“'T is thy pardon,” Will answered him.
And Wat took the parchment and tore it across:—
“I ask pardon of no man!” he cried. “That I do is well done. Neither is this the end.”
Will arose from his seat in the window and went and put his hand on Wat's shoulder:—
“'T is time thou wert o' the road to Dartford,” said he, “and all these scattered. Is naught more to do. Let Piers get back to his plough and keep his hand from mischief. He 's free; his house is swept and garnished; 'ware lest other devils enter in. Go home, Wat! Thou hast done well.”
“Then I 'll do bet,” said Wat. “Is thy knife keen, Jack? Who comes with us, my brothers?”
“I,—I,—I!” cried all; and Will thrust pen in penner and went out with them.
“Whither do ye go?” Calote asked Jack Straw. “And wherefore is thy knife keen? Now is peace.”
“We go to kill pigs by the waterside. Hark, and presently thou 'lt hear them squeal,” he answered.
And as they went down the street, she heard them crying out against the Flemings that took bread out of poor men's mouths with weaving of English wool.