The knight, on hearing them thus speak, was exceedingly angry; he would never have consented to such a proposal; and, eying them with inflamed looks, answered, “Begone, wicked scoundrels and false traitors as you are! Would you have me desert my natural lord for such a company of knaves as you? would you have me dishonor myself? I would much rather you were all hanged, for that must be your end.” On saying this, he attempted to mount his horse; but, his foot slipping from the stirrup, his horse took fright. They then shouted out, and cried, “Put him to death!” When he heard this he let his horse go; and, drawing a handsome Bordeaux sword, he began to skirmish, and soon cleared the crowd from about him, that it was a pleasure to see. Some attempted to close with him; but with each stroke he gave he cut off heads, arms, feet, or legs. There were none so bold but were afraid; and Sir Robert performed that day marvellous feats of arms. These wretches were upward of forty thousand; they shot and flung at him such things, that, had he been clothed in steel instead of being unarmed, he must have been overpowered: however, he killed twelve of them, besides many whom he wounded. At last he was overthrown, when they cut off his legs and arms, and rent his body in piecemeal. Thus ended Sir Robert Salle, which was a great pity; and, when the knights and squires in England heard of it, they were much enraged.
On the Saturday morning the king left the Wardrobe, and went to Westminster, where he and all the lords heard mass in the abbey. In this church there is a statue of Our Lady in a small chapel, that has many virtues, and performs great miracles, in which the kings of England have much faith. The king, having paid his devotions and made his offerings to this shrine, mounted his horse about nine o’clock, as did the barons who were with him. They rode along the causeway to return to London; but when they had gone a little way he turned to a road on the left to go from London.
This day all the rabble were again assembled, under the conduct of Wat Tyler, Jack Straw, and John Ball, to parley at a place called Smithfield, where, every Friday, the horse-market is kept. They amounted to upward of twenty thousand, all of the same sort. Many more were in the city, breakfasting, and drinking Rhenish, Malmsey, and Madeira wines, in taverns and at the houses of the Lombards, without paying for any thing; and happy was he who could give them good cheer. Those who were collected in Smithfield had king’s banners, which had been given to them the preceding evening; and these reprobates wanted to pillage the city the same day, their leaders saying that hitherto they had done nothing. “The pardons which the king has granted will not be of much use to us; but, if we be of the same mind, we shall pillage this large, rich, and powerful town of London, before those from Essex, Suffolk, Cambridge, Bedford, Warwick, Reading, Lancashire, Arundel, Guilford, Coventry, Lynne, Lincoln, York, and Durham shall arrive; for they are on the road, and we know for certain that Vaquier and Lister will conduct them hither. If we now plunder the city of the wealth that is in it, we shall have been beforehand, and shall not repent of so doing; but, if we wait for their arrival, they will wrest it from us.” To this opinion all had agreed, when the king appeared in sight, attended by sixty horse. He was not thinking of them, but intended to have continued his ride without coming into London: however, when he came before the Abbey of St. Bartholomew, which is in Smithfield, and saw the crowd of people, he stopped, and said he would not proceed until he knew what they wanted; and, if they were troubled, he would appease them.