"Ere I say more," said Oakley, falling on his knees before Richard, "I crave a general pardon, not only for myself, as leader in this rising, but for all other trespasses by me committed."
"Ha, ha, ha," laughed Richard, "the knave is wisely valiant! He has an especial care of his own neck. Rise—thou art pardoned."
"But, my liege," continued Oakley, still kneeling, "there is one confined in this fortress for whom I would solicit freedom."
"To whom do you allude, knave?" asked Sudbury, with some surprise.
"To father John Ball."
"To father John Ball! to that son of satan—that vile author of all this confusion. Be content with saving your own head."
"Then, my lord archbishop," said Oakley, rising, "if a hair of that monk's head is touched, I will not answer for the result. Wat Tyler, my lords, is a man of desperate purpose. He has sworn before the multitude, that, if the prophet is not freed before the twenty-four hours, the heads of all these noble peers around me shall answer for it.—Nay more——"
"Hold, kern," interrupted Richard fiercely; "we despise the threat."
"But, my liege," persisted Jack Straw, "let the council consider the danger of the delay. I have reason to know, that those you reckon upon to oppose an entrance here are not to be trusted: the prophet has worked wonders, even within the fortress."
"How know you that?" asked Richard, with surprise.