“Natheless, let it stand, my lords, and patience,” said Salisbury. “A price may well be changed.—Now, 't is wise to grant all. If the people sees that we dissuade the King, hardly shall we escape alive. God knows I be not afeared o' death, but I would serve the King the best way,—and 't is not by dying.”
“Four pence the acre,” said Richard; “this also do I grant.”
“And the third grace, O King,” said Long Will;—“the third is pardon!” And he went down on his knees, and immediately all that multitude fell down, and some on their faces, crying, “Pardon!”—“Pardon for John Ball!—Pardon!—Pardon!—For Wat Tyler!—For all!—For all!”
“It shall be written that ye are pardoned,” said Richard. “It shall be written that ye are free!”
And then they came leaping about him, weeping, singing, blessing; and he sat in their midst with tears rolling down his face.
“It shall be written!” they cried; “it shall be written!—Bring clerks!” And presently there were set down some thirty clerks, and Will Langland among them, a-scribbling. And so they were busied two hours and more in that place.
Stephen came and leaned on Will's shoulder, and, “Eh, well, my father, what th-think'st thou?” he asked, exultant.
Will stayed not his hand, but with head bent above the parchment he said: “Methinks Parliament will have somewhat to say of this matter. Kings of England may not bind and loose at their own pleasure; though 't is the people that ask. Here 's a riddle.”
“But thou?”—Stephen faltered.
“I spake for the people.”—Then he turned to a ploughman, with, “Here, brother, is thy parchment. Keep it dry, and pray God it may serve thee in time of need. Where is Wat Tyler?”