‘Then how shall we convey these promises to them?’
‘I can see only one way of doing so,’ said Walworth. ‘There is only one to whom they will listen. The King must speak to them.’
‘I will do it,’ cried Richard. ‘I will speak to them.’
‘My lord, my lord,’ said the Earl of Salisbury, ‘forgive me but this is a very dangerous situation.’
‘I know it well,’ retorted Richard haughtily. ‘I am not afraid. I am their King. It is for me to speak to them, to send them back to their homes.’
‘It is too dangerous,’ said Joan.
‘My lady, it is a suggestion,’ said Walworth. ‘I can think of no other. The alternative is that we stay here besieged and how long will it take the besiegers to overrun the Tower?’
‘It is a strong fortress.’
‘They have broken into the prisons.’
‘I will go,’ said Richard. ‘I insist. Have you forgotten I am your King? I will hear no more. I will speak to the rebels myself.’
‘My lord,’ said Walworth, ‘your bravery moves me deeply. You are indeed the true son of your father.’
‘I want to show them that I am,’ said Richard.
‘You understand, my son,’ said Joan, ‘that they could kill you. One rebel out of hand …’
‘I know it well,’ replied Richard. ‘But my father faced death many times and was not deterred.’
There was no doubt that the entire company was deeply moved by this beautiful boy who showed himself to be without fear.
At length it was agreed that a messenger should be sent to Wat Tyler. The King himself was willing to see them. If they would retire to Mile End, a large field where the people gathered on holidays to enjoy open-air sports, the King would meet them there. He would listen to their grievances and would promise to consider them.
The King was excited. He would show them all that he was a boy no longer. The people had always loved him. He had enjoyed riding through this very City and they had always cheered him. It was the same in the country. They loved him. He was grandson of Great Edward, the son of the Black Prince, their King, Richard of Bordeaux as they still sometimes affectionately called him.
They would love him all the more when he promised to give them what they asked.
He said he wanted to go to his apartments. He wanted to prepare himself. He was going to pray that his mission should succeed.
When he had gone, the Queen Mother said: ‘There is only one thing which will send them home and that is if he promises to give them what they want.’
‘That is what the King must do,’ said William Walworth.
‘And how can he? Give them their freedom! Who will till the fields? Who will do the menial work of the country? What must we do? Give over our manors to them!’
William Walworth faced them all smiling. He was no nobleman but he was more shrewd than any of them.
‘These promises can never be carried out,’ he said. ‘They are quite impossible.’
‘But the King is going to give them that promise.’
‘He must. Indeed he must. It is the only way to bring an end to this rebellion. But remember these are only peasants, villeins. What are promises made to them?’
‘I like it not,’ said Joan.
‘My lady, it is a matter of liking it, or an end to all that we have known in the past. It is goodbye to the wealth which men such as I have earned and which none of these rioters would have known how to earn. It is the end of your inheritance. It would doubtless be the end of your lives. This is the only way.’
‘The King will speak in good faith.’
‘That must be so. He is too young, too innocent, to understand. He must play his part well and he will only do so if he believes in what he is saying.’
There was a deep silence.
‘My lords,’ went on Walworth, addressing the Archbishop and the Treasurer, ‘you must make your escape while the King is at Mile End. It is your only chance. If you can slip down the river you may be able to find a ship to take you out of the country. Whatever we are able to achieve I fear they are going to demand your lives.’
Simon of Sudbury and John Hales nodded gravely. They knew that Walworth was speaking the truth.
It was night. The King had climbed to the topmost turret that he might look down on the City.
He could see the flares, and the people massed on the banks of the river. He could hear their roistering. Many of them were drunk on the wine from the cellars of his uncle’s palace of the Savoy.
A ragged army they were indeed. All the scum of the country, some of them men who had been in prison with no hope of release until the mob came – desperate men, seeking blood and revenge.
These were the men whom he would face tomorrow at Mile End. He thought what he would say to them.
‘I am your King …’
He would not be afraid. The only thing he feared was fear. They could kill him if they would but he must not show fear. He wanted them to say: He is the true son of his father.
He looked away from that tattered army to the dark sky.
‘Fathers,’ he said. ‘My heavenly and earthly fathers, both watch over me this coming day. Let me conduct myself like a King.’
Early on Friday morning the King was up and ready. From the turret he looked out on the rebels and could see that although some of them were making their way to Mile End others remained.
He sent a message to them, telling them that all must go to Mile End for he was about to set out to meet them there.
Then he went down and summoned the Archbishop and John Hales to him.
‘My friends,’ he said, ‘you must take this opportunity to get away while I am at Mile End. I command you to do this.’
The Archbishop embraced him and wept because of his youth and innocence and his belief that he could with a few words put everything right.
‘We shall attempt to do so, my lord,’ said John Hales.
‘Go, my good friends. I trust we shall meet again.’
The Archbishop murmured: ‘Methinks it will not be until we meet in Heaven.’
Richard rode out. He was exultant. He felt brave and noble. There were thousands of rebels whom he had to face and he was just one boy with a carefully selected band of nobles, those who had not incurred the wrath of the people and who would be unknown to them. Sir Aubrey de Vere, the uncle of his greatest friend Robert, had volunteered for the dangerous post of sword-bearer.
And so they set out for Mile End.
There were gathered some sixty thousand of the peasant army, the head of whom were Wat the Tyler and John Ball.
Richard rode right into the midst of them, his handsome face smiling, his voice low and musical.
‘My good people,’ he addressed them, ‘I am your King, and your lord. What is it you want? What do you wish to say to me?’
Wat Tyler answered him. ‘We want freedom for ourselves, our heirs and our land. We want no longer to be called slaves and held in bondage.’
‘Your wish is granted,’ replied the King. ‘Now will you return to your homes and the place from whence you came?’
‘Ah, my lord, we want surety for what you’ve said. We want it signed and sealed that you will keep your word.’
‘Then leave behind two or three men from each village and they shall have letters sealed with my seal, showing that the demands you have made have been granted. And in order that you may be more satisfied I will command that my banners shall be sent to every stewardship, castlewick and corporation. You, my good people of Kent, shall have one of my banners and you also men of Essex, Sussex, Bedford, Suffolk, Cambridge, Stafford and Lincoln. I pardon you for what you have hitherto done. But you must follow my banners and return to your homes on the terms I have mentioned. Will you do this, my friends?’