Within the Hollow Crown (16 page)

   Richard's gorge rose at the sight of him. So this place was, after all, to be the lists. This day his trial. And here, ready to hand, his opponent. No stripling of his own age. But a giant, spoiled by power and popularity, who could snap him in two with a twist of his mighty hands. Backed by ten thousand toughs, drunk with undreamed-of power.

   Richard glanced round at his own supporters, a mere handful of men whose names were part of England. They had spread themselves out funnel-wise on either side of him as if it were some state occasion, making an alley through which he could pass. Their eyes were watchful and measuring. They stood there firm enough. But they waited for him to go first.

   He understood perfectly.

   When it was a matter of choosing his own bride or deciding about the advisability of taxes, he was only a foolish, temperamental boy; but when it was a moment for dangerous action on which the fate of the whole country might depend, then he was the King.

   He accepted his destiny, but would have liked some older man's advice. "Well, milords?" he prompted, searching their eyes for help. Thomas of Gloucester, Richard of Arundel, his own half-brother, Thomas, mighty Warwick, kind Salisbury and hotheaded Percy of Northumberland…But no man answered. They even seemed to huddle a little closer together as if withdrawing from a decision which must inevitably entail such momentous praise or blame. If only for their own sakes, they would have helped him if they could. But, warmongers as they were, they just did not know what to do. Whether to go on or to turn back.

   So Richard bent to give Blanchette's soft white neck an encouraging pat, and rode forward. And as he passed close between Gloucester and Arundel he looked deliberately into the abashed face of each of them and laughed contemptuously.

   This was his day! He would show them that a man who loved beauty was not necessarily decadent. He would teach them he was born to be their master. And—being young—he cared nothing that they would never forget or forgive a look which stripped them before their fellows for the paltry things they were.

   As he emerged into the sunshine a sense of buoyancy sustained him. This time there was no cold shock of fear to overcome. He might have been the first Richard riding forth to meet the Saracens. The same spirit was in him, so that he felt it was a fine thing to confront his enemies. For enemies they definitely were. All his sympathy with the decent Essex folk had been betrayed. He had been fooled. His lodgings—his very bed—had been fouled. And old Sudbury's head, mouldering on London Bridge, cried for vengeance.

   Faced with such fantastic odds, he stood implacably for authority and for his own friends. By his own wits he must save them.

   He could see Wat Tyler still prancing up and down in front of his rabble. With keen young eyes he noted every braggart gesture. But he had met the man before in his own home and knew him to have decent instincts. "Go, my good sword-bearer, and bring that man to me," he called back over his shoulder. "Tell him I will talk to him only on condition that he tells his men to stay where they are." He spoke in such ordinary tones—so much as if he were summoning a defaulting servant or a competitor who had cheated in the lists— that the luckless Sir Robert had no choice but to obey; and the rest of the company were almost charmed into believing that they were in a position to make terms. Seeing their king, so slight and valiant a figure in that great space, most of them were moved to follow him a few yards. But all the same Richard passed a hand grimly over his thin, summer doublet, regretting the mail he had spurned; and felt grateful when Walworth and Standish closed in on either side of him as if to protect him with their own bodies.

   Evidently Tyler was as surprised as they. He laughed boisterously at the coolness of a boy who couldn't see when he was cornered, but years of accepting orders had left him a prey to any confident command. He came as he was bid, half sheepish and half truculent. He had no idea how to address royalty and he was a very poor horseman. "You see all those men over there, King?" he asked.

   "Naturally, I see them," said Richard. "Why do you ask?"

   "Because they are sworn to obey me. There are ten thousand of them, and at a sign from me they will do whatever I want."

   Seeing them straining forward, taut as a strung bow, Richard had no doubt of it. He knew that if he made the least sign of fear the stones and arrows clenched in their hands would be unleashed and centuries of resentment assuaged in blood. The lives of his followers were in his unarmed hands. He looked Tyler straight in the eyes, feeling like a lion tamer holding ravaging cruelty in check; "And what
do
you want?" he asked evenly.

   The man had had his unreasonable demands glibly enough to tongue all morning, but never before had he voiced them in the presence of the gorgeously dressed master-men against whom they were aimed. Their contemptuous stares began to fray the bluster with which he bolstered up a peasant's natural discomfiture. Their very stillness unnerved him. He glanced over his shoulder at Sir Robert, who still kept close behind him. "I'd be better able to tell you if the gold-trimmed minion of yours would put down that sword," he said rudely.

   "It is the King's sword," explained Newton, purple with indignation.

   "Then give it to me. I'll hold it for him," offered Tyler, still showing off before his gaping ten thousand. "He and I have met before."

   "A dog like you isn't fit to touch it!" cried Sir Robert, holding the jewelled weapon out of his tormentor's reach so that it flashed in the sunlight. Inevitably there was an unseemly struggle, with Tyler turning his lumbering horse so inexpertly that the beast's ill-docked tail flicked Blanchette's delicate nostrils, causing her to shy.

   Richard kept his seat and his temper. It was just the sort of thing he had been afraid would happen. The spark for a petty quarrel which might well blaze into disaster for them all. "Better put the sword down, Sir Robert," he advised, swallowing his pride. He knew how unpopular such an order would be with his haughty relatives, but if bloodshed were to be avoided he must handle this thing in his own way. Still soothing his mount, he looked up at the half-placated blacksmith. "It is true that I saw you in your forge," he said, trying to appeal to what had seemed fine in the man. "You were an honest tradesman, sorely tried by an insufferable insult to your daughter. You were no traitor then."

   "I'm no traitor now!" protested Tyler. His hot brown eyes considered the King more sanely, seeing him less as the figurehead of a hated class and more as an individual. More as he had seen him then—a frank-faced youth who hadn't looked at him as if he were a dog—who, for all his fine clothing, had spoken to his Rose with gentle courtesy. Perhaps if one could talk to him alone one could get things altered. Those burning injustices which had been all that he cared for then—those things which
really
mattered…For a moment Wat Tyler forgot the ugly mounting ambitions which had gone to his head, forgot all about making himself King of London. He could talk reasonably as those Essex fellows had done. After all, it would be more comfortable to be done with this marching about and get back to his forge and Rose, who must be worrying her pretty head sick about him…"I'll tell you—" he began, lowering his voice so that those other proud pieces shouldn't hear, and clutching at the King's bridle.

   But in his ignorance and encouraged by such kindly reference to his home, he clutched over-familiarly, thrusting his face close to Richard's as he might have done with a friend with whom he wished to speak intimately. Unfortunately, too, his right hand was still upon the sword he had half drawn while arguing with Sir Robert. Richard knew he meant no harm. He felt no fear, only repugnance for the man's garlic-scented breath. But it was more than Walworth could endure. His dagger leapt from his belt. Close before his face Richard saw it plunge into the bare, muscular column of Wat Tyler's throat and felt the man's hot, nauseating blood spurt over him.

   The bold brown eyes looking into his seemed to start from their sockets in agony. Clutching and slipping, the great body toppled from clumsy saddle to trampled earth. Such was his strength that even then, with his lifeblood flowing from him, Tyler half rose again to grapple with his assailant. But Ralph Standish sprang lithely from his horse to finish the business with his sword, straddling the mighty body where it had rolled in the dust.

   The unpremeditated incident was all over in a few moments. In their hot loyalty and indignation, those closest to the King scarcely comprehended the dangerous crisis they had created.

   "Good God, you fools, must you get us all torn to pieces?" cried Arundel, eyeing the advancing mob. They had already broken ranks and came straggling across the trampled field, and he had just dodged a sharp flint as he spoke. Mercifully some of those at the back, having seen the uplifted sword and then the empty saddle, still believed the King had been knighting their leader. "For Christ's sake, what had we better do?" asked a dozen different voices in panic. "They will be upon us in a moment and massacre us!"

   "We'll have to make a dash for it," decided Gloucester, measuring with a soldier's eyes the distance to the road by which they had come. "Once in the narrow streets a handful of us might hold them."

   But they all knew that once they moved away from Wat Tyler's dead body it was unlikely that even the most swiftly mounted of them would make it alive.

   Richard ignored him and spoke to the abashed slayers. "Don't you see that our only chance is for me to ride forward—
alone
? To seem to leave you and side with them?" he urged.

   They looked at each other, desperate but loath to let him go.

   "His Grace is right. It's a chance—" said Brembre, who understood the temper of the people.

   "If he has the nerve to do it," muttered Arundel.

   Richard overheard him and the words were like a spur.

   Walworth rode a few paces with him. "Try to lead them away from London," he entreated.

   "There are open fields at Clerkenwell," Brembre whispered in his other ear. "We'll ride back and rouse Knollys and the citizens— and meet you there—"

   The moment they had wheeled their horses Richard heard them galloping hell for leather back into the City. He knew that his uncle and the rest were gathered into an irresolute huddle behind him, and that Tyler's bleeding body must now lie exposed to view. He knew it by the savage roar that went up from the rebels' ranks. But his mind worked like quicksilver. Before the wild beast in them had time to spring he was cantering across Smithfield right into the midst of them. And they were so astonished that they stayed each in arrested motion, like so many statues, gaping at him.

   He pulled Blanchette to her haunches, hailing them with upraised arm. "Tyler is dead," he called, his clear young voice cutting across their confusion. "But I—your King—will be your leader in his place."

   He was good to look upon with his red-gold hair and his peacock green tunic and his white horse. To their untutored minds he was all-powerful. Because he was put forward on all state occasions, they had no idea that the men whom he had forsaken really ruled. And he was offering to befriend them and champion their cause. Bewildered by the whirlwind twist he had given events, they were suddenly abashed and dumb. One by one they let fall their stones and gathered about him. And with shining eyes he rode through the midst of them. Some of them swore they saw a flame about him. Some even crossed themselves, thinking the ghost of a tall crusader rode with him. But probably it was only the noonday sun on the brightness of his hair.

   Cunningly, while they were still bemused and at a disadvantage, he turned northward past the gatehouse of poor Hales' smouldering priory. And they followed like sheep. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw the strangest procession he had ever led and wondered just how ridiculous he must look. None of them, he supposed, had the least idea where they were going or why. And he himself wasn't too sure of the way. But somehow or other he must keep them in good humour—keep them together and unsuspicious until someone came to round them up. So, to cover his inclination to laughter, he began to sing as he rode, choosing popular ditties like "When Adam delved and Eve span" so that they could join in the choruses.

   He ambled purposely, taking several wrong turnings. And by the time he had found Clerkenwell fields he saw, to his unspeakable relief, that Walworth and Brembre were already there with a considerable force of armed men. They must have worked with amazing speed. Sir Robert Knollys had been ready
cap-a-pie,
of course, and it was apparent now that all those shuttered houses must have held a veritable army of loyal citizens only waiting a chance to muster. Well, he himself had given them the chance. And now all that remained was to lead his poor fools of peasants into the trap. It was like throwing the deer's carcass to hounds at the
curée—so easy that he rather hated himself for doing it. Bu
t he would be glad not to have to see or smell them any more for a while. It would be wonderful to live normally again. And to enjoy the thrill of being a hero, of course.

   Once the rebels had been rounded up, people crowded round him. In their excitement they wrung him unceremoniously by the hand and called him the saviour of London. Even old soldiers like Warwick and Northumberland, who had hitherto disapproved of him, called down blessings on his head.

   Some of the people from London had even had the fore-thought to bring him food, and suddenly he found that he was famished. And while he sat on a thyme-scented hillock consuming cold pigeon pie, Walworth had Tyler's body brought and shown to the discomfited followers, and someone rode up in a cloud of dust to announce the good news that the mad priest, Ball, had been caught as well.