“Rescue! Rescue!”
“Stand on your rights!”
“Does Devon rule because a Courtney 's Bishop o' London?”
The burly smith and the no less redoubtable knight stood a-glaring, each with his hand upon his claimed property.
“'T is mine!” cried the knight. “He ran not six months agone.”
“'T is mine!” roared the smith. “Hath blowed my bellus this year and six.”
One said the Bishop of London was sent for to quell the mob. A clot of mud caught the knight on the side of his bullet head. It could be seen where Devon consulted with his sons and retainers, for 't was no light matter to wrest away a London prentice, on whichsoever side lay the right.
“The smith speaks truth!” said Jack Straw, lifting up his voice. “When do the lords aught but lie to the people?”
Some one threw a stone.
Then Calote leaned down and laid her hand on Peter's head. “O sir!” she said to the knight, “this is a man. Christ came in his likeness. He is thy bloody brother. Will ye not love one another?”