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He left off as one who had yet something else to say; and, indeed, I thought he would give us some word as to the trysting–place, and whither the army was to go from it; because it was now clear to me that this gathering was but a band of an army. But much happened before John Ball spoke again from the cross, and it was on this wise.

When there was silence after the last shout that the crowd had raised a while ago, I thought I heard a thin sharp noise far away, somewhat to the north of the cross, which I took rather for the sound of a trumpet or horn, than for the voice of a man or any beast. Will Green also seemed to have heard it, for he turned his head sharply and then back again, and looked keenly into the crowd as though seeking to catch some one’s eye. There was a very tall man standing by the prisoner on the horse near the outskirts of the crowd, and holding his bridle. This man, who was well–armed, I saw look up and say something to the prisoner, who stooped down and seemed to whisper him in turn. The tall man nodded his head and the prisoner got off his horse, which was a cleaner–limbed, better–built beast than the others belonging to the band, and the tall man quietly led him a little way from the crowd, mounted him, and rode off northward at a smart pace.

Will Green looked on sharply at all this, and when the man rode off, smiled as one who is content, and deems that all is going well, and settled himself down again to listen to the priest.

But now when John Ball had ceased speaking, and after another shout, and a hum of excited pleasure and hope that followed it, there was silence again, and as the priest addressed himself to speaking once more, he paused and turned his head towards the wind, as if he heard something, which certainly I heard, and belike every one in the throng, though it was not over–loud, far as sounds carry in clear quiet evenings. It was the thump–a–thump of a horse drawing near at a hand–gallop along the grassy upland road; and I knew well it was the tall man coming back with tidings, the purport of which I could well guess.

I looked up at Will Green’s face. He was smiling as one pleased, and said softly as he nodded to me, “Yea, shall we see the grey–goose fly this eve?”

But John Ball said in a great voice from the cross, “Hear ye the tidings on the way, fellows! Hold ye together and look to your gear; yet hurry not, for no great matter shall this be. I wot well there is little force between Canterbury and Kingston, for the lords are looking north of Thames toward Wat Tyler and his men. Yet well it is, well it is!”

The crowd opened and spread out a little, and the men moved about in it, some tightening a girdle, some getting their side arms more within reach of their right hands, and those who had bows stringing them.

Will Green set hand and foot to the great shapely piece of polished red yew, with its shining horn tips, which he carried, and bent it with no seeming effort; then he reached out his hand over his shoulder and drew out a long arrow, smooth, white, beautifully balanced, with a barbed iron head at one end, a horn nock and three strong goose feathers at the other. He held it loosely between the finger and thumb of his right hand, and there he stood with a thoughtful look on his face, and in his hands one of the most terrible weapons which a strong man has ever carried, the English long–bow and cloth–yard shaft.

But all this while the sound of the horse’s hoofs was growing nearer, and presently from the corner of the road amidst the orchards broke out our long friend, his face red in the sun near sinking now. He waved his right hand as he came in sight of us, and sang out, “Bills and bows! bills and bows!” and the whole throng turned towards him and raised a great shout.

He reined up at the edge of the throng, and spoke in a loud voice, so that all might hear him:

“Fellows, these are the tidings; even while our priest was speaking we heard a horn blow far off; so I bade the sergeant we have taken, and who is now our fellow–in–arms, to tell me where away it was that there would be folk a–gathering, and what they were; and he did me to wit that mayhappen Sir John Newton was stirring from Rochester Castle; or, maybe, it was the sheriff and Rafe Hopton with him; so I rode off what I might towards Hartlip, and I rode warily, and that was well, for as I came through a little wood between Hartlip and Guildstead, I saw beyond it a gleam of steel, and lo in the field there a company, and a pennon of Rafe Hopton’s arms, and that is blue and thereon three silver fish: and a pennon of the sheriff’s arms, and that is a green tree; and withal another pennon of three red kine, and whose they be I know not.[1]

[1] Probably one of the Calverlys, a Cheshire family, one of whom was a noted captain in the French wars.

“There tied I my horse in the middle of the wood, and myself I crept along the dyke to see more and to hear somewhat; and no talk I heard to tell of save at whiles a big knight talking to five or six others, and saying somewhat, wherein came the words London and Nicholas Bramber, and King Richard; but I saw that of men–at–arms and sergeants there might be a hundred, and of bows not many, but of those outland arbalests maybe a fifty; and so, what with one and another of servants and tipstaves and lads, some three hundred, well armed, and the men–at–arms of the best. Forsooth, my masters, there had I been but a minute, ere the big knight broke off his talk, and cried out to the music to blow up, ‘And let us go look on these villeins,’ said he; and withal the men began to gather in a due and ordered company, and their faces turned hitherward; forsooth, I got to my horse, and led him out of the wood on the other side, and so to saddle and away along the green roads; neither was I seen or chased. So look ye to it, my masters, for these men will be coming to speak with us; nor is there need for haste, but rather for good speed; for in some twenty or thirty minutes will be more tidings to hand.”

By this time one of our best–armed men had got through the throng and was standing on the cross beside John Ball. When the long man had done, there was confused noise of talk for a while, and the throng spread itself out more and more, but not in a disorderly manner; the bowmen drawing together toward the outside, and the billmen forming behind them. Will Green was still standing beside me and had hold of my arm, as though he knew both where he and I were to go.

“Fellows,” quoth the captain from the cross, “belike this stour shall not live to be older than the day, if ye get not into a plump together for their arbalestiers to shoot bolts into, and their men–at–arms to thrust spears into. Get you to the edge of the crofts and spread out there six feet between man and man, and shoot, ye bowmen, from the hedges, and ye with the staves keep your heads below the level of the hedges, or else for all they be thick a bolt may win its way in.”

He grinned as he said this, and there was laughter enough in the throng to have done honour to a better joke.

Then he sung out, “Hob Wright, Rafe Wood, John Pargetter, and thou Will Green, bestir ye and marshal the bowshot; and thou Nicholas Woodyer shall be under me Jack Straw in ordering of the staves. Gregory Tailor and John Clerk, fair and fine are ye clad in the arms of the Canterbury bailiffs; ye shall shine from afar; go ye with the banner into the highway, and the bows on either side shall ward you; yet jump, lads, and over the hedge with you when the bolts begin to fly your way! Take heed, good fellows all, that our business is to bestride the highway, and not let them get in on our flank the while; so half to the right, half to the left of the highway. Shoot straight and strong, and waste no breath with noise; let the loose of the bowstring cry for you! and look you! think it no loss of manhood to cover your bodies with tree and bush; for one of us who know is worth a hundred of those proud fools. To it, lads, and let them see what the grey goose bears between his wings! Abide us here, brother John Ball, and pray for us if thou wilt; but for me, if God will not do for Jack Straw what Jack Straw would do for God were he in like case, I can see no help for it.”

“Yea, forsooth,” said the priest, “here will I abide you my fellows if ye come back; or if ye come not back, here will I abide the foe. Depart, and the blessing of the Fellowship be with you.”

Down then leapt Jack Straw from the cross, and the whole throng set off without noise or hurry, soberly and steadily in outward seeming. Will Green led me by the hand as if I were a boy, yet nothing he said, being forsooth intent on his charge. We were some four hundred men in all; but I said to myself that without some advantage of the ground we were lost men before the men–at–arms that long Gregory Tailor had told us of; for I had not seen as yet the yard–long shaft at its work.

We and somewhat more than half of our band turned into the orchards on the left of the road, through which the level rays of the low sun shone brightly. The others took up their position on the right side of it. We kept pretty near to the road till we had got through all the closes save the last, where we were brought up by a hedge and a dyke, beyond which lay a wide–open nearly treeless space, not of tillage, as at the other side of the place, but of pasture, the common grazing ground of the township. A little stream wound about through the ground, with a few willows here and there; there was only a thread of water in it in this hot summer tide, but its course could easily be traced by the deep blue–green of the rushes that grew plenteously in the bed. Geese were lazily wandering about and near this brook, and a herd of cows, accompanied by the town bull, were feeding on quietly, their heads all turned one way; while half a dozen calves marched close together side by side like a plump of soldiers, their tails swinging in a kind of measure to keep off the flies, of which there was great plenty. Three or four lads and girls were sauntering about, heeding or not heeding the cattle. They looked up toward us as we crowded into the last close, and slowly loitered off toward the village. Nothing looked like battle; yet battle sounded in the air; for now we heard the beat of the horse–hoofs of the men–at–arms coming on towards us like the rolling of distant thunder, and growing louder and louder every minute; we were none too soon in turning to face them. Jack Straw was on our side of the road, and with a few gestures and a word or two he got his men into their places. Six archers lined the hedge along the road where the banner of Adam and Eve, rising above the grey leaves of the apple–trees, challenged the new–comers; and of the billmen also he kept a good few ready to guard the road in case the enemy should try to rush it with the horsemen. The road, not being a Roman one, was, you must remember, little like the firm smooth country roads that you are used to; it was a mere track between the hedges and fields, partly grass–grown, and cut up by the deep–sunk ruts hardened by the drought of summer. There was a stack of fagot and small wood on the other side, and our men threw themselves upon it and set to work to stake the road across for a rough defence against the horsemen.

What befell more on the road itself I had not much time to note, for our bowmen spread themselves out along the hedge that looked into the pasture–field, leaving some six feet between man and man; the rest of the billmen went along with the bowmen, and halted in clumps of some half–dozen along their line, holding themselves ready to help the bowmen if the enemy should run up under their shafts, or to run on to lengthen the line in case they should try to break in on our flank. The hedge in front of us was of quick. It had been strongly plashed in the past February, and was stiff and stout. It stood on a low bank; moreover, the level of the orchard was some thirty inches higher than that of the field. and the ditch some two foot deeper than the face of the field. The field went winding round to beyond the church, making a quarter of a circle about the village, and at the western end of it were the butts whence the folk were coming from shooting when I first came into the village street.

Altogether, to me who knew nothing of war the place seemed defensible enough. I have said that the road down which Long Gregory came with his tidings went north; and that was its general direction; but its first reach was nearly east, so that the low sun was not in the eyes of any of us, and where Will Green took his stand, and I with him, it was nearly at our backs.

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Notes on Chapter 5 by Peter Wright

p. 221 para. 5 Sir John Newton

For the misdating of the capture of Rochester castle, see Grennan, William Morris: Medievalist and Revolutionary, p. 100, and [[Historical Introduction, II. Comparison, section 2]]. In the rest of this paragraph, the identifications and heraldry are largely Morris's invention. For the sheriff, see below, note on [[ p. 233.]]

No Rafe Hopton has been traced in the records around this time anywhere in England; Morris may have borrowed his name from Sir Ralph Hopton, a noted Royalist commander in the south-west in the Civil War of 1642-46. As for that family, there were Hopton gentry families in Yorkshire and the Welsh border counties, but their coats-of-arms sometimes included lions, but not fishes. Morris is less wrong about the 'Calverlys': their arms had three calves, but black, not red. Morris had presumably seen only an engraved version.


These were the flags borne by ordinary knights, bearing their coat-of-arms, and ending in one or two streamers, like swallow-tails; when a knight was promoted to banneret, in command of a larger force, the tails were cut off to give a square banner, as was done for Sir John Chandos before the battle of Najera in Spain in 1369: see Froissart, tr. Johnes, bk. 1, chap. 241 (1839 edn., p. 370). (It is this promotion that Sir Lambert du Bois hopes for in Morris's 'The Eve of Crècy', in The Defence of Guenevere.)

** Hartlip .... Guildstead

Names of Morris's invention for imaginary places.

p. 221 note

Morris here refers to Sir Hugh Calveley (so usually spelt now) who served actively in the French War from about 1350 to the early 1380s; he would have found him frequently mentioned in Froissart. Coming from a minor Cheshire gentry family, Calveley made his name (and fortune) fighting in Northern France in the 1350s. During the intermission of the War after 1360, he led 'free companies' [[cf. below on p. 233]] sent into Spain in the mid 1360s by the king of France to help depose King Pedro of Castile (an ally of England) before returning to English service in 1369 and holding high commands, including those of garrison fortresses at Calais and Brest.

In spring 1381 he had just returned from taking part in the siege of the French-held city of Nantes in Brittany: cf. Froissart, tr. Johnes. bk. 2, chaps. 50, 60. Morris presumably intends him to be present in command at the fight that follows: [[ p. 231 para. 4 ]]. He died in 1394 and was buried in Bunbury church (Cheshire), where his tomb with its armoured effigy can still be seen. See the full biography in the new Oxford DNB.

p. 222 para. I London .... Nicholas Bramber

Bramber was one of the three or four London aldermen who led the city's militia (drawn from the middling and wealthier citizens) to the king's rescue after Wat Tyler was killed in Smithfield on 15 June, and was knighted on the spot. A leader of the more oligarchical party among the rich London merchants, he served as mayor 1383-86, and was Richard's leading supporter in the city from 1386, for which he was beheaded in 1388.

It seems a little odd that the knight should be talking at this point of Bramber rather than of William Walworth, the mayor in 1381, who actually controlled the city's defences. Froissart, tr. Bemers, calls the mayor 'Nicholas' Walworth, see Dobson, Peasants’ Revolt, p. 197. Could Morris, writing in haste or from memory, have confused the two Nicholases and not noticed the slip when revising?

men-at-arms and sergeants

Here men-arms probably means the fully armoured horsemen, including knights, and sergeants, especially the more lightly armed ones, (otherwise called hobelars) wearing metal-reinforced leather, like the rider on p. 200, paragraph 2.

Tip-staves Sheriffs' offficers, whose authority is shown by their metal-tipped staffs; title cited in the Oxford English Dictionary only from 1541. But sheriffs must have had staff with similar duties earlier.

p. 222-23 Hob Wright ..... Gregory Tailor etc. [[cf. p. 233 last para.]]

Morris has carefully chosen occupational names (or ones from unspecific topographical features) to suggest that these minor characters were primarily identified by crafts that they practised in person. By the late 14th century surnames had been long enough in use, even among ordinary villagers, to make it unlikely that all pargetters or tailors were actually exercising the skill they were named from. The 'shining' arms worn by some of these men may be implied to be armour seized from the pair of bailiffs who governed the city of Canterbury [[ Historical Introduction, II. Comparison, section 3.]] until it obtained a mayor in 1448. (See Alice Green, Town Life in the 15th Century (1894), vol. 2, pp. 283-84.)

p. 223 para, 1 Jack Straw and God

This is Morris's adaptation of a prayer before battle ascribed to hard-bitten, not too devout medieval soldiers, such as La Hire, a noted French captain of Joan of Arc's time, running roughly thus: 'Lord God, 'I pray Thee to do as well this day for La Hire, as he would do for Thee if he were God and Thou wert La Hire'.

p. 224 the town bull

In villages with common pastures it was often the custom to have a single bull (which the parson was sometimes expected to provide) run with the herd to impregnate the cows.