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.” “No more grinding at the lord’s mill.” “No heriot, and no dues, and no fleecing of a poor man when his wench marries.” For an hour or more Fulk sat there in their midst, listening to the babel of their desires, patiently, proudly, knowing behind his pride that for the moment the kingdom was at their mercy. The great brown mob palpitated about him. He was a rock in the midst of the sea, a solitary oak on a wind-blown heath. His hand went up for a great silence, and it came—after much wrangling and shouting. “Sirs, it seems to me good that men should be free. I, Richard the King, grant you your desires.” They surged round him, shouting like madmen. “King Richard! King Richard!” “The King’s word carries!” “We knew we would have justice if we had the ear of the King.” “St. George for Merrie England!” “Yes, yes; and let the clerks put it all in writing.” Fulk turned his horse and made a sign to Cavendish to approach. “Let my banners advance. Room, sirs, room for my banners.” Yet to one man in the crowd the game was going too smoothly, and that man was Father Merlin. This lad on the white horse seemed likely to carry the people away with him, and Merlin stood biting his nails and watching Fulk malevolently from under his hood. This young King on the white horse held the grey friar at a disadvantage. The one was lifted up valiantly before all men; the other lurked in the crowd, fearing to thrust to the front because of his grey frock. “Fools, fools, to be cozened!” A snarl of rage broke from him when the crowd honoured the King’s banners. Each county was to have its banner, and the men of each county were to march back with the King’s banner to their homes. Clerks were to be set that night to make out the charters, and two men from each county were to tarry behind their fellows to carry the charters into the countryside. A voice trumpeted its scorn. “Fools, you are being tricked, sent home like sheep!” Fulk heard the cry. His face seemed to glow like white metal. He stood in his stirrups, high above the crowd. “Who is it that challenges the word of the King? Let him stand out.” He had the crowd with him, and angry shouts went up. “Bring the rat out.” “Who calls the King a liar?” “Smite the churl on the mouth.” Merlin pulled his cowl down, pushed through, and slunk away. “_Pax, pax_,” he said; “it was not I who challenged the King.” But his red mouth looked fierce, and his eyes formidable, under his cowl.