“Good-by, Peter,” said Calote. “'T is very true what my father saith, how that Truth resteth with the ploughman.”
“Heh?” asked Peter; but she was gone on her way.
In a moment she bade Wat set her down, and when he did so she looked in his face, for throughout this hubbub he had uttered nor word nor sound.
There was foam upon his lip.
CHAPTER VIII
An Embassage
HE winter days that followed were full of stir and strife, and the devil with the long spoon was ever John of Gaunt. 'T was he set the people agog that day John Wyclif was sent for before the bishops in St. Paul's. For the people were friendly enough to this great preacher; they liked right well to hear him say that abbots and bishops should be landless and dwell in Christian pauvreté. But they did not like that John of Gaunt should be his friend; for in those days the Duke had put it in the old King's heart to take away the rights of the people of London, that were theirs since old time, and set over them a mayor who was none of their choosing. And when the people heard this, is no wonder they made a riot that day in St. Paul's, and in the streets of the city. And they would have burned John of Gaunt's Palace of the Savoy, that stood betwixt Charing Cross and Temple Bar, but the Bishop of London persuaded them, and they left it for that time.
Jack Straw got a broken head in this riot and lay in Langland's cot three days, and Calote quarrelled with him; for she said, if he and his like went about burning and destroying all the fair palaces and sweet gardens, in the end, when his day came and all men should hold in common, there would be naught left that anybody would care to have.
Said he, her head was turned with seeing so many fine gentlemen about the town, and because the little Prince had looked on her that day of Parliament. She was like all women with her vanity. She would sell herself for a gewgaw.