Plot and Counterplot
Now Richard was not yet crowned before he--or they that put words in
his mouth--had set free Peter de la Mare from Nottingham Castle. And
for this there was great rejoicing. Peter came up to London as he had
been Thomas à Becket returned out of exile. London gave him gifts; he
was honoured of the city; merchants feasted him.
'T was on the night after the merry-making that Wat Tyler and Jack
Straw came again to Cornhill, and they were not much elate. They said:
"New brooms sweep clean;" and "Well eno' to watch the kitten at play,
but 't will grow a cat;" and that this folk was a fool: 't saw no
further than its own nose; let it laugh now, but presently there would
be more taxing. And so on, of this man and that, in Kent and Sussex
and Norfolk, that followed John Ball and would be ready--when the time
was come.
Meanwhile Calote sat on her father's knee and listened. This secret
that she had discovered to the King was no true plot at that time;
nevertheless, it began to be one. Since the year of the first
pestilence, which year was the two and twentieth in the reign of
Edward III., and the third after the Black Prince gained the victory
over the French at Crécy,--since this year, the common folk did not
cease to murmur. And this was the beginning of their murmuring,
because in that dire pestilence more than the half of all the people
of England died, and the corn rotted in the field for lack of
husbandry.
Now it was an old law in England that the villein, which was bound to
the soil where he was born, must till the soil for his lord, giving
him service in days' labour; and, in return therefor, the villein had
leave to till certain acres for his own behoof. But this law was
fallen into disuse in a many places afore the pestilence time, and if
a villein would, he might discharge his service in a payment of money
to his lord, and so be quit; and the lord's bailiff hired other
labourers to till the manor. And this was a good way, for the villein
got more time wherein to till his own land, or to ply his trade, and
the lord's bailiff got better men,--they that laboured doing so of
free-will for hire, and without compelling.
Then came pestilence and knocked at every man's door; and where there
had been ten men to till the soil there was one now, and the one would
not work for the old wage, for he said, "Corn is dear." And this was
true, there being none to harvest the corn. So every man served him
who would pay the highest wage,--whether his own lord or the lord of
another manor. But the lords, becoming aware, said, "How shall this
be? For by the law the villein is bound to the soil and must labour on
the manor where he was born; yet here be villeins that journey from
place to place like free men, and barter service; neither will they
labour for their own lord except it like them, and for hire."
After this there was passed in Parliament the Statute of Labourers,
whereby it was declared that:--
"Every man or woman of whatsoever condition, free or bond, able in
body, and within the age of threescore years ... and not having of
his own whereof he might live, nor land of his own about the tillage
of which he might occupy himself, and not serving any other, should be
bound to serve the employer who should require him to do so, and
should take only the wages which were accustomed to be taken in the
neighbourhood where he was bound to serve, two years afore that plague
befel."
And this law was amended and made more harsh other years after.
But the villeins, having tasted freedom, were loth to return into
bondage. They fled away from the manors; they hid in the woods; they
gathered them into companies and would do no work except their demand
of wage and liberty were granted. Moreover, certain men of a quick wit
went about and preached against kings and lords. They said all men
were brothers and free, they must share as brothers. One of these
preachers was John Ball, a priest, a good man, fearless and fervent.
For a score of years he traversed England calling men to fellowship;
and for this he was persecuted of Holy Church. Rich prelates had no
mind to share their wealth with villeins. But and because John Ball
suffered, the common folk loved him the better and believed on him.
Langland knew him and had speech of him many a time; nevertheless,
Langland said that John Ball would not make England new. Mayhap 't was
by John Ball and his ilk that Langland's Vision came into the
countryside and spread among cottagers; and Wat Tyler heard it, and
Jack Straw,--and came out of Kent to learn more of this doctrine. So
they found Will Langland and loved him; but for understanding of him,
that was another matter. There were few men at that time could rede
this chantry priest.
So it was that the thought of fellowship grew up out of all these
rhymings and prophecies of John Ball and Long Will: and how that one
man of himself was well-nigh powerless before unrighteous rule, but if
many men were joined together to persuade the King and Parliament,
there might be pause and parley; and if all the villeins and artisans
and prentices in the wide realm of England were so banded--That was a
great thought! 'T was too big for the breast of Wat Tyler and Jack
Straw; it must out. Already it spread; it lodged in other breasts. But
this was all,--a thought like a thistledown flying from man to man;
and one blew it this way, and another blew it that; and if by chance
it made as to fall on the earth, there was always Jack Straw, or Wat
Tyler, or John Ball, to blow a great breath and set it off again.
"Natheless, in the end, naught will come of 't," said Long Will, that
night.
"Wherefore?" Wat Tyler questioned hotly.
"Who shall lead?" Will asked him.
Wat Tyler looked at Jack Straw and Jack Straw at him, yet neither in
the eyes of the other.
"There shall be a many leaders," said Jack Straw presently. "Of every
hundred, and of every shire, a leader."
"And the grievance of every leader shall differ from the grievance of
every other leader; yea," Langland added, "one only desire shall they
have in common,--to lead,--to put themselves in the place of power."
"For the people's sake," protested Wat.
"Their leader is God and the king; and wilt thou learn them another
lesson?"
"Yea, by"--But Wat Tyler looked on Jack Straw and swore no oath.
"The people of England is a loyal people," said Langland, "and slow
witted, loth to swallow a new thought."
"'T is no new thought," cried Wat in a great passion. "Hast thou not
sung it like a gnat in our ear these many years? By Christ, Will, but
I 'm past patience with thee! Wilt thou blow hot and cold? Cease thy
lies, if lies they be; but if thou say soth, act on 't!"
"Though thou art mazed, Wat, yet art thou not more mazed than I," said
Long Will wearily.
"I am not mazed," quoth Wat; "I see right clear. The nobles are our
oppressors, and 't is us poor folk pay. We till their fields, fight
their battles, give good money for their French war. Wilt thou tell us
to-day a tale of the ploughman that ruleth the kingdom, and to-morrow
prate of kings?"
"Thou art no ploughman, Wat," said Long Will, "but an artisan,
well-to-do, able to pay head-money to the bailiff and so be quit of
the manor when thou wilt to ply thy trade elsewhere."
"A quibble! A poor quibble!" Wat retorted. "With copying of charters
and drawing of wills thou 'rt tainted; thou 'rt half man o' law; thou
'rt neither fish nor flesh, nor good red herring."
"I marvel thou hast not found me out afore," said Langland quietly.
"Hast thou not heard me rail right prettily, many a time, against
those priests that come to London to earn silver by singing prayers
for the dead,--a lazy life; when they might, an they would, be
a-starving in country villages for the sake o' the souls o' living
poor wights that need comfort and counsel? Let God take care o' the
dead, say I, and if a man pray for those, let him pray for love's
sake. Yet here be I a chantry clerk in London,--I, that hold it akin
to simony to take money for such-like Masses. And there 's silver in my
pouch; not much,--for I 've not had the singing o' prayers for the
Black Prince,--yet silver: 't comes off black on my fingers."
"Father!" cried Calote, and clasped him round his neck; but he paid
her no heed.
"Am I of those, the disciples of John Wyclif, that begin to go about
and whisper that priests may marry without sin? Nay,--though I be in
accord somewhat with his doctrines of poverty,--conscience hath not
assoiled me that I am married, and my daughter sits on my knee."
"Ah, Will!" said Kitte, and she arose heavily and went out of the
room.
Calote set her finger upon his lips, but he drew away her
hand:--
"How have I cried out upon the begging friars! But thrice in the month
I sit and feed at my Lord Latimer's table,--my Lord Latimer that
betrayeth the poor,--I and a friar we dip our fingers into the same
dish for alms' sake. I live in London and on London both. I praise
Piers Ploughman for his diligence, yet have I no wish to bow my back
to his toil. I live like a loller. I am one of those that sits and
swings 's heels, saying: 'I may not work, but I 'll pray for you,
Piers.' Yet am I not minded to go hungry, neither. This is thy
prophet, Wat. Saint Truth, she is my lady. Bethink thee, but she 's
proud o' such a lover?"
Wat Tyler drew his hand across his eyes, there was water in them.
"Beshrew me, but I do love thee," he said. "Natheless, I believe thou
'rt mad; mad of thy wrongs. God! I could slay and slay and slay! I 'm
thirsty."
"Poor Wat--poor Wat!" said Langland. "'T is not all ambition with
thee, I know well.--But wrongs? My wrongs? Yea, truly they are mine,
for I 've made them."
"'T is the times makes them!" muttered Wat; "the times that do beset
us round with custom and circumstance, till there 's no help for 't
but to live lies. Thou canst not scape."
"Yea, I 'm in a net, but may I not tear with beak and claw? Yet I do
not so. And still thou believest on me?"
"Thou art truest man alive!" said Wat.
"Yet I tell thee in one breath the ploughman shall show the people the
way to truth,--and next breath, the king's the leader.--What sayest
thou; that I 'm mad? Which word is the mad word,--rede me which?"
Then Calote left her father's knee and came and stood in their midst.
Her cheeks were of the colour of scarlet, her eyes very bright.
"Hearken!" she said. "'T is both of them a true word. The King is our
leader, shall learn of the ploughman. The King and the ploughman is
friends together. The King shall right our wrongs, the ploughman
leading him to truth." And she told them of Richard.
Wat Tyler listened with a frown, Jack Straw with a smile that was not
near so pleasant as any frown. Kitte, in the doorway, stood
open-mouthed. Only Long Will sat unmoved. He had heard this tale.
When it was ended they all looked upon one another. Will smiled, but
Jack Straw laughed, a most unkindly laugh.
"An thou wert my wench, I 'd beat thee," said Wat. "Thou shouldst not
walk abroad but with a gag atween thy teeth."
"Soft--soft!" Jack Straw interposed him. "Milk's spilt: let 's lap it
up as best we may! Let 's consider to make the best on 't! Methinks I
see a way"--
"Send the maid to her bed, Will, an thou 'lt not lay on the rod,"
growled Wat Tyler. "Here 's enough o' long ears and blabbing tongues."
"Thou cruel Wat!" cried Calote. "Thou art no true man! What care hast
thou of the poor? Dost think to be king thine own self? A pretty king,
thou"--
"Chut, chut!" Long Will rebuked her. "Get thee to thy mother!"
"Nay, let her bide!" said Jack Straw gently. "Let her bide! She hath
brought us into this mishap, so may she help us forth."
"Thou fool!" cried Wat. "Thou lovesick fool! Wilt come a-courtin',
leave me at home!"
"I will," Jack Straw made answer, with narrow eyes. "But to-night I 'm
no lover, nor no fool neither; natheless, the maid shall bide. Never
fear, Calote, we 'll mend thy mischief."
"'T is no mischief," Calote retorted. "'T is a true loyalty to tell
the King."
"Yea, so! And if thou 'lt hearken, I 'll give thee more news to tell
him. Thou shalt never be naught but loyal, Calote."
"Mark you, Will!" cried Wat Tyler, "I 'm mum! If there 's aught else
to be betrayed, 't is he plays tattle-tongue. My rough speech is not
fit to be carried to court."
"So be it!" Jack assented. "Thou hast spoke to no purpose this hour
and more; 't is now my turn. Hearken!"
Jack Straw spoke not overloud at any time; yet folk heard him always.
To-night there was a half-smile hovering on his thin, long lips.
Calote turned her eyes away from his, that sought her; but though 't
was against her will, she listened.
"Will is in the right," said he; "Will is in the right ever. The King
is leader of us English. He may ride across our sown fields when he
goes a-hunting; he may send forth his provisor to take away our geese
and our pigs, our sheep and other cattle, to feed his idle courtiers
what time he maketh a progress through the realm; we 'll go hungry,
but we 'll cry God save him, as he passeth by. 'T will be a many years
afore common folk cease to honour the King. Here a man, there a man,
with rage in his heart, will be found to follow Wat Tyler or Jack
Straw; but England 'll never rise up as one man but at the bidding o'
the King."
Langland nodded and Wat Tyler ground his teeth.
"And 't is England as one man--the poor as one man--that must rise, if
that 's done that must be done to make us free men.--Now, look you! we
have the ear o' the King. 'T is a child,--a weakling, but what
matter?--the name 's enough. Wherefore may we not one day bid the
people to rise, in the name o' the King?"
Will Langland smiled, but he spoke no word, he waited on Jack Straw.
"In good time, we 'll send a messenger from shire to shire shall warn
the people secretly of this thing. There 'll be certain knights and
gentles, I ken, will cast in their lot with common folk, in the King's
name. 'T is not only ploughmen and prentices see truth in John Ball's
doctrine and Long Will's dream. We 'll send one shall convince them of
vérité."
"Must be a fair persuading messenger," quoth Long Will, mocking. "Is
't thou, or Wat, will undertake to convince the cotters of England
that ye 're privy to the counsel o' the King? Who is 't we 'll send?"
Jack Straw, sitting on a long oaken chest with his head by the wall,
thrust his fingers in his belt and spread his legs.
"Why,--Calote," said he.
The girl and her father got to their feet in the same moment; also
they spoke in the same breath.
"Yea!" said Calote, very soft, as she were gasping.
"By Christ, not so!" cried Long Will, with a strong voice that
quenched her little "yea" but not the light in her eyes, nor the
tumult in her breast, where she held her two hands across.
The priest took a step toward the oaken chest, then, "Tush!" he said,
clenching his hands and stopping still. "Tush!--thou hast no daughter.
I 'll forgive thee. Thou canst not know. An 't were Wat Tyler had
spoke so foul counsel I 'd--I 'd--by the Cross o' Bromholme--I 'd"--
"Disport thee like Friar Tuck in the ballad, no doubt," smiled Jack
Straw easily. "Calote, wilt go?"
"Yea, will I!" she answered.
"Who will believe a slip of a child?" Long Will asked scornfully, and
turned his back and paced down the room. "Moreover, the King hath not
given this counsel. Thou wilt not speak a lie, Calote?"
"Yet he shall give it," pursued Jack Straw. "Calote shall learn him 's
lesson, and ask a token of him, whereby men may know that she is a
true and secret messenger."
"Calote goeth not again to the palace," cried Langland harshly. "'T is
no place for a peasant maid."
"Men will be persuaded if thou show the King's token; if thou speak to
them, Calote; if thine eyes shine, and thy voice ring like a little
chapel bell," said Jack Straw, "'t will work more magic than three
sermons o' John Ball."
"Thou cold-blooded snake, hast thou no bowels?" Long Will asked him,
coming close. "Wilt send forth a tender maid to such dangers as thou
knowest lie by the road? Nay, I 'll not believe 't!"
"Yet, there 's more danger at the palace, and that thyself
knowest,--there 's a certain hot-blood squire"--he glanced upon Calote
and turned his speech--"One other audience with the King will do 't:
then away in villages and ploughmen's huts where she belongs. Mark
you, I purpose not to send her forth to-night. 'T is not this year nor
next that the men shall rise; 't will take time to go afoot or in a
cart throughout the countryside. Then for our plan, to gather all poor
men of England around about London town,--and the young King shall
come forth to meet them, and they 'll hail him leader,--sweet pretty
lad!--Here 's a Vision for thee, Will!"
"Is 't so, thou Judas?" quoth Wat. "Then where 's thy plot to kill the
King and all nobles,--and share every man equal?"
"Methought thou wert sworn mum?" said Jack Straw in his dry voice.
"'T is I shall have last word. She is my daughter," Langland said. So
he took her by the hand and led her away, and his wife followed him.
But Jack Straw and Wat Tyler whispered together till dawn; and when
Kitte came down to go to Mass, she found them lying on the floor
asleep.