“Thy children are unruly,” said Kitte. “But 't is the way of all such. Nay, weep not, my daughter,—weep not!”
“Oh, mother, dost not thou weep that blood is shed?”
“Yea,” Kitte answered indifferent; “but if thy father come to no harm, I shall dry my tears.”
These Flemings were certain weavers from over sea that came to England, the greater number of them in the lifetime of King Edward III. and the good Queen Philippa. And whereas before that time much wool was sent out of England across the Channel to be wove into cloth, now it was more and more woven in this country. But forasmuch as by courtesy of King Edward, Flemings needed not to pay the gild tax, therefore were they hated of the gild of weavers of London; and these persuaded Jack Straw and other peasant folk that if there were weavers in England, they ought to be English weavers; and wherefore should the English go hungry and in bonds when Flemings fed and were free? A-many of these weavers dwelt in the streets by the waterside, and thither went Wat and Jack and Will,—the mob swelling at their heels. This was a London mob, prentices and artisans for the most part.
“What 's to gain?” asked Will.
“Blood!” Wat answered him.
Then, they being come to an open place and beyond was a long street silent, deserted, Will turned him to the mob.
“Go back, brothers!” he cried. “Do not wilfully shed blood.”
“On,—on!” screamed Jack Straw. “Do they not eat your bread and pay naught?”
The rabble shouted and pressed forward. Long Will spread his arms out wide, as he would keep the street.