“The people is gone forth to take Rochester Castle.”
Calote stayed the twirl of her distaff; Kitte leaned on her besom; Long Will pushed away parchment and fixed his eyes on Jack Straw. “'T was Sir Simon de Burley came down to Gravesend,‘ said Jack; ’had a man in the town,—a runaway. The folk of Gravesend are friendly,—they would have bought him free. 'Three hundred pound,' saith Sir Simon.—Three hundred pound!”
“And this man was not worth three hundred pound?” Will questioned.
“Pah!” said Jack Straw, and spat on the floor. “Misread me an thou wilt.—Sir Simon 's off to Rochester with his man. Hark ye,—the people is up! The people is up, I say!”
“Wat Tyler hath not given the sign,” said Calote.
Jack laughed softly. “And if Wat lag, shall there not be found others, leaders?” he asked.
“I hate thee, Jack Straw!” Calote cried out. “I hate thee!”
He went up to her where she stood, and thrust his face down close to her face:—
“Methought 't was loving was thy business. 'Wait till all England hath learned to love,' quotha.—Jack's patient, mistress; hath awaited these three year and more. Now 't is thou must learn. Jack shall teach thee.”
Will Langland had arisen and strode swift to Jack, and he laid hand on his neck and shook him to and fro that his teeth chattered; and in the midst of this shaking the door burst open, and there came in Hobbe and a young rustic that panted to take breath.