“After a little while I w-will kill thee, Jack Straw,—I will s-sl-slit thy throat and c-cut out thy lying tongue,—but not to-day.”
Jack wetted his lips and looked around upon his men; they were drawn close, their faces were full of bewilderment, they watched their leader and waited for a sign.
“And is this treason, brothers?” said Jack.—“He will slay me, in a little while?—Will ye wait,—till he slay me?”—
There was a rustle,—a growl,—every moment the mob grew,—
“Will ye wait?” said Jack Straw again.
Some fellow in the crowd threw a carved bit of a bed cornice at Stephen, but it fell short of him,—a chair leg struck his shoulder. He unbuckled his sword and laid it on the ground at his feet; he unbuckled the boy's sword also. A man with a table-top heaved up on high set it down.
“Brothers,” said Stephen, “kill me an you will; but I am no traitor. Jack Straw and I have a quarrel concerneth us two and no other man. One day we 'll settle it in fair fight,—one day when all men are free. I am loyal true to the Fellowship,—and to the King. Are ye all loyal to the King?”
“Yea,—God bless the King!” they cried.
“Ye come at the King by me, no man else may go in at the Tower. And will ye kill me and leave the King prisoned with the noblesse?”
“Fitzwarine!—Fitzwarine!” cried a voice at the far edge of the throng. “Is 't Stephen Fitzwarine yonder? Wat Tyler hath need of him for a message. Fitzwarine!”