"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?"
"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."