"By St. Nicholas! then you shall be cheated of dying here," said Tyler; and, snatching the mitre from the grey locks it covered, he threw it to Holgrave. "There, Stephen, that shall soon sit upon a worthier head: and now, sir priest, or sir prelate, be quick with an ave—for the block is ready and the axe sharp. And you, Kirkby, (who sullenly stood by), mind and lift up that knave yonder," pointing to the treasurer; "for, by St. Nicholas! he, too, shall die!" and the treasurer, faint and almost lifeless, was, with Sudbury, borne away to Tower-hill.
John Ball, in the meantime, had passed on from the chapel, heedless of the greetings that met him at every step, and of the riot and confusion that would, at another time, have called forth his rebuke. At length, as he passed the royal apartments, he heard sounds that seemed to recal him to himself—they were the shrieks of woman! Throwing back his cowl, and casting an indignant glance at Kirkby, who had just emerged from the building, he said—
"What dost thou here, John Kirkby, and why these screams?"
Kirkby muttered something of the council.
"And darest thou, John Kirkby, a leader of the people—darest thou be the foremost to set at nought my commands? I repent me of my endeavours to right the oppressed, for, alas! they have been like stray sheep without the care of the shepherd!—and now, that the shepherd has sought and is among them, they heed not his voice."
But the shrieks were again repeated, and father John commanding Kirkby to follow, passed rapidly through the apartments, where every thing presented the trace of the spoiler. In many of them were stretched, or rather huddled together, peasants in the last stage of inebriety, some on the beds, and others on the carpets; and the shattered garniture of this abode of Richard and his fair mother, served but to mark its recent costliness and splendour.
The monk groaned deeply as he observed four or five men hewing with axes at a door which had resisted their first efforts to burst open; while two others were struggling with a man who seemed to be disputing their entrance; and a few paces from these lay, on a richly-worked counterpane, an infant, whose shrill cries mingled with the strife.
The flashing eye and indignant rebuke of the monk, on beholding this scene, unnerved the fear-stricken peasants.
"It is the prophet himself!" burst from the lips of the men, dropping their weapons and looking abashed.
"Aye, it is he whom you say is the prophet," cried father John, "and accurst, say I, be the house-breakers!" his eye fell on Ralph Rugge. "What, another of the chosen!" he added, with a withering glance. "All, all are unworthy—my heart is sick!" and he turned away and covered his face with his hands.