“Give the common folk new law! Last Trinité a year, there came to us a countryman had run from his place for that he starved on the wage that the law allowed. Yet that same day of Parliament his master found him out, in open street, and haled him away. Oh, is 't not shame in a Christian kingdom that men be sold with the soil like maggots? Set the people free when thou art King! Set the people free!”
“I have heard my father say, before he died,” said Richard, “that no man is free, not the king even, for the nobles do bind his hands. I hate the great nobles! They come and look on me and chuck me under chin,—and anon they whisper in corners. They shall not bind my hands!”
“My father saith the common folk is three times more than the nobles,” said Calote eagerly. “If thou art friend to the poor, they will serve thee. They will bind the nobles and learn them to love. Oh, hearken to Piers! The Vision of Truth is with him. Take the poor man to thy friend!”
Richard leaped down from the window; his cheeks were red, his eyes were very bright.
“I will swear an oath!” he cried. “Etienne, give me thy sword!”
Now was the tapestry by the door thrust aside and a little page came in, out of breath. Calote sat on the cushion, Etienne leaned against the wall. Richard had the sword midway of the blade in his two hands, and the cross-hilt upheld before him.
“Oh—oh!” gasped the little page. “The old King is dead!”
Richard lowered the sword. The colour went out of his cheeks.
“Etienne,” he said, “Etienne,—am I—King?—What makes the room turn round?”
Then the squire, coming out of his amaze, ran and knelt on one knee, and set his King on the other.