“'T was said thou hadst made peace,” said Chaucer. “Methought 't was ended, this rioting.”
“Peace!” cried Long Will. “There shall be no peace so long as men strive to be king. When they have forgot to add glory unto themselves, when they are content to serve their brothers,—then cometh peace.”
“Take heart, brother,” said Dan Chaucer. “Here be two men that do not desire a kingdom,—thou, and I. To be singers is enough,—and this is to serve men.”
“Singers!” Will groaned. “Singers!—Oh!—See what a song hath wrought!”
Then said Master Chaucer, cheerily, “'T is somewhat to die for a song's sake. I have not yet stirred men so deep.”
“I am I, and thou art thou,” Will answered him.
CHAPTER VII
Reaction
IMON Sudbury's head hung grinning above London Bridge, and young Richard lay at his length, face downward, on the stone floor of his chamber in the Garde Robe, sobbing sick. None dared enter, not his mother, nor Stephen, nor Mayor Walworth, nor Salisbury. Hushed and fearful they waited behind the arras at the door, hearkening to the boy how he wept and cursed and rent his garments. Now 't was the people he railed upon, for that they had so burdened him with bloodguiltiness in recompense of all his benefits:—