“Speak thou!” said the priest, low. “I am under ban of Holy Church,—his guardians will not hear me patiently.”
There began to be a murmur: “Speak!—Speak!” and it waxed louder.
“I 'm a rough man; Jack, thou 'rt the crafty one,—oil thy tongue to persuasion.”
“If I speak now, wilt thou be silent hereafter?” asked Jack. “Art thou leader—or”—
“Thou false hound!” said Wat.
“Where is Wat Tyler?—Where is John Ball?” cried the people; and the muttering began to be a roar. “Speak!—Speak!—To be free!—Speak!”
“Rather fall on those others and carry him off to our midst!” Wat exclaimed, fingering his knife and breathing quick.
John Ball caught his arm.
The throng swayed, and Richard's horse reared.
Then out of the press strode Will Langland, the maker of the Vision Concerning Piers Ploughman.