“Let be, Will!” said one in the crowd. “'T is a spy that prisoneth honest men. Is 't not enough that Peter de la Mare is cast in chains, but puppets like to this must play the sentinel on Cornhill?”
“If I mistake not, this gentleman weareth the badge of the Earl of March,‘ interrupted Langland; ’wherefore our grievance is his likewise; for Peter is seneschal to the Earl.”
Heads were thrust forward eagerly, and one and another cried:—
“'T is true!”
“Let me set mine eye o' the badge!”
“Methought one said 't was John o' Gaunt's man.”
“The badge!”
And the six-foot prentice, craning his neck, questioned:—
“Art thou for the Earl o' March, friend? If so be, speak and make an end on 't. I be not one to bear malice.”
The mob roared with laughter, and Etienne, slipping his sword within its scabbard, answered in excellent good temper:—