Food for Thought
Langland and the squire made their way to the river by narrow, muddy
lanes and unfrequented alleys. The poet, sunk in reverie, sped onward
with the free stride of the hill-shepherd, a gait he had not lost in
all the five and twenty years of his sojourn in London; and Stephen
walked beside him hurriedly, marvelling at himself that he dared not
break the silence and ask the many questions that tingled at the tip
of his tongue. For this fine young gentleman, who could be pert enough
with Sir Simon de Burley, the tutor of Richard's household, or even
with his godfather, the Earl of March, yet found himself strangely
abashed in the presence of the lank peasant-priest. Although Stephen
knew not its name, 't was reverence stirring in him, an emotion little
encountered among courtiers. The very silence of this grave, dingy
figure seemed to him more pregnant than the speech of other men.
On the middle part of London Bridge, where was the drawbridge,
Langland paused and leaned upon the parapet to look in the water.
"'T is the key that unlocketh the city," he said. "Let the bridge be
taken, and London is taken."
He spoke as to himself,--moodily; but Stephen answered at his elbow:--
"The French are not like to venture so far as London."
"England hath need to be afeared o' them that's nearer home than the
French," returned the poet, and went on across the bridge.
In Southwark a shorter way led through a street of ill-repute, and
here a young harlot plucked Stephen by his hanging sleeve and looked
on him, and smiled. Langland, out of the corner of his eye, saw, yet
took no notice. But the squire, taking a piece of silver from his
purse, gave it into the girl's hand, saying:--
"Thine is a poor trade. I am sorry for thee."
And the girl hung her head; and presently when they looked back they
saw that she sat on a doorstone, sobbing.
"England is in a sad way," said Stephen, "with an old king far gone in
his dotage, and a woman like Alice Perrers to 's mistress. When young
blood cometh to the throne, I trow such-like disgrace as this will be
swept away."
"Do you so?" said Langland grimly. "Sir, these stews are owned of the
Bishop of Winchester; they are a valuable property."
"William Wykeham!" cried the squire; "that pious man, friend to my
godfather! he that goeth about to found the new college in Oxford?"
"Even so," said Langland. "Yet I do him a small injustice; a part of
these houses is owned of Walworth the fishmonger."
"Sir, you feed me with thoughts!" Stephen exclaimed sadly.
"I am right glad," said Langland; "I had been a churlish host to give
thee but only beans."
And his guest knew not whether to laugh or no.
At the gate of the palace Langland gave the squire good-day, and
turned him back to London without further pause, and Stephen would
have run after him to thank him for his courtesy, but there came down
from the gate-house a half score of young gentlemen that fell upon the
squire with shout and laughter, and when he had set himself free, the
priest was past the turn of the road.
"Ho, ho,--Etienne! So thou art not eaten up of John of Gaunt?"
"What adventure?"
"Here 's a half ell o' mud on thy hosen."
"What adventure?"
"The Prince kept the dinner cold an hour."
"The Prince would not eat a morsel."
"Threw the capon out o' the dish over the floor, and the gravy hath
ruined Sir John Holland's best coat of Flemish broadcloth."
"Who was yon tall clerk, disappeared but now?"
"The Prince hath not ceased to weep these three hours."
"Sir Simon de Burley hath sworn he will have thee birched like any
truant schoolboy."
"He hath ridden forth much perturbed."
"'T is thought the Prince is in a fever; the physician is sent for."
"Tell 's thy tale! Tell 's thy tale!"
"_Mes amis_" said Stephen, "I dined of beans,--plain beans,--sans
sauce, sans garniture. My Lord of Oxford, thou art my friend, and the
cook's, couldst discover if the capon was injured by 's fall?"
A shout of laughter greeted the question, and all cried, "Beans!--Tell
us thy tale!"
But here a page, running down the courtyard, bade say that the Prince
Richard called for Etienne Fitzwarine; and the importunate young
gentlemen gave place.
By the Tabard in Southwark, Langland met two horsemen a-riding, and,
as was his custom, he passed them by without obeisance. They noted
him, for they were scanning earnestly all persons who met them; and
one that was seneschal to the Prince said:--
"A rude fellow!"
And the other:--
"Some malcontent. 'T is so with many of these poor parsons, I hear."
But a voice called to them from behind, and turning, they saw the
clerk, who endeavoured to come up with them.
"Sirs," he called, "if ye seek one Stephen Fitzwarine, I have but now
seen him safe at Kennington Palace."
"Here 's silver for thy courtesy, master clerk," said the seneschal,
and tossed a white piece on the ground, then turned and galloped off
with his comrade.
Long Will stood looking at the silver in the mud:--
"Eh, well!--'t will buy parchment," said he, and picked it up and
wiped it on his sleeve.