“But he 'll pay for 's bed,” said Calote.
“N-nay, mistress,” the peddler answered. “I 've n-no money but three groat. Th-those must wait for a r-rainy day. 'T is fresh i' the fields.” So he went out of the house; and she, remembering why he had no money, wept sorrowfully. Nevertheless, she did not know how great a sum he had paid for the horn.
CHAPTER VII
The Adventure in Yorkshire
HE second winter of this pilgrimage was a snowy one, and the North Country was a lonely place. Among those thinly scattered villages Calote and the peddler had fared very ill, but for the old-time virtue of hospitality, and the joy of minstrelsy, wherein the northern folk vaunted themselves. The winds that blew across the moors were cold and keen; the sea, whensoever the pilgrims came to the sea, was gray. The peddler's lute cracked; it gave them warmth for half an hour one night, and then the wind scattered its ashes. Once, a shepherd saved them from white death.
Yet, 't was not all silence and snow. There were friendly days and nights by the tavern fire, when Calote sang of William and the Werwolf, of Sir Gawaine and the Green Knight, of Launcelot, of Aucassin and Nicolette. Or, haply, some shepherd, thawing before the blaze, would let loose a roaring voice in one of Lawrence Minot's songs; those songs of the battles of King Edward III., Halidon Hill, and Berwick, and Neville's Cross. Anon, there would be told tales of Earl Percy. And Calote, who had listened while Londoners scorned this great man, for that he was second only to John of Gaunt in craft and hateful wickedness, sat now with open mouth to hear him praised of his own folk, who loved him; neither had they any wish to cast him down from his place and rule by their own wits. For, except it were in Newcastle, Calote found few who hearkened patiently to her tale of the ploughman. So she turned southward, sick at heart; and spring awaking found her on the Yorkshire wolds, very thin and weary and ragged; and the peddler likewise. Here, where John of Gaunt was lord, they found many to listen willingly to their message. Yet was Calote unsatisfied.
“'T is ever their own small grievance that maketh them rage,” she sighed. “The bailiff hath fined this one, or set that one in the stocks, and so they 'll willingly join the Brotherhood to spite the bailiff. No doubt there be certain bailiffs that do their devoir faithful, and there be certain villeins that under these laws do deserve the fine or the stocks. But if a man is friend to the bailiff, and hath enough to eat, how slow is he to see that he 's a slave; how slow is he to take keep if other men starve or no! Alas! Alack!”
“W-Wat Tyler 's one that hath enough to-to-to eat,” said the peddler.
“Yea,” she answered slowly; “but I fear me Wat doth not all for the people's sake. He 's a proud man, Wat.”