“Surely,” said John, “I must do my best, more I cannot. Truly, thou art good to me.”
“Alas, and shall I see thee no more? Wilt thou indeed leave us?” said Blanche, tears filling her eyes.
“Not so, sweetheart,” John replied, “when I go I shall soon return. How could I forsake thee, silly?”
The summons to arms was not long delayed. One evening in early May an express arrived at the Checquers and enquired for Jed Fenchurch. He was directed to the house on Dagnal Lane and informed Jed that he came from Warwick with directions to the bowmen, spearmen and men at arms to assemble at Royston and there await the arrival of the Duke of York and his own men.
There were but few Yorkists in St. Albans, but a party of bowmen, including Jed, John and three others were on their way afoot early the next morning, while the messenger continued his journey towards London.
“’Tis thretty good mile,” said fat Steve Balderstone in a thin voice, “I mind me when I walked as much in a day with good King Harry the Fift, but I were young then and light of foot. Truly the Duke moveth but slowly and we needs must wait at Royston. Why then shall we go apace?”
“Pook, thou elephant! the duke moveth at the gallop and the Earl also. Tarry not or ye may rue it,” said Jed. “Listen not to this squeaker. Body o’ me! we mun go apace.”
“I will blow thee to York with one puff, thou pot mender,” squeaked Steve.
“Truly, thou art a fine blower,” said Jed.
“Tarry a bit!” said John to Jabez Stout in a whisper, “see but the birds.”