There was a shout ahead, and Northumberland reined his horse to a halt to one side of
Richard and Wadsworth, turning it slightly so that he could still see the men atop the Tower’s walls.
If God was with them, surely there would he a sign. A man spoke, and Northumberland whipped his head about.
“Good King Richard,” said Wat Tyler, who had now stepped forth from the ranks of the peasants. “Welcome to this ground, held by the commons of England.”
I hold this land and all your souls, thought Richard, but did not let the thought show on his face. He was feeling in control and very, very confident. The words that Northumberland had whispered in his ear before they’d left the Keep had given him strength, while the thought that Robbie was eagerly awaiting him back in the Tower bolstered his arrogance. Tonight he and Robbie would laugh and caress, and talk of the great triumph that he, Richard, had achieved on this field.
“You have requested to speak with me,” Richard said, allowing his voice to resound over the assemblage, and pausing momentarily to admire the very ringing of its tone, “and so I am here!”
A cheer went up, and Richard smiled. It did not reach his eyes.
“Your grace,” Tyler said, wondering what manner his death would take, “the good men of England have come to you to present you with our grievances.” Richard stirred, his eyes flashing ominously.
“They are not grievances against you, sire,” Tyler went on, “but grievances against the nobles and clerics who misinform you and oppress us.” “Grievances?” Richard said.
“Aye, your grace. We are men who provide England with its food and its wealth through the sweat of our brows and the ache of our backs, and yet we are treated as vile creatures who exist only to be enslaved and taxed beyond the bounds of human endurance. We are men, not creatures, and we deserve rights and freedoms as men!”
Tyler finished on a shout, and as he finished so the shout rose about him. “Freedom!
Freedom!”
“Freedom?” said Richard in a soft voice. “In what manner ‘freedom’?”
“We ask that you abolish the chains of serfdom,” Tyler said. “We ask that you make us free forever, ourselves and our heirs. We ask that we each have the freedom to own our own fields, as nobles have the right—for are we not born from the same stock as Adam and Eve?
We ask, your grace, that you withdraw the poll tax, as all other grievous taxes, for we do not think you know how onerous they are to us.”
“You want your own fields?” said Richard. “How may that be so? From whom should I seize the land to give to you?”
“From the damned whore of a Church!” shouted a man who joined Tyler.
Richard only barely stopped his lip from curling. This man was a renegade priest!
“My friend, John Ball,” said Tyler, indicating the man at his side, “as many among the commons, wonders why the Roman Church should own almost one acre in three within this fair land. Do we not deserve the land more than these corrupt, foreign pigs? Share among the commons of England the wealth of the Church and we shall all be free!”
Richard opened his mouth to speak, but just then Northumberland caught his eye. The earl gave a very slight nod, and his eyes moved fractionally toward the soldiers atop the bastions.
Richard smiled, and gazed upon Tyler.
“Master Tyler,” he said, “I am sure that there is merit in much of what you say.”
LANCASTER HAD closed his eyes now, his breathing ever more difficult, his hand slack in Margaret’s.
“It will not be long,” said Bolingbroke, and tears slipped down his cheeks.
RICHARD LEANED back a little on his horse, as if considering, and, as he did so, glanced at the soldiers atop the bastion. One of them was waving to the northeast, another to the east.
He looked forward—east. From his vantage point on his horse and the slight rise that Tyler had chosen so that all men might see the meeting, Richard could see the glint of steel in the not too far distance.
Everyone’s eyes were on him, not what approached behind.
Richard looked down at Tyler and smiled.
“”You are a fool and a heretic,” said Richard, “and you have accomplished nothing for your
fellows.”
Behind Richard one of Wadsworth’s squires, John Standish, slipped from his horse and, moving so fast that none could stop him, raced forth and stabbed Tyler in the belly with a sword.
Tyler groaned and slumped, but before he sank to the ground, he looked up at Richard and said, “I have accomplished my fellows’ freedom this day. You are merely too foolish to understand it.”
BOLINGBROKE JERKED, and Margaret whimpered, and Neville wondered what had happened.
“He dies!” said Bolingbroke, and Margaret cried out in grief.
AS TYLER fell to the ground, Wadsworth spurred his horse forward and, leaning down, stabbed his sword deep in Tyler’s belly and chest, again and again.
The crowd erupted, roaring.
“Hear me!” Richard screamed, circling his horse about so that all might see his face and hear his words. “Hear me! Your traitor leader is dead, and your cause gone. Look! Look to the east, and the northeast. There ride knights and men-at-arms to cut you down. Tear me apart if you will, but know that in doing so you will accomplish your own deaths.”
Northumberland, his heart beating wildly, spurred his horse to Richard’s side to protect him from any who thought to raise a weapon against him.
But the crowd were milling, unsure what to do, looking this way and that, some shouting of the great force which bore down on them from two directions.
They looked for someone to lead them, but their rebel leaders were gone, for as Tyler had been stabbed to death, so others among the king’s escort had ridden forward and clubbed Jack Straw, John Hales and John Ball senseless.
“Get you gone back to your hovels,” Richard screamed further, “before I give the word to have you all murdered!”
“Your grace,” Northumberland said, trying to grab Richard’s arm. “That is enough, for the love of Christ!”
Richard threw him off, and stood in the stirrups and screamed yet more.
“Miserable men! Hateful to both land and sea! Serfs you are and serfs you will be forever.
You shall remain in a bondage incomparably viler than that you have previously been subject to. Get you gone. Filth! Filth that you did so dare to speak in my face.”
Northumberland looked about at the scene. He was frantic, hardly able to believe that he and Richard were still alive. Christ! They should have been slaughtered, even with the forces riding to their aid.
But the rabble had apparently fallen apart with the death of Tyler, and now they pushed and shoved in their desperation to get away before the militia arrived, or before anyone remembered their faces and names.
“Vile, vile men!” Richard continued to scream, his voice now growing hoarse. “Miserable and hateful wretches! Filth! Dung! Contemptible worms!”
The militia had now reached the outer ranks of the panicked rebels, and steel glinted as it rose and fell, and the blood of England spilled freely over its meadowland.
As he listened and watched, Northumberland was consumed with a frightful coldness.
You are an oaf, Richard, he thought, for you may have had Tyler killed, and a few peasants slaughtered, but do you not realize there is a greater rebel waiting in the shadows?
LANCASTER GROANED, then stirred. “My friend?” he said.
He half rose, and looked past Bolingbroke and Neville to the door of the chamber.
It opened, and Wat Tyler walked through. His face was ravaged and careworn, and bloodstained were his tunic and leggings, but despite all that, his expression was one of peace, and merriment danced in his eyes.
“My lord,” said Tyler, ignoring Neville and giving Margaret and Bolingbroke only the briefest of nods.
They smiled at him, tears running down their faces.
“My lord,” Tyler said again, “we belong in a different world now. You must come with me.”
“Gladly,” said Lancaster, and rose from the bed as if he had no injury and with the grace of a youth.
Bolingbroke drew back, allowing both Lancaster and Tyler room.
“What’s going on?” said Neville.
“We are farewelling our friends,” said Bolingbroke softly. “Now be quiet, for we must not disturb them.”
Lancaster slipped his arm through Tyler’s and grinned into the man’s face. “Well, now, Wat, I believe you have been caught up in some mischief!”
Tyler winked at him. “And you should have kept out of the kitchens, by the look of you!”
Lancaster guffawed, and let Tyler lead him toward the door. “Hal—” Neville said.
“Be quiet!” Bolingbroke hissed.
But Lancaster and Tyler did not go through the door. Instead, an opening appeared—almost rippled—in the air before them. Beyond it lay a great field of flowers leading to a small hill in the distance—Neville thought there might be an empty cross on its summit, but was not sure.