His haughty and scornful seriousness was not to be questioned, and Fulk felt that the case was desperate when such a man looked gloomy.
“What of the King? Is he in peril?”
“It is those who stand between him and the ‘Jacks’ who are likely to be in peril. There are wrongs to be righted—who doubts it?—but the shipmaster must rule the ship. The Jacks in France were very near overturning a kingdom.”
“I thought to find a great host of the lords and gentles in London.”
“A few old pantaloons in the Tower. I promise you I would not stake a groat on half of us having our heads upon our shoulders this time next month.”
They passed a group of the common people standing outside an alehouse, and some of them jeered and put out their tongues like children. One fellow ran about on all fours, howled, and lifted up a leg. Another had a dead cat, which he held up by a thong fastened to its neck. He shouted, and jigged the dead cat up and down: “Ha! John of Gaunt dancing on a rope!” Knollys rode by as though they were dirt in the gutter, but his eyes were the eyes of a leopard.
“Honest mud in the wrong place, friend Fulk. Many of these fellows are good lads when not in the wolf pack.”
He stared into the distance.
“If death could give us back the father for one week! But with this boy, and a few old women round him! Lancaster would be useless, even were he not parleying with the Scots. The people hate him like poison. Never breathe it that you are John of Gaunt’s man, if you are taken.”
“There must be good men somewhere.”