Below, in the cobble-paved square, with a babel of noise and confusion, the poorer folk crowded.
“There won’t be any room when the play does come!” exclaimed Colin.
“The heralds will clear the way,” said Giles. “Last night it was such fun to watch them! They rode through all the town reading the proclamation. That’s a warning, you know, for every one to behave properly to-day.”
“Oh, what did they say?” asked Margery, with interest.
“Well, they came to the market-place here, on horseback, with trumpets, and one man shouted at the top of his voice. Let me see. What did he say? I believe I can remember some of it. It was like this.... Oyez. We command, on the King’s behalf, and the Mayor and the Sheriffs of this city, that no man go armed in this city with swords nor Carlisle axes, nor none other defences in disturbance of the King’s peace and the play, or hindering of the procession of Corpus Christi, and that they leave their harness in their inns.... I forget the words that came next, but they meant that each guild was to act its play in proper order. And that all manner of craftsmen who were responsible for a play should employ ‘good players well-arranged and openly speaking’ upon pain of a fine. And all that sort of thing, you know.”
“I can’t think how you can remember it!” said Margery.
“Oh, when you act, you have a great deal to learn by heart, so you must have a good memory,” returned Giles, airily.
“Oh, look! look!” interrupted Colin. “Here they come! These are the heralds, aren’t they?”
There was a stir and a swaying in the crowd, and all the people at the windows began to crane their necks to see three or four horsemen, who came riding down a narrow side-alley into the market-place, scattering the throng, which pressed back before them. Then a silence fell.
“Oh, how beautiful they look!” Margery whispered. And indeed in their tunics of blue and crimson, embroidered with gold, their horses also decked in gay velvet trappings, the heralds, with their silver trumpets, were quite magnificent.