“Sirs, here are we together, King Richard and his Commons. Speak out. Am I afraid to listen to your desires?”
They surged round him, looking up into his face, held by his blue eyes and the mouth that did not falter. He had left over yonder the lords whom they hated, and had ridden into their midst, a King who was not afraid.
They cheered him.
“Long live King Richard.”
He held up a fist.
“Long life to myself, say I, my friends. But to your business. I am your King. I am here. I listen. Let no one come between us.”
A hundred voices shouted for all manner of changes, but since their cries smothered each other, they grew more silent, and pushed some of their leaders and spokesmen to the front. Wat the Tiler, Jack Straw, and John Ball had remained behind with those who had seized the Tower, but Merlin stood hidden in the crowd, whispering to his neighbours and prompting them in their demands.
“Sir, noble sir, land at fourpence an acre.”
“We will be serfs no longer.”
“Down with the market tolls.”