“All England is risen up!” said the Queen. “The hedges are alive with runaway villeins. And this great company,—what 's it to mean?”
“'T is the poll-tax, madame,” Etienne answered her, “and the people is past patience.”
“Where is my son?” she shrieked. “Is he slain? Wherefore art thou here?”
“The King 's in the Tower, madame, whither I 'll presently be your escort. The people is faithful to the King,—they will not harm him a hair,—nor the King's mother neither. I pray you patience, the while I arrange this matter speedily as may be, and we 'll go on our way into the city.”
So he went out and spoke with John Ball and the alderman, and meanwhile, the peasant folk, when they heard who it was in the coach, stood a little way off, silent.
When Stephen came again to the door he had Calote by the hand, and he said:—
“May it please your Majesté that this damosel ride within.”
“An ill-smelling peasant!” cried the Queen.
“Madame,” said Godiyeva, “'t is the little jongleuse; so you give consent, she may sit beside me.”
“Let me sit o' the coachman's seat,” entreated Calote.