth not these things.To-day, for the old King afar in his manor is mayhap at death's door,and the gentlemen of our household are much occupied, the Prince hathgot his way with madame. She is a most gentle lady and a true mother.She sendeth this, her waiting-woman, to bring the maiden safe to thepalace."

  Long Will sunk his chin in his breast, and mused, the while thewaiting-woman stood with her skirts upgathered off the floor. Then helifted up his head and called:--

  "Calote!--Calote!--Kitte!"

  And presently there was a sound of pattering overhead, and down anoutside stair, and the two came in from the alley.

  "Here 's a message for Calote," said her father shortly. "She isbidden to Kennington Palace."

  Kitte, just risen from a deep curtsey before the fine lady, showedmore of consternation than joy in her visage; but the little maidcaught Will's hand in both of hers and cried:--

  "Oh, father, I may go?"

  He looked gloomily upon her:--

  "What wilt thou there?"

  "Tell the Prince of us poor, father; teach him the Ploughman's tale;beg him to come on pilgrimage with us to Truth. Let me go!"

  "'T is the Prince commandeth, wench," the waiting-woman interrupted."Is no need to ask leave."

  "Madame," said Langland, "you mistake. Is great need. The Prince isnot the King; neither is he mine overlord: I owe him no duty.Natheless, the child may go. Yet"--and he turned him to Stephen, "ifthere come any evil to this my daughter"--

  "Sir," said Stephen, "I pledge my life for to keep the honour of thismaid."

  "And of what use is thy life to me?" quoth Langland.

  But Calote, who had fled away immediately, came now, walking softly.She had put on her shoes of gray cloth, but she had no stockings. Shehad smoothed her yellow braids and set a clean kerchief atop.

  "I am ready to go with you, madame," she said, and curtseyed.

  Langland and the smith together got the waiting-woman upon her saddle,and Hobbe tossed Calote lightly up afore. So, with Stephen leading thehorse, they went out of Cornhill.

  Now, though this waiting-woman's soul was strait, her heart was bigenough and kind, and when she had perforce to set her arms aboutCalote, and she felt that slim little body of the child, and thelittle breasts a-fluttering, because Calote's breath came too quick,and because her heart beat fast,--the Dame Marguerite could not butgrow warm to the maid, and wiled the way with tales of the palace,and, "When thou art come into the presence of the Prince thou wilt dothus and so," and, "Thou art never to sit," and so with manyinstructions of court modes and manners.

  They found the little Prince in a round chamber in one of the turrets,where he sat on a cushion within the splay of a narrow window, readinga book.

  "Ah, coeur de joie!" he cried, slipping down and running to embraceStephen. "What a lifetime hast thou been, Etienne, mon cheri. See, Ihave sent them all away, the others, they were consumed with envy. Isaid I would hold a private audience."

  Still holding by Stephen's arm he turned him to Calote and, looking inher face, was seized with a shyness: wherefore he ceased his prattleand pressed yet more close to his squire. Then, because the hand ofthe waiting-woman was heavy on her shoulder, Calote made her curtsey.

  "I have seen thee," quoth Richard. "The day of Parliament I saw thee;"and Calote smiled. "I have read thy father's book,--not all,--there bedull bits; but some I like. Come hither to the window and I 'll showit thee."

  Here one came with a message to Dame Marguerite, and she, glancingirresolute at the maid, at last shrugged her shoulders, and muttering,"'T is but a beggar wench," went out at the door; but in a moment shecame again, and admonishing Stephen, bade him see to it that he playedno pranks while she was gone. He, bowing, held the tapestry aside forher.

  "Etienne, Etienne!" called Richard. "Bring yet another cushion! Themaid shall sit beside me in the window where is light, and the sunfalls on her hair."

  "I--I may not sit," stammered Calote.

  "Yea, sweet; if the Prince Richard desire it," Stephen assured her.And lifting her in his arms, he set her on the cushion by the side ofthe Prince. The colour came into her face at his touch, and he too wasrosy. He busied himself with drawing her narrow gown about her ankles.

  "Mine Etienne saith thou art his bien-aimee," quoth Richard, and laida little jewelled hand upon hers that was bare and roughened at thefingertips.

  She was silent. The squire leaned against the wall at Richard'sside:--

  "Yea, my lord," said he.

  "Did I not love Etienne," the child continued, "and 't would grievehim, I 'd take thee for mine own. Thou art most wonderful fair."

  "O Prince!" cried Calote, "there be a many maids as fair as I, andfairer; but they go bent neath heavy burdens; they eat seldom; thewinter cometh and
they are as a flower that is blighted. These are thypeople. Are not all we thine own, we English?"

  "The book saith somewhat of this," mused the boy. He took up theparchment and turned the pages.

  And Calote said:--

  "'The most needy are our neighbours, and we take good heed: --As prisoners in pits and poor folk in cots,-- Burdened with children and chief lords' rent, What they spare from their spinning they spend it in house hire, Both in milk and in meal to make a mess o' porridge, To satisfy therewith the children that cry out for food.'"

  "Yea, 't is here!" said Richard, pointing with his finger. "Read on!"

  "I do not read, my lord," she answered. "I have no need to read, Iknow my father's Vision:

  'Also themselves suffer much hunger, And woe in winter-time with waking of nights, To rise 'twixt the bed and the wall and rock the cradle: Both to card and to comb, to patch and to wash, To tub and to reel, rushes to peel; That pity 't is to read or to show in rhyme The woe of these women that dwell in cots.'"

  "Natheless," said Richard, "I have heard mine uncle, the Duke, saythat the people do not feel these hardships, for that they know naughtelse."

  "Think you I feel, O my lord?" Calote answered him. "Yet I am of thesepeople. 'T is to-day the first day ever I sat on a cushion."

  The boy stared.

  "But thou shalt hereafter," he said. "Etienne will clothe thee insilk, and feed thee dainties. I will give thee a girdle with a bluestone in it."

  "Nay, not so!" she cried. "How can I take mine ease if the peoplesuffer? Oh, sweet child, wilt thou walk in silk, and the half of thykingdom go naked? 'T is for thee they suffer. The white bread thoudost eat, the people harvested. They gathered it into thy barns. Andyet thou wilt let them go hungry."

  "No, surely I will not when I am King," he answered with trouble inhis voice.

  "Hearken!" said Calote; and mindful only that he was a little childwho must be made to pity and to love, she took his two hands in herown and so compelled his eyes to hers. "Didst mark, that day thouwentest to the Abbey, how the people cheered thee, and blessed thee,and smiled on thee?"

  "Yea," answered Richard.

  "And didst mark how they that were nighest the great Duke in thatthrong were silent, or else they muttered?"

  "Yea."

  "He hath beggared the people, this man. 'T was he gave leave to thatthief Richard Lyons and the Lord Latimer to buy away all victual theymight lay hand to. And then, what think you, did they give this to thepoor? Nay! But they set it forth at such price that no poor man couldbuy. In the midst of plenty there was famine. 'T is several years gonenow, yet I mind me how I sat in our lane and chewed the stems of therank grass. Our neighbour had a little babe,--and she could not giveit suck. So it died. Was no flesh o' the bones at all, only skin."

  Richard's eyes were fixed upon her face with horror. His little handswere cold.

  "I hate mine uncle, John of Gaunt," he said.

  "Sweet Prince, waste no time hating. Christ the King, He hated no man,but He was Leech of Love. Learn thou of Him!"

  "But I will not love mine uncle," cried the child.

  "Love the people! Love us poor! If Christ is King, and He our brother,art not thou likewise little brother to every man in England? Hearkento Holy Church in the Vision:--

  'Wherefore is love leader of the lord's folk of heaven,'

  "And this saith Reason, that counselleth the King:--

  'If it were so That I were King with crown to keep a realm, Should never wrong in this world that I might know of, Be unpunished in my power, for peril of my soul.'

  "Give the common folk new law! Last Trinite a year, there came to us acountryman had run from his place for that he starved on the wage thatthe law allowed. Yet that same day of Parliament his master found himout, in open street, and haled him away. Oh, is 't not shame in aChristian kingdom that men be sold with the soil like maggots? Set thepeople free when thou art King! Set the people free!"

  "I have heard my father say, before he died," said Richard, "that noman is free, not the king even, for the nobles do bind his hands. Ihate the great nobles! They come and look on me and chuck me underchin,--and anon they whisper in corners. They shall not bind myhands!"

  "My father saith the common folk is three times more than the nobles,"said Calote eagerly. "If thou art friend to the poor, they will servethee. They will bind the nobles and learn them to love. Oh, hearken toPiers! The Vision of Truth is with him. Take the poor man to thyfriend!"

  Richard leaped down from the window; his cheeks were red, his eyeswere very bright.

  "I will swear an oath!" he cried. "Etienne, give me thy sword!"

  Now was the tapestry by the door thrust aside and a little page camein, out of breath. Calote sat on the cushion, Etienne leaned againstthe wall. Richard had the sword midway of the blade in his two hands,and the cross-hilt upheld before him.

  "Oh--oh!" gasped the little page. "The old King is dead!"

  Richard lowered the sword. The colour went out of his cheeks.

  "Etienne," he said, "Etienne,--am I--King?--What makes the room turnround?"

  Then the squire, coming out of his amaze, ran and knelt on one knee,and set his King on the other.

  "Imbecile!" he cried to the page, "bring His Majesty a cup of water!"

  Meanwhile Calote sat in the window-seat.

  "Do not hold me on thy knee, Etienne," said Richard presently;"methinks 't is not fitting. I will stand on my feet. Where is themaid?"

  "Drink, sire!" said Etienne. "'T will cure thy head." And he steadiedthe goblet at the lips of the King.

  The page stood by, grinning.

  "I listened," quoth he. "I was behind the arras when the messengerspake. I ran like the wind. Why doth yonder maid sit in the King'spresence?"

  "Mother of God!" exclaimed Calote, and jumped down in haste, very red.And Richard laughed.

  But in a moment he was grave again.

  "Mayhap I should weep for my grandfather," he said. "I know he was agreat king. But my father would have been a greater than he, an he hadlived. I weep still, of nights, because my father is dead."

  "Begone!" whispered Etienne to the page. "Haply they seek the King.Tell the Queen-Mother he is here."

  Calote came and knelt on both her knees before Richard.

  "Thou, also, shalt be a great king," she cried.

  But he shook his head.

  "I do not know," he mused. "How little am I! The nobles are great, andthey do not love me,--not as my father loved. Men say mine uncle hathit in his heart to kill me."

  "O sire! the people love thee!" cried Calote. "The people is thyfriend; they hold to thee for thy father's sake; and if thou be friendand brother to them, be sure they will hold to thee for thine own.Wilt thou be king of common folk, sire? Wilt thou right the wrongs ofthy poor? Now God and Wat Tyler forgive me if I betray aught. Buthearken! The people has a great plot whereby they hope to rise againstthis power of the nobles, this evil power that eateth out the heart ofthis kingdom. If this thing come to pass, wilt thou go with thenobles, or wilt thou go with thy poor?"

  "I hate the nobles!" cried Richard passionately. "Have I not toldthee? I hate mine uncle the Duke, and Thomas of Woodstock that tossethme in air as I were a shuttlecock. I hate Salisbury, and Devon,--yea,even the Earl of March, Etienne. They do not love me. Their eyes arecold; and when they smile upon me I could kill them. I will go withthe common folk, they are my people."

  "There will not be a king so great as thou, nor so beloved!" criedCalote. "But this that I told thee is secret."

  "Is 't?--Well!" said Richard eagerly,--"I do love a secret. Etiennewill tell thee how close I have kept his own."

  He swelled his little chest and spread his legs.

  "Now am I right glad. Mine uncles have their secrets. So will Ilikewise. And I am King."

  Then the tapestry lifted, and there came into the room a noble lady,and two other following
after; and all these had been a-weeping.

  "O madame!" cried Richard, and went and cast himself into the arms ofthis lady. "My grandfather is dead, and we are in sore straits. WouldGod my father were alive this day." So he began to sob; and theQueen-Mother took him up in her arms and bore him away, and her ladieswent also.

  But of three young gentlemen that stood in the doorway with torches,for now the day was spent, one only departed,--and he perforce, forthe passage was darker than this room, and the ladies called forlight. But the other two came in, and:--

  "Here 's where thou 'rt hid!" they cried. "By St. Thomas o'Canterbury, a fair quarry!"

  They thrust their torches in Calote's sweet face and set theirimpudent young eyes upon her. Yet did her loveliness somewhat abashthem.

  "Sirs," said Etienne, "ye do annoy this damosel. Pray you, standfarther off!"

  "Is 't thy leman, or dost instruct the Prince?" asked he that waselder of these two lads.

  "For shame, Sir John!" said Etienne. "Moreover, I beseech you use morereverence toward the King, since he is come to his inheritance."

  "Ah!" cried Calote. The other lording had taken off her kerchief, sothat her hair was loosened; and now he knelt to lift her ragged skirtwhere her white ankle showed, and he touched this little ankledelicately, the while he looked up in her face and said:--

  "Shall I kiss thy foot, mistress? Yet, say the word and I 'll kiss thylips. Wilt play with me? Thou shalt find me more merry paramourthan"--

  But Etienne caught him by the collar as he knelt, and flung him off,so that his head struck by the wall. He arose with a ruefulcountenance and would have drawn his sword, but Sir John Holland wentto him and they two whispered together and departed.

  "Come!" said Stephen, "the street is safer for thee. If I know aughtof the young Earl of Oxford, they will return and play some devil'strick. Come! Wilt trust me? I know a way not by the gate."

  She was weeping soft, but she gave her hand into his and let him leadher through dark ways to a garden and a hedge; and so he crawledthrough a small hole and drew her after him, and they ran across afield to the high road.

  "Do not weep!" he whispered. "I will protect thee with my life."

  "I am not afeared," she answered him; "but, alas! who would be a maidand not weep?"

  They came upon the road where it made a turning away from the greatgate of the palace, and here was a tall man pacing in the dusk.

  "Father!" Calote cried joyfully.

  But though the squire made as he were content, yet he sighed.Natheless, when he was come back to the round chamber, he found awhite something on the floor, which was Calote's little kerchief. Andthis he put to his lips many times, and folded it, and thrust itinside his jerkin, on the left side.